“Harry seems bent on his own legacy—not his daddy’s, not Granny’s, not the Starlight.” Matt looked at Spike’s clipboard. “What else?”
“Follow me, my brother.”
Several bathroom toilets and sinks leaked above chipped or broken floor tiles. The back room—with a single bed and battered chest of drawers—was loaded with things Granny wanted to “store.”
“She don’t need any of this. It’s just a bunch of old papers and records.” Spike opened one box to reveal a bunch of broken skates. “The last five years she’s become a pack rat.” He opened another box full of accounting ledgers.
Matt reached for one dated 1952. “We can deal with this room sooner rather than later, but the rest will take time.”
“I’ll take the benches to my workshop. Start refinishing them up one at a time. If we fail in our mission, she can sell them in an auction.”
Matt tossed the ledger into the box. “Do you think we have a chance, Spike?” He didn’t believe his celebrity would carry much sway. Who cared what Matt Knight wanted when he lived in California?
“There’s always Immanuel.” Spike walked out of the room and down the side of the rink, past the battered benches, and stopped under the murals.
“Spike, he’s a painting. A fairy tale told by a brokenhearted, shipwrecked prince.” The image of the man looming over the rink had scared Matt for most of his childhood. Maybe even a little bit right now. Under his wide-brim hat, his eyes seemed to watch. To see.
“He’s more than a fairy tale to your granny. I might also point out the murals are ninety years old and are as beautiful as the day they were painted. You know, with a fancy Italian artist’s name attached to these panels, they’d go for a pretty penny at auction.” Spike moved on to the sound booth. “In here, some ofthe equipment was damaged when the roof leaked. I think Tooz spent all her reserve fixing it. Nora made up this tip sheet for the DJs when things don’t work.” Spike held up a stained yellow pad with curling edges.
Turn off and turn back on.
Take off old duct tape,put on new.
Pound the receiver gently!(circled in heavy ink)Smack on top, center.
“Dad didn’t step in to help with the roof?” Matt scanned the rest of the list.
“By the time he’d heard, she’d already hired the crew and paid the money.”
“Were they fair?”
“I hate to tell you this, Matt, but just about everyone these days takes advantage of your granny—from the kids she’s hired to Mayor Harry Smith. I try to watch out for her but . . .” He motioned for Matt to follow him to the ticket booth. “This cash register is from before the war. Probably dates back to the thirties. With no sales tape, skimming a fiver or tenner from the till is easy as pie. Who would know? Tuesday counts on their honesty.”
Spike continued the tour to the booth room, where Granny caught up to them. “What are you two doing? Snooping?”
“Just showing Matt what’s what, Tooz. I told you things need fixing up around here.”
“I told you I run a tight ship,” she said. “Nothing some paint, mop, and broom won’t fix.”
“You think so?” Spike picked up a skate and jimmied the trunk loose from the boot. “This ain’t safe. Also, Tooz, that kid Kenny lets his buddies in for free. I watched him do it all week, then heard a couple of them bragging about it in concession. Bunch of heathens.”
“Kenny? Are you sure? Both of his parents worked here as teens. They were great kids.”
“Well, he’s a cheat. Don’t get me started on Chondra.”
“Now what’s wrong with her? She’s a hardworking gal.”
“How about I step in, lend a hand for a while?” Matt roped his arm around her. “I’ll work with Spike to get a few things fixed up while we promote our petition. Then, when we win, I’m investing in the Starlight. If Harry demands Sea Blue Beach moves into the future, let the Starlight lead the way.”
“Well, I feel I should protest,” Granny said. “You work hard for your money, Matty. But if this life has taught me anything, it’s always to accept a lending hand.”
“Consider it payment for eighteen-plus years of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, taking care of me while Dad worked, and buying me clothesandmy first car.”
A ’70 Cuda. Wrecked by Booker. Which created a domino of events. For Booker. For Matt.
Matt followed Granny toward the rink, her chin up, shoulders back, striking a pose in her pale pink blouse, dark slacks, and brown oxfords. Her white hair was still thick and holding the curl from her weekly wash-and-set at Brenda’s Beauty.
“The Starlight and I survived the Depression and the war, never mind the ill intentions of your grandpa’s mob friends. Now I got teenagers robbing me? Maybe Harry and the council are right,” she said, looking surprisingly defeated. “Maybe the days of the Starlight are over.”
