It’s A Plunderful Life Read online

  I took a step forward and immediately bumped into his back.

  Accidentally, I swear.

  “Easy, there,” he said, but he flashed me a quick smile over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s see what we have here.”

  He reached up and pulled a string. A single bare lightbulb turned on with a loud click, the weak light illuminating several, um, mechanical kind of things. Then he whistled, long and low.

  I couldn’t help it. I shivered.

  “Well, that isn’t right.” Toward the back of the building was what I had to assume was the pump system. And I had to assume that because even I could see that something was very off with it. There was a series of pipes, and they were all damaged.

  All of them.

  “What do you think happened?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer for a moment. He crouched down close to one of the pipes, staring at the floor as if that might give him an answer. “I have no idea. If this wasn’t locked up, then I might say maybe an animal of some kind. Although what kind of animal could do this?” He shook his head. “I have no idea why, but the only explanation is that someone did this on purpose.”

  I stared at him. “The door is locked. All the time.”

  He turned, his face grim in the low light. “I know.”

  I thought back to the cut brake lines on Mother Goose. Now this?

  “What does this mean for the park?” I asked.

  He was already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It depends on how extensive the damage is. I can handle small plumbing repairs, but this is well beyond me. I’m going to have to call Frank & Daughter in to take a look, see what they say. Might be a matter of a few hours.” But the set of his lips told me he didn’t think that was the case.

  “And if it’s more extensive than that?” I asked.

  He pressed some buttons on his phone, shaking his head as he put the phone to his ear. “We might have to close the park for a couple days. No water means no working restrooms.”

  With that, he stepped outside the maintenance building, the ivy vines parting and then closing behind him. I looked at the mangled pipes, trying to wrap my head around what was happening.

  First Mother Goose. Now the pump station.

  Someone was trying to sabotage the Enchanted Forest. But…why?

  Wilder poked his head in. “I need to check the other cottages. Let’s go.”

  I shook my head. “You go on. I want to take a look around.”

  With the light behind him, it was impossible to see his expression, but his voice sounded…resigned. “You sure? I don’t like leaving you alone.”

  Someone was trying to close down my family’s business. Yes, I was sure. “I’ll be fine.”

  He hesitated as if he had more to say, then shook his head. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Stubborn women,” and then said, louder, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t leave this spot, okay? And…be careful.”

  It wasn’t until I heard the sound of the golf cart’s tires fading away down the trail that I realized how stupid it was for me to hang out alone when someone was actively trying to hurt my family. So far they’d limited their actions to minor sabotage, nothing that would hurt anyone.

  I thought of what Wilder had said about Mother Goose and a guest on the trail, and realized I might be underestimating the person behind this. They might not be intending to actually hurt someone, but that didn’t mean they were being all that careful not to.

  I looked around the outside of the building, studying the ground, looking for footprints. Which wasn’t as easy as they made it look on TV. Obviously, there were footprints in the dirt right outside the door—Wilder and I had just traipsed through there. It wasn’t like the imprints of shoes were labeled: “Cass.” “Wilder.” “Suspicious Stranger.”

  Even if I could have spotted a wayward footprint, what would that tell me? That someone had been there? The broken pipes were all the evidence I needed to see that. And the outside of the building was a public area. Anyone could have moved close to snag a selfie with the Keep Out sign.

  There was a branch broken on a young black cherry tree nearby, a short length of it still dangling from the tree. I wiggled the twig free, studying it as if it were an actual clue and not just the easiest thing to look at because it was the only thing out of place.

  The twig still in my hand, I slipped back into the maintenance building, wishing the single lightbulb gave off more light. Without Wilder there, the inside of that building felt less “fairy dust store room” and more “Edgar Allan Poe is working on a story about this.” Creepy shadows shifted around me. I knew those shadows belonged to me, that it was just a result of the weird light.

  But it creeped me out.

  I stared at the mangled pipes. It was ridiculous that anyone would do something like this. Who would want to do something that hurt my mother? No one. She was the most generous person I knew, and the thought of someone trying to destroy what she worked so hard for made a simmering rage start to build inside me. And the guests? All those poor park guests who would wake up to no water, who would have to cut their stays short, who would lose out on the peaceful vacation they so badly needed. Because the people who came here needed the Enchanted Forest.

  Just as the park needed its guests.

  I can’t explain what came over me. My mother had warned me up and down not to mess with magic, but the longer I stood there looking at those pipes, the more my blood boiled.

  It felt like the skin was going to steam off my bones.

  Acting on impulse, I lifted the hand holding the twig, pointed the narrow length of wood at the pipes, and squealed as a bolt of violet light shot out, concentrated by the twig, and struck the valve. Sparks flew, and I was knocked back into the wall of ivy, my chest feeling like a snake was squeezing the life out of me.

  Oh, no. What had I done?

  Slowly, I pulled myself to my knees and peered into the dimly lit building, expecting to see, I don’t know, the machinery inside growing mold and hardening into stone, or engulfed in green flames, or some other disaster.

  Instead, all I saw was a very normal-looking pump station.

  The equipment looked—okay, I don’t see many pump stations, but I would say it looked like one might expect a pump station to. Nothing was broken. Nothing seemed out of place.

  I glanced down at my hand, where I still clutched the twig.

  “Oh, magic wands are stupid?” I said aloud, my voice harsh and scratchy. Maybe this didn’t have a unicorn hair, but clearly it had helped. I tightened my grip on my new magic wand and focused on breathing in and out, trying to ignore the ringing in my ears and the pounding in my head.

  The wand might have helped, but doing magic still sucked. I needed candy, and lots of it.

  I didn’t even have the energy to pull out my phone and call Wilder for help. Instead, I sat on the floor of the maintenance building, my arms wrapped around my knees and my face buried in my thighs.

  It felt like years later before I heard footsteps on the other side of the ivy, and I hoped like heck that it was Wilder and not the saboteur returning as my knees were, at that very moment, made of silly string.

  “Cass? Weirdest thing—all the other cottages have water, only—” Wilder’s voice sounded far away. Then, more urgently—“Cass?”

  I felt his hands on my back and managed to lift my head. “I’m fine,” I said. “Just got light-headed.”

  He muttered something, then stopped talking as he caught sight of the repaired pipes. “How...?” He crouched down, his face close to mine. “How did you do that?” he asked, his voice full of an awe that would have warmed my heart had I been thirty years younger.

  Okay, it still had that effect.

  I shrugged, trying to look casual. “I picked up a few things over the years. So the water was working in the other cottages?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “It was. Now I see why.” He started to say something, then
stopped. Standing, he moved closer to the pipes. “I could have sworn…”

  “So it’s fixed?” The less time he spent thinking this over, the better. He might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he certainly knew his way around maintenance stuff and I didn’t want him pondering the situation long enough to realize he hadn’t even left me with any tools.

  He cleared his throat. “Looks like it. I’ll have Frank and Sheila check it out when they get here since they’re already on their way.” He walked back to where I still sat on the floor, dropping back down to look into my face. “But, Cass…”

  I felt the warmth of his gaze on me, his handsome face full of confusion. “Yes?”

  “How did you manage to turn the water purple?”

  16

  Okay, so I’m not perfect, and neither are my magic skills. Luckily, Frank and Sheila ran some water quality tests and, while they were puzzled by the color of the water, they agreed there wasn’t any reason to close the park.

  “I’ve just never seen purple before,” Sheila said, gazing down at a cup of what she’d just determined was perfectly fine water.

  I mean, it wasn’t like the water was dark purple. It was more, like, a suggestion of purple. And it kind of sparkled a little. My mother, when she drove down and saw it, gave me a suspicious look, but she said we would simply describe it as extra special magic water until it cleared up.

  She seemed fairly certain it would go away, although since I had no idea how I’d done it, I had no idea when it would stop.

  I made sure to hide my new wand when she showed up, slipping it into my bra, settling it so it ran diagonally from my shoulder to the center of my chest and being very, very careful not to move in such a way that I broke it. I had a feeling I was in for a lecture either way, but I didn’t trust Mom not to snap the stick in half like I was a very bad enchantress and needed to be punished.

  “Cass, why don’t you and I have a little chat,” she said to me as Frank and Sheila were getting ready to leave.

  “You know, Mom, I’m feeling kind of tired. Wilder, can you give me a ride back to the house?”

  The traitor glanced at my mom first, but she just rolled her eyes and gave him a quick nod. I’d gotten a reprieve—for now.

  Which I badly needed. My legs were still shaky, and I felt like I could sleep for hours.

  Maybe days.

  “How many cottages did you finish?” my mom called as I climbed into the golf cart beside Wilder.

  Oh, right. Oops.

  “Um, almost one,” I said. Seeing the look on her face, I put my hand on Wilder’s arm. “Go, go, go,” I whispered.

  She might be his boss, but he didn’t want to hang around for the explosion either. We zoomed off, leaving my poor mother alone with my housekeeping duties. But it wasn’t like I was in any shape to clean guest cottages. Hopefully she could wrangle Toni into helping her. It would keep Toni away from me, at least.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Wilder said as he pulled up at the house.

  “Perfectly fine,” I chirped, barely keeping myself from wincing at the pain in my head. “I just need to lie down for a bit.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  I managed to hold myself together long enough to give him what I thought might be a jaunty wave and climb the stairs to my—our—room. Reaching my room, I concealed the wand in a side pocket in my purse before I flopped onto my bed, buried my face in the pillow, and passed out.

  “…really are the laziest creature. Here we are, the sun high and you lying about, full of sloth.”

  I came awake to an annoying grumble. “Go away,” I mumbled into the pillow without opening my eyes.

  “You might have been able to keep your husband had you been more industrious, madame. Little wonder that—”

  I did open my eyes at that, grabbing a shoe from beside my bed and hurling it across the room. It sailed harmlessly through Ichabod’s translucent form, although I did have the pleasure of seeing him frown.

  He hated having things pass through him.

  “My marriage is off limits, Ichabod,” I said. “If you can’t keep your thoughts on that to yourself, you can get the hell out.”

  “Your language is as coarse as your manners,” he said. “I am shocked that you found—”

  “Ichabod,” I warned, picking up the other shoe.

  He stopped talking, and hung there in the air, his hands moving seemingly of their own accord. He was agitated, and I knew there was no point in trying to go back to sleep with an agitated Ichabod floating around.

  Sitting up, I looked outside. The afternoon sun slanted through the glass, but it didn’t look like it was all that late. I had slept for a few hours, and I actually felt mostly okay. My eyes fell on a plate of peanut brittle on the nightstand. Beside it was a little folded piece of cardstock that read “Thank you” in my mother’s neat handwriting. Picking it up, I flipped it open to read what was written inside.

  “Don’t do it again.”

  I grinned. Hopefully that was the extent of the lecture I was going to get. I grabbed a few pieces of brittle and popped one in my mouth, ignoring Ichabod’s muttering about a woman’s form and the dangers of gluttony.

  Getting up, I carried the plate of candy to Kurt’s study, which was empty. “Where’s Kurt?” I asked Ichabod, who had followed me.

  “He is taking his afternoon nap,” he said morosely. “The ladies of the house are also otherwise engaged.”

  “I’m a lady of the house, Ichabod.”

  “I would not go so far as to describe you as a lady,” he grumbled. I tossed a piece of candy through his head, earning another scowl.

  The candy certainly helped, and now that I was awake, the last thing I wanted to do was hang around the house waiting for my mother to sweep in and tell me how dangerous what I’d done earlier had been. Beside me, Ichabod’s hands were twisting and flapping like trapped birds.

  I felt a pang of sympathy. “Ichabod,” I said. “Have you been practicing making yourself invisible?”

  He frowned. “You will not be rid of me that easily, madame.”

  “Have you?”

  Glaring at me, he went very still, his body becoming fainter as I watched. If I hadn’t known he was there, I wouldn’t have been able to see him at all.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Want to go for a walk?”

  “I have few other options, madame,” he said with a sigh.

  With that enthusiastic response, we headed into town, where Ichabod’s distress soon melted into curiosity. It took ten minutes to get him to move past the first intersection we came to. He wanted to stand there forever, watching the cars whip past, studying the rhythm of the light changes. “This is brilliant,” he said, bobbing along beside me as I crossed the street. “This white being illuminates to tell you when it is safe to make your crossing. Such efficiency.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Crosswalks and traffic lights are amazing.” But I had a surprise in store for him, and I wanted to see his face when he got his first look at it.

  I wasn’t disappointed. As we turned the corner from Main Street to Harbor Street, the masts of the Wild Rose came into view, and he stopped in his tracks, stunned into silence.

  Which was an impressive feat, believe me.

  “What…? Is that my…?” A number of emotions flickered across his face. Joy, and sadness, and shock, and then joy again. “But we are still in your time, are we not? Have you not your wondrous steamships and other such transportation machines?”

  “Your ship is so important that it now serves as a museum,” I said. “It’s a tribute to your heroism.”

  His eyes clouded. “I cannot believe this. Tis truly an honor.”

  “Do you want to go aboard?” I asked.

  He nodded wordlessly, his eyes fixed on the tall masts rising into the sky. As we got closer, his hands began their twisting again, and I wished I could take them in mine, to provide some emotional
support.

  “Ichabod, you okay?”

  He cleared his throat, his brows lowering. “I am fine, madame. I was the captain of this ship. It is right that I go aboard and reacquaint myself with her.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. It didn’t exactly scream, “Yes, I’m fine.”

  I paid for my entry, remembering at the last moment that I only needed one ticket as my companion was, you know, invisible. I handed it to the young man at the entrance to the gangplank, then headed up slowly, giving Ichabod a chance to change his mind.

  “Why do you move at a crawl, madame? I could cross the entire Atlantic in the time it takes you just to reach the top deck.”

  I rolled my eyes. So much for worrying about Ichabod.

  It took me a moment to adjust to the slight roll of the ship as it floated on the calm water of the harbor. I could only imagine what it would be like to ride this ship across the ocean, over larger swells. Ichabod didn’t wait for me, but instead drifted across the deck, his head turning from side to side as he took it all in.

  I made my way to a plaque standing near a cannon, reading about the battle that resulted in the capture of Christopher Durus. As I had remembered, there were a lot of gory details about Durus’s execution. But at the very end was a single sentence that stopped me short: “Frowd was fatally wounded in the battle and died of his injuries on the day Durus was executed.”

  Oh.

  So Ichabod had not survived that encounter. I looked around for him and found him hovering beside the railing, looking out over the harbor at the sea.

  “Ichabod?” I said.

  He didn’t look at me. “You said something about my heroism,” he said. “But it was not my heroism. I had a crew of brave and able men, and I watched many of them die that day.” A breeze rippled the surface of the harbor, ruffling the reflection of the ship in the water. “Far too many.”

  I hadn’t realized that so many people had died. The books I’d read always made it seem like a quick victory of good over evil. The dark-hearted pirate versus the noble captain, the end result never even a question.