by B R Snow
“Relax, dear,” my mother deadpanned. “I’m just happy that the two of you have made such a connection.”
“Now I see where your daughter gets all her wit and charm,” Josie said. “Not to mention her considerable skill at getting under someone’s skin.”
“We do have our moments,” my mother said, smiling at me. “Will Summerman be at the parade?”
“Yes, he certainly will,” Josie said, smiling.
“Good,” my mother said. “I need to speak to him about playing at my party. He’s so incredibly talented. But look who I’m talking to about how good Summerman is. I’m sure you’ve already figured that out all by yourself.”
“Mrs. C.?”
“Yes, dear?” my mother said, doing her best to hide her smile.
“Shut up.”
Chapter 2
No matter how many events were added to Clay Bay’s Parade of Pirates celebration as the years passed, my favorite would always be Invasion Day. Around noon of the first day, three magnificently restored, multi-mast sailboats approached the town dock carrying hundreds of invaders clad as pirates. I’ve watched the identical scene play itself out a couple of dozen times, but every time I heard the cannons boom and the muskets pop, I still felt the hairs on the back of my neck tingle with excitement. Cannon smoke filled the air, and the hoots and hollers of the invaders as they clambered off the ships onto the dock always put a smile on my face. The cans of ice cold Molson many of the marauders were holding, along with the preponderance of selfie-sticks, definitely detracted from some of the historical accuracies, but I wasn’t going to quibble.
Besides, it was hot, and a cold beer sounded really good.
And at least these particular selfies had an actual reason for being taken.
Josie and I, like many of the women, were dressed in similar garb. We’d had the same costume for years and had no reason to modify it since pirate fashion choices didn’t seem to change much. We were wearing oversized, long-sleeved white blouses, ruby-red vests, and flowing, knee-length black skirts. Our boots were tall and black, our belts wide and black, and the bandanas we wore were the only items that distinguished us. Mine matched my vest, while Josie had chosen a black one with a skull and crossbones pattern. The only other difference in our outfits was a large yellow stain on one of Josie’s sleeves.
“What’s that?” I said.
“I just lost my first battle of the day,” she said, examining the stain. “With a hot dog.”
“So I see,” I said. “Despite that, I think we look positively wenchish.”
“Wenchish? Is that even a word?”
“Of course it’s a word. Wenchish. Like a wench.”
I glanced down the street and saw Freddie, our local medical examiner, approaching. Freddie took the Parade of Pirates’ festivities more seriously than most, and he loved getting into character. He was dressed in pirate garb to the nines, and this year he had added an eye patch and a metal hook to his left hand.
“I guess I can live with being called a wench for a couple of days,” Josie said, shrugging.
“What’s your tolerance for pirate booty references?” I said, nodding at Freddie who had spotted us and was making his way through the crowd.
“Two seems to be my limit,” Josie said, turning around and giving Freddie a small wave.
“Ahoy, me hearties!” Freddie called out as he got closer. “Shiver me timbers. If you two aren’t the most magnificent lassies ever to walk these fine streets, you can pillage all me pieces of eight and hang me from the yardarm.”
“Hi, Freddie,” Josie said. “That’s permission to steal all your money and put a rope around your neck, right?”
“Aye.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Josie said.
“And I must say, you can wear that loose skirt, but nothing can hide the treasure that is your magnificent booty.”
“That’s one,” Josie whispered.
“Nice to see you’re already well into character, Freddie,” I said. “Great costume.”
“Thanks, wench,” he said, beaming. “You can’t see them, but I’m also wearing me favorite socks. They’re arrrrghyle.”
I waited until he stopped laughing at his own joke, then forced a smile at him.
“Good one.”
“Aye. And it’s a good thing that I have me pirate trade to fall back on. I had to give up me bowling.”
I glanced at Josie who was shaking her head. We both waited for the punchline.
“I had to quit,” he said, holding up his left hand. “I just couldn’t control me hook.”
Again, we waited for him to stop laughing.
“Good one, huh?” Freddie said. “I bought a book of pirate jokes. I’ve got dozens of them.”
“Well, go easy. You wouldn’t want to use them all up this early in the festivities,” Josie said, glancing around. “Big crowd this year.”
“Yes, indeed, wench,” Freddie said, surveying the scene. “But me thinks there’s a fair number of landlubber’s in our midst. Let’s hope the scallywags are able to carry their own weight until it’s time for our scurrilous band of marauders to weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen.”
“Hoist the mizzen?” Josie said, frowning in my direction.
“The mizzen is the third sail from the bow on ships with at least three masts,” I said.
“Ah, a wench with both brain and booty,” Freddie said.
“That’s two,” Josie whispered.
I laughed and waved to Chef Claire who was slowly making her way through the crowd toward us. Then I caught a glimpse of the ornate leather holster Freddie was wearing around his waist.
“That’s new isn’t it?” I said.
“Aye. Me cutlass needs to be at the ready.”
“Freddie, drop the me and ye or I swear I’m going to knock you on your booty,” Josie said.
“Sorry, I can’t help myself,” Freddie said, slipping out of character. “I’ve always carried my sword in one of my hands, but this year I’ll need to keep it sheathed most of the time. This hook looks great, but it only leaves me with one free hand.”
“And you need at least one to hold your beer, right?” I said.
“Absolutely,” he said, laughing. “Don’t tell anybody, but I can’t stand the taste of rum.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Chef Claire said, coming to a stop next to Freddie. “You look great, Freddie.”
“Thanks, wench,” he said, beaming at Chef Claire.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, glaring at him.
Josie and I smiled at each other. This was Chef Claire’s first Parade of Pirates, and I realized we’d forgotten to brief her about some of the more colorful terms she’d be called over the next few days.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” Freddie said, backtracking. “It’s a term of endearment.”
“Is it now?” Chef Claire said, still giving him the evil eye.
“Make another booty reference,” Josie deadpanned. “That oughta help.”
“What took you so long?” I said.
“Your mother and I were having yet another conversation with the health inspector about us allowing dogs in the bar. The guy was a real pain in the you know what.”
“The booty?” Freddie said, smiling at Chef Claire.
“Can I count that one?” Josie said, glancing at me.
“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “So, what happened?”
“Your mother came through again. She may hate being mayor, but she’s really good at it. The conversation was starting to get pretty heated, then your mom made some obscure reference about the health inspector I didn’t get. But he turned bright red and immediately got into compromise mode. In short, there’s no problem with us having dogs on the verandah anytime and, as long as we don’t allow them inside during the hours when we’re serving dinner, we’re good to go.”
“That’s great,” Josie said. “Summerman has said he’d love the chance to play the new piano in the lounge, but he won’t do it u
nless Murray can be there. He likes to lie on Summerman’s feet while he’s playing.”
Josie couldn’t miss the blank stares we were giving her.
“What?” she said. “Too much information?”
“No,” I said. “We were just hoping for details of a different kind.”
“Shut it,” Josie said.
“Okay, how does this invasion thing work?” Chef Claire said.
We watched as the battle intensified and the invading pirates swarmed through the street. One of the pirates scooped a laughing woman up into his arms and carried her down the street into a bar. Several other revelers followed them.
“Well, they keep firing the cannons from the boats for a while. And you’ll hear lots of musket fire as the invasion continues. But eventually the villagers succumb, and the pirates capture the town. Then the mayor turns over the key to the village to the invaders, and everyone becomes a pirate.”
“I see. Even all the people holding cans of Bud Light?” Chef Claire said.
“Especially them,” I said, laughing.
Chapter 3
Each night of the festivities included a massive fireworks display on the River. Just after sunset, after we’d finished having dinner with my mom at C’s, we walked up the stairs that ran off the back of the restaurant and led to the roof. One section of the roof was flat and provided a great view of the town and the River, as well as the perfect vantage point to watch the fireworks. The flat area was a concern during the winter due to the amount of snow that collected and constantly had to be shoveled, but in the warmer months, it was a great place to hang out.
I stretched out on one of lounge chairs and closed my eyes. I let the sounds and smells coming from the town below wash over me, and I waited for the moment to work its way into my memory bank. Then I felt a wet, cold nose nuzzling my arm and I opened my eyes to find Murray, Summerman’s massive dog, demanding some attention. I reached out and rubbed the dog’s head and laughed.
“What’s the matter, Murray? Are they ignoring you?”
Murray woofed loudly and apparently interpreted my questions as an invitation to join me on the lounger. He climbed up and draped himself over me. I groaned when he landed on my full stomach, but I was happy to make room for him. The dog was unlike any other I’d ever met, and Summerman had mentioned that Murray was part Newfie, part Golden Retriever. He was imposing the first time you met him, and the blend of breeds had given him a striped black and brown coat. And when Summerman told me that people sometimes thought he was a tiger, I believed him. But Murray was extremely friendly to both people and other dogs and incredibly intelligent. But the most impressive thing about the dog was the bond he had with Summerman. They were incredibly protective of each other, almost inseparable, and actually seemed to carry on conversations with each other. I know this seems hard to believe, but after witnessing them together several times, I’d been convinced that their relationship transcended even the deepest connections I’d ever had with a dog, including the current bond I had with Chloe.
“Feel free to tell him to get down,” Summerman said, glancing over from the adjacent lounge chair.
“No, he’s fine,” I said as I continued to stroke the dog’s fur.
“You’re going to spoil him,” Summerman said, laughing. “Isn’t that right, Murray?”
Murray woofed once and nuzzled my shoulder. I laughed and looked over at Summerman and Josie who were sharing the double lounge chair next to mine. Josie was stretched out and snuggled against Summerman. Eight weeks into her relationship with Summerman, she continued to be the happiest I’d ever seen her.
“Hey, I can’t believe I forgot to mention it,” Josie said. “We’re having the dog parade tomorrow. Murray would be a great addition. What do you say?”
“I doubt if he’ll want to do that,” Summerman said. “He doesn’t usually like being in the middle of crowds that big. But we can ask him. Hey, Murray.”
Murray sat up on the lounge chair and made eye contact with Summerman. Actually, he sat up, then sat back down on my chest and stomach. I groaned and slid out from under him.
“Murray, do you want to walk in the dog parade tomorrow?” Summerman said, asking the question the same way he would to another person.
Murray woofed once, then stretched back out on the lounger and closed his eyes.
“That’s a no,” Summerman said, laughing.
I caught Josie’s eye, and she shrugged. She was also amazed by the relationship between her boyfriend and his dog, but over the past few months, while we continued to marvel at some of the things we saw, we’d both come to accept it.
I heard the sound of someone climbing the stairs, and soon my mother stepped onto the roof and headed toward us.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, relinquishing all rights to the lounge chair to Murray and getting to my feet. “Taking a break from ruling the kingdom?”
“Funny, darling,” she said, pouring herself a glass of champagne. “I’m finally done for the day, and I thought this would be the perfect place to keep an eye on things without having to be in the middle of it. Hi, Josie. Summerman.”
“Hi, Mrs. C.,” Josie said.
My mother returned Summerman’s wave and gave Murray a quick pat on the back. Then she took a sip of champagne and stared down at the revelry playing out on the streets below.
“How are you holding up?” I said to my mother who was standing next to me.
“I’m exhausted, darling.”
“You did a great job with the invasion today, Mrs. C.,” Josie said.
“Thank you, dear.”
“I especially loved the part where you were about to hand over the keys to the town to Freddie,” Josie said, laughing.
“I’m sure you did,” my mother said. “He said it was an accident, but I’m convinced it was intentional.”
I did my best, but couldn’t help but laugh again at what had happened. Freddie, as one of the self-appointed leaders of the invaders, had climbed up on the makeshift stage just as my mother was getting ready to officially surrender the town. Aided by several beers and a new pair of boots he had trouble walking in, Freddie tripped on the top step and stumbled across the stage. He rammed into my mother, and both of them had ended up sprawled on the stage in an accidental yet particularly ardent position that caused most of the crowd to roar with laughter, and several others to blush. My mother, showing way too much leg, had struggled to get upright, but Freddie’s hook had somehow gotten lodged in her petticoat. And the more my mother tried to free herself from Freddie’s clutches, the more her wench costume threatened to tear off. In the end, she’d been forced to sit on the stage with her legs splayed and wait until I was finally able to get the hook, and Freddie’s left hand out from under her pirate skirt.
Despite my mother’s exhortations and instructions, it had taken me a while to get it done. In my defense, it’s pretty hard doing detailed work of that nature when your hands are shaking from laughter, and your eyes are filled with tears.
“I heard you let Freddie have it. What did you say to him?” Summerman said.
“I don’t remember,” my mother said, staring off into the distance.
“Watch the hook, matey,” I said, laughing. “I think that was my favorite.”
“That was a good one,” Josie said. “But I also liked, ‘Keep it up, and I’ll show you where you can put that cutlass.’”
“Enough. Now shut up so we can all enjoy the fireworks.”
We all leaned against the railing, including Murray who had his front paws propped up on the top rail and was closely watching the colorful, loud display.
“I can’t believe the noise doesn’t freak him out,” I said to Summerman. “Chloe would be hiding under a lounge chair.”
“No, it doesn’t bother him a bit,” Summerman said, rubbing the dog’s head. “You love fireworks, don’t you, Murray?”
The dog woofed once without taking his eyes off the show. We continued to watch and listen for severa
l minutes, then I heard a loud noise that sounded out of place.
“What was that?” I said.
“What, darling?”
“That noise,” I said, frowning. “It sounded different from the fireworks.”
“Yeah, I heard it,” Josie said. “It sounded like it was pretty close.”
“It sounded like an explosion,” Summerman said. “Like dynamite.”
My mother looked at us, then her eyes grew wide. Seconds later, we all heard a series of muted pops during a lull in the fireworks.
“That came from somewhere in town,” my mother said, heading for the stairs.
“Actually, I think it came from off to our right,” I said, hustling after my mother.
“What on earth could possibly be making that noise around here?” Josie said. “Maybe a gas tank exploded? Maybe something happened at one of the marinas.”
“No,” I said, picking up my pace. “First National.”
“Geez,” my mother said. “A bank robbery? That’s all we need.”
We reached the bottom of the stairs and decided to cover the distance of a couple hundred yards on foot. Apparently, we were the only ones who’d made the connection, and we soon found ourselves standing by ourselves outside the old stone building that was a local landmark. None of the external structure seemed to have suffered any damage, but several windows had been blown out by the explosions. The front door was ajar, and we raced inside and found remnants of smoke still wafting in the air.
“Murray,” Summerman snapped. “Be careful. Look out for broken glass.”
The dog came to a stop and waited for Summerman to make his way across the lobby. My mother was already on the phone with Jackson, our chief of police, and I tiptoed my way across the floor until I reached the vault that had been blown open. The door was dangling from its hinges.