by Sandra Hill
“Don’t you?” He just noticed that the car, a honkin’ big Buick station wagon from another less gas-conscious era, was stuffed with boxes, and there were a bunch more bungeed to the rooftop luggage rack. What was the old lady hauling?
“Pfff! It’s either laugh or cry.” She shook her head at the pinup queen—who had a surprisingly hot body for a woman her age, he just noticed—as she hobbled over the gravel stones of the parking lot to stare up at the giant Elvis.
“I had a date with Elvis once, in Vegas when I was a showgirl,” the grandmother remarked, to no one in particular. “By then his hunka hunka burning love had gone the way of too many peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
“Your grandmother was a showgirl?” he asked Delilah.
She nodded.
Actually, she told me that last night. But it didn’t sink in then. Whoa. Another piece of the puzzle. Raised by a showgirl grandmother. “Cool! Bet she’ll fit in great with the dance crowd over at the Patterson house.”
Delilah groaned. “Oh, my G . . . gracious! You’re right.”
“Of course, it’s a nonsmoking crowd.”
“She’ll convince them that it’s not really smoking since no nicotine is involved.”
He was bent over laughing by now.
“You do know that these unexpected visitors mean your plans for the evening have gone south.”
“Oh, crap!” He adjusted the towel around his hips.
Which caught Delilah’s eyes, which went wide. She seemed to suddenly realize that he was half-naked and made a hissing sound of distress. “Hurry. Go get dressed.”
“You’re wearing my shirt,” he pointed out.
She looked down at herself and blushed. She must have forgotten her own lack of attire.
This scene out of a bad comedy, or a really good comedy, just got better and better.
“Go!” she ordered. “And while you’re inside, take all those sticky sheets off the bed, and gather up all those wet towels. Pick up any, um, loose clothes off the living room floor, too.”
Sticky sheets, he liked the sound of that. But maybe now wasn’t the time to tease her. On their fiftieth wedding anniversary, though, all bets were off. “Sticky sheets” was going to be their code word for a certain activity. And, no, he wasn’t going to examine why he was thinking of anniversaries when weddings weren’t even discussed yet, or imagined. Talk about jumping the gun. “I assume I’m going to the laundry.”
“You did offer to help,” she said.
“Yeah, but then there were rewards to be had.” At the crestfallen look on her face, he said, “I was just kidding. Lighten up, sweetie. Everything will be all right.” He leaned down, gave her a quick kiss, and went back inside.
A short time later, he had his truck stuffed with laundry. Delilah had given him a short grocery list—not for the salvage boat, but for her family’s needs today. They would do the Sweet Bells shopping this afternoon, but would he mind stopping at Hard Knocks, the hardware store where Frank had ordered a mini blowtorch for her to make some kind of desserts, and the Cove, a mercantile or general store dating back to the 1930s to buy a cast-iron frying pan, and, oh, could he check with Stu or Barb MacLeod at Blankety-Blank to see if the bedspreads were ready yet for the motels? Delilah kept apologizing about asking for his help. Finally, he had to tell her, “Cool your jets, babe. I want to help.”
She had tears in her eyes when she said, softly, “Thank you.”
Damn! Tears over a little frickin’ help! What had her life been like pre–Outer Banks?
Another missing puzzle piece.
He would have taken off then but the grandmother, to whom he’d been introduced as “My friend, Merrill Good,” solicited his help in unloading her car.
Yeah, right. He’d like to give her “friend.” Maybe with a quick smack on her cute butt, which was now demurely covered by a loose sundress. But that was being petty. What did he expect? That she’d introduce him as her lover? Or something more? One night did not make for “something more.” He knew that, but he’d been hoping for another night, and another.
The little girl stared at him, speculatively, through crafty blue eyes, just like her mother’s. Probably wondering if he was going to be her Daddy Warbucks. Or maybe she was wondering if her mother had brought home an uncle for her to play with. Or maybe she didn’t like his looks and wanted him to be gone. Bottom line, she was clearly casing him out.
He winked at her and said, “Cute duds, Annie McFannie!”
She smiled. Apparently, he’d passed the test. “I want a dog.”
Whoa! Does she expect me to get her a dog? “That’s nice. I thought you already had a dog.”
“That’s not a real dog,” she told him with disdain, as if he might be a bit dim upstairs. “Do you have a dog?”
“Not presently.”
“But you’re gonna get a dog?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. You can keep it here.”
“Maggie, come here a minute,” Delilah called from inside.
Was I just hustled by a mini con artist?
He went off to help the grandmother.
“What’s in these things, Ms. Jones?” he asked as he hefted one of the boxes off the roof and nearly herniated himself.
“Call me Salome, or Sal,” she said.
Salome? Wasn’t she the babe who danced for a king in the Bible? Delilah said she used to be a Vegas showgirl. Oh, yeah, this babe is going to fit right in here in Bell Cove!
“They’re Avon, honey,” Sal told him.
“Huh?”
“Didn’t Delilah tell you that I was an Avon lady for years, as a side gig, when I wasn’t dancing onstage. You know, ding a ling, doorbell ringing, ‘Avon, calling!’ That kind of Avon.”
He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Well, we have plenty of doorbells here in Bell Cove. It’s a town built on bells, from way back. You should do very well here.”
She smiled at him. “I’m counting on it, sugar. By the way, I have a great men’s cologne, Black Suede, that would suit you perfectly. It’s on sale for only nine ninety-nine.”
“Uh, I’m more into Blue Suede. Like, you know, blue suede shoes,” he tried to joke.
She ignored or didn’t get his jest. “Black Suede is sort of a citrusy/sage scent.”
“I am partial to lemons,” he conceded.
“Black Suede is promoted as a fragrance for the rugged masculine man.”
“Well, hell’s bells, order me a gallon then.”
Another con job, he decided, with a chuckle, as he stored the boxes in the shed for her and then took off in his truck, a little black bottle sitting on the seat beside him, his wallet minus a ten spot. So much had happened in the past few hours that he didn’t have time to think about the amazing night he’d just spent with Delilah. He wanted to go over every little detail in his mind.
In the meantime, he had errands to run. After loading the machines at the Laundromat, he headed for Hard Knocks, the hardware store, where he picked up Delilah’s mini blowtorch and decided to buy a grill and a bunch of related barbecue accessories, which were in a window display. He put the clothes in the dryers and picked up the items on Delilah’s grocery list at a nearby supermarket. Once the clothes were dry and folded at the Laundromat, he went back to the Patterson house to gather his belongings for his move into the motel unit.
While he was there, he mentioned to Mildred Patterson that Delilah’s grandmother and her daughter had just arrived. He also happened to let slip that Salome had a dance background. Some of the other oldies overheard and about suffered heart attacks of excitement at the prospect of a Las Vegas showgirl joining their group. All of them seemed to speak at once, asking him questions, most of which he couldn’t answer, having just met the woman.
“Do you think she can still do a high kick?” Elmer asked him as he finger combed his bald head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Merrill replied.
“Should we invit
e her over?” Mildred asked.
“Sure, but you should probably wait until they settle in.”
“She sounds like fun.”
No doubt. “She dated Elvis a time or two, I understand. That should make for good conversation.” Merrill’s loose tongue was obviously enjoying a holiday.
“Wow!” Mildred said, and a bunch of senior jaws plummeted.
Merrill closed his eyes for a moment, fearing he’d witness a mass denture drop.
“I dated Ann-Margret one time,” Ike said.
“You did not!” his brother Mike corrected. “It was an Ann-Margret look-alike in one of those nostalgia revues.”
“Same thing!” Ike contended.
The two white-haired gentlemen, former psychiatrists, were twins, but they disagreed about everything. Personally, the whole house could use a little head doctoring.
Yep, Salome Jones was going to fit in here just right.
He was packed up and ready to head back to the motel, including the grill and groceries, when a vehicle pulled up out front. To Merrill’s surprise and great pleasure, it was K-4.
“Yo, Geek!”
“You made it,” Merrill said, going up and giving his buddy a man-hug.
“Yep. Finished out my contract on Tuesday and closed out my apartment on Wednesday, and here I am.”
“Any trouble?”
“They tried to talk me into re-upping.”
“And?”
“I was tempted, but, honestly, it’s time for a change.”
“Same for me.”
“I’ll probably need help adjusting to civvy life. I’m already experiencing a little withdrawal. It was a huge adjustment for me when I joined the teams, after Karen died. Seems I’m in for another adjustment back to a nonmilitary regimen.”
K-4’s wife had died of cancer. Merrill had known him from when he’d first arrived in Coronado, and he’d been a basket case of depression and rage.
“Takes time, dude. Best remedy is hard work, and there’s plenty of that here. You have no idea how welcome you are. We’re in desperate need of another diver.”
K-4 nodded. “Any luck so far?”
Merrill shook his head. “A few artifacts that we’re checking out, but nothing yet to indicate any of the Three Saints are down there. I’m hopeful, though. It’s still early days.”
“By the way,” K-4 said, “what’s with those signs I saw coming in? A Labor Day Lollypalooza?”
“This crazy town . . . what can I say? Remember that Grinch fund-raising crap when we were here last Christmas?”
“Who could forget? Even I, a stranger, got nominated . . . and got five frickin’ votes. Just because I frown too much, or so someone contended.”
“You do frown a lot,” Merrill pointed out, and ducked when K-4 attempted to punch him. “Anyhow, the powers that be here are always looking for new ways to raise money without the town going all commercial, like other beach towns. Plus, they had all these decorations left over from the Fourth of July and the Rutledge wedding. Voilà! A Lollypalooza.”
“Don’t they mean Lollapalooza? Or can they just not spell?”
“It’s a deliberate misspelling. And this isn’t going to be a huge music concert. This’ll be more like American Idol on the Outer Banks. A talent contest for homegrown talent. Everything from yodeling to shag dancing.”
K-4 was shaking his head with disbelief.
“Yeah, I know. It boggles the mind.”
“So, you got a room for me here?” He glanced toward the yellow brick and weathered shakes of the Patterson house.
“Actually, one better. At Delilah’s motel. You remember Delilah from the wedding?”
“The blonde babe?”
“Exactly, but I wouldn’t refer to her that way in her hearing.”
K-4 grinned. “Any progress?”
“Some,” he admitted, and grinned back.
“Hoo-yah!” K-4 proclaimed, then repeated that sentiment after following Merrill to Delilah’s property. They both got out of their vehicles. K-4 glanced around, taking in the twenty-foot Elvis, the Rock Around the Clock diner, the Heartbreak Motel, and said, “Hot damn hoo-yah!” Immediately followed by “The only thing missing is Graceland. Or is that on the horizon?”
“God only knows!”
In Bell Cove, one never knew what would happen next.
In the end, all you’ve got to do is shebang . . .
Delilah was alternately furious and ecstatic.
Furious with her grandmother for just popping in, with no warning.
But ecstatic to finally be united with her daughter.
After making them a breakfast of cinnamon buns and more cinnamon buns, Merrill’s lemon ones, to be precise, just about all she had on hand, Delilah showed them around the diner and motel. Maggie loved everything, never once complaining that she wouldn’t have a room of her own yet, or that there was no television, or how shabby the furnishings were, or what was her mommy doing with a man on the premises? Her only constant refrain was, “I want a dog.”
When Delilah had said “We’ll see” for about the dozenth time, Maggie told her, “Mister Merrill is gonna get me a dog.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not ’zackly. But almost.”
“You’re not supposed to ask people for things, especially people you don’t really know.”
“I didn’t ask him.”
“Really?”
“He likes me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he winked at me, and he called me Annie McFannie.”
Perfect child logic!
“Sweetheart, our apartment here isn’t big enough for a dog.”
“Maybe we’ll get a mansion.”
“Not gonna happen, cupcake.”
“Does Mister Merrill have a mansion?”
“No, but he has a boat.”
“A big boat?”
“Yes.”
“Yippee! Betcha a dog will fit on a big boat!”
More child logic!
After a while, Delilah set her daughter up on the bed with her old-fashioned DVD player and the Annie movie. Almost instantly, she was asleep, the trip having caught up with her.
Which gave Delilah the opportunity to confront her grandmother, who had just finished the breakfast dishes and was sitting outside on the patio with her third cup of coffee, vaping away. The scent she emitted at the moment was something called Strawberry Smoke.
Delilah sat down with her, setting her own mug of coffee on the table. Before Delilah had a chance to launch into her, her grandmother said, “It’s a beautiful property. Has potential.”
“Yes, it does. With lots of hard work. And money, which I don’t have. Speaking of which . . .”
Ignoring her obvious reference to the money Delilah had sent her, part of which must have gone toward the purchase of that rattletrap of a car, her grandmother puffed away for a second, then mused, “Clyde always was a strange bird, even before he went off to ’Nam.”
“You weren’t close?” Obviously not, since Delilah could only remember that one visit when she was a child, and Gram never talked about him, spoke to him on the phone, or got any letters.
Her grandmother shook her head and blew more smoke. “He was a lot older than me, and he was a loner type. He did love the ocean, though. And Elvis.”
“You’d think, growing up in Atlantic City, that he would have settled there. Same ocean.”
“After the war, he seemed to need a more remote place. There was already talk of casinos coming to Atlantic City. I think he had an Army buddy who lived here on the Outer Banks.”
“So, Gram, what’s up? What are you doing here?”
“What? Can’t a gal come to visit her granddaughter without having an excuse?”
“Bullshit!”
“I thought you were trying to cut down on the prison language.”
Delilah bristled. “People here don’t know about that, and I’d appreciate your not mentioning it.”<
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Her grandmother made a face and puffed some more on the damn e-cigarette, creating a strawberry cloud, before saying, “Don’t go getting your feathers ruffled. I may be old, but I’m no fool. I know when to keep my trap shut.”
“Did you give the loan shark any money at all?”
“Of course I did. Five thousand dollars! And that’s more than Sharkie deserved.”
“Sharkie?”
“That’s what everyone calls him. Boardwalk Bobby, remember him? He made a mint lugging people along the boardwalk in one of those rolling carts. Got a bent back and about a million bucks for all that work. Then, set himself up as a loan shark. So now he’s Boardwalk Sharkie.”
Why does every question put to my grandmother require a novel for an answer when a simple yes or no would do? And, please, I’m about to puke from all this strawberry vapor. “And he . . . Sharkie . . . was satisfied with half the loan being repaid?”
A pink flush infused her grandmother’s cheeks, mixing with the rouge that was already there. “No, but I told him I’d get the other five thou to him as soon as I could. Which would be on, let’s say, the fifth of Never. But, of course, I didn’t say that to him.”
“And that’s when you decided to skip town?”
“Yep. Just till things settle down a bit.”
“So, you’re not staying?”
“Are you kidding? A gal like me needs action. What kind of action is there in a burg like this?”
Delilah assumed she meant casino action. “Why did you bring all your Avon crap . . . I mean Avon collection . . . if you don’t intend to stay?”
“Are you kidding? Jimmy the Goon threatened to break every one of them with his new HurryCane. I tol’ Jimmy I would break his false teeth and kick him in the you-know-what if he touched any of my precious treasures. But I wasn’t taking any chances.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. She’d done that a lot in the past few hours.
“So, who’s the hottie?”
“The hottie is my boss, the one who owns the treasure hunting business.”
“Ah. Has a bit of cash, does he?” her grandmother guessed, putting two and two together regarding Delilah’s sending her ten thousand dollars. “Every lady needs a sugar daddy once in a while.”
“Gram!”
