“Okay, we need to hurry if we want to catch Tommy while he’s still groggy.”
In an effort to keep the momentum going, Freddie and I decided it best to head right over to Tommy’s. Bob and Ned’s story had been disturbing to say the least, but it also left us more determined than ever to find out what had happened that night. It was time Tommy told us everything.
“Him being groggy didn’t help me much last time I was over there.”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between first-thing-in-the-morning groggy and mid-morning groggy,” Freddie said. “He might give us the answers we need before he even registers that he’s awake.”
We had to drive through town to get to Tommy’s side of the lake. It was a beautiful morning. Calm and peaceful. The spring air fragrant with … well, spring. No one was really up and about yet, except …
“Slow down for a second,” I said, whacking Freddie’s arm.
“What?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“Just slow down.”
Freddie slowed the Jimmy to a crawl and followed my gaze to the public park by the water. “Is that Grady?” he asked, way too much amusement in his voice. “Doing yoga?”
It was. It was Grady doing yoga. Warrior pose to be specific.
And he wasn’t alone.
There were five women in warrior pose too. It was the yoga-in-the-park crew. My mother was cofounder. She went whenever she could.
I shook my head. But it made no sense that Grady would … actually, who was I kidding? It made perfect sense. This is exactly something that Grady 2.0 would do.
Just then Grady stretched back to reverse warrior and—
“Oh crap!” I hissed. “Duck!”
“Why would I do that?” Freddie asked, stepping on the brake. He then waved at Grady before doing a double take as he caught me trying to stuff myself onto the truck’s floor.
“Because I can’t let him catch me watching him again.”
Freddie smiled. “Yeah, I heard about the knitting the other night, you little perv.”
“I am not a little … perv. Grady just keeps catching me off guard and—”
“Why are you whispering?” Freddie asked. “He can’t hear you, and I’m pretty sure he knows you’re in the truck with me.”
“You can’t be pretty sure of that.”
“Who else would be hiding on the floor of my truck? He can see me talking to someone.”
“Stanley.”
“Oh, Erica, he knows I use a crate. I never put Stanley’s safety at risk.”
I reluctantly pushed myself up in my seat. Yup, he was still in reverse warrior … and waving.
I raised a weak hand in the air before saying through my teeth, “Drive on.”
“Sure. Sure,” Freddie said. He eased off the brake and we started driving again … at maybe two miles per hour.
“A little faster,” I said.
“Whatever you say, buttercup,” Freddie answered cheerily. He then sped up … but only for a second … before parking at the side of the road.
“What are you doing?!”
“I just thought of something.” Freddie jumped out of the truck and went round back to get Stanley.
He wasn’t seriously thinking of—
Oh thank God. He wasn’t headed for the park. He was crossing the street. “Come on!” he shouted at me.
I got out of the truck. Where was he going? The hardware store?
I trotted after Freddie. “What are you doing? The hardware store isn’t going to be open yet.”
“Then we’ll wake Doug up,” Freddie called back. “This is life-and-death stuff.”
I sped up to a jog to catch up to Freddie. “What are you—”
Freddie stopped at the sidewalk and cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”
I frowned. I did hear something. Music. Coming from the workshop behind the hardware store?
“I think Doug is already awake,” Freddie said. “Come on.”
I hustled after Freddie feeling very uncomfortable. It was early. Freddie thought “2 A.M. Erica” was rude, but “6:30 A.M. Erica” felt just as bad.
We slowed our pace as we approached the small building. At least the door was open and …
Nope, that made it worse.
Because it allowed us to see Doug—respected owner of the hardware store, generally a stoic man—with his back to us, hips jerking side to side to the song “Stayin’ Alive.”
Freddie cleared his throat …
… and Doug threw a wrench into the air.
He spun around with his hand clutched to his chest. When he saw it was us, he chuckled. “You two startled me. I didn’t know anyone was there.”
“Sorry,” I said.
Freddie wasn’t feeling the least bit uncomfortable though. He walked right in. “I’ve never been back here before.” He looked at Doug. “This place is awesome.”
Doug chuckled. “My version of a man cave, I guess.”
I couldn’t quite get where Freddie’s excitement was coming from. There was lots of equipment and tools back here, and the place had the smell of old varnish and gasoline. There were also stacks of records and an old turntable.
“Would you look at all these records?” Freddie said, thumbing through one of the stacks. “This place is retro-tastic. Where did you get all of these?”
Doug shot an amused look to me then back to Freddie. “I bought them.”
“You’re a collector?” Freddie asked.
“I used to DJ,” Doug said. “Long time ago.”
“You used to … DJ?” Freddie asked.
Uh-oh.
I grabbed Freddie’s arm. “Will you excuse us one second?” I asked Doug.
He nodded, looking bewildered.
I walked Freddie to the far corner of the workroom. “Freddie, I know what you’re thinking, but—”
“Would you look at this hair?” He held up an album cover. “It’s glorious.”
The three men on the cover did have impressive hair. Especially the one in the middle. His was parted down the center and feathered at the sides.
“Do you think I could pull off this hair?” Freddie asked.
“I’m … having trouble seeing it.” I waved a hand in the air. He was distracting me again. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not sure Candace wants a seventies-theme reception.”
“I’ll text her,” Freddie said, pulling out his phone.
I threw my hands up. “Well, you’re just going to make sure all of Otter Lake is awake, aren’t you?”
“‘Found a DJ. Doug at hardware store. Leans heavily to seventies music though. What do you think?’” Freddie looked up at me. “There.”
“We don’t even know if Doug wants to DJ though and—”
Freddie’s phone buzzed. His eyes darted over the screen. “She thinks it’s cute and then she goes on to thank me obsessively. Doug?” Freddie called out as he walked back over to the unsuspecting hardware man. “How would you feel about wiping the dust off some of the records and DJing at what promises to be the wedding of the year?”
“I…”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie said, snapping his fingers. “Now we need you to open up the shop. We’re going to need some equipment.”
* * *
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
It did take a little more convincing to get Doug to agree to handle the music for the wedding. We offered to pay him, but once Doug had gotten his mind around the idea, he flat-out turned us down. The only thing he wanted from us was to find out what had happened to Lyssa. Once that was taken care of, we got down to the business of why Freddie wanted to stop by the hardware store in the first place. We needed to suit up for our meeting with Tommy. And a babysitter for Stanley. Doug was kind enough to supply us with both. Afterward we made one more pit stop then headed back to Freddie’s to get his boat. We wanted to approach Tommy’s the same way I had, so we knew what to expect.
“Okay, masks down,” Freddie said.
We flipped down the visors to our hockey masks.
“Shields up,” I added.
We held up our garbage can lids.
“Okay, go time,” Freddie said, striding up Tommy’s lawn. Well, as much as one can stride over lots and lots of junk. “Tommy!” he shouted, banging on his lid with a stick. Unfortunately it wasn’t one of those old-fashioned, metal garbage can lids—so that would have made a nice sound—it was plastic, so—
Wait a minute. I picked up my own stick—actually it was half a hockey stick—and banged on the rusted-out steel drum I had hidden behind last time I was here.
Freddie smiled at me. “Nice.”
“Tommy!” I shouted.
“Get your dirty boxers out here!” Freddie yelled.
“Ew.”
Freddie shrugged.
A moment later, Tommy stumbled through the door onto his porch. Wow, that was quite the bedhead he had going on.
He squinted against the sun and scratched his head. “What the h— Oh goddammit, Erica. You brought Freddie? I hate him too.”
“Yeah, she brought me,” Freddie said. “We need to have a word with you, Tommy boy.”
Tommy looked at us a moment, then—it was hard to tell but I think he muttered something along the lines of “No, you need to eat some golf balls.”
“He’s going for the bucket!” I shouted.
“Not this time!” Freddie charged across the lawn and up the porch.
Just as Tommy was reaching down to get some ammo, Freddie toe-punted the bucket as hard as he could.
Golf balls flew everywhere.
“What are you doing?” Tommy shouted, charging toward Freddie. “First, Erica breaks my window. Now you’re making a m—”
And he stepped on a golf ball and flipped into the air.
He hit the porch with a thump!
Freddie looked back at me laughing—
—then he stepped on one too and—
I hissed some air through my teeth.
Freddie’s thump was even louder.
“My hip!” Freddie yelled. He shouted a bunch more after that but it was garbled and … obscene.
I picked my way over to the porch, so I could get a better look at both the men rolling around on its floor.
“So … Tommy,” I said. “We brought coffee and muffins.” I jerked a thumb back at the boat. “Do you think we could talk now?”
Tommy just groaned.
“Cool.” I looked over at the other mass on the floor. “Freddie? You okay?”
He rolled over to face me, hand clutching his back. “I’ve missed this so much.”