Synopsis

 

The O’Malleys are doing what? How is it possible that dangerous complications arise from their simple vacation in wine country? With their recent move to South Whidbey Island, only the O’Malley’s would stumble upon drug smugglers, embezzlers, and murderers amongst the locals. The quirky, pastoral island, reachable by a less than speedy ferry from Mukilteo or the narrow, deteriorating Deception Pass bridge, is no match for the wicked men about to visit.

A notorious drug lord and a nondescript enforcer with freakish hell-raising skills invade the peaceful Pacific Northwest island—where not even the friendly locales and free-roaming long-eared rabbits can soften his homicidal heart.

Weeding through the facts and surprisingly connected characters with their trusted friend, Bellevue Detective Bill Owens, the narrative swirls from Mexico to Canada and throughout Puget Sound. It’s a heart-racing and outrageously offbeat adventure for two innocent people, proving once again that trouble will find the O’Malleys without the slightest amount of effort on their part.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

One

 

“Kevin, Jenne, wow what are you two doing here?”

Robbie Burns had surprised Kevin and Jenne O’Malley as they were seated at the bar, killing time while waiting for their room to be made up.

“Mick, hey, what a stunner seeing you here.” Although slightly less than enthusiastic, Kevin’s tone seemed to escape Burns’ notice.

`    “The U.S. sales division brought all the leading dealerships here for a sales meeting. I’ve never been here, but man, this is spectacular. How about you two?”

Even though the O’Malleys had stayed at the lodge a few times in the past, Kevin was reluctant to get into anything other than a cool hello with this fellow, even though they were casual acquaintances from their membership at the same golf club.  “We’re here for a few days just to relax and visit a few wineries. Hope you have fun, we’re just heading over to reception to pick up our room keys. Maybe we’ll see you later.”

The two interior designers quickly made for the exit and set out for the quaint bungalow that housed the reception area. “Kinda, gave Mick the bum’s rush, eh Kev?”

“Yeah, well we’re here to unwind and the less I have to deal with that asshole the more relaxed I’m going to be.”

“Just because we stopped working for him on that barn out in Carnation doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.” Jenne was slightly less critical of the man.

“I’m not saying he’s bad or evil. I just think he’s a pompous ass, very enamored with himself, and I rather not be around him.” Kevin, on the other hand, was less inclined to be subtle about these things.

They strode up to the reception table where Aaron was looking expectantly at them. They knew it was Aaron because his name tag said it was. The lodge was comprised of forty or so separate bungalows, each a duplex, spread over a magnificent valley with sumptuous views.

“Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, your room is ready for you now. Would you like two keys?”

“Aaron, my man, can I ask you a question about another guest? It’s not that I’m prying, I just don’t like the guy and I don’t want our cottage to be anywhere near his. I understand you have privacy rules but we’re here to relax, and he’s not very relaxing.”

The Lodge didn’t get to be exclusive without being attentive to their guests. The staff was trained to serve, above all else.

“I understand sir, what’s the guest’s name?”

“It’s Burns, Robbie Burns.”

Aaron looked up from his screen with a pleased smile and said, “Not to worry Mr. O’Malley. He and his associates are at the far end of the property. You’re safe.”

With Aaron’s assurance that all would be well, they hopped a shuttle to their Napa-style cabin, their home for three nights.

The drive to the wine country was always relaxing. Seven hours to Ashland, OR to spend the night and break up the drive, and then only four hours or so to the epicenter of winemaking in the United States.

Staying at the famous, and very expensive Meadowlark Lodge in Rutherford, the O’Malleys had looked forward to four days of decompressing. It had been a bizarre year to say the least.

Their Bellevue Washington-based interior design firm had more business than they could handle at the moment. Their involvement in a white separatist terrorist attack at Kelsey Creek Country Club had been at the forefront of the national news for the last twelve months, the resulting unsolicited publicity a windfall to their practice.

After arriving at a lovely cottage on the hillside overlooking the valley, they unloaded their things, then sat on the deck and inhaled the fragrant lavender-filled air.

“Finally,” Jenne commented, “It feels great just to sit and listen to absolutely nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a golf tournament on, we could see who’s in the lead.” Kevin was a big fan of the sport and rarely missed an opportunity to indulge himself with some prime Golf Channel viewing.

“You turn that thing on, and you’ll be having sex with yourself the next three nights.”  Jenne – pronounced “Jenny” – was less enthusiastic about the game and apparently was enjoying the “quiet time”.

“Okay, well, you put it that way then hell, I don’t need no stinkin’ TV.” Kevin needed only to be told once that the penalty for interrupting their silence was this severe. Three days in this beautiful place with no frolicking in the sheets was not an option.

After a half hour of basking in the autumn sun on a cloudless October afternoon, Jenne was ready to leisurely stroll up to the main lodge building for the daily wine tasting.

While the lodge was world famous for their hospitality, its owner was world famous for his cult wines, offered at enormous prices. The everyday tastings were of excellent producers from Napa Valley and were accompanied by appetizers.

As the couple entered the foyer of the lodge they were greeted by George Harmon, the owner of the place. He felt it was his duty to occasionally show up at these social gatherings to welcome the guests.

“Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, welcome back and thanks for visiting us again.” Kevin had to hand it to the man, he knew his business. They had been here two years ago, so it took some effort on the owner’s part to research the current crop of visitors.

“Thanks, George, we love coming here. It’s got to be the most beautiful place in this part of the country.” That Jenne, Kevin thought, she really knew how to suck up to a potential client.

           “I agree,” chimed in Kevin, “You also do a wonderful job with your staff, they always make us feel welcome.” If Jenne could suck up then Kevin wasn’t going to be far behind. Much of the O’Malleys’ work was in the hospitality segment and they were always on the lookout for marketing opportunities.

Kevin caught the immediate eyeroll from his wife and took the cue to dial back the schmooze level. He considered himself among the luckiest men alive to have Jenne for his wife and he still wasn’t certain what she saw in him.

Kevin, in his mid-fifties, and Jenne, five years younger, had been married for seven years. Strangely, it felt both old and new at the same time. Because of their design firm, they were together almost constantly, though he never tired of it.

Her stylish gray hair framed a beautiful olive complexioned face, which was only enhanced by her wide-set hazel eyes. Avid hiking and a dedicated workout routine kept her physique in better shape than women ten years her junior. Yes, Kevin concluded, he was a very lucky man.

“So what do the two of you have planned for the next few days?” Even though it seemed Harmon’s question was perfunctory, his apparent sincerity was appreciated.

“We’ll visit a few wineries, do a little hiking and just kick back. We might even play nine on your executive course.” Kevin had played the little nine-hole course here at the lodge the last time they visited and, although small in scale, it was still a hoot to play.

“If you don’t already have appointments, perhaps our concierge can set up a few things for you. There are several very small producers nearby that make fabulous wine. Because they are boutique places, smaller than a few thousand cases, most people haven’t heard of them. Most of their production is sold to upscale restaurants but you can still purchase from many of them.”

“Geez, George, that would be terrific. Who should we talk to?” Jenne was never shy about leading the way.

“I’ll take care of everything. We’ll even have our car and driver shuttle you around to insure you can enjoy yourselves without any concern about directions or driving after tasting.”

Kevin wasn’t certain why Harmon was being so solicitous but he sure as hell wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “That’s very kind of you, George, we really appreciate it.”

After they confirmed the following day’s agenda they headed back to their cottage. Rather than eat at the restaurant, Jenne suggested room service and a nice Oakville cabernet to celebrate their first night.

Kevin was secretly hoping that the festivities would further continue in the bedroom, but he knew better than to suggest the dessert items just yet. He was thinking those things always seemed to work out better if he didn’t do the planning.

The lodge was sandwiched between two steep hillsides, making for a cozy, quiet retreat from the hustle and bustle of the real world. On this clear, moonless evening, with the temperature dipping into the forties, the climb up the gentle slope to their cabin was refreshing.

The footpath, illuminated by pools of subtle, garden lighting meandered through sweet-smelling pines, lavender and clumps of feather grass. Rounding the last turn just short of their rooms, they looked up to a darkened porch leading to their entry door. The only other cottages they could see had their porch lights on.

“Looks like our light is burned out, not something you usually see at this place with all their attention to detail.” Kevin wasn’t overly concerned given the security of the resort.

“Kev looks like the door isn’t closed all the way. I’m pretty sure I closed and locked it when we left.”

“Maybe housekeeping left it that way when they did their turndown service.” Kevin’s suggestion sounded more hopeful than reassuring. The Meadowlark just did not make mistakes like this.

“Jenne, stay here for a minute and let me take a look first.” Kevin stepped up to the porch, reached inside to find the light switch, and flipped it on. Immediately the landing was brightly lit. “I guess the light works, it just wasn’t turned on.”

“You’d think housekeeping would know better.” Jenne was happy just to write it off as a mistake, perhaps a new employee on the staff.

“Yeah, maybe. Hold on a sec until I get the lights on in here.” As he stepped inside, Kevin flicked the rest of the toggle switches up, bathing the simply but elegantly designed interior in soft, efficient lighting.

The cottage was comprised of a foyer/living room area with a wood burning fireplace which connected to a bedroom, furnished with a king-sized bed, completed with Frette linens. Carrera marble and white subway tiles were the finishes of choice in the spa-like adjacent bath.

Normally Kevin would have relaxed at the sheer comfort of the place. Unfortunately, the sight of Robbie Burns’ limp body lying at the foot of the turned down bed and the deep red blood stains on the lavish Frette linens was going to curtail the planned activities he had counted on for the evening.

 

 

About the Author

 

Ted Mulcahey has lived throughout the US the past 35 years in the Pacific Northwest. He’s an Army vet, sales and marketing VP, entrepreneur, business owner, avid reader, one of nine children, a former caddie, and lover of dogs and golf. The last twenty-five years were spent in partnership with his wife Patte, as the owners of a highly respected and published hospitality interior design firm in the Seattle Area. They’re now living on Whidbey Island and enjoying its rural bliss.

Ted writes about things he’s seen and places he’s been. He tries to incorporate personality traits of people he’s known into his fictional characters, although none of them exist in reality. Many of the locations are real, but the names have been changed.

 

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