Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  “Apparently I’ve unleashed a hormonal monster. Behave. Stay focused on the house. If we’re lucky, you might get lucky.”

  He didn’t move his hand any higher, but he didn’t pull it away either. “Something to hope for. Jared said if they don’t strike by two in the morning, we’ll hang it up.”

  We reclined the seats a bit. Conversation drifted to stories about our childhoods and families. An hour passed by quickly. Then second one dragged. I was too keyed up to doze. Randy yawned. We split a pack of Oreos. My phone buzzed. Linda, checking in.

  “Quiet over here. We’re going for a walk,” she said.

  “Good idea. We’ll do the same.”

  “Keep your phone on. And stay out of the bushes.”

  “No promises.”

  Randy had switched off the dome lights earlier. Now we eased from the truck and made our way down the street. With arms around each other, we looked like any other couple, out for a late evening stroll. I wondered if Linda was copying my position with Jared. Walking the dog would be great cover. No one would suspect anything unusual there. We turned a corner and made our way around the block. The feel of Randy’s hand on my waist and his arm around me had become quite natural. I tried not to think about what we might have been doing right then if we weren’t on the stakeout.

  Midnight came and went. I began to have some doubts when headlights appeared at the end of the block. Before they got passed the corner, they winked out.

  “You see that?”

  Randy nodded. We stayed low, watching the dark vehicle move closer. I held my breath as they pulled into the driveway of the target house. It was a dark van, just like the one we’d seen on the video. There was no brake or taillights showing. The bulb above the license plate didn’t work either. Randy called Jared.

  “Do not approach them. We’ll be there in two minutes.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Randy said.

  Two minutes felt like twenty. Then we watched Jared’s big sedan roll into place across the bottom of the driveway. He slid from behind the wheel. Out of the shadows two uniformed officers appeared. We’d learn later that they had already blocked the street at both ends with patrol cars. Other officers were waiting there. Jared and the other cops approached the house slowly. To my amazement, Linda slipped out of the car. Logan followed and sat beside her.

  “Let’s go.” I popped the door and started moving. Randy was right with me. Just as we got across the street, all hell broke loose. Lights blazed in the house. Flashlight beams danced around. A door slammed and we heard someone running. Jared must have found a switch inside, because suddenly spotlights came on, filling the yard with light. One police officer was chasing a guy. The guy spun around and whipped something in the general direction of the cop. He staggered and went to his knees. The guy turned away.

  Linda had been kneeling beside Logan, her right hand gripping his collar. She extended her left arm up the driveway. “Capture!” The dog bolted.

  “Wait here!” Randy shouted, chasing after the dog.

  “Fuck that!” I glanced at Linda but she was already moving up the driveway, heading toward the fallen officer. I raced after Randy.

  Up ahead I heard someone scream. Lights came on in other yards. There was a lot of noise and confusion. But beneath it all, I heard a familiar guttural growl. Rounding the corner of a house, I saw Logan. He stood over a guy who was flat on his back, trying to squirm away from the dog. Logan’s jaws were clamped around an arm. It didn’t look like he was ever letting go.

  “Get him off me!”

  Randy hesitated. Logan held his ground. Shadows danced through the yard lights. Jared appeared beside me. “Damn, I love that dog. How do you make him stop?”

  We moved up beside the guy’s head. In the light, I could see that Logan hadn’t broken the skin, but his vice-like grip was keeping the guy in place. “Release!” The dog’s jaws moved as if he was yawning and he stepped back.

  The guy tried to scramble backward on his butt.

  Jared loomed above him. “Going somewhere?”

  ***

  Sunset over Lake Michigan was breathtaking. I was behind the wheel, heading back toward the marina. Linda and Jake were on the rear bench. Logan was sprawled before them. Randy sat in the passenger seat, a beer can dangling from his fingers. The day had been busy but the evening was relaxing. After an early dinner at Jake’s, we’d gone for a long cruise along the lake. Randy was comfortable with me at the helm. But I’d let him bring it back to the dock.

  As we tied up, I noticed four people walking toward the pier. Stepping from the shadows were Jared and Sara with two young girls. Logan scrambled out of the boat and went to greet them. We followed.

  “Thought you’d all want the update. I had to bribe the girls with ice cream,” Jared said.

  Sara linked an arm through his. “It didn’t take much convincing.”

  Jared gave us the details. It was a three-man crew doing the break-ins. Using the drone, they scouted areas, avoiding homes of permanent residents. With the camera, they’d look through windows, finding likely targets. Two of the men were young, early twenties, without permanent jobs. The third guy had a criminal record for robbery and possession of stolen goods. He had been renting a house outside of town. A search of the house and shed led to the recovery of many of the stolen items. Jared would receive a commendation for busting the gang. There was a small chance we would have to come back and testify if there was a trial. Jared felt the crew would take a plea deal.

  “How’s the other officer?” Linda asked.

  “Slight concussion. The guy threw a crowbar at him. He deflected most of it with his arm, but still got quite a knot in his forehead. He’s getting a lot of sympathy from his girlfriend.”

  Jared wrapped up everything. Then Sara and his daughters succeeded in dragging him back toward town. After an exchange of goodnight hugs and kisses, Linda, Jake and Logan followed. At long last, Randy and I were alone. His arms drew me close.

  “When do you leave?”

  “We need to be on the road by noon. Gotta go back to work on Monday.”

  “Did you bring your jammies?”

  “Knew I forgot something!”

  “Guess you’ll just have to sleep naked.” He leaned in. A long, slow kiss followed.

  Randy guided me down below. We both knew tonight would be our last. So much had transpired during the week. There was no chance of anything happening beyond that. But there was tonight. The gentle breeze from the lake, the rocking of the boat in its dock and two people wrapped up together, even if was only for a few hours. It didn’t get much better than that.

  Paradise.

  The End

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks to Melissa Keir for her amazing editing skills and never-ending support. And to Annette, Bill, Jerry , Peg and all the rest of the Stormy Night Writer’s Group for all of their encouragement. You guys rock!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mark Love (yes, that’s really his name) lived for many years in the metropolitan Detroit area, where crime and corruption are always prevalent. A former freelance reporter, Love is drawn to mysteries and the twists and turns that mirror real life. He is the author of “Why 319?” and three books in the Jamie Richmond Series “Devious” “Vanishing Act” and “Fleeing Beauty” The Jefferson Chene Series “WHY 319?” and the upcoming “Your Turn to Die” and several short stories.

  Love resides in west Michigan with his wife, Kim. He enjoys a wide variety of music, reading and writing fiction, cooking, travel, most sports and the great outdoors. You can find his blog at the link below and on Goodreads, Facebook, and Amazon.

  http:// motownmysteries.blogspot.com/

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

  https://www.facebook.com/MarkLoveAuthor

  http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B009P7HVZQ

  Harmony in the Key of Murder

  A Hometown Heroes Novella

  Melissa Kay Clarke
>
  OTHER BOOKS BY MELISSA KAY CLARKE

  Luna's Children

  Shattered Dreams

  Broken Melody

  Lorestone: The Strength Within

  The Legacy Reborn

  Reclamation

  Team Cerberus

  Protecting Joselyn

  Saving Olivia

  Rescuing Annabeth

  Anthologies

  Defending Demma

  (a Team Cerberus novella available in Can't Buy Me Love)

  Harmony in the Key of Murder

  Copyright © 2018 Melissa Kay Clarke

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  For Rebecca.

  My angel, my baby-girl, my sweet gift from above.

  Though you are an adult, you will forever be my little girl.

  I love you.

  CHAPTER 1

  Nothing stirred as the blackness stretched along the deserted coastline like inky fingers grasping for a hold on the shore. The overhead sky, covered by a thick layer of dark clouds sat sullenly, obliterating both moon and stars. The eerie silence was broken by a soft hum then a gentle thump of wood on waves as a small boat slid through the water, heading for the shore.

  Within moments, the hull of the vessel found the shallows and stopped. Three figures dressed in dark clothing appeared on the deck. One of them, a man well known for ushering illegal aliens across the border for an exorbitant fee, pointed toward a faint glow of lights in the distance. "We're here, just like I promised."

  A small flashlight flicked on and swept the adjacent shore. The owner, a large man with a shock of thick, blond hair, a hard face and glinting eyes, glared at the desolation and grunted. The light died in his hand, and the flashlight was secured into the duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

  "I'll take payment now," the smuggler whispered. "Half on pickup, half on delivery."

  "Sí," the third occupant, a squat bald man agreed. "Here is your payment."

  The blond man moved in a blur. There was a grunt as the soft shiiick of a blade ran across the warm skin of the human smuggler. It was barely audible mingled with the peaceful waves dancing on the shore. A grunt and thump followed as the body dropped to the deck. The bald man squatted and ran his hands through the corpse's clothing until he found the small envelope shoved into a pocket. Withdrawing it, the two men turned away, slipped over the side of the boat, waded onshore and climbed the sandy dunes.

  Pausing at the top, one retrieved a cell phone from his bag, powered it up and typed in an address. Satisfied with their current course, he dropped it in his pocket. Settling the heavy pack on his shoulders, he disappeared over the dunes and headed toward the beckoning lights of civilization with the blond trudging behind.

  ***

  Click...whirl...click...whirl...

  The cheap pen traveled through Harmony's fingers of her right hand, flipped and resumed its never-ending journey. Her left hand supported her chin. Her elbow rested on a pile of paperwork she was supposed to be working on. With a heavy sigh, she glanced up at the antique eighteenth-century Black Forest cuckoo clock on the wall and frowned. Surely it had been longer than four minutes since she last checked. For a moment, she considered it was not working but discarded the notion. The beautiful hand carved timepiece had held court on that wall for as long as Harmony could remember, ticking away the moments without a single stutter.

  She let out a long breath as the pen carrying the logo of Mickey's Treasures, Antiquities, and Estates blurred in her nimble fingers. Whirl... click... whirl... click... Wednesdays were unbearably long. She couldn't explore while Uncle Mickey was at the weekly auction in Jackson leaving her to mind the shop. She looked over her shoulder at the little workroom where several items sat sprawled on her workbench. She wanted to get back to finding out what made them work; or in this case, not work. Her fingers twitched to take them apart and examine each gear, wheel, and spring until she figured out why the things stopped. She lived for the moments when she discovered their secrets. She repaired the broken mechanisms and got them back to working again. It never failed to thrill her.

  Her obsession singled her out as different. To call Harmony socially awkward would be an understatement. For years, her interests ran toward dirty hands, screwdrivers and finding out how. While other girls in her classes shopped, got their hair and nails done or sat in a circle giggling over boys, she favored tinkering with gears and electronics. She became so entranced in books on mechanics she never saw nor heard the others attempting to bully and shame her. Instead, she devoured books and magazines at an astounding rate. Some would say her lifestyle was lonely. She preferred the term perfect. She lived for the moments when she could get lost in the inner workings of something mechanical which was why she couldn't work on things when she had to mind the storefront. Harmony became so focused; she rarely heard anyone coming in.

  On cue to her inner thoughts, a bell chimed. One of those old bells used long ago in a manor house to summon the maid service, it was barely heard over the sputtering and groaning of the ancient air conditioning unit stuck in the transom window over the door. "Betty Lou" had been there since her uncle purchased the building in the eighties. Every summer, the old-timers sitting in Aunt Jolly's diner next door would make bets on when it would finally give up the ghost and every winter, they would shake their heads in astonishment when Uncle Mickey dutifully got his ladder out to cover it up for the season. He would pat the side of the ancient relic and proclaim proudly, "They don't make them like Betty Lou anymore." Like so many mechanical things from by-gone eras, the air conditioner held an air of mystery for Harmony. The old girl would outlive them all out of pure stubbornness.

  An older woman of perhaps sixty entered the shop and glanced around. Harmony dropped the pen on the pile of inventory sheets and plastered a smile on her face. "Good afternoon. If you need anything, please let me know." Dropping her chin back to her hand, Harmony picked up the pen and resumed the whirling, tapping motion. Whirl... click... whirl... click...

  The woman made a circuit through the room, picking up a few objects before placing them back. She stopped at the counter and looked at Harmony expectantly. "Good afternoon," she intoned as she placed her purse on the countertop.

  Harmony straightened her frame and dropped the pen once again. The woman was slight in stature, maybe three or four inches shorter than Harmony’s own five-foot-five. She wasn't exactly thin, but not heavy either. The slacks and blouse she wore were a cool mint green with little pink and white flowers embroidered around the hem. She even wore matching white shoes. Her short bob was streaked with silver at the temples, and the lines around her eyes spoke volumes of her wisdom and experience. Clear blue eyes, the color of early autumn sky, studied her carefully. Her lips were pulled into a thin line as she scrutinized Harmony.

  "Can I help you?"

  "My name is Grace Billups. I have something I need looked at." Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small rectangle about six inches by three inches and five inches tall swaddled in layers of cloth. Carefully, she unwound it until the object emerged.

  Harmony's eyes widened, and her breath caught - it was an ornate silver box. The top was crowned by a crisscross door made of strands of silver wire surrounded by tiny silver pearls. The edges had silver beads that contained a few scratches and dings as was befitting a piece this old. Inset into each of the sides were enamel ovals depicting pastoral scenes. Each of the colorful plates showed a different meadow full of flowers surrounded by intricate silver vines. Underneath the inlay on the front, Harmony could see a small ring that looked like a drawer pull. On the right side, down low near the bottom, a silver slit with a metal tongue ending with a silver ball stuck out and caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized it was a switch. The box was mechanical. Immediately, the gears in her mind began to whirl and her fingers itched to explore it.

  The bell rang once again, forcing Harmony's gaze up. Uncle Mickey strolled through the door, carryin
g a cardboard box in his burly arms. He was close to sixty, but remained fit and strong. Noticing their potential client, he placed the box on the counter and turned toward the woman. Wiping his hand on his jeans, he thrust it out at her. "Mickey Tailor. I hope Harmony is taking good care of you?"

  The woman took his hand and shook it gently. "Grace Billups. Pleased to meet you. I was just about to show her my new treasure and was hoping for some assistance."

  Uncle Mickey's attention turned to the box sitting just outside of Harmony's fingers. "May I?" He asked with a nod toward the piece.

  "You may."

  He picked the item up reverently and examined it, running his thick fingers over the surface. "This is a beautiful bird box automaton. German. Karl Griesbaum, circa 1922-1925, sterling silver with hand painted enamel inlays. Although the internal works are precise and intricate, the value rests in the box itself. Each one was a creation of art." He carefully tugged on the front ring, exposing the tiny drawer containing a lump wrapped in a piece of material. Closing the drawer, he unwrapped the key from its cocoon, turned the box over and inserted it into the egress. With a couple of quick turns, he wound the mechanism and slid the switch. There was a click followed by silence.

  "Ah, the works are frozen. What a pity." He replaced the key into its drawer and returned the box carefully to the countertop.

  Harmony eyed the object, her fingers twitching. Of course, she knew of bird boxes but never had she been this close to one. They were one of her bucket list items. Antique music boxes fascinated her even more than other objects and bird boxes were the crowning jewel of the miniature automaton world. She even had a schematic drawing of one from the nineteenth century on her wall at home. If she closed her eyes, she could trace the inner works easily. There was a set of small bellows inside along with assorted rods, springs, and cogs that would open the top and a small bird would pop up. The bird would move, flap its wings and whistle a song. She ached to see the insides of that box.