Cliff Hanger

by Mary Feliz

  Everyone healthy. I’ll check in later.

  I put down the phone with every intention of going back to sleep. But I couldn’t. As gently as possible, to avoid disturbing Belle and the boys, I crawled out from under the covers and waited as Belle lifted her head, sighed, and oozed off the bed to follow me in slow motion, making it clear she was beginning to disapprove of my sleeping habits or lack thereof.

  I made a quick cup of coffee with the unit’s early model pod machine, which groaned through the whole process, leaving me with a mere six ounces of weak, lukewarm coffee. I gulped it, pulled on my warmest coat, shoved my phone into the pocket and my feet into my flip-flops, and grabbed Belle’s leash.

  This early in the morning, I didn’t hook the leash to her collar. There would be no one stirring for her to bother. She knew to stay close and her obedience to my emergency recall command was reliable. Belle caught up on her pee-mail. I phoned Max. While I waited for the call to connect I tried to appreciate the rainbow sherbet-colored sky that accompanied the sunrise. The whole area was an excruciatingly beautiful yet fragile environment with an vast array of wildlife. Many of the species that thrived here existed nowhere else. In many ways, it seemed a holy place to me, and it broke my heart to think that there were bad guys who insisted on disrupting its serenity.

  I tore my gaze away from the sky and focused on my phone. My call hadn’t gone through. I punched speed dial again and reached Max’s voicemail.

  “Max, what are the chances you can come back to the beach today and work remotely from the condo here next week? I think we need you with us. Call me when you wake up, and I’ll fill you in. We may need Stephen’s team, too.”

  I’d meant to call Stephen earlier in the week, but had I? In the confusion following the death of Jake Peterson, I must have forgotten. I checked my call history. Nothing. Which made sense. If I’d left a message for Stephen, he would have returned my call. He was that kind of guy. I glanced at the time. It was still early, but not for Stephen, whose chronic insomnia meant he was typically awake outrageously early. I hit speed dial and waited while it rang and went directly to his voicemail; “My phone’s off while I meditate. Leave a message. I’ll call back.”

  I smiled at the image of Stephen, who resembled the iconic Mr. Clean with a beard, accompanied by his ever-present mastiff Munchkin, meditating. It wasn’t that I begrudged them the serenity. Both of them had long struggled with PTSD and had found solace in helping others. But I thought of them both as perpetual-motion machines. Max called Stephen the “ninja marine” or the “caped crusader” thanks to his uncanny ability to be on the scene whenever he was needed. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that, seconds after I’d decided I needed his help, he was already on his way.

  “Hey Stephen,” I told his voicemail. “I’m hoping I can convince you and maybe your pal Rocket to spend a few days at the beach. I’ll spring for a condo with a great view. Munchkin will be welcome as a service dog, but you may need to bring his paperwork.”

  Frustrated by my inability to reach either Max or Stephen, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket, pulled up my hood against the early morning chill, and called to Belle. “Time to head in.”

  Belle bounded toward me from behind a hillock of beach grass on the edge of the parking lot. Her ears extended from her head like airplane wings. Her golden retriever grin lifted my spirits—until she screeched to a stop next to a rustic shingle-covered garbage and recycling shed, barking a wary but still cheerful hello.

  “Belle, now.”

  She yelped and pelted toward me with her ears drooping and her tail between her legs while a black and white cat-sized creature ambled into view from behind the rubbish shed. As soon as my brain formed the word cat, I knew I’d been wrong. The unmistakable stench of angry skunk made my eyes water and my nose run. Belle had gotten the full force of the spray right between her eyes. She whined, rubbed her face on the grass, and then against my leg.

  At home, we had all the supplies necessary to deal with a skunk emergency. Here? I was at a loss. I couldn’t put her in my car and drive to town for supplies—I’d never get the smell out of the upholstery.

  “Oh, Belle,” I said, turning my face away. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut. She whined in pain and embarrassment. I clicked her leash to her collar, and she stayed glued to my heels for guidance. I briefly considered hiking to the state park’s outdoor showers, but water alone couldn’t cope with a skunk’s oily spray, and the park was too far to shuffle in my flip-flops. I hustled her back to the condo and quickly through the front room to the shower enclosure in the boy’s bathroom. I turned the exhaust fan on high and called the gatehouse.

  “Vik?”

  “Nope, Lenny. The night guard. Your dog just get skunked?”

  “You saw?”

  “Hang tight. I’ll bring you our anti-skunk kit.”

  “Anti-skunk kit?”

  “Thanks to a homeowner who wanted us to be ready for any emergency. He had two huge puppies who never learned. Told me they had a black and white kitten at home that the dogs adored. Skunks around here kept trying to teach those pups, but the goofy mutts couldn’t tell the difference ‘tween cats and skunks—until it was too late.”

  Lenny delivered promptly. I followed the instructions on the three-by-five card in the package, mixing peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap as directed. By the time the boys woke up, I had turned on all the unit’s fans, opened the sliding glass doors and windows to the brisk sea breeze, and sprayed an odor neutralizing product inside and directly outside the condo. Using the shower and a bucket, I’d washed Belle thoroughly—twice with the homemade peroxide mixture and once with a commercial anti-skunk shampoo that was also in the kit. I’d wiped down the shower walls with a solution of vinegar and water and then soaped up my own hair and skin.

  My clothes spun in the washer and Belle slept at my feet on the kitchen tile. I sucked in the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon from a coffee cake I’d popped in the oven in an attempt to replace the noxious skunk odor with a more pleasant aroma. I thought I’d completely obliterated the skunk’s perfume until the boys emerged from my bedroom, pulling the edges of their T-shirts over their noses.

  “Belle!” they cried, waking the exhausted dog who roused and bounded toward them as they backed away.

  “She’s clean,” I said. “As clean as three baths could get her.”

  “But she still stinks,” Brian said, gagging. He gave me a morning hug and then pushed me away. “Or maybe it’s you.”

  “We both smell much better than we did a half hour ago. Guess what? You can bathe Belle as often as you like. And I’m sure she’d love to accompany you into the ocean.”

  David was brave enough to sniff her fur. “Not bad. Mr. Skunk didn’t score a direct hit?”

  “Mr. Skunk is a sharpshooter. He got her right between the eyes. But this is a full-service resort. The gatehouse provided a skunk kit that worked like a charm. I’ll need to restock it and get one for home. Maybe give it as gifts to our dog friends.”

  Brian hopped to the table without his crutches. “Maybe this family shouldn’t take vacations anymore. We can’t catch a break. Can we go?”

  “Home? Cut and run? Our mom? Never,” said David. “What’s the plan?” He tapped his brother’s side with the back of his hand. “You’ve got to know she’s got a plan.”

  I took a sip of my now cold coffee and filled the boys in on my plans to summon our team of protectors and crime fighters. Stephen called, saying he’d be on his way as soon as the morning traffic died down. He’d use the next hour to check in with law enforcement contacts in Santa Cruz County, where he said the sheriff had trained under the same mentor as Jason Mueller, our friend and Stephen’s husband. “I’ll let Jason know what’s going on with you all and see if he has any other ideas,” Stephen promised. “I’m glad you called. Now hang up the phone so I can get
to work.”

  Stephen’s tone was friendly and cheerful, but his military background revealed itself despite his efforts to keep things light. He was issuing a direct order for me to skip any gracious chit-chat so he could get on with the job at hand.

  I was able to let Max know about Stephen’s impending visit when he called, frantic. “The line was busy and I’ve spent the last few minutes imagining dire scenarios.”

  “Sometimes imagination is a terrible thing,” I said. It was one of our most frequently employed family proverbs.

  “When my children recently witnessed a fatal air crash, my youngest has injured his leg, and my fiercely independent wife says she needs back up, I think it’s reasonable to go straight to the assumption that global nuclear war is on the horizon,” Max said.

  “Eminently reasonable.”

  “Enough chit-chat. Put me out of my misery and tell me what’s really going on.”

  I signaled to the kids that they should listen in as I recounted my pre-dawn spying expedition with Belle. I wrapped up with “…and then Belle got skunked.”

  “We really can’t catch a break, can we?”

  “Brian says we should give up on the idea of family vacations.”

  “We’ll have to change that mindset,” Max said. “Maybe the problem is this bogus idea of a working vacation. Everyone knows those are way more work than they are vacation.”

  “This one’s torture,” I said. “But Renée’s in a tight spot, and we’re all falling in love with the location despite everything else. Yesterday I spotted six species of migratory ducks on my way to the car.”

  “Yet you missed the skunk.”

  “I’m now acutely aware of the skunk,” I said. “And Belle won’t go anywhere near a garbage bin for a good long time. But, more importantly, I’ve got my eyes peeled for danger and I’ve called out the cavalry. Nell’s here to help with the legal end of things, Stephen, Munchkin, and a member of their military security team are on their way, and Jason’s promised to run interference with the local cops.” My voice softened as I touched on the most comforting part of my plan. “And you’re coming, right?”

  “Can you all sit tight until I get there?” Max said. “You’re safe in the condo, right?”

  “As far as I know, but I want to get groceries so we can feed everyone, and I need to restock this skunk kit before we need it again or before some other hapless vacationer takes a hit.” I glanced at my watch. “I have time to head into town and back and still get lunch ready for when you arrive.”

  “Let me do that. Sit tight. Please?”

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised. “I’ll text you the list for the skunk kit. Keeping your two active boys and Belle under wraps will be the trickiest part.”

  “Anywhere you go, you all should go together,” he said.

  I promised I would heed his advice and we ended the call.

  David wanted to body surf, which I okayed despite Max’s warnings because it would give Belle another cleansing bath. David donned his wetsuit. Brian emerged from his room wearing a long-sleeved rash guard and had rigged up a complicated system of layered trash bags and duct tape to protect his injury. I examined it skeptically. “Aren’t you supposed to keep weight off your foot for at least another few weeks?”

  “I can hop to the water. I’m buoyant. I won’t need to put weight on the foot in the water. Water’s the perfect place for me.”

  “You’re not seriously letting him do this?” David asked.

  I shook my head. “Sorry bud. Not yet.” Brian deflated as only a teenager can, as though he was returning to a liquid state. I relented. Sort of. “Tell you what. You’ve got all that stuff on. Would you consider trying it out in the shower first? Just to make sure it’s watertight? Then you’ll know if you need to tweak your design and you’ll be all sent to go in when the doctor says you can. We’ll start with a calm day when you’re not likely to get knocked off balance by a rogue wave.”

  Brian begrudgingly accepted the wisdom of my words, and emerged from the shower a quarter-hour later with his hair dripping. “Foot’s bone dry,” he said. “It’s a win.”

  I congratulated him and suggested he try out his crutches on the sand. Belle and David went with him. “Avoid any trash cans,” I urged. “Those little stinkers can spray fifteen feet.”

  “On the beach?” David said. “What kind of self-respecting skunk spends time at the beach?”

  “According to the all-knowing skunk kit, the local ones do,” I said. “Their favorite foods are bird eggs and picnic remains. Unfortunately for us and the birds, the beach provides a fertile hunting ground for both. Just keep a sharp eye out. Keep track of time, too. I need you back up here in an hour. Dad and Stephen are coming. I’ll hang a beach towel over the balcony railing when it’s time to come in. Keep our unit in view while you’re out there.”

  I let them go with only a few qualms. My plans didn’t adhere to the letter of the law as dictated by Max, but the condo I wanted to investigate was the closest one to the beach and not far from where David would be body surfing. I could keep an eye on them easily.

  I phoned Nell, asking her to join me for breakfast. I then amended my invitation to coffee and cake knowing that she appreciated specificity, was an early riser herself, and had surely finished breakfast hours earlier. She arrived as I was finishing my call to the rental agency to reserve a two-bedroom condo for Stephen, Munchkin, and whatever reinforcements they brought with them.

  “I’m afraid we require very specific paperwork to admit a service dog,” said the officious clerk with a sniff. “Apparently we currently have a contract employee on site with a dog. I don’t know who allowed that, but we’re protesting it. We don’t want to set a precedent. It will cause all sorts of trouble.”

  I refrained from telling her I was the guilty party and asked her to text me details specifying the paperwork she’d need before she’d hand over the keys to Stephen and Munchkin. I had to send a text reminding her, but then I forwarded it to Stephen.

  “If you have any trouble with that, let me know,” said Nell, who’d arrived while I was on the phone. She cut herself a generous slice of the fragrant orange cinnamon coffee cake. “There’s no question in the law. Munchkin is a service dog, permitted wherever Stephen is allowed.”

  “Can you still smell skunk in here?” I asked.

  Nell sniffed. “That was you? The stench woke me up.”

  “It was more Belle than me, but yeah, we’re responsible,” I said. “Can you still smell it?” I reached for the spray can of odor neutralizer.

  “I can,” said Nell. “But it’s faint. I wouldn’t have known that this was the guilty condo. She sniffed again. “Nothing like the smell of the beach, even when it’s tinged with skunk.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure your rental deposit will cover an extra cleaning if the agency complains.”

  “The condo comes with the job, so I’m not too concerned,” I said. “I was more worried about Stephen and Munchkin turning tail and running, and maybe Max asking for a temporary separation.” I was kidding on both counts, which I didn’t need to explain to Nell, who’d met all the parties I’d mentioned on previous adventures. I wondered if I should tell Nell about my unappealing excursion to the noisome condo, but she must have read my thoughts.

  “I know that look,” she said. “What plans are you cooking up?”

  I explained and Nell was game.

  I prepared to subject my senses to what my nose would assume was a violent assault. The second one this morning.

  Chapter 21

  When traveling with small children, your carry-on luggage should include an emergency change of clothing for every member of the family.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Saturday, June 22, Morning

  I eased the door
to the small condo open, expecting a swarm of flies. My eyes watered and I swallowed hard to tamp down my gag reflex. The overwhelming smell of death, damp, and decay had grown stronger since my last brief visit.

  I glanced at Nell, who had buried her nose in her elbow and was squinting as if narrowing her field of vision would diminish the odor. “You’re not going to try to clean this yourself,” she said.

  I shook my head. I’d worn a pair of rubber boots I’d found in the depths of the master bedroom closet in our condo. I’d have to scrub them or replace them after this. I toed a pile of something green and fuzzy out of the path between the front door and what appeared to be the former resident’s work area.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Nell said. I assumed she was concerned about preserving fingerprints and evidence, but she clarified her statement quickly. “Breathing this air has to be unhealthy. This apartment needs a biohazard team and will have to be gutted. There’s no way they’re going to get this smell out of the sheetrock. Ever. People complain about lingering cigarette smoke when they buy or rent a home from a heavy smoker, and that’s nothing compared to this.” She gagged and coughed.

  “I only need a moment here,” I said. “Wait outside if you want.”

  But Nell gamely and loyally stood by me. She pointed toward a stack of plastic wrapped packages packed neatly into cardboard boxes next to the fireplace. It was the only tidy corner of the room. “Is that what you were looking for? Do you think it’s drugs?”

  “I’m not sure. But that’s why we’re here. I want to get those packages tested so we can be certain.” A pile of canvas hung precariously half-on and half-off the end of a threadbare sofa. Now faded and covered in mildew, the cloth had once been the high-visibility hue referred to as safety- or blaze-orange in state and federal safety statutes, but which my kids had dubbed please-don’t-lose-me red.

  I grabbed a plastic bag and a swatch of the cloth, then dashed back outside, followed quickly by Nell. I let the door swing shut and heard it lock behind me. In unspoken agreement, Nell and I headed straight to a bench built into the landing on the staircase over the dunes. We sucked in great quantities of fresh sea air before we were prepared to speak. I coughed like a life-long smoker to expel the noxious air from my lungs.