Chapter 14: The Cooler

"Luke!"

I don't know why his name came out first.

It just did.

A light snapped on in cabin three.

He came up the path at a run in a T-shirt and boxers and Grandpa's boots, unlaced, with his cracked glasses on crooked.

Megan was right behind him with the big flashlight from the mudroom.

"The cooler's dead," I said. "Four tons. The truck's at eight."

Luke didn't ask a single question.

He took the flashlight from Megan and went around the side of the shed to the breaker box.

I heard the little metal door creak open.

Then I heard nothing for a while.

"Libby," he said. "Come look at this."

The cooler's breaker was flipped off.

He flipped it back on.

Nothing happened.

He pointed the flashlight lower.

The thick gray cable that runs from the box to the compressor had been cut clean through, a foot above the ground.

The two ends hung apart with copper shining in them.

"That isn't a mouse," he said.

"No."

"Somebody switched it off so they wouldn't get shocked. Then they cut it."

I stood there in my bare feet in the wet grass and did the math out loud.

"Tarts start going soft at room temperature in about six hours. It's seventy degrees. By the time an electrician gets out of bed, we lose all of it."

"Then we move it," Megan said.

"Where? Four tons, Megan."

"Somewhere cold."

I thought about every cold place on the peninsula.

"The church has a walk-in," I said slowly. "For the Lenten fish fry."

"And?"

"And the brothers next door have a cold room for their sweets. They're half empty this week."

Luke was already backing the farm truck up to the shed.

Megan ran for the house.

Gran was standing on the porch in her robe by then, holding the cordless phone.

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