Brownies.
“Here ya go,” she said in an accent just like Clayton’s. “My family recipe, eh?”
“Uh, thanks.” Colding took the plate.
James poked his wife in the shoulder. “Since when is our family name Duncan Hines?”
Stephanie put her hands on her hips and gave her husband a dirty look. “I’ll have ya know I put in da walnuts.”
“You’re a walnut,” James said.
“Your face is a walnut,” Stephanie said.
Clayton rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. You two put a sock in it.”
“You’re a sock,” Gary said. He didn’t have the strange accent, just a normal midwestern twang.
Clayton shook his head in annoyance. “Sweet Jesus, all of you shut your pieholes. Well, there ya go, Mister Colding. You just met everyone on Black Manitou Island, population five. Time for all of us to get back to work. Just wanted to have you meet everyone so you wouldn’t be asking me stupid fucking questions all goddamn day.”
“Actually, Clayton, there’s a lot I need to know. Looks like you guys take great care of the mansion and the grounds.”
“What, you’re surprised?” Clayton said. “You thought an old hick like me couldn’t take care of business?”
This just wasn’t Colding’s day for making friends and influencing people. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
“I been in charge here for thirty years, eh?” Clayton’s eyes narrowed beneath bushy gray eyebrows. “Just ’cause Danté said to take care of you don’t mean I snap to your orders like a trained dog. You got it?”
Gary rolled his eyes, as if he’d heard his father’s shitty attitude a million times before. The others looked around uncomfortably.
“Now hold on just a second,” Colding said. “We need to set a few things straight, right now.”
Before Colding could continue, Clayton looked away, up into the C-5’s rear cargo door. Colding heard light footsteps on the ramp.
“Hey, Peej,” Sara said. “Who’re your friends?”
“We were clearly having a conversation here,” Clayton said. “Who da hell are you, eh?”
“I’m da pilot, eh?” Sara said, her voice a perfect imitation of Clayton’s accent.
Clayton leaned back a bit, the scowl still on his face. “You makin’ fun of da way I talk?”
Sara laughed. “Only a little bit. I grew up in Cheboygan. Used to spend my summers vacationing near Sault Saint Marie.”
“Michigan side or Canadian side?” Clayton asked.
“Da Michigan side, of course. I’m a Troll.”
Clayton’s face lit up in a genuine, friendly smile. It made him look like a completely different person.
Colding stared, dumbfounded, as Clayton extended his callused hand. Sara shook it and introduced herself to the five Black Manitou natives. Where Colding’s intro had been awkward at best, Sara’s felt like old friends reconnecting. Her natural charm relaxed everyone around her.
Sara saw the plate in Colding’s hands. She lifted the Saran Wrap covering and pulled out a brownie as casually as you please. “Oh my, these look delicious. Who made them?”
“I did!” Stephanie said. “You can come over sometime and have some coffee. I made those brownies and they’re my favorite ’cause it’s an old family recipe.”
The woman’s speech reminded Colding of an overly happy machine gun kicking out rapid-fire words.
Sara took a bite, chewed, then laughed. “We must be related. Tastes a lot like my family recipe.”
“Okay,” Colding said. “Enough with the brownies. Captain Purinam, if you could attend to your duties, I want to have a talk with Clayton.”
“Not now,” Clayton said. “Didn’t I tell you I got fuckin’ work to do?”
Colding had been through way too much in the past few hours to put up with this crap. He felt his temper slipping and started to talk, but Gary spoke first.
“Say, Dad,” he said. “You have to run me back to the boat anyway. Mister Colding can ride along, get a feel for the island. Fifteen minutes there and back. He is from Genada, Dad. You know, the guys who pay you?”
Clayton looked away for a second. He seemed annoyed at his son’s logic. “Yah, fine,” he said. “I’ll take you, Colding, but only if Sara comes.”
“I’m in,” Sara said before Colding could manage a word. He felt like his few hours of sleep had slowed his reaction time or something—everyone was beating him to the punch.
“Captain Purinam,” Colding said. “Don’t you have work to do?”
She shrugged. “Nope. The boys have it covered. Let’s road-trip.”
Clayton reached out and grabbed a brownie off Colding’s plate. He bit in, a few crumbs falling and sticking to his stubble. “Good stuff, Stephanie.”
Stephanie beamed. “Thanks!”
“Can you and James hang out here and show people da mansion?”
“Sure!” Stephanie said. “I’d love to. We can walk back ’cause it’s not really that cold out yet and we don’t mind at all, do we, James?”
James didn’t bother saying anything, because Clayton had already walked away. The old man got into the Hummer and slammed the door shut behind him.
Colding looked at Gary. “Is your dad always like this?”
Gary smiled an easy smile. Colding still couldn’t place that smell.
“Unfortunately, he is,” Gary said. “But don’t worry about it, man. He’s the hardest worker you’ll ever meet. And if you need something done, it’s done. Okay?” He asked the last word as if it were a signature on a contract, a contract Colding would just have to accept because that’s the way it was. Gary obviously didn’t want his father catching any shit.
“Okay,” Colding said. “I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Gary smiled and nodded slowly, not just with his head, but also with his shoulders. “All right, man. For being so cool about it, I’ll give you shotgun.”
“So kind of you,” Colding said, seeing instantly that Gary had eyes for Sara. Gary turned and climbed into the back of the Humvee.
Colding glared at Sara. “You’re just coming along to piss me off.”
“Yep,” Sara said. “But don’t worry, plenty more where that came from.”
“Fine, whatever. And what was with that whole Troll comment, and that eh thing?”
Sara laughed. “Clayton and the others are Yoopers.”
“What the hell is a yooper?”
“People from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. You know, Upper Peninsula… U. P.… Yooper, get it? Yoopers have a real thick accent all their own. Ya instead of yes, da instead of the, and they end a lot of sentences with eh?, which is basically a rhetorical question. You’ll get used to it. And if a Yooper is from above the bridge, can you guess what they call people who live below it?”
“Ah,” Colding said. “Trolls live beneath the bridge. Wow. What a clever culture you have in these parts.”
A blast of the Hummer’s horn jolted them both. Clayton had one hand on the steering wheel, the other twirling in an annoyed circle that said, Let’s go already.
“I seriously do not like this guy,” Colding said.
Sara walked around to the left rear door. “That’s okay, he clearly doesn’t like you, either. Nobody does, really.”
Colding sighed and got in the Hummer’s passenger seat.
Clayton jammed the vehicle into reverse and squealed out of the hangar. He turned right and stopped fast, throwing everyone around in their seats, then put it in first and shot down the dirt road that ran through the center of the island like a spine.