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WINSTON AND ALEX RUSHED off to find out where the scream came from, leaving the celebrant in charge of calming the others down. They traced the sound to the Mystery Shack, its door flung wide open to the main room. Winston knew there was trouble when he peered inside and saw the Chan family gathered in a huddle, a few sobbing.
Alex burst into the shack. “What happened?”
The family members broke up their group. Orchid Chan shook her finger at Alex. “You’re to blame.”
Winston inched closer and saw someone lying on the floor. He peered at the figure. Old Mr. Chan, with his bright suspenders now in sharp contrast to his pale face.
“He collapsed,” Mrs. Chan continued, “and fell down your stupid stairs to nowhere.”
Winston addressed the family. “Does anyone here know CPR?” (Really, with all the elderly clients he had, Winston should’ve taken the course, but he’d never made the time.)
A woman in yoga wear looked at her brother. “Fort, didn’t you take it?”
“It’s been a while, Sandy.” Fort’s broad shoulders seemed to shrink down.
“Please try,” Sandy urged.
So Fort went over to his dad and attempted resuscitation.
Winston saw Orchid’s face twist in anger as she told Alex, “We’ll sue you. Very dangerous. You should call this Danger Shack instead.”
As they argued, Winston looked at the rest of the family. Sandy seemed focused on Fort’s ministrations, trying to see if she could help revive their father. Besides her, he counted four other sons and another daughter.
One son stood in the distance, carrying a giant backpack, and staring out of a cobwebbed window. He was hunched over, and even from this distance, Winston could smell the overpowering menthol of a muscle rub ointment rolling off him. A different son rocked in a creaky old chair, surveying the scene with his jaw set and his lips pressed into a thin line. His grim face matched his all-black funereal attire. Another sat cross-legged in the middle of the glossy waxed floor trying to meditate during the disturbance.
One more son wearing a patchwork jacket wandered around the room with his hefty camera, oblivious and trying to take photos of the knickknacks on the shelves. The other daughter paced back and forth near the staircase to nowhere, sending off a waft of floral fragrance in her wake. She even wore a golden rose brooch on her shirt to match the scent.
Winston addressed the folks not involved with the CPR. “So, who called an ambulance?”
They looked at one another, aghast, pointing their fingers and asking, “Didn’t you?” Finally, they singled out Mr. Muscle Rub to do it. Their brother Talent, nicknamed Tal.
“After all,” the rose-scented woman said, “you’re second oldest, next in line after Fort.”
Ah, there was a pecking order, Winston thought. And Rose Princess appeared to be the youngest and at the bottom of the ladder. Even her gum-chewing habit pointed to her as the baby of the family.
Tal dialed while the youngest daughter blew a huge bubble and popped it right next to his ear.
“Stop it, Viv,” Tal said.
She shrugged, spit the gum out into her palm, and dropped it in her purse.
Winston turned to the other siblings. “Is everyone all right? Can I get you anything?”
The photographer piped up. “Do you have a tripod? I forgot to pack mine.”
“No, Lyle,” the grim-faced one said. “Concentrate on what’s going on. Ba’s sick.”
“He’s seventy-five,” Lyle said. “The guy needs rest, Bright.”
“He’s unconscious.”
Lyle hazarded a glance at his father. “Napping,” he concluded and continued snapping pictures of the room.
“Stepbrothers,” Bright said. He extended his hand to Winston. “I’m Brighton, but everyone shortens my name.”
Winston examined the big Chan family before him. “You guys aren’t full-blooded siblings?”
“The Brady Bunch,” Bright said. “I’ve got two stepbrothers, Evan and Lyle.” He gestured to the meditating man and the photographer. “Plus, two stepsisters.” He nodded at the girls.
“And those two are your brothers?” Winston pointed to the ones doing crucial work, CPR and calling the paramedics.
“Yeah, we care about Ba. Even if he is old and crotchety.”
“So Mrs. Chan is your stepmom?”
“Right. Orchid. They married a year ago. Met on a senior cruise.”
Their conversation stopped there because they heard the sirens.
When the paramedics arrived on the scene, they examined Ming. They checked his airway, their faces set like stone. “No breathing. We’ll need to take him to the nearest hospital.”