by Sandra Hill
“Again? Like to the father of your child . . . is that what you mean?”
“Exactly. I trusted that boy . . . man . . . and it led to a whole lot of trouble, the least of which was my being pregnant with Maggie. And that’s the last I’m going to say on the subject.”
For now. “All right, but let’s start over here. You are not going to quit. If you want nothing to do with me, fine.” We’ll see about that. “Consider this little kiss fest we just engaged in a lesson learned.” And, boy, did I learn a lot. Like you consider me temptation on the hoof. “Agreed?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“In light of your angst over a mere kiss . . .” Mere? More like walk-off, grand slam, game-over of a kiss. “. . . you’ll probably go bonkers over my next suggestion.”
She rolled her eyes. “Give it to me.”
Oh, baby! Poor choice of words! He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together for a long moment so he wouldn’t betray his take on her declaration. When he had himself under control, he said, “I’d like to move into your place.”
“Shazam!” She tossed her hands in the air as if he was hopeless.
He was, of course. Where she was concerned. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“My place. That’s what you said. Seeing as how my place has one bedroom, what else could you mean?”
“I meant the motel. I have a serious housing issue for the employees I’ve brought in here. Charlie, Famosa, K-4 when he gets here, and myself. I can’t keep staying at the Patterson senior citizen loony bin.”
“The motel rooms aren’t up to code, let alone in any condition to be used.”
“I have an idea—”
“I think I’ve heard enough of your ideas.”
He wagged a forefinger at her for jumping to conclusions. “I have an idea that would benefit us both. I pay an electrician and plumber to get three units working. Send in a cleaning crew to scrub them down, top to bottom. Buy a few new mattresses. Some basic bed linens and towels, nothing fancy. Just functional. A temporary solution to my problem. Later you can remodel and do whatever you want with the Elvis theme.”
“More money I’d be indebted to you for! No way!”
“No, no, no! You don’t understand. I don’t know what the going weekly rate is for motel rooms on the Outer Banks. Without any redecorating and without any amenities, let’s lowball at five hundred a week, for eight weeks, times three. We’re talking twelve grand. How much could the plumbing and electrical cost for three rooms? I’m thinking two thou max. Another three thou for everything else I mentioned. And the rest is gravy for you.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. I already know a local contractor to do the work. He’s fast and efficient and fair in pricing.”
“I don’t know,” she wavered.
“It’s a win-win for both of us,” he argued.
“Okay, I guess. Maybe they could start on the work while we’re out on the job this week.”
“And you could order the mattresses, towels, and stuff online.”
“You never give up. You’ve got to stop interfering in my life.”
“Since when is kindness interfering?”
“You know what they say about kindness?”
“What?”
“It kills.”
“I’m not sure that’s what that idiom means.”
“Idiom? Who uses a word like that outside an English classroom?”
He felt his face heat.
“You really are a genius or something, aren’t you?”
“Or something.”
“All right, then. I agree to the motel suggestion. But only three rooms. And that’s the last of your interference in my life or my business.”
He crossed his heart. “No more interference. No more Mister Buttinsky. No more Mister Nice Guy.”
Unfortunately, it was Gus who yelled down to him now. “Hey, Geek, I signed your name for the UPS guy, but he wants to know if he should drop off this twenty-foot neon Elvis here or over at that diner. Man, you can buy anything on eBay!”
Merrill glanced toward Delilah and said, “Oops.”
She put her face in her hands and muttered a bad word.
Chapter 7
Busyness was a form of therapy . . .
Delilah spent that evening planning menus and making grocery lists for an initial two-week stint, as well as bulk purchasing for the future. Using her antiquated laptop that moved at the speed of sludge, she set up accounts at various big box food wholesalers. However, not having time to wait as much as a week for deliveries without paying exorbitant, expedited shipping charges or time to go off island to a BJ’s or Costco, she accepted that, short term, she would need to shop local and hope for some bargains.
It was amazing how long her list grew.
And it wasn’t just Internet ordering for the Three Saints project that consumed her time. The contractor that Merrill mentioned had come by that afternoon and gave her an estimate of $2,100 to get the electrical and plumbing work up to code in three motel units. She gave him a key to access the units while she was away.
Forget about Merrill’s suggestion that she hire a cleaning service. Delilah about killed herself shoving and tugging six double mattresses and box springs out to the diner Dumpster, and she planned to spend tomorrow morning scrubbing the units from top to bottom. She had every intention of painting the walls and woodwork herself, first time the Sweet Bells team returned to Bell Cove. She would have started on it tomorrow after cleaning, but the afternoon had to be dedicated to shopping for food and supplies for the boat excursion.
She was on the Internet ordering towels and shower curtains and bed linens when she decided to make a call for help.
The phone picked up after just one ring, even though it was eight p.m. by then. “Blanket-y Blank, South Carolina’s finest quilt store, Barbara MacLeod speaking. How may I help you?”
“Barb, Lilah Jones here. Remember me? From the diner? You came out to talk to me yesterday?”
“Sure. I remember. What’s up, dear?”
“I’ve been thinking about your suggestions regarding my motel units.” She went on to explain her situation, making it clear that she was still short on cash. “Do you think there’s anything we can do on a smaller scale in such a short time frame? And how much would it cost?”
“Of course. We’ll find a way to get it done. And as cheap as possible. But one week?”
“Two at the most.”
“Y’know, I sense a bit of synchronicity here. I did a volunteer talk at the senior center in Hatteras today, and I met this woman . . . Suffice it to say, I think she might be the perfect seamstress for the job. She’s older, but has a world of experience. Plus, it would do her good, to work again and feel she still has some value.”
“And it would do me a favor, too,” Delilah concluded. “I’ll be around tomorrow if you have any questions, but after that I’ll be inaccessible for a week or so. The contractor has a key and will be in and out if you need to go in for measurements.”
They discussed a few more details before Barb said, “This is so exciting. I can’t wait to tell Stu. Thanks so much for calling.”
“No. Thank you. You’re the answer to my prayers.”
“That’s what friends are for, honey.”
Oh, crap!
“What did you say?”
Delilah hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “Nothing. I just dropped my notepad on the floor.”
While she had her cell phone in hand, Delilah called the number for her parole officer. She’d deliberately waited until this late so that she’d get voice mail and not have to answer any questions. “Hello. Ms. Gardner? This is Delilah Jones. I know I’m not scheduled to come in until next week, but I’m calling to give you a heads-up. I got a job working for a salvaging company.” She didn’t mention the specific name for fear Ms. Gardner would call their office to confirm employment. “I’m still working to get the diner ope
rational and later the motel, but this gives me a chance to earn some cash now. Anyhow, sorry I didn’t call earlier, but I had to work late. I have to go out on the boat tomorrow and will be gone for about a week. If you need to reach me, you can try my cell phone, but I’m not sure there will be access. I’ll check in when I get back. Bye.”
That out of the way, Delilah called her grandmother. She’d already checked with her this morning to make sure she got the money wire, but she wanted to make sure her grandmother had no problems paying off the loan shark and past due bills. Or that she hadn’t skipped off to the casinos.
At first, Delilah was worried when the phone rang repeatedly, but then Maggie picked up. “Hi, Mommy! Did you get me a dog yet?”
“No, I did not get you a dog yet.” And I never actually said that I would, you little imp. “You sound out of breath, sweetie.”
“Me and Gramma just came in. We were shopping.”
Uh-oh. Delilah hoped her grandmother hadn’t decided to splurge since she had a little extra cash, which wasn’t really extra. She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock. “Oh?”
“Yep. We went to Walmart. I got a new bathing suit and flip-flops and Day of the Week panties and a booster seat . . . and gummy bears. Gramma bought a suitcase and wait till you see the wagon—”
“Shh! Remember what I said? Let me have the phone,” she heard her grandmother say.
“Oops,” Maggie said with a giggle.
“What’s up?” her grandmother asked Delilah then.
“A wagon? For Maggie? How cute! And a suitcase? For your Avon samples?”
“Um. Sure.”
“Why did you buy Maggie a booster seat? I was going to get that when I came to pick her up. Hell . . . I mean, heck . . . I haven’t even traded the motorcycle in for a car yet.” Forget about the compact I was considering. Already I need to make sure there’s space for Maggie’s booster seat, a wagon, her DVD player, toys, clothes . . . Aaarrgh!
“There was a sale.”
On booster seats? Well, at least she didn’t buy a dog leash. “Isn’t it kind of late for you to be out shopping?”
“I had to go to the pediatrician for Maggie’s physical and the medical records you said she needs for kindergarten. The only appointment we could get was six o’clock and since we were out that way anyhow . . . what? You have a problem with us shopping? Cri-min-ey!”
“Son of a bi . . . bike! How did you carry all that stuff on the bus?”
“I managed. The bus driver helped. You think I’m too old to get around anymore?” her grandmother sniped. “I’ll have you know the bus driver asked me for a date. A man with a job asked me for a date! How about that?”
“I wasn’t being critical. Jeesh, Gram! Did you get everything taken care of today? The money stuff.”
“Of course.”
“No problems?”
“Why would there be?”
Her grandmother was being awfully testy tonight, for some reason. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I’ll be gone from Wednesday on, maybe for a week or more. I should have cell phone access, but just in case, here’s an emergency number.” She gave her the phone number for Bell Cove Salvaging and Treasure Hunting, figuring that, in an emergency, Harry or whoever was in the office would have ways of contacting her on the open sea. She also told her grandmother about some of the latest developments regarding the motel.
“Sounds like things are going well for you there.”
“Yes. Knock on wood. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get to A.C. in another month and bring Maggie back here with me.”
After Delilah ended the call with another quick chat with her daughter, she sat staring out the windows toward the star-filled skies over the sound. For some reason, she felt uneasy. Something about her conversation with her grandmother felt off.
She shook her head to rid it of any negative thoughts. She had enough on her plate without imagining troubles.
When the town bells began to toll in the distance, marking the hour with eleven bongs, she shut down her computer and called it a day. For a moment, she just listened to, first, Our Lady by the Sea, then St. Andrew’s, then the town hall, each with their own distinctive sounds. In fact, the entire town—businesses as well as residences—had unique bells attached to their doors. Even the diner door chimed to the tune of “Don’t Be Cruel.”
By the time she’d showered and brushed her teeth and was in bed, it was almost midnight, and the bells would be ringing again. She didn’t mind the constant exposure to bells like some folks did. After all, bells were the foundation of the town, even though the forge was floundering these days.
She yawned big and loud before shimmying under the cool sheets. Silence surrounded her, except for the whirring window air conditioner, giving her a first chance to think about her biggest trouble, a subject she’d avoided all evening by working to pan out the worry.
How could she forget about him when she had a twenty-foot Elvis sitting in her front yard? A visible reminder of how Merrill Good kept interfering in her life.
Six foot three of hard-muscled trouble, that’s what he was, not twelve feet of neonized metal. Which was even worse. A fake Elvis she could handle. Not so much the way-too-kind, meddling, presumptuous, high-handed, intrusive man of the hour. Not to mention pure temptation.
With the body of a hardened warrior and the face of a teenage heartthrob, Merrill Good spelled trouble with a capital T. And not just because of all his well-meaning intrusions in her life. If she’d had any doubt about the danger he posed, the kiss they’d shared today made it loud and clear.
If she wasn’t careful, she could fall in love.
And look where love had landed her in the past. But she’d managed to keep her romantic inclinations under control these past five years. Not so difficult when living in a women’s prison. All she would need to do now was keep a steady path of noninvolvement. She couldn’t let the man—any man—stir up her life now. Cool, calm, and focused.
Ironically, when the midnight bells began their tolls, one of the set sounded strangely like “All Shook Up.”
She wasn’t Victoria, but whoo-boy, she had a secret . . .
Salome Jones was in a hurry. Lots to do and not enough time to do it. She had the double dead bolt locks set on both the front and back doors, security chains in place, and kitchen chairs placed under both doorknobs, but she was taking no chances. By tomorrow night—it was always best to make a getaway in the dark—she expected to be on the Cape May Ferry, heading south. Time to get out of Dodge—um, Atlantic City.
Vaping away on her e-cig, ginger flavored tonight to soothe her nerves, Sal put a lid on yet another box of the tissue-wrapped Avon collectibles she was packing up. She sat on the couch and was using the coffee table as her workstation. She had gotten some really nice boxes with lids from the liquor store down the street this morning, thanks to her old friend, Carmine Lorenzo, who’d thrown in a bottle of blackberry wine as a going-away gift. And she’d purchased a pigload of pastel-colored tissue paper from Walmart this evening so she could color code her prized Avon bottles by theme. No way was she leaving behind her collection! It would be just like Jimmy the Goon to come in with his cane and break them all to smithereens, just for spite. Some people just don’t appreciate fine art. Or because she’d refused to go on a date with him to the Early Bird dinner at the Borgata. The cheapskate! Or maybe because she’d failed to pay off the total amount of her loan. Jeesh! I gave Sharkie five thousand dollars toward my loan. I told him I’d pay off the rest later. Give a girl a break, why dontcha!
“Gramma, why did you shush me when I was talking to Mommy?” Maggie asked as she came in from the kitchen where she’d been having a bedtime snack of Oreos and milk. She was wearing a new pair of Snoopy pj’s and looked cute as a button. Sal was trying to wean her off her Annie fixation, mostly to no avail. Just like her mother!
“Our secret. Remember our secret, sweetie,” she said, motioning for the little girl to come sit beside her on the
couch. “You can’t tell anyone we’re going on vacation.”
“In our wagon.”
“Right. In our station wagon.” Sal had used the remaining five thousand dollars that Delilah had sent to buy a twenty-year-old Buick station wagon and various other things for her road trip. Her pal, Honkin’ Harvey Harrison over at Bonzo Used Cars, Boats, and Lawnmowers—every time he sold a car he honked a bullhorn on his TV ads—had given her a great deal on the vehicle, which had only 208,000 miles on it. A “diamond in the rough,” Harvey had called it.
“Betcha there would be room in that car for a dog.”
“We are not getting a dog.” At the hurt look on Maggie’s face, she added, “Some dogs get carsick. It’s better to wait till we get to Bell Cove and let your mother get you a dog.” Sal should have felt guilty about passing the buck to Delilah, but she didn’t. Too much other stuff on her mind.
Already having put the dog subject aside, Maggie asked, “Can you drive a car, Gramma?”
“Of course I can drive a car, sweetie!” Even though I haven’t driven one in ten years. But a person never forgets how. Right? Like riding a bicycle. Right? Which I haven’t done for fifty years, except for that brief stint of madness when I joined a gym on my fiftieth birthday and fell off a stationary bike. Never again!
“But you ran over the curb at the car lot and almost knocked Honkin’ Harvey on his ass.”
“Magdalene Jones! We do not use words like that.”
“But that’s what Honkin’ Harvey said. ‘That crazy broad almost knocked me on my ass.’ And he stuck his finger up in the air when you waved at him.”
“I’ll be fine once I have a little practice. Besides we’ll be driving real slow on this trip. Maybe stop at a few places along the way. Aunt Phyllis has been inviting me to come for years.”
“Doesn’t Aunt Phyllis live in a place for old farts? I don’t think I’d like visiting a farty place.”
Sal rolled her eyes. Her granddaughter heard way too much that wasn’t meant for little ears. “Aunt Phyllis lives in a very nice active senior village in Maryland. They even have a swimming pool.”
