Free Moon over Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson Page A

years!”
    â€œGood morning, darling.” Ruby grins, ignoring my outburst. “I didn’t mean to scare the bejeezus out of you like that, though I must say it was most satisfying.”
    â€œGood morning to you. I was deep in thought about this. ” I pat the duck. “Does it work?”
    â€œOh of course it does, love. Ed’s been caring—used to care for it ever since he hauled it here. Ran like a charm. We would take it out to one of the Apostle Islands, pull up on a nice sandy spot and have a picnic.”
    â€œHow romantic,” I mock. Ruby sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m jealous.” I climb up the ladder on the side. “Looks easy enough to drive.” For kicks I turn the key that’s hanging in the ignition; nothing.
    â€œ Do be careful, darling.”
    â€œThe battery probably needs charging and a bath in the lake wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Things always seem to work better if they’re cleaned up.”
    â€œSpoken like a true hairstylist/boat mechanic.” Ruby absently smoothes the apron she’s wearing over her lavender outfit.
    â€œI would love to get this puppy going.”
    â€œThere’s a workbench,” Ruby offers, pointing to it. “I’m sure there’s a charger over there…somewhere.”
    â€œHow about you make breakfast and I’ll see if I can get this started?” I pull the key out and climb down the ladder. “We could have our very own lake tour this morning, if it works, that is.”
    â€œSounds lovely, darling. Don’t go blowing anything up, for heaven’s sake.” She turns back toward the cottage.
    I head over to the workbench. On the way, I pass a stack of dusty steamer trunks, several pairs of wooden snowshoes, a deer head and an enormous stuffed bear on wheels wearing a lampshade. Beyond this, nearer to the workbench, are winches, pulleys, coffee cans overflowing with nails, and blow-torches. After rooting around and sneezing myself silly, I find it.
    I’ve had to hook my van up to many clients’ cars over the years to give them a jump, so I consider myself an expert. After attaching the charger, I realize I left the keys on the workbench.
    â€œDamn.” Heading back over, I notice a painted wooden sign in the shape of an enormous key. It has about twenty little hooks running along the bottom holding every shape and length of key, most of them with a string attached to a handwritten label. Hats off to Ed for being so organized. After swiping away spider webs, I read the labels. “Lawn mower, boathouse, guest cottage, porch door, front door, back door, duck keys. Duck keys .”
    I grab them and then of course, I find the key I left on the bench, too. I take both sets, just in case. Since I’m really not into inhaling fumes, and since I half expect the boat to run, I need one large barn door to open.
    I can see a motor way up there at the top of the door and by following the wires down, I walk over to a round green button the size of a saucer. I press it and am impressed by the small concert of squeaks and groans that echo all the way down from the ceiling. The massive door smoothly folds to either side of the opening, leaving a veil of grapevines to sway in the wind. Morning sunshine floats on dust clouds into the barn. I stand next to the duck, looking out toward the cottage and the lake beyond.
    I decide not to try turning it over until after we have breakfast so it will get a good dose of juice. On the way back to the cottage, a meowing Rocky greets me. I scoop him up in my arms and give him a big fat kiss, right on the lips, and he purrs. Then I remember his lips have clamped around mice necks and I spit into the grass. Rocky gives me one of his looks.
    â€œ There you are, darling. Did it start?”
    â€œNeeds to charge for a bit.” I plunk down on a wicker stool and spin.
    â€œGood thinking.” Ruby pulls two bowls from the