Page 390 of The Romance Adventure

“I spent so much time with Chip and never bothered to ask where all this stuff came from.” Ryan palms a baseball. “This, for instance. Why did he have a ratty old baseball?”

“He kept it because he was proud of you for making it to the NFL,” I say, sorting through the items in the box.

“Did he know what NFL stood for and specifically, what kind of ball we use?” Ryan asks.

“A kid from another island threw it through the window of the Frigate.”

Magnus frowns. “What? Why?”

“He was mad at Ryan for fumbling the ball during the playoff game against the Thunderbirds.”

Ryan launches to his feet. “I didn’t fumble. The ref made a bad call.”

“Ironic or disturbing that the kid used a baseball,” Harley muses.

Some keepsakes reminded Chip of us, Emmie, our grandmother, and the rest of the family, along with awards and items related to his life’s work. But my sights are set on the polished coconut painted with stars and the words #1 CocoNUT, along with some tropical flowers. I shake it around, but can’t tell if something jostles around inside.

“How would Chip have gotten the key in there?” Isla asks.

It’s a little bigger than a football and I examine it for an opening.

“Maybe we need the knife Chip left me,” Magnus says.

I smooth my fingers along the fibrous pieces on one end and feel a little give, an indentation. Sure enough, like a cork in a bottle, it pops inward.

“I suppose this isn’t like the safe and we could just tear into it,” Harley suggests.

I tip my head from side to side. “Not a bad idea.”

“Anyone have a machete on hand?”

“I think we need a drill.”

I turn the coconut hole-side down and peer inside. “Or tweezers. I see the key.”

Everyone gasps and scrambles closer, blocking my light.

“I have small fingers.” Isla wiggles them.

Magnus taps the air. “Pliers. I’ll go find some pliers.”

How many McGregors does it take to take a key out of a coconut? Eight. It takes all eight of us to get the key out, but we do.

No sooner do I hold it in one hand and the original gold key in the other, Jolie grabs both and races toward the door.

Isla shrieks.

Lally blocks the exit.

Harley tackles my wife.

I bend over and pry the keys from her hand, but Jolie is professionally trained, and in one swift motion, is back on her feet.

I see how it is.

She played her card. I still have more up my sleeve.

Gazes meeting, the rest of the room fades. It’s just the two of us in this dusty town square about to have a duel.