The Body in the Boat Page 3

  Ella skimmed the sheet in front of her. There were already a dozen names on it and at least a couple rumpled pages full of more names underneath.

  “While I’m not against the town getting more energy, I am against you putting more turbines on Twin Hills.”

  One eyebrow rose a millimeter. “May I ask why?”

  “For one, they’re an eyesore and would ruin the landscape. For another—and the most important reason—a dear friend of mine lives on that hill. In fact, you’re standing in front of her place of business, which I’m guessing isn’t a coincidence. Frankly, I think it’s in poor taste.”

  Stan’s genial facade vanished in a flash. His lips twisted into a sneer. “It’s people like you that keep this town from progress. So afraid of change.”

  “I’m from the twenty-first century, numbnuts. It doesn’t get more progressive than that here and oh my gosh—” Ella snapped her fingers. “I just realized what you remind me of. A mole. You know, the animal with the beady eyes, lives in the ground… No? Well, anyway, you’re the spitting image. Here I was racking my brain, trying to figure it out. Don’t you hate when that happens? It’s so embarrassing.”

  While she rambled, Stan’s nostrils began flaring out, only convincing her more that he was somehow distantly related to the creature.

  A motor growled behind them, and Will’s 1948 Chevy pulled up to the curb. He rolled down the window and dipped his chin at Ella by way of greeting before fixing Stan with a look that could freeze the lake over.

  “Will, I was just telling Stan here how much he looks like a mole.”

  Will’s head tipped to the side in confusion. “Like, the hair ones on a witch?”

  “What? No. Although—” Ella did a double take at Stan’s face “—no. Not that kind. The animal variety.”

  “Well, I’ll be. How’ve I never noticed that before?”

  Stan’s chest rose and fell. “You people are horrible.”

  “That we are, Stan. That we are.” Her eyes wandered to the bed of Will’s pickup. A blanket draped over something bulky and shapeless with the escaped end of a hose being the only thing visible. “Whatcha got there?”

  Will’s eyes lit up. “I finished it.”

  He hopped out and with a manly flourish that belonged more on the Las Vegas strip, he ripped off the blanket. Ella tipped her head one way then the other, studying it.

  “Awesome. Very cool.”

  “I’m assuming that means you like it?”

  “Yes. I love it. Also, what is it?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll give you a hint.” He put the hose up to his mouth.

  “Some kind of new beer hat?”

  Her eye traced the hose back to the contraption, and that part of her brain that tickled when she saw the half-mole, half-man Stan tickled again. The size was off and the hose not quite right, but it was definitely familiar.

  “Is that a scuba tank?”

  He beamed. “So, you do know what this is.”

  “Anyone who goes on vacation near a tropical beach knows what this is.” Her smile faltered. “You made this?”

  “Yes.” His eyes danced, and Stan and the woman edged closer to see what the fuss was about. “Ever since I read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea as a small boy, I dreamed of making one. Then, when the professor told me about that aqualung the French invented not too long before I was stranded, well I’ve been fiddling with a design since.”

  “Is that an old propane tank?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And duct tape?”

  “Yes.” His tone conveyed that he failed to understand the problem.

  Ella took in the dubious pieces pieces of junk that had been Frankensteined together. “You really MacGyvered the hell out of it.”

  “That is the second time you’ve used that word. You’ll have to tell me about this famous inventor of your time.”

  She nodded absently, her attention still on the “scuba tank.”

  “Okay, but there was propane in there at one point, right? Isn’t that dangerous to breathe in?”

  “I made sure to displace all the gas.”

  She was getting a bad feeling about this. “Where are you going with it?”

  “To the lake to run some stress tests, check for any weak points.”

  “In the water?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  She let out a sigh. “Why can’t anyone here have a normal hobby? Can you at least wait until I can go with you? It’s never a good idea to dive alone.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “What? I got my open water certification while in vacation in Mexico. I don’t remember much, because of the tequila afterward and whatnot, but I remember the basics. And I certainly remember you’re not supposed to dive without a buddy.”

  While they had been talking, Stan had been peering into the pickup bed, inspecting the apparatus. He poked the tank. “So, you really think you’ll be able to dive underwater with this thing?”

  “Yes, sir.” Will’s voice took on an edge as if daring the man to question his invention.

  “How deep do you think it’ll go?”

  Will studied the tank a moment. “Hard to say until after I run my tests, but in theory, at least thirty to fifty feet. It is an older tank, and I wouldn’t want to push it past that.”

  Stan’s eyes glazed over, and he repeated the depth under his breath. Will turned back to Ella, and he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I’ll just test the gear today, look for anymore leaks in the connections—”

  “More leaks?”

  “—But I’ll wait to do the maiden voyage, so to speak, with you. What do you say?”

  Dubious, homemade gear aside, his enthusiasm was infectious, and she really did miss scuba diving. She relented, and he told her to meet him at the docks at seven the next morning.

  “Wait—” she protested, but he was already pulling the Chevy from the curb and couldn’t hear her whine about the hour. The air rumbled as he made a u-turn and ambled towards the docks.

  “Where are you going?” Stan’s counterpart suddenly said behind Ella.

  She whirled around, realizing that it was the first time she’d heard the woman speak.

  Stan shoved his clipboard into her chest. “Get what you can. Don’t take no for an answer.” His shoes seemed to float as he hurried up the sidewalk.

  The woman’s shrill voice broke the morning air. “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “I have to take care of something! I’ll be right back.” Stan the Mole Man’s loafers pounded over the sidewalk in the direction of the park.

  Ella frowned then looked back at the woman. Her overly bleached blonde hair hung in a sheet down her back.

  “Hey, Blondie. Get lost. I don’t want you here, harassing the customers.”

  The woman sneered at her. “I have every right to be here. And you don’t own this place.”

  Ella straightened her spine, adding height to her five foot five frame. She wished she’d worn heels. Then again, it was hard to kick someone’s butt in anything but sneakers.

  “I suggest you get out of here before I call Sheriff Chapman.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” She threw her hair over her shoulder and marched down the sidewalk. Ella watched her go, wondering who she was, where and when she was from, and how she’d gotten involved with Stan. And also what hair products she used because her hair was shinier than a shampoo commercial.

  By the time the bell jingled over the door to Grandma’s Kitchen, Ella was five minutes late. It had just opened for the day and being right outside, she knew there were no customers. But it was still unprofessional.

  Slipping into the kitchen, she spotted the cook Horatio already at the grill. The smell of pancakes and french toast called to her.

  “Morning,” he said. He caught her expression and nodded at a plate with two banana hazelnut French toast the size of her face, topped with fresh strawberries and whip cream.

  E
lla smothered them with maple syrup. The first bite sent her reeling and singing his praises.

  “Who’s your wife? Can you divorce her and marry me?” She shoveled another bite into her mouth. “You see our guests outside this morning?”

  He frowned at her. “No, I came through the back. Who was out there?”

  She filled him in on Stan and his lady friend’s antics.

  His thick brows knotted, and he waved the spatula around like a weapon. “I do not like that man. You did the right thing sending her away.”

  His Italian accent, put a soft lilt to his words and made her miss her work. Before being stranded in Keystone, she had worked as a TA at the local university in the linguistics department while simultaneously working on her master’s thesis. As far back as she could remember, she’d been drawn to different languages and the people who spoke them. While she wasn’t a polyglot, she was conversational in a smattering of languages.

  “Is that his wife? Or was his wife the one beside him at the meeting? You know, looked like a body builder. Not the kind you’d want to meet in a dark alley. That sort of thing. Oh! Wife and mistress. How scandalous.”

  The cook rolled a shoulder in a half-shrug. “What did she look like?”

  Ella described the woman collecting signatures alongside Stan. His expression never changed from one of confusion. He had no idea who she was, but the one beside Stan at the meeting had been his wife.

  “Mistress then.”

  “Hey, that’s gossip.” He pointed the spatula at her. She wondered if it was fused to his palm.

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I said it. Since when are you reluctant to gossip?”

  “Just because I’m naturally curious, doesn’t mean I gossip.”

  “Then, why aren’t you naturally curious about her? She’s not Stan’s wife. Why is she helping?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe she wants more electricity for the town. I am more worried about Wink. That was quite the meeting last night, no?”

  The diner’s front door rang. Shoving the last bite of banana hazelnut French toast into her mouth, Ella scooped up her order pad and swept through the kitchen door. Her uniform swished around her legs.

  Once the first customer in the slumbering village awoke and went to Grandma’s Kitchen, it usually seemed the rest of the town followed suit. Within the hour, the lunch counter was full of patrons, as well as half the booths.

  Ella flitted from table to table, refilling coffee and taking orders. Her eyes returned to the clock every time she flew past it, wondering where her boss was. A man and wife complained about their scrambled eggs, claiming they’d ordered them sunny side up, despite Ella writing, “wreck ‘em,” on her ticket.

  Ella blew a strand of hair out of her face, wiped her forehead, and was on the verge of losing it when Wink finally rolled in two hours past opening. She apologized but didn’t offer an explanation for her tardiness. Instead, she pitched in, grabbing platefuls from the passthrough and delivering them to tables.

  When the morning rush died to a pre-lunch lull, Ella swept into the back where she found Horatio dabbing at his sweaty forehead and Wink pulling out a fresh batch of scones.

  “Whew. Quite the crowd this morning,” the cook said. “That’s the bad thing about these town hall meetings. They get people all riled up, then they have to come in to gossip the next day.”

  At the mention of the meeting, the lines in Wink’s face tightened. Ella nudged her. “I’m sure your property’ll be fine. There’s no way Stan will get enough support.”

  Ella bit her lip, considering telling Wink about the duo in front of the diner that morning but thought better of it. As much as she wanted to tell her boss how she’d chased off the snobby woman, Wink didn’t need the added stress.

  “Thanks, dear. But I’m not so sure. Seems everyone’s divided evenly on the topic.” She let out a slow breath. “But no matter what happens, I won’t let him destroy my home.”

  “Destroy your home? Can’t the turbine sit on your lot beside your house?”

  “Not enough room. It’s the best location for two or three.” Wink’s eyes hardened, making it clear the topic was no longer open for discussion.

  Before she could forget, Ella asked to come in a couple hours later the next day. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be at the docks with Will, but it seemed like a safe estimate.

  When Ella explained why she needed to come in late, Wink sighed wistfully. “Aw, young love.”

  Ella rolled her eyes before tossing her cleaning rag at Wink. It landed with a splat in the middle of Wink’s chest, leaving a wet design on the front like an abstract painting.

  “Aren’t you interested in him?” Wink asked as she attacked the spot with a towel.

  Ella’s lip caught in her teeth as she pondered the question. Her stomach fluttered every time the inventor was nearby, and when he got too close, she struggled to breathe in a way that had nothing to do with his aftershave.

  But it was also not a great time to start a new relationship. She was transitioning into her new life; mourning the loss of her family, friends, and all she left behind; and living in Keystone was proving to be a drastic change. Most importantly, she was still learning who she could trust.

  In the end, Ella settled for giving Wink a non-comital shrug.

  Ella traipsed up the stairs in her grease-stained dress. She flopped onto her bed, not bothering to close the door.

  The click of heavy paws told her that Fluffy had heard her come home. A moment later, he leapt onto the bed and head-butted her. The mattress dipped under his massive weight, the feline roughly the size of a small dog.

  He burrowed his pink nose deep into her shirt.

  “Smells like burgers, huh?”

  In the hallway, a figure crept past Ella’s open door, hunched over, a tin foil cone atop her head.

  “Flo,” Ella greeted her.

  “Ella.”

  Flo shuffled past, holding a device up with twinkling lights and something that went whir. Ella didn’t bother asking.

  When the reflection of the flashing lights faded, Ella rolled her head towards the window, trying to summon enough energy to change her clothes. Outside, the dull gray sky had turned ominous, with deep shadows of clouds on the horizon.

  Ella frowned and hoped they weren’t in for too bad of a storm. The last thing the town needed was to lose power. She had no doubt Stan would twist the outage around to his advantage, blame it on a lack of generators or taxing the grid or some such nonsense.

  Instead of getting out of her gamy uniform, she pulled out her cell phone, noting the dwindling battery power. She opened the notepad app and scrolled with her thumb until she found a memo titled, Keystone Village.

  If she had any hope of ever returning home, she needed to solve the mystery of the traveling town. Since being stranded, or rather gracing the town with her presence as she liked to think of it, she had begun a casual, discreet investigation.

  So far, she’d discovered most of the inhabitants were reluctant to discuss the jumps, which made getting information about as easy as filling out a tax form. She didn’t get the impression they were hiding anything, but rather that the flashes were a sore subject. She was digging through an old wound that had festered.

  But from what she was able to pry out, life had been rough during the first few jumps. Confusion and chaos had reigned. People frantically searched for answers, clinging to hope they could return home.

  But no answers came. And the dust settled, flitting through time became their new normal, and hope withered.

  Now, mention of the topic, those first few years, and life before the first flash was salt on an open wound. A bitter twist of the knife of what they’d lost or left behind.

  The bright screen came into focus. The only points she’d written so far were, First hop in 1951. Then, dome of purple lightening. She considered taking the latter descriptor out but figured every bit of information helped. Later, she could collate the data, weeding out
irrelevant information.

  After a hearty pep talk, Ella managed to change into her usual t-shirt and jeans, adding a spritz of perfume from the dusty bottle left on the dresser from some previous boarder. The goal was to cover the smell of burgers and fries since she didn’t want to draw water for a bath. The perk of living in an old manor turned inn was the lack of modern upgrades, like showers.

  The spritz turned into a cloud which turned into a hazard zone which should’ve involved the CDC and quarantine of her room. Ella hacked until she was sure a kidney would come up. Covering her nose, she threw open the windows and did her best to fan the noxious gas outside.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Fluffy to scamper under the bed. She considered dragging him out, unsure how hazardous the air in her room was, but decided to leave the windows cracked instead.

  Out in the hall, she tested the air, sure she’d burnt several nostril hairs. From deep in the shadows at the end, Flo swore.

  “What died?” The flicker of lights drew near, and the older woman’s nose nearly lifted her glasses clean off. “My God. Is that coming from you?” She hunched near Ella’s sleeve then sprang back like she’d been shot. “Lord have mercy. What is that? Smells like decaying flesh. Are you dying? If you’re dying, can I have your phone?”

  “It’s perfume.”

  “No it’s not. It’s the burning souls of the dead.”

  “Don’t you have something you should be doing?” Ella’s gaze flitted to the cone-shape hat of tin atop Flo’s head.

  Turning on her heel, she hiked down the grand staircase, second-guessing her decision to bathe.

  After several minutes of searching empty rooms, she located Jimmy and Rose in the parlor. Jimmy bent over the hearth and prodded tired embers with a poker.

  “Did you add kindling?” Rose had her hands on her hips, hovering over him.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Because it won’t burn if you don’t have kindling.”

  “I know, dear.”

  She started when she heard Ella. “Oh, Ella. I was just about to pull a casserole out. Are you hungry?”

  “Does the Pope pee standing up?”