Soaring (Magdalene #2)(153)

And therefore I’d give it some time seeing as there hadn’t been much since my last efforts bore fruit. Then I’d get some of the other MFD wives, girlfriends and husband-boyfriend (as the case may be with Misty) together to sort out a fundraiser for a new kitchen.

All we needed were appliances and cabinets. With Mickey’s foreman skills, the boys could do the fitting.

And with my skills at fundraising, that would be easy.

“Thanks, sweets,” I said to Robin.

“Major letdown,” she replied. “I was hoping for something juicy. Amelia Hathaway exposes corruption in a small town in Maine.”

“Personally, I’m glad there is no corruption in a small town in Maine since I live here.”

“I hear you,” she replied, and when she did I heard the smile in her voice. Then she asked, “Hey, since I got you, Lawr called me while I was at Pilates. I’m gonna call him after I get off with you, but do you know why he’s calling?”

At her news, my heart skipped a beat.

“I…can’t imagine,” I lied.

“Maybe he’s coming to town,” she said absently. “Usually when he comes to town, you’re here so I know through you and you set up the fun. Now you’re not here.”

“Maybe,” I hedged.

“Hope he’s coming and I love it that if he is, he thought of me even without you being here. He’s one of the three good ones, the other two being my dad and, hopefully, your hottie.”

I loved it that she loved that, and I loved it that she thought that about Lawrie.

“My bestie and my big bro, getting together even without me. Love that too,” I stated benignly but, if only to myself, leadingly.

“I just hope he doesn’t bring the ice queen,” she mumbled.

I decided not to reply.

“Anyway, I’ll give him a buzz,” she finished.

“Good, sweets. Now I gotta go. Plans with Mickey and his kids.”

“Wonderful, darling. I’ll let you fly.”

“All right. Talk to you later.”

“You too. Have fun,” she bid me.

“Thanks. Let me know what Lawr says.”

“Will do. Later.”

“Later, Robin.”

We rang off. I grabbed a scarf from a shelf, the jacket I wanted from a hanger and dashed out of my walk-in in order to grab my purse and keys, lock up and run over to Mickey’s.

* * * * *

“All right, we’re officially running late!” I called.

“I’m coming! I’m coming! Two seconds!” Cillian yelled from the bathroom.

I was standing at the end of the hall at Mickey’s, staring at my watch. I turned my head, however, when I heard a door open.

I saw Aisling step out. “Go without me, Amy.”

She then stepped back in and closed the door.

Shit, we were supposed to leave that very minute. Now, what was I going to do with Aisling?

I wondered this even though I wasn’t surprised about Ash’s decision not to join us.

Mickey, with what he’d hoped was good timing—Aisling coming out to be with the family and take care of me on Wednesday night—had taken the opportunity to try to have his sit down with her the night before, Thursday.

This did not go well. There’d been a drama with some shouting, some, “There’s nothing bothering me,” which, after Mickey pushed, segued to, “You’d never get it, Dad!” more shouting and some slammed doors. She’d then calmed down but when she did she’d clammed up.

I knew all this because Mickey had given me a full report.

Now, I was taking the kids into town to attend the town council meeting, which would hopefully end with a vote approving a full-time firefighter. This being the first step toward Bobby feeling the department was in good shape, thus he was okay to leave, making Mickey the chief.

Mickey wasn’t at home with us because he was at a meeting at the firehouse. The fire inspector’s report had come in, disturbingly confirming that the fire at Mills jetty was arson. It was not the MO of any other such fires in Maine, but upon sheriff Coert receiving the report, he’d investigated and found that similar fires were started in Nevada, Colorado, Wyoming and Minnesota.

Thus, there was possibly an arsonist in Magdalene and the boys at MFD were getting a full briefing from the chief and the sheriff and we were joining Mickey in town for the council meeting, something which all the members of the department (save the ones on duty) were attending.

Something, in order to get there in time to settle in and get seats, we should be seeing to.

I stared down the hall, trying to come up with a game plan, when Cillian walked out of the bathroom.

My body jolted at the sight.

“What do you think?” he asked, pointing to his head, which had hair that looked wet but all of it stuck up on end like he was in the middle of a cartoon electrocution.

“Uh…” I mumbled, not knowing what to say since what I thought wasn’t good.

“It’s got the wet look now but it’ll calm down when it dries,” he informed me.

I had experience with this, considering my son went from not caring about his appearance to being all about it, this in the expanse of about two weeks. Thus I knew that men’s hair with product that was going to dry did not stick up on end like that.