A cool breeze was blowing in from the direction of the docks, filling the air with the unmistakable odor of fish.  Alex Stone was not in the mood to notice the smell, but she had no choice. At five a.m. that morning, a projectile flew through the air, across the road next to the Widow's Walk, and through her window.  Her window had been closed at the time.

Naturally alarmed, she had shot out of bed and promptly stepped on the broken glass.  After hopping around and swearing a great deal, she realized that her injuries were not quite as bad as she had thought, but they were dripping blood all over her floor.

Alex staggered into the bathroom and turned on the shower.  "May as well get up, now," she muttered, stripping off her pajama T-shirt.  She climbed into the welcoming cloud of steam.

At least, there was steam for a few seconds.  As soon as she stuck her head under the shower head, however, the water turned icy.  She shrieked.

Now, two hours later, she had since cleaned up the glass and located the problem with the shower.  The water heater.

"Oh, great.  Just great," she said sarcastically, staring at the large, rusting monster in the corner of her basement.  As if answering her, the water heater let out a strange mechanical burp.  She glared at it.

Footsteps clumped above her head.

"Mom!" Dylan bellowed.  "Mom, are you here?"

A brilliant idea occurred to her.  "Dylan, I'm down here," she called.  Her son's head appeared around the corner of the stairs.

"What are you doing, mom?"

She buried her hands in her hair, frustrated.  "I'm trying to fix this thing before the guests get up.  There's no hot water.  Could you go find Boris and ask him if he could please come and fix this?  He should be awake by now."

Dylan nodded and ran up the stairs.  Alex was so glad she had a son who could follow orders.

"Right," she muttered to herself, "Got to do something about breakfast."

Up in the kitchen, things didn't look much more promising.  Last night Stevie Gormly had thrown his glass, attempting to hit his friend, but had missed and shattered the coffee pot instead.  Fortunately Kevin had been there, waiting for Molly, or Alex would have had a tough time getting the guy out.  But now the coffee maker was out of the question, so it would have to be instant for everyone.

Eggs.  There had to be eggs.  There was always eggs.  She looked in the fridge, and eventually found three eggs behind a head of cabbage. Now she remembered.  Boris had decided to treat the customers at the Widow's Walk to a Russian delicacy-something involving three dozen eggs, tapioca, and a tablespoon of fish paste.  Alex figured if all else failed, she could always serve the left-overs.

Where was Boris?  She could hear the guests beginning to stir upstairs.  A lot of guests.  It was one of her busiest times of the year.

She would make toast.  There was tea.  There was jam.  There was-

"Aieeeee!"

There was no jam.  She stared at the shattered glass and the pile of beautiful raspberry jam on the kitchen floor, and tried to hold the quickly unraveling ends of her nerves together.  That must have been Mrs. Walter, the retired opera singer, who had screamed.  No-one else's voice could carry so well.

Somebody was banging on the door to the front entrance.  She'd forgotten to unlock it.

"Coming!" Oh, please let that be Boris, she thought.

It wasn't.  She unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Yes, Brian?"

The new Mayor looked mildly uncomfortable.  This was not unusual, as he was almost always guilty of something.

"Er. I was wondering if you found something, early this morning.  In one of the rooms?  It.er.doesn't actually belong to me, but I.uh.I'm collecting it for a friend."

She stared at him.  "For a friend?"

"Er. yeah.  For my friend.  And if you find it, I-my  friend, that is-needs it right away."

Realization dawned, and she ground her teeth.  "One minute, please, Brian." Alex spun on her heel and marched up to her room to retrieve the object that had broken her window.  It was a strange shape, and covered with aluminum foil.  She came back and waved it under Brian's nose, trying to come up with a suitably scathing remark.  She failed.

He looked relieved.  "Yeah, that's it."  He started to take it, but Alex held it just out of reach.

"You tell your friend that he owes me for one pane of glass, because now I have extra ventilation in my room.  I don't want extra ventilation, Brian." She allowed him to take the object.

"Sure, Alex.  Don't you worry about that window.  I'll see it's paid for," Brian said, backing out the door.  Nub was waiting outside, with a camera around his neck.  She thought she caught the words, "developed" and "plate".

"I don't even want to know," she said out loud, starting back to the kitchen.

She decided to start on pancakes, after cleaning up the jam mess.  Of course the flour billowed up out of the bowl and all over her.  Of course Mrs. Walter breezed into the kitchen at that moment, leading a crowd of guests to complain about the hot  water.  Or lack thereof.  Of course Boris wasn't there yet.

And of course Daniel Cooper would choose that moment to show up.  How embarrassing.  At least, Alex thought philosophically, nobody could see her blushing under all the flour.

Daniel squeezed through the crowd at the door, and looked at her questioningly.  She tried out an encouraging smile; it came out as a grimace.  He instantly understood.  He had a way of making you feel that he'd always be there for you, if you were in trouble.

As the tall minister led everyone out of the kitchen, soothing ruffled feathers, Dylan came forward.  He looked awfully proud of himself.

"Dylan, honey, where's Boris?  I asked you to get him to come. Remember?"

Her son grinned at her.  "I couldn't find Boris.  But Daniel can fix it, right?  I told him you needed help."

Alex groaned internally.  She supposed it was only natural that Dylan would think that Daniel could do anything, but she was starting to think that it might be a good idea to try and control this hero-worship he had for the man.  There was definitely worse people Dylan could admire.  It was just that Alex didn't want to make people think that she couldn't manage without Daniel's help.

"I don't think he'll know how to fix this."  She slapped some batter on the griddle and got out the dishes and coffee.  "Now why don't you go out there and see how many people are staying, and how many are leaving without paying their bill, hey?"

Before too long, she had a huge stack of pancakes and all the trimmings.

Daniel came back in.

"Bad day?" he asked sympathetically.

"'Bad day' doesn't even begin to cover it.  I got woken up at some ungodly hour-excuse me, Reverend-by a wad of aluminum foil."

"What?"

She nodded, "Yup.  Just a minute, I need to deliver these."

Daniel watched her pick up trays and walk towards the bar.  He picked up one and followed.  "Why are you limping?"

Alex looked at him.  "I stepped on the glass after it came crashing through my window."

Now thoroughly confused, the best Daniel could offer was a sympathetic, "Augh."

They deposited the trays on tables and went back to the kitchen.  Alex flipped her hair back and went on with the story.

"The water heater has died, or something.  I have no idea how to fix it, that's why I wanted Dylan to find Boris, but Boris is missing, and. I don't suppose you know how to fix water heaters, Daniel?"

"I can take a look at it," he offered.

"Thanks.  Anyway, Molly hasn't shown up, and what you hear right now-" A quiet but steady drip was coming from somewhere in the room,  "is my refrigerator about to kick the bucket."  She slammed a bowl into the sink. "My expenses for this month are going to be through the roof."

"Maybe something can be worked out," he suggested.  That made her smile. "Daniel, it would take a miracle to get this place put back together again; it's been falling down around my ears for years.  And if you say that there's always prayer, don't let Father Mac hear you."

He looked confused again, so she clarified. "Father Mac thinks that only the Catholic Church can perform miracles."

"I'm sure God could whip something up."

She smirked.  "I wouldn't bet the Widow's Walk on it."

Alex watched Daniel leave, looking thoughtful.  He couldn't fix the water heater; he couldn't even tell which part was broken.  That made two of them. He said he'd look for Boris and find out what Brian was up to-and make him pay up for the window.

She stifled a laugh.  Daniel Cooper had to be the first minister in the history of the island who actually wanted to save a bar from ruin.  She imagined all the past ministers would be turning in their graves.

Where was Molly?   It was almost time to open for lunch.

As if on cue, a flustered Molly came rushing in.

"Sorry, Alex.  Kevin's being a difficult patient, poor guy."  She smiled, a silly expression one her face.  She really did think her husband was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and it was reciprocated.

"Is he sick?"

Molly looked at her in surprise.  "Didn't you know?  Little Stevie Gormly must have started swinging before Kevin got him half-way home.  Kevin came in last night with a black eye.  I've heard that Little Stevie looks worse though, so now he feels guilty.  Poor guy," she repeated.

"Well," Alex said, "I didn't think Kevin had it in him."

She just hoped Little Stevie didn't think about pressing police brutality charges.  But that sort of thing didn't happen on Hope, it was part of the world of the mainland.  People here settled their own problems.

Her best friend continued to smile off into space for a moment, thinking about her hero, no doubt, and then eventually came to her senses.  "We'd better get started on sandwiches," she said brightly, walking toward the refrigerator.

As she opened the freezer to remove a loaf of bread, a flood of water rushed out.  Molly looked at Alex, and Alex drew back her foot and kicked the side of it. Hard.
 
 

Will Alex ever get the Widow's Walk back in order?  Can she find her own hero in all this?  And what exactly is Brian up to?  To be continued in, 'If I Have to Call, I'll Reverse the Charges'