Chapter 17
“CANNON LUBE?” I suggested, looking over the situation with a critical eye.
The groundskeeper’s daughter, Treana, who was sixteen now, snickered.
The groundskeeper was a woman named Stella with #6.5R Nice-n-Easy auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun and a badge and uniform that looked more official than mine. She speared me with a hard glare.
“If I kept that much lube on hand, I would have used it, wouldn’t I?” she asked.
That got another snicker out of her daughter, and I huffed a laugh.
Just because Stella was made of the same stuff as the cannon—hardened iron—didn’t mean she didn’t have a sense of humor. As a matter of fact, as the one and only keeper of the historic significance of Ordinary, I thought she had to have a roaring sense of humor to remain serious about her work.
Ordinary lived up to its name as far as mortal history was concerned, although this one ridge was once a bunker put in place during the Civil War. Unluckily for Stella, the only attack to reach this side of America’s coast was a lone submarine that lobbed a few shells at Fort Stevens up north of us a bit. It knocked out a telephone line then turned and went home.
And while our mortal history wasn’t exactly teeming with excitement, Stella was the caretaker of it, and she took that job seriously.
Which was why the concrete penguin with the little red Superman cape jammed into the barrel of the cannon was no laughing matter.
Well, no laughing matter to her.
“How long has this been going on?” Stella asked.
“What? Mrs. Yates’ penguin harassment?”
She nodded.
“I don’t know. I guess a year or so.”
“And you still haven’t found the person doing it?”
“No.”
“Seems to me a year is an awfully long time to let something like this go on.”
I nodded as I crouched at the front of the stuffed cannon barrel, unconcerned that she’d accused me of not doing my job.
“Well, we figure it started with a kid. Maybe a graduating senior at the high school. We figure he or she moved on, but the tradition was passed on to someone else in the school.”
I sent a look to Treana, who shifted her eyes and suddenly found her shoes more interesting to look at.
“What I’d like,” I said, “is for whoever is behind this to knock it off. It’s eating up my time, and Mrs. Yates no longer thinks it’s funny.”
Treana still wasn’t looking at me.
“What I’d also like is for the class to give me a heads-up on what they’d like to do for senior trick day. I’m fine with non-damaging mischief, but the penguin escapades are bordering on harassment. Harassment comes with a large fine and can land a person in jail. And if I knew someone who knew about this, I’d kindly ask them to inform the lawbreakers to knock it off with the penguin before I decide this is something serious enough for me to shake down the entire school.”
Treana lifted her head, guilt clearly written across her face.
“What about Mrs. Yates?” Treana asked. “If she doesn’t like it, why doesn’t she just put the penguin inside her house?”
I shifted on the balls of my feet and looked up at her and the heavy gray clouds behind her. We’d get rain within the hour, I was sure of it. “She said penguins can only thrive in the wild. And I’m hoping to make Ordinary a safe habitat. Understand?”
She nodded.
“So.” I stood. “I’ll get my rope and my Jeep and see if we can pry Super Penguin here free. Can you swivel the cannon?”
“Or fire it,” Treana suggested. I was sure that had been the hope of all the kids involved in stuffing the poor thing in the cannon.
Stella raised one eyebrow, but a smile played across her lips. “We do not use historical artifacts to shoot penguins.”
Treana shrugged, but over her mother’s shoulder, her eyes glittered with hope.
I dusted my hands. “Well, it won’t be the first thing we try.”
Treana burst into a grin, and I turned toward my Jeep to get out from under her mother’s stern gaze.
~~~
IT HADN’T taken much to pull Super Penguin to safety. Mrs. Yates had accepted the little caped waterfowl with a disapproving humpt and placed him firmly back in the flowerbed below her window. I noted she left the cape on him.
It was early still, and I yawned hugely as I got back in my Jeep and headed at a leisurely pace through the quiet neighborhood.
Once Jean had sobered up, she had sent me home with a firm order to get some damn sleep. I had not gotten any sleep, damned or otherwise.
Ever since Heim had died, his power had been railing and shouting in my head. At first, I could ignore it, but it seemed to be growing louder with each passing day. After two glasses of warm milk and a white-noise machine cranked up loud enough to overpower a jet engine, I’d been hit with a new, slightly terrifying realization.
If I didn’t give the power over to someone really soon, by midnight Monday, as a matter of fact, I might not have the strength left to do it at all. It wasn’t a comforting thought. So for comfort, I decided I needed copious amounts of coffee and several donuts.
The Puffin Muffin was more crowded than I’d expected, but it was Thursday, and the festival would officially begin tomorrow morning. Tourists were already in town, filling up the hotels and apparently indulging in their love of baked goods.
I walked into the bakery and only made it three steps toward the counter. It was so crowded in here, even the fruit flies looked claustrophobic.
The line was twelve people deep, the two out-of-towner women ahead of me wearing coats that were too heavy for the weather and perfume that was too strong for the heat of the bakery. I scanned the people seated at the six small tables that took up all the space beyond the counter. No faces I recognized. Maybe I’d just grab my order and eat it in the Jeep. I rubbed at my temple and the power song thrummed louder.
Not helping.
“Grande mocha and a bear claw,” a familiar low voice said in my ear, close enough I could feel his breath on my cheek. “I’ll hold down that table for us.”
My pulse raced for two reasons. One, I wasn’t used to someone coming up behind me without me knowing it, and two, it was Cooper.
Terrific.
I twisted to look over my shoulder, but he was already moving, his hand briefly on my arm as he slid past me and wove between the tables to the little booth in the corner where a mother and teen daughter stood, preparing to leave.
He gave them a smile they both fell for, and they gave him the booth.
He could certainly charm a person when he wanted to.
I’d followed the line closer to the counter and tried to breathe through my mouth to filter out the overwhelming stink of perfume. The line moved along faster than I expected, but by the time I reached the counter, the roaring song in my ears had turned into a full-blown headache. I rubbed at both temples and scowled at the pastries behind glass.
“…help you, chief?”
Hogan stood behind the counter, a smile on his wide, expressive lips. The light blue Velvet Underground T-shirt clung to his muscular chest and thick shoulders and complemented his dark skin and surprisingly blue eyes.
“Long night?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t Jean supposed to be pulling the night shift?”
I nodded. “It’s been busy with the rally coming up. All-hands-on-deck kind of thing. Can I have a double-shot café breve, and a mocha, both grande. And I’ll take a bear claw and one of your strawberry cream crullers.”
“You got it.” He rang up my total. I paid in cash while he wrote on a couple cups and passed them to Billy, who was pulling coffee for the rush. Billy was ninety if she was a day, with thick glasses and short, curly hair dyed traffic-cone orange. An unlit cigarette hung out of the corner of her mouth. “Anything else?”
I shook my head. “Just make sure that coffee’s strong.”
He smiled, and it did amazing things to his eyes, making the cut of his high cheekbones even more pronounced. I could see why Jean stared at him. “Extra shot for the chief, Billy.”
I took the receipt he handed me, dropped enough to cover the extra shot and more in the tip jar, and moved down to wait while Billy made our drinks.
Cooper was watching me. I didn’t look over at him, but I could feel his gaze on me like a hand between my shoulder blades. Something in me jumped knowing he was here back in town. I was happy about it, though I didn’t know why.
Maybe it was just that it was so very clear that I had moved on. Gotten over him. Cooper had broken my heart, but I had healed. I was stronger without him.
There was something satisfying in knowing he knew that.
Billy set the coffees and the white bag of pastries down for me.
“Thanks,” I said.
She flashed me a quick smile and a wink, already turning for the heavy cream to use on her next order.
I made my way over to Cooper.
He lounged in the booth, both arms out across the back of the bench seat, watching me, his eyes on my mouth.
The song in my head kicked up a notch and my headache tightened. I hooked my boot around the leg of the chair and pulled it out, scraping it noisily across the tile floor. I tossed the bag on the table.
“You owe me seven bucks,” I said.
“Sorry about making you get the food.” His eyes were on my eyes. “I had to jump on the table while we had a chance.”
I placed the mocha in front of him and gulped three throat-scorching swallows of my coffee, ignoring him, my headache, the power song, and everything else in the building.
Sweet, sweet caffeine.
“Delaney?”
“Shhhh.” I held up a finger and swallowed fortitude.
Bliss.
He claimed the bear claw. I spun the bag and lifted out my cruller. There was a maple bar in the bag. Had Hogan screwed up our order?
I shot a questioning look over my shoulder at Hogan and held up the bag so he could see. He grinned and gave me a thumbs-up, then smoothly went back to the next order.
I couldn’t help but smile. Maple bar was Jean’s favorite. He knew I’d see her at her shift change and give it to her.
I wondered just how serious it was between Hogan and my youngest sister. Serious enough that he was making me a de facto pastry cupid. He worked early mornings and she worked night shift. I guessed love, and the people in it, always found a way.
“Problem?” Cooper asked around a mouthful of bear claw.
“Not at all.”
“What about us, Delaney?” His voice was softer than I expected, as if he’d already given up hope, but didn’t know it yet. “We were good together. Think we can give it a go?”
“We already gave it a go, Cooper. This is our stop. We’re done.”
He nodded, his eyes flicking away as he drank coffee.
I rubbed at my temple again, wishing the headache would let up. But it only got worse the longer I sat here with him.“So what did you do when you left town?”
He winced. “I, uh, joined a band.”
“Of course you did. Why didn’t you stay with the band?”
His gaze slid to the window, where he stared out at the cloudy day. “I don’t know. I thought… It sounds weird, but I thought maybe I left something here. Maybe I took off when I should have just stayed. So I came home to see if I’d lost…if I’d left something behind.”
“Did you?”
He took a drink of coffee, thinking that over. “Maybe not.” He put his coffee down. “I don’t know. When I’m around you…it feels…right.”
“Cooper…”
“You kissed me,” he said.
“You kissed me,” I corrected. “That was a mistake.”
“It didn’t feel like a mistake.” His eyes were on my lips again, soft and needful.
“Look—”
“Mind if I join you two lovebirds?”
I jerked.
Ryder stood next to the table, a buttermilk twist in one hand, coffee in the other. He wasn’t looking at Cooper, his gaze riveted to mine. And he was smiling.
The look in his eyes was inscrutable. Humor? Curiosity? Mockery? I couldn’t tell. Ryder Bailey knew how to keep his true feelings tucked behind his glowing eyes when he wanted to.
I waved at the booth next to Cooper. “Have a seat.”
“No room,” Cooper said. He didn’t budge, using up bench space that would seat at least two people.
Ryder glanced around the room looking for a spare chair, but the place was full. “It’ll work.” He dropped down so close to the other man that Cooper grunted and moved to one side to keep from getting pinned.
Ryder bit into his twist, still not looking at the man next to him. Which might be because they were sitting so close, they’d have to lean away from each other to actually make eye contact. That could not be a comfortable arrangement.
Cooper pulled one shoulder forward, leaning his elbow on the table.
Ryder sat there, unconcerned, drinking coffee.
“When did you say you were leaving?” Ryder asked.
“I just got here,” Cooper said. “Might never leave.”
“He got a reason to stay, Delaney?” Ryder chewed with nonchalance.
“In the bakery or in Ordinary?”
“I find myself curious to both answers.”
Cooper snorted. “Jackass.”
“Freeloader,” Ryder shot back.
I watched them. Wondered what history between them that I’d missed. Wondered if I’d have to break them up like Odin and Zeus. Seriously, could I not go a day without two men having it out?
“When are you skipping town again?” Ryder asked, still not looking over at him. “I’d like to throw a parade.”
“Get off my back, Bailey. You play Boy Scout, but you’re a liar. Where the hell have you been all these years? College and some fancy job in a big city doesn’t lead a man back to this low-rent shack town. You came back for a reason, and it isn’t a good one.”
Ryder didn’t show any reaction to that except for his eyes. For the first time since he’d sat, he looked down, looked sideways.
If I were trained to read body language, to interrogate, to read people, I’d say Cooper had hit too close to secrets Ryder didn’t want to tell. I might even think Ryder was sizing up how many times he could sucker-punch Cooper before I stopped him.
“Take it outside, Reserve Officer Bailey,” I said calmly. “You might not be on the clock, but that won’t keep me from arresting you for disturbing the peace.”
Ryder’s gaze flicked up. Eyes filled with heat, mouth curved at one corner into a wicked smile, he did not look like someone willing to apologize for his behavior, nor worried about arrest. His tongue tip slipped at the bottom of his lip, which he then bit.
My own mouth went dry. The brief touch of teeth on the soft swell of his lower lip, the heat in his eyes telling me he liked the idea of being on the wrong side of the law—or maybe just liked the idea of me manhandling him.
An entirely different kind of heat shot through me, leaving an electric hum deep in my belly.
Maybe Cooper was right about one thing: Ryder Bailey was no Boy Scout.
Ryder shifted, the heat, the wicked smile, stowed away. “Sorry, chief. I’m not here to cause trouble.” The sparkle in his eyes said differently.
You, Mr. Bailey, are trouble.
He popped the last of his donut in his mouth and leaned back. “I like this town, Cooper. Low rent or not, it has always been good to me. If you don’t like it, I hear the casino’s looking for talent. They need a guitarist.”
And this was helpful Ryder. The guy I’d always known to offer a hand even before someone asked for it. Even if that person was someone Ryder didn’t particularly like.
Like Cooper Clark.
“I don’t need your help,” Cooper said.
The song of power throbbed behind my temples, and the coffee wasn’t settling well in my stomach. I took a couple deep breaths to try to settle both, but the hot, damp air wasn’t doing me any good.
“Delaney?” Ryder said.
I stood up. “I need some air.”
“Let me—” he started.
“See you at the station,” I said.
I wove through the patrons and out the door, the bag with Jean’s maple bar clenched in my left hand, the song of power rolling like a drunken choir going through tune-up with a rusty band in my head.
The cool air hit my face, and I swallowed it down until the noise leveled off and my stomach evened out. I’d forgotten my coffee on the table, but I was not about to go back for it.
I rubbed at my eyes and the foggy creep of fatigue that was dogging my thoughts. I’d have to sleep soon. But not yet. Today I had to try to make headway on suspects for Heim’s death, and time was slipping away for finding a mortal to hand this power over to.
I had no idea who in this town might be the new Heimdall.
It wasn’t like every mortal was made for taking on a god power.
That much I knew. Dad had said there must be a fire in the person. Not necessarily one of anger or aggression, but something he described as sharp—a clarity that the power was drawn to. He said the mortal who was made for the god power was tempered like hard metal. Driven. They knew who they were, and remained true to their nature no matter what life threw at them.
That made sense. I’d seen five Poseidons over the years. All of them were cocksure about their ability to control the sea even before they’d taken on the power. And all of them had done something stupid on vacation here in Ordinary and gotten themselves drowned.
So, yes. There was a similarity in the mortals before they had taken the power, even though one of the Poseidons had been a woman.
Maybe that meant I was looking for someone who carried the same traits as Heim.
I started the Jeep and rolled out into traffic.
What did I know about Heim? He shied away from commitment, off on his boat for weeks at a time, sometimes leaving whale watchers without a ride out, which Pete, one of the other boat captains, always seemed willing to pick up the slack for.
He’d fallen in love with Lila. And he’d broken her heart, saying he needed something different in his life, as if he were looking for a new horizon.
I knew she’d never picked up the pieces of her life in town or her business here. She’d left, and hadn’t returned until now.
I supposed Heim was a loyal friend. He and Chris got along great. When he wasn’t wandering toward the edges of the horizon, Heim seemed happy enough doing his job—fishing and guiding tourists.
Somehow Bertie had railroaded him into judging the Rhubarb Rally, so he had the ability to give to his community. I supposed most people would see him as an easygoing charmer. A bit of a mooch, a drifter.
Who in the town had similar traits?
Too damn many people.
It was a start, though. I’d make a list of things that seemed consistent with Heim’s personality, ask Jean and Roy and Myra to add in anything that came to mind. Then I’d start sorting possible candidates, even if that meant going through all of Ordinary from A to Z.
I sighed and rubbed at my eyes again. I was not looking forward to crunching these numbers and wading through this paperwork. But I’d do it.
No matter how long it took. As long as it didn’t take longer than four days.