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.
“How much did you use?” I asked as he sauntered toward me, his gait like his dad’s, except cute rather than hot.
“About half a pudding cup,” he answered.
Oh dear.
“Just to say, kiddo, you’re supposed to use about the size of a dime.”
He’d stopped in front of me, and at my words, his eyes got big. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. You use as much as you did, it’s gonna dry just like that.” And take about three washings to get it out, something I decided not to inform him of at that time since we should be leaving.
“Crap!” he yelled, turned and ran back down the hall.
“Cillian!” I called after him just as the bathroom door slammed. “We need to leave!”
“Two secs!” he shouted back.
“Shit,” I whispered, deciding Aisling first, Cillian second, when the doorbell rang.
“Get it, Amy!” Cillian hollered.
Nothing from Aisling.
“Shit,” I repeated, moving to the door.
I opened it and saw on the stoop a pretty, petite, curvy woman with dark blonde hair who was perhaps five years older than me. She wore attractive clothes, had a great handbag and was staring at me like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I asked politely.
“You’re Amy,” she replied strangely breathily, like she was winded because she showed up at Mickey’s door after a five K run.
My head twitched at the knowledge she had that knowledge and I confirmed cautiously, “Yes.”
She continued to stare at me, taking me in, then looked away only to look right back and announce, “I’m Rhiannon.”
Oh shit.
“Um…hi,” I repeated.
“Is Mickey here?” she asked.
“No, he’s in town. Meeting at the firehouse. I’m taking the kids in to join him for the town council thing.”
“Right, right. I forgot,” she mumbled, shifting, fidgeting. She then dropped her keys, bent quickly to pick them up and straightened, not looking at me. “I’ll call him.”
“Do you want me to tell him you came by?” I asked.
“Yes, yeah, that’d be good,” she answered, making as if to turn but not doing it and instead saying to me. “Um…thanks.”
“Do you want to say hi to the kids?” I offered quietly.
She looked beyond me, pain gathered in her features, released and she glanced at me before she looked to my shoulder. “No. I don’t want to delay you. I’ll call them too.”
“It’s no problem,” I lied, since it was considering we were already late.
She looked to her watch then to my shoulder. “Council meetings begin at six thirty so I’d probably just make you late. That’s okay. I’ll see them soon.”
“All right,” I said, still quietly.