Moon over Madeline Island (18 page)

“There's a door built into the wall over here and it's hung on wheels.” Howard gestures toward it. We join him in the back of the cavelike room. “This is one heck of a secure door and…” He gives the door a yank in the direction of the track above it. “It's locked tight.”

“Perhaps this…” Ruby hands him the toad-key we'd found in Ed's notebook. “I have a feeling…”

Howard inserts the key, turns it this way and that—suddenly it clicks. “Fantastic! Give me a hand, Johnny ol' boy.”

Together they pull the heavy door to the side, revealing a large low-ceilinged room. On the wall inside is yet another switch.

“Shall I?” Howard asks. We nod. He snaps the switch, filling the room with light.

The tunnel is crammed on either side with huge wooden barrels. A narrow aisle down the center leads back, ending at a spiral staircase.

“My God, this is so…” I say.

“It's quite simple, darling—Ed explained a few things in his journal,” Ruby says, “Canada is north…across the lake…During Prohibition, let's see, what years?”

“It began in nineteen twenty-one and lasted until thirty-three,” Howard informs us as we gather around Ruby.

“Thank you, darling.” She's
totally
enjoying this. “Gustave had a trucking company already, with a network to Chicago, New York and Philadelphia. He had a long and fast Chris-Craft boat, the one in the photo. It made late-night trips under the cover of night.”

“What a sneak,” I say in awe. He must have been
very
interesting. “Then they'd zip in here, close the doors, load these from the boat into trucks and be off.”

“Something like that, darling,” Ruby says. “It was bottled either here somewhere or in a larger city. Gustave's lot was called—”

“Toad Tea!” Johnny points to a faded toad on the wall with gilded letters underneath.

“How clever…It's the toad from upstairs!” I say. Ruby nods.

“He was never caught. They simply closed down in thirty-three…and that was that,” Ruby says, and we all kind of go, “Oh.”

“The staircase at the end of the aisle down there?” I ask, pretty sure of the answer. “Takes us to the cottage basement, I bet.”

“Let's check it out,” Howard suggests.

At the base of the stairs are several wooden cases. Johnny reaches in one and pulls up a brown bottle. He blows the dust off and reads out loud, “Toad Tea—the magic's in the tea; the toad's for luck.”

The toad in the picture on the bottle is winking. “I can't get over the fact that this is here still,” I say with wonder. “It's not like you could just sell the stuff or…”

“No, the enforcement agents, or ‘Revenuers,' as Ed referenced them in his book”—Ruby puts her lecturer hat on again—“they searched high and low many years after Prohibition—since so many families had made fortunes. There were back taxes to be collected, so it was best to simply shut down.”

“Let's get on up these and see where the hell we come out!” Johnny impatiently suggests.

We head up. At the top of the stairs, Johnny pushes the door open and we're all standing in the basement of the cottage. In the wine cellar, to be exact.

“Nothing like a back entry to round things off,” I say.

“I think we need to give it a taste sometime,” Howard suggests. “I mean, there's enough there for—”

“Perhaps later boys. All this excitement makes a girl hungry,” Ruby says. “But one thing you all must promise…and that's to keep this
our
little secret. Otherwise…I'll have to kill you,” she calmly adds.

We chuckle and quickly agree. The boys head back down to the boathouse. We go in the opposite direction to put together a snack.

“Well don't just stand there, darling,” Ruby says to me. I follow her up the stairs, into the kitchen.

“My heavens, what a super find!” Ruby pulls things out of the fridge. “Ed only gave me a few hints in his journal. But when we found the room and he
had
explained about his grandfather….”

“It's history,” I say. “I mean, this is a big deal. But you're right, we can't let it out. This place may have been paid for with—”

“Dirty money,” Ruby finishes for me dramatically. “How divine! Now hand me a tray.”

“I'm sure the boys won't tell anyone about Ed's grandfather's past. We
could
threaten them…'Course as you so nicely put it”—we say the next words together—“we may have to kill them.” We then laugh like hell, remembering the looks on their faces.

“Really darling, no one's past is truly all that squeaky clean. Let's see here now…I have some Gouda, a spot of Brie with crackers would be lovely and some bars perhaps.”

“That is plenty.” I marvel at how she comes up with all this food. “To think that all we were doing was looking for the damn furnace.”

“I'm just as surprised, darling.” Ruby pats Rocky on the head as she whizzes by. “Can't be many more secrets left. Not
physical
ones, anyway.” She adds napkins to the tray, and we head back downstairs to see if it's a quicker route through the tunnel versus the path.

“These shoes
used
to be white,” Ruby remarks, peering down at her gray—but I'm certain expensive—canvas slip-ons. “We must consider installing a lift. This is simply too many steps in one day.” We amble down the staircase, through the tunnel and then up another staircase into the office.

“Hello boys.” I come out of the closet with goodies. “The office looks like…an office! Thanks for hauling all this in here—tight, but cozy.”

“I wonder if it's safe to drink this?” I hold up one of the newly discovered bottles. “What a cool label.”

“I bet it's fine,” Howard says. “What are these?” He holds up a square of chocolate-chip yummy-ness.

“Eat it fast or Eve will and I'm not kidding,” Ruby says. I harrumph for effect.

“I'll pour coffee all around. Give me a hand, will you Johnny?” Ruby brings the pot in from the kitchen and hands Johnny a cat mug with eyes that move. “Special brew…no flavors, no extra smells…pure coffee.”

“So, Eve…” Howard smirks. “There's this rumor that you and Ruby truly are planning to kill us.”

“So, Ruby,” Johnny adds, “how dirty
is
the money?”

“What the hell?” I ask, looking at Ruby with a blank face. “I, ah…”

“How in the world could you have heard us? It's all the way down…and up, around corners…?” Ruby asks, a little breathless.

“You would not
believe
how clearly we heard you,” Howard says. “Every word—like the sounds were amplified or something. I have a feeling it was designed that way.”

“We didn't hear
you
…Nothing.” I'm amazed; embarrassed too. “When you guys headed around the corner, that was it. We never heard another sound. Weird.”

“I imagine it was done for security measures,” Ruby states around a mouthful of cheese and cracker. “If the revenuers found the tunnel in the cottage basement…”

“You could grab your wife and kids, hop in the boat and get the hell off the island,” Johnny offers.

“Thank God it's legal now,” I say. Everyone nods. “Seems so silly.”

“Yes it does, darling. But we're slow learners, you know.”

W
e spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning and scrubbing, our energy renewed due to Ruby's strong coffee; and of course, all that adventure stuff helps too. Johnny brought over some old disco tapes, so the boathouse is thumping to the rhythms of Donna Summer belting out “MacArthur Park.” There's nothing like good disco to clean up an old boathouse

All the drapes are out on the deck, hanging along the banisters to get some fresh air. They're fifties' floral prints with tiger lilies and leaves as big as my head. Ruby and I go through the shipping room and office, dusting, sweeping, shaking rugs and mopping floors. Since the kitchen is open into the living room, we can all chat in between Howard's pounding.

“The shutters I found in the barn will make great shelves,” Howard says, nails in his mouth. “Should work perfect for the bolts of fabric. Then I'll start on the wiring for the sewing machines. I'll bring the electricity up from the furnace room,” he adds, heading down the newly discovered spiral staircase. “This is fantastic—there are enough circuits down here to light the island!” His voice echoes up, loud as all get out.

“Is there anything he
can't
do?” Ruby asks Johnny from the stool she's standing on while wiping the top of the mint green fridge.

“Cook. He is a
disaster
in the kitchen,” Johnny comments, shoving tables around. “He can burn and melt.”

Later, the four of us are sitting out on the balcony with our feet up, enjoying the view of the lake. The boathouse is all set to go. We have all day tomorrow to shore up any details. Since we're supplying lunch for the crew, we're hoping it will evolve into a potluck concept. This
is
the Midwest, after all. Ruby likes to cook, but I don't want to push it.

“The sound of the waves is the best tension reliever.” I sigh. “That and a nice smoke.”

“I thought you two were quitting.” Johnny bats my smoke ring away. “It's really a disgusting habit, you know.”

“I'm hoping to be just too darn busy to think about it,” Ruby says. “You're completely right; it's a
disgusting
habit.”

“Expensive as hell too,” I add. “Do we dare make this a nonsmoking workplace?”

“Seems to me,” Howard says, “it's against Wisconsin law…
some
law, anyway…to smoke in a workplace. Only in designated areas. Something like that.”

“This could be the push we need,” I say, and Ruby nods. “Could you look into it on your computer, Howard?”

“Our pleasure,” Howard and Johnny say at the same time, then laugh.

“I think we're going to head on home and clean up.” Howard yawns. “I need to get out of these filthy clothes and maybe even take a nap.” He grins slyly at Johnny.

“Shall we gather for dinner?” Johnny asks as they get up to go. “We also need to do some sampling of Toad Tea.”

“Let's make it a couple of hours from now,” Ruby says. “I'm sure there's something in the freezer that needs to be eaten.”

“Thanks for all your hard work today and look—it's a factory!” I announce as we walk back into the living-room-turned-sewing-room. “Who
wouldn't
want to work here?”

“Hello? Ruby? Eve? Hello?” A voice is coming from the closet. We all look at one another.

“You weren't kidding…Must be someone up at the cottage,” Ruby says. “Eve…you take the tunnel and I'll dash up the hill.”

“You want us to hang around?” Howard asks.

“Heavens no; scoot on home.” Ruby waves her hand, then she's off, out the door, heading up the hill.

“Hello? Is anyone here? It's Marsha from Rice Lake.” The boys follow Ruby out the door, heading toward their cabin.

Pulling the French doors closed and scooping up Rocky, I head down the spiral stairs.

“Hi there,” Marsha says from the top of the basement steps.

“How are you? I didn't expect to see you
this
soon.” I come up the basement stairs and set Rocky on a stool.

“I am doing wonderfully,” Marsha gushes as Ruby comes in the back door. “Hello Ruby. What a lovely cabin. I know you didn't expect me for a week or two, but I just got to thinking…what
am
I waiting for?” She walks into the living room and oohs and ahs.

“Where are you staying, darling?” Ruby asks while rooting around in a drawer.

“In an adorable little cottage in La Pointe.” Marsha sits down next to Rocky. “It's the carriage house of a much larger main house. I just love it here. I've already met a few of the locals.”

“What did you decide to do with your house in Rice Lake?” I ask, setting a mug of coffee in front of her.

“I cleaned it from top to bottom—threw out a lifetime of junk—loaded up my Jeep and headed here. I'm not going to sell it. It's long paid for and maybe someday I'll want to move back, or maybe my daughter might want it.” She blows on her coffee and turns the mug around to look at the front of it.

“I brought my entire cat-mug collection,” I say apologetically. “Ruby and I need to clean up; then we're having some friends over for dinner and—”

“You're more than welcome to join us,” Ruby breaks in. “And we can give you a proper tour.”

“Thank you so much, but I still have some unpacking to do and I don't want to intrude on your plans.”

“Don't be silly,” I say. “We're going to be working together come Monday anyway. That is, if you're game?”

“I am so ready to do something other than asking, ‘And what'll it be today?' What's the rush though?”

“There's the Bayfield Apple Festival in October and we've rented a booth for our apron collection,” Ruby informs from the freezer. “Oh shoot, I thought I had a chicken in here.”

“I've been going to it for years; lots and
lots
of people. Apron collection?” Marsha asks, raising an exceptionally arched brow.

“What do you think?” I ask. “Easy to make…We found all this wild fabric at Wal-Mart and who doesn't need a cool, snappy…
handmade
apron?”

“I think it's…well, I'm not sure,” Marsha says. “I
do
hate the ones you find now. Not much to look at and certainly nothing like the fancy ones my mother wore.”

“Kiss the cook,” Ruby and I say together.

One Christmas years ago, I got five ‘kiss-the-cook' aprons from clients. Ruby and I found them tucked away in a corner of my apartment when we were packing me up and had a good laugh.

“We're going to give it a shot,” I say. “The festival will be sort of a
test
market.”

“I have a feeling that whatever you two put your minds to—it works,” Marsha says. “I'm going to pass on your dinner invitation. Thanks, though. You know, I never figured I'd consider leaving Rice Lake. 'Course I kept the house in case I change my mind, but I wonder what would have become of me if I'd never met you two.”

“Who's to say? We're glad you're here.” I give her shoulder a little squish. “Though I doubt there's much social life here in the winters. Do you drink, Marsha?”

“A little.”

“You'll be fine,” I say, and we wave her out the door. Ruby shakes her head.

 

“There you are,” Ruby says. “That old scarf suits you. To think I used to put my hair up in rollers every day and covered them up in that.”

“It dresses up this top I've had forever.” I lift a lid off one of the many pots on the stove and have a whiff. “What can I do for you, oh, mistress of the cooking cauldron?”

“I need you to stir a few things. But first, how about getting a bottle of Toad Tea up from the basement. The boys left a few in the wine closet.”

“Sure.” I pull open the basement door and turn on the light. “We have to remember not to go disappearing into the closet when we're all down at the boathouse.” I head downstairs with Rocky in the lead.

While opening the metal door to the wine closet (which also leads to the tunnel), I hear Rocky growl and hiss off in a corner. Switching on the light inside, I call him a few times: no Rocky, no sound. I find the bottles and am turning to leave when he flies right between my legs and up the stairs, in a gray flash.

“No problem buster; I'll get the lights.” Pushing the door shut with my rear, I head upstairs.

Ruby yells, “Eve! Eve come quick!”

I quickly scuttle back into the kitchen. Ruby is on top of a stool and Rocky's looking up at her with curiosity, his tail twitching like crazy.

“What the hell?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. “Not two seconds ago he was in the basement and…” I follow Ruby's pointing spoon to the floor, next to the stove. Putting the bottles down, I cautiously peer around the corner of the stump table.

“Oh my God. It's
huge.
Rats? We have rats?” I ask with disgust. “My God—let's open a zoo. This is getting old.”

“I believe…now that I'm in a better viewing position of course, our
new
friend is no longer of this plane,” Ruby says quietly. She squats down to have a closer look—but not too close.

“You mean the little fucker's dead?”

“Well put.”

Using long vegetable tongs and wearing oven mitts—on both hands—I carefully approach the victim. After the bat coming back to life, I'm not taking any chances here. Ruby is two inches behind me. I nudge the creature a smidgen, to make sure it's really dead. Nothing. I lift it
very
slowly, using both hands since the damn thing is heavy. Deadweight, you know.

“A squirrel…for God's sake. Look…a tail was tucked underneath.” I turn to Ruby, showing her the evidence, tail and all. It sways in my shaky tongs.

“Poor darling.” Ruby takes a closer look. “You know…I could be mistaken, but I think its bloody eye moved!” She takes careful steps backward toward the sink.

Then the damn thing starts to squirm. Here I am in the kitchen with this undulating rabid-filled furball. Suddenly it makes a horrible squawking sound! Rocky, of course, joins in, meowing like a banshee.

I'm yelling at Ruby to open the “God-damned” back door while she's shouting to “Stay calm!” (Right.) Finally we manage to get it out of the kitchen before it leaps off my trusty tongs, landing on all four feet, claws making a scratching sound on the porch chair cushion. I make a mental note to never sit there—gross.

Head shaking, the creature looks around. Ruby and I, shoulder to shoulder, step backward into the kitchen. We don't want to stick around and welcome it back to the food chain. 'Course, I have no idea what in the world would consider a squirrel a treat. I slam the door shut and lock it. We push aside the lace curtain, trying to get a look—the chair's empty. We turn to glare at Rocky—gone.

 

“Knock knock,” Howard announces as he and Johnny come into the kitchen. “You must have unknowingly let a squirrel into the porch, but he's free now. Hey, what smells so good?”

They're dressed in baggy jeans and flannel shirts. A lock of Howard's silver hair falls into his eyes; Johnny reaches up to move it aside.

“You're smelling the beautiful loaf of basil bread Ruby's baking in the oven,” I say, rinsing a blue porcelain colander overflowing with steamy pasta. “Have a seat. We'll tell you about our little visitor. The latest, I should say.”

“I am
quite
sure, not the last,” Ruby adds,

“I've come to the conclusion that Rocky only
stuns
his furry playmates, leaving the actual killing decisions to us,” I say after filling in the boys on the details of our latest animal adventure.

“He
does
bring us mice that are no longer alive,” Ruby comments. “At least I think they're dead. I should
hope
they're dead.”

“Many critters freeze when in danger,” Johnny says. “Maybe the same goes for mice.”

“Well that means I've drowned quite a few in the toilet. I really don't feel any regret
at all
.” I hand Howard cat-faced placemats and paper napkins with cheery pumpkins and point to the stump table. Ruby has a drawer filled with packages of paper napkins printed with every holiday design and color combination. When we've used them all up, we're switching to cloth napkins. Save the trees!

“It's part of living up here.” Johnny gives Rocky's belly a good rub. “You should be forewarned that when winter sets in…more little heart attacks might be assisted by our bud here, Rocky the Man.”

“Hard to imagine such a ‘nice little guy' is also a cold-hearted killer.” I glare at Rocky.

“Oh, it's not like he's walking around thinking murderous thoughts,” Ruby says protectively. I smile. “It's
instinctual
—he's no idea what to do once he's
got
them though.”

“We could stockpile a bunch, make mice potpie,” I suggest to a group response of “gross,” “disgusting” and “you are so sick.” Which is true.

“Well…shall we eat?” Ruby asks. We look at each other. “In a minute then.”

“I know,” I say. “Since I just crushed our appetites, how about if we give the tea a taste?”

“Lovely idea, darling.” Ruby puts the platter of spinach pasta into the oven to keep warm. “Howard love, would you get down some glasses?”

“My pleasure,” he replies.

“Now…we have no idea if this is drinkable.” I attempt to open one of the bottles, then hand it to Johnny. “Make yourself useful—pull!”

Johnny tugs a bit and the cork breaks off. “Damn—sorry.” He hands the bottle and broken-off bit back to me.

“I'm far more experienced with twist-offs.” I set to work trying to hook the broken-off piece and get to the bootleg. “Got it!” I show the half-cork on the end of the opener.