Chapter Three The Walk Home
Chapter Three
The Walk Home
Mikey Farrell paced the small front office of Farrell’s Dive Shop. If he stomped any harder, his leg would go through the flimsy boards. “How could you be so stupid!” He was one decibel from screaming.
“You just wait, my brother. I know this is how we’re gonna get out of this money mess Dennis got us into.”
“Since when are you the head of the family and decide to break into someone’s boat house? During the busiest weekend in town, no less!”
“That’s just it, bro.” Arlo plopped his big booted feet on the desk.
Mikey slapped them off. “Hey! Hey! No need to get handsy with me!” Arlo slipped the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
“That was the point. Everyone, and I mean every, nosy, cranky resident of this town is at the festival. I tol’ you.
Nobody seen me.” He tapped the rolled-up map that sat on the desk where his boots were a moment before.
“And you stole a boat from the reclamation center,” Mikey said, scowling.
“I didn’t steal nothin’. I just borrowed it.”
Mikey let out a huge huff. “Okay, run this by me again. Starting with borrowing the boat.”
“I took the truck to Moby’s and made sure a few people seen me.
I even ordered a round of beers for the bar.
Then I tell them I’m going out for a smoke.
” He walked his fingers across the desk.
“And I hightailed it to the reclamation center. I took the boat over near Moby’s, got out, and had another beer.
This way people seen me. I got me an alibi. ”
Mikey sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. “Let’s get to the important part: breaking in.”
“Hold up, bro. I want you to hear how I pulled this off without a hitch.” Arlo spit the toothpick into the trash can.
Mikey often wondered if any babies were switched when Arlo was born.
True, the Farrells weren’t squeaky clean, but it was mostly overcharging the tourists for taking them out on a dive or selling them something that was actually worthless.
But the fat-cat, social-climbing snobs didn’t care about the price.
It was a “treasure” found by a local fisherman.
Dennis had been an expert at creating background stories for their wares.
Now it was up to Mikey and Arlo to save the family business.
Arlo believed he had the answer. He unrolled the map and smoothed it out on the desk. He pointed to a small mark that could have been an X. “Ya see here?” Alro gestured toward a small blotch on the paper. “This here is where the loot is buried.”
“It looks like someone squashed a bug on it,” Mikey said, squinting at the drawing.
He was wary of his brother’s wild-goose chase.
It wouldn’t be the first time Arlo went off on some crazy quest for Captain Kidd’s or Blackbeard’s buried treasures, or one of the several other sunken ships with gold bullion that the local legends promised.
“That’s the point.” Arlo rolled the chair he was sitting in.
“A squashed bug is the point?” Mikey asked, emphasizing each word. Mikey was under a lot of pressure to keep the company from becoming a colossal failure. He needed a good plan. Not a fairy tale.
Arlo nodded and rolled a fresh toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Yep. It’s gotta be the spot; otherwise, they wudda wiped it off. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a permanent mark. Don’tcha get it?”
Mikey shook his head. “If you say so.” But no way was he going to be searching under water for some make-believe treasure.
The last time Mikey made a dive his brother arranged, he got a case of decompression sickness, also known as “the bends.” The dive line got caught on something, and Arlo pulled Mikey up too fast.
Arlo kept pushing his idea. “This is our chance, Mikey. All our troubles will be over.” He saw that his brother was still skeptical. “I’m telling ya. This is the real deal. If I’m right, you’ve got to give me sixty percent of the booty.”
“And what do I get if you’re wrong?” Mikey asked with a furrowed eyebrow.
Arlo scrunched his lips. “I’ll clean up the place for a year.”
“You’re gonna mop the floors, clean the toilet, and make sure everything is put in place?” Mikey asked with some skepticism.
“Yessiree.”
“Every day.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Well, not every day.” Arlo was setting his boundaries, but not to his brother’s approval.
“Yeah, man. Every single day. This place has to look clean and organized if we’re going to get a loan from the bank.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, brother. We ain’t gonna need no loan.”
The phone on the desk rang. It was late for a call on the business phone.
Mikey answered, “Farrell Dive and Recovery.” He paused.
“Yes, this is Dennis Farrell’s brother. What can I do for you?
” Mikey listened intently. Worry began to creep into his face.
“I don’t know anything about that, sir.” He listened again.
“No. I don’t.” More talk came from the other side.
“Can we meet in person to talk about this? My brother never said anything like that to me.” Mikey took in what the caller was saying. “Okay. This Friday. Zoe’s Kitchen. Noon.” The caller ended the conversation while Mikey still held the phone to his ear.
“What was that all about?” Arlo asked, plucking the toothpick from his lips.
“I’m not sure. I gotta meet some guy on Friday. He’s gonna tell me.”
The grand finale of the fireworks was accompanied by a roar of cheers, clapping, whistles, and air horns. Madison’s face began to hurt from smiling, which made her smile even more. Lincoln, Olivia, and Giada were heading back to the house, and Hannah, Charlie, and Crusty were heading to the VFW.
Madison looked up at Viggo. “Walk me home?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she threaded her arm through the crook of his and gave him a side hug.
“If it suits you,” Viggo said playfully. “But I’d like to check in on Diogo. See how he fared during the fireworks.”
“It suits me just fine,” Madison replied. They walked slowly along the main road, then turned to Viggo’s street. The landscape lighting illuminated the tall grasses as they swayed with the breeze. “You have created a lovely place.”
“Thank you. As I said, lots of magazines and home remodeling shows,” Viggo said.
“But to be honest, I didn’t do the electrical work.
I am much better with water than I am with wires.
” He reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys.
Diogo was sitting at his post inside the door, his tail thumping the floor.
Viggo squatted to give his pooch a hug and remove his anxiety-reducing garb, then looked up at Madison.
“Hey, I have an idea. How about designer ThunderShirts?”
“That’s not a bad idea. We have to produce a new name, find a manufacturer, a marketing plan, and the designs.”
“Wow. You are quick.” Viggo grinned.
“It’s what I do. Or did. Before the magazine.”
“Is there anything you haven’t done?” Viggo stood.
“Are we talking criminal or legit?” Madison cocked her head as if she were hiding a secret. In truth, she was. As far as she knew, Viggo was not aware of her father’s misdoings and the family embarrassment.
“Oh, should I do a background check on you?” Viggo teased.
“Please don’t.” Madison clutched her chest and feigned dismay. She stood on her toes and whispered, “I am in witness protection,” then placed a finger on her lips.
Viggo burst out laughing. Madison dazzled him with her humor once again.
“You sure know how to maintain a low profile,” Viggo retorted, and chuckled again. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Diogo seemed quite calm. He picked up a raggedy toy, carried it to his bed, and curled into a giant ball of fur.
“Okay, buddy. I’ll be back shortly.”
Diogo lifted his head briefly, then assumed his curled pose.
Viggo opened the door for Madison and locked it behind him. “He is such a good boy,” he said like a proud poochie parent.
“He really is sweet,” Madison remarked. And so is his master, she thought to herself.
The walk to the rental house took less than ten minutes.
When they got to the door, an awkward silence fell between them.
Madison was the first to speak. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” Before Viggo could reply, Madison’s cell phone rang.
She checked to see who would be calling her at ten o’clock on a Saturday night.
It was Victor, her magazine’s art director.
“You better be in jail or the hospital.” Madison said, then realized both were a possibility.
“Aren’t you Ms. Funny Pants,” Victor snapped back.
“Don’t tell me—Jonelle wasn’t happy with the photo shoot.” Madison was referring to one of the temperamental models.
“Surprisingly, she was fine,” Victor answered.
“The reason for this call, dearie, is to remind you that we have a table at the spring preview dinner for our advertisers next Saturday. I’ll be on vacation until then, and I didn’t want you to forget.
” There was a bit of sarcasm in his voice.
He knew how much Madison disliked the “who can be the bigger toady?” events.
Madison groaned. “Thanks a bunch, Victor.”
“Misery loves company.” Victor snickered. “There’s one seat open. Who is going to be your plus-one?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. At all. The whole thing, to be honest. I’ve been involved with the opening of the marina, and the Seafood Festival festivities.” She repeated the word for emphasis. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Shall I assume you will commandeer the extra seat for someone?”
“Oh, shut it, Victor. I’ll get back to you. Now go to bed,” Madison snorted. “Nighty-night.” She clicked the phone off and turned to Viggo. “Where was I? Right. I was inviting you in for a drink.” She smiled.
“As much as I would like to, I have an early call tomorrow. Lots of water activity.” He paused, then asked, “Rain check?”