by Sandra Hill
Her cell phone rang when she came out of the shower. It was Maggie.
“Mommy. I’m swimming!”
“You are? Where?”
“The big pool at our house.”
“Which house would that be, honey?”
“The . . . what do they call it?” She was speaking to someone else who was in the room with her. Maybe Gram. But, no, it was a man’s voice. “Poppa says it’s the Beach Manse.”
“The beach mansion?”
“Nooooo. The Beach Manse.”
Same thing, sweet pea. “Who is Poppa?”
“He’s Mister Merrill’s father. We went to see Nana in the hospital. Then Poppa brought us here to the Beach Manse.”
Nana? And Poppa? Oh, my! I foresee a disaster in the future. “Where’s Gram?”
“She’s outside with the neighbor lady, eating horse doors and drinking singing-poor-things.”
It took Delilah a moment to realize that she meant hors d’oeuvres and Singapore Slings. “I miss you, pumpkin.”
“Me, too. Gotta go. It’s my turn to play Marco Polo in the pool.”
The line went dead, and Delilah just stared at it for a moment. Guess that puts me in order of my daughter’s priorities. But, actually, Delilah was glad Maggie was okay with this temporary separation.
When she came out of the shower a short time later, there was a missed text from Merrill:
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Delilah tried to call him back, but she got an “out of range” message. He’d probably turned off his phone just so she couldn’t give him a piece of her mind. Then she puzzled over the letters MM. Oh, he meant the Marilyn Monroe halter dress. But why? She would have thought the press conference was informal.
She did as he asked, even though she would probably look like a fool, especially if Charlie was there in coveralls. But Bonita would be dolled up for the cameras, no doubt about that. Not that Delilah was going within a mile of any camera, not if she could help it.
When she got to the Conti mansion, driving the old station wagon, it was early. Only one o’clock, but there were already a dozen vehicles and a number of news vans. She saw Gus and Adam, who were both dressed casually, darn it! They came to help her carry her supermarket purchases inside while she went over to the Stella’s panel truck, which had just pulled up.
The pocket doors that separated the two huge drawing rooms on one side of the mansion had been opened to create one extra-large space. A dais was set up at the front with long tables and chairs and microphones, and several dozen folding chairs were arranged in rows down below. Having lived in Bell Cove for several months now, she was not surprised to see a pirate theme going on, or was it some convoluted shipwreck scene? No, it was pirates, she decided, on seeing that the enormous stuffed gorilla, a prize from a wildlife safari of one of Gabe’s ancestors, had been rolled into the room. On its head was a red bandanna tied at its nape biker style, or was that pirate style? There was a patch over its one eye. A kid’s swashbuckling-type sword was taped to its one hand.
The decorations were heavy on skulls and crossbones. Some barrels had “Grog” written on their sides. A number of canvas kite-type things hung from the ceiling that Delilah assumed were supposed to be ship’s sails. And, yes, some of the townsfolk were dressed like crazy-ass pirates. An enormous pirate’s chest was filled to overflowing with shiny gold coins, with two pirate guards with rifles standing on either side of it, the twin senior citizens, Mike and Ike. When she walked up to them, they addressed her with, “Ahoy, matey!”
What was really nice, though, was the enormous banner hung behind the dais depicting a sepia-tone sketch of the Falcon. The work of Bonita and Adam, she was sure. There were press kits sitting on a number of the chairs, also the work of Bonita and Adam, who had been busy beavers, apparently.
Delilah moved to the long, glassed-in sunroom off to the side, which had probably been screened-in porches at one time. There were several folding tables there with white tablecloths on them. That’s where she directed Adam and Gus and the caterers to put her purchases.
She hadn’t had time thus far to feel like a sore thumb in her dressy clothes, compared to the others. But then, she noticed Kevin, who was in a dark jacket over a dress shirt and tie, and jeans and athletic shoes, but still he was clothed more like her dressiness than the rest. Bonita wore a black spandex dress that hugged her curves and would have fit in anywhere. She guessed it was that kind of affair where everything goes in terms of attire.
She set everything up, and a couple of townspeople asked if they could man the table. In fact, they set up several other tables with skulls and crossbones and leftover Fourth of July paper products. They carried in a number of large ice chests, which they just slid beneath the tables for now. Holy cow! There would be enough food and drink here for an army—or a dozen bands of pirates.
It was a sign of how anxious she was that she could joke with herself like that.
When she peeked out into the main room, Delilah realized that the whole town must have shown up. Aside from the press in the first few rows, who were being bossed around by Laura Atler, the local newsperson, every seat was taken, and folks were lined up against the walls. Many of them gave her little waves, which surprised her. By now, everyone should have heard about her felony status. Instead of judging her, not having heard actual details—even Merrill hadn’t heard those yet—they seemed to not only be accepting, but supporting her. Was that possible?
Gabe Conti, owner of Bell Forge and Merrill’s business partner, owned this big mansion. He sighed on first viewing all the pirate nonsense going on, especially when he saw what they’d done with his gorilla. But then, he’d shrugged and laughed.
Ethan Rutledge came in with his wife, Wendy; his mother, Eliza; and daughter Cassie, who walked with a limp but was supposedly going to have an operation soon. There were a number of potted palm trees around the room, thanks to his landscape nursery, no doubt. Must be this was supposed to be a pirate’s island hideaway or something.
The mayor and her troop of helpers, responsible for this unusual press conference, a pressarama, were all in pirate gear. Even her daughter, Francine, the hairstylist; and her husband, the sheriff, Bill Ferguson. Bill came up to her and whispered, “Don’t you be worryin’ about that goon guy. He’s been extradited. Not only is he gonna pay for attempted assault here, but he has warrants a mile long back in Jersey. He’ll be seeing a lot of time.”
“Thank you so much.”
He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “As for that other thing, I saw that Ms. Gardner and her cohorts snooping around here earlier . . .”
Here? Delilah glanced quickly around the room. That’s all I need. I knew I should have stayed away and lain low. Too late now. At least Maggie is safe.
“. . . but you’re not to worry,” the sheriff went on, patting her on the arm. “No one’s gonna revoke your parole, not while I’m on duty.”
OMG! Are we gonna have a shoot-out at the pirate mansion?
More nervous joking! Stop it, Delilah. This is serious.
“Besides, once you get two senators, a federal judge, and a governor involved, these overzealous state clerks are gonna think twice about overstepping their bounds. Of course, the wedding will cement the deal.”
“Senators? Governor?” she asked in confusion. “What wedding?”
“Anyways, your man must know people in high places.” He waggled his eyebrows at her before going to sit with his wife.
“My man?” she asked, but he was already gone. It didn’t take long for her to realize that Merrill must have been at work, even while he was gone, on his handy laptop or cell phone. The man—not her man, the man—just could not stop meddling in her life. But she couldn’t be mad at him for his interference in her latest problems. Not when they involved Maggie. Still . . .
On and on the craziness we
nt. The seniors from the Patterson house were there, some of them in fancy dance attire. Were they going to give a dance demonstration, or something? But wait. Glancing out the window, she saw a van double-parked outside and some people getting out, carrying instruments. The logo said: “Nostalgia.” It was the popular Outer Banks classic rock band that had played at the Rutledge wedding.
This situation just got weirder and weirder.
Then there were the merchants she’d met in town. And Ina Rogers, the church secretary from Our Lady by the Sea. And was that Father Brad from her church, wearing vestments? Why? Was he going to bless the gold or something?
Self-joking again! Oh, Lord, my brain is going to melt with all this nervousness.
Matt Holter, her local lawyer, came up to her at one point and said, “I know you planned on coming to my office this afternoon, but it won’t be necessary today. I brought some paperwork for you to sign. If I need more, I’ll let you know.” He pulled some folded papers out of the inside pocket on his suit jacket and handed her a pen, pointing to the bottom of several pages marked with an X where she should sign. She could swear that Merrill’s name was on one of them, still waiting for his signature.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t sign anything without reading the whole thing, but Matt was talking the whole time, and she just said, “Will you give me duplicates of this?”
He looked surprised and said, “Of course.”
The odd thing was, when he walked away, he went over to the priest and showed him one of the papers. Was Father Brad going to be a witness to her character in foster care proceedings, or something? He really didn’t know her that well.
Her new friend, Sally Dawson from the Sweet Thangs bakery, came in carrying a huge box of what must be bakery products, which she handed to the folks manning the other tables in the sunroom. Sally, with her brown hair spiked up for the occasion in a pixie-ish haircut and some out-of-character makeup, which still allowed her freckles to show through on her face, looked very pretty in the peach-colored dress she’d bought at the thrift shop the day they’d had lunch. She came over to give Delilah a hug and whispered against her ear, “Good luck!”
An odd sentiment, unless she had heard about her foster care and parole worries. “I may need it.”
Just then, Kevin was about to walk by. She grabbed him by the arm and asked, “Have you heard from Merrill? He should be here by now.”
But Kevin, who’d stopped dead in his tracks, was staring at Sally as if he’d been gobsmacked. “Who . . . are . . . you?” he finally asked.
“Kevin, this is my friend Sally Dawson. She owns the bakery in town. Sally, this is Merrill’s buddy, Kevin Fortunato, or K-4.”
“I know who he is. Ex–Navy SEAL,” Sally said, raising her ski-jump nose in the air. To Kevin she added, “And don’t be giving me that look.”
“What look?”
“That I-want-you-baby and I’m-so-hot-how-can-you-resist-a-buff-guy-like-me?”
Kevin laughed. “What are you doing later?”
“Nothing involving you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t do military men. One was enough.”
“Do?” he inquired with amusement. Then, “I’m not in the military anymore.”
“Once in the military, especially Special Forces, it’s in your veins. Danger. Excitement.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Listen, Mister Macho Man, go play with your Victoria’s Secret model.” Apparently the whole town must know about the goings-on at her motel during the storm. “This single mother has enough to do with three children.”
“The model is gone. And, by the way, I love kids.”
“What a load of hooey!”
“I think I’m in love.”
Sally laughed.
Delilah walked away while the two continued to banter. Sally wouldn’t be able to resist a man like Kevin. Wait until she heard about his dead wife. She’d be down for the count within a day—a week, max.
And then Merrill showed up, and this whole press conference thingee could get underway. He saw her and smiled.
Oddly, that smile calmed her down, and she knew everything was going to be all right.
Making his way toward her, Merrill was stopped by several people who had something they wanted to talk to him about, including Matt Holter, who had him sign some papers, as well. She wasn’t sure if they were the same ones that she’d signed or something else.
Merrill looked so good, and thankfully was dressed more in line with what he’d asked her to wear. A black suit with a white dress shirt and tie. Very, very nice!
“Been shopping?” she asked.
“Yep. Like it?” He did a silly little runway spin to show off his outfit.
“Of course.”
“You look good, too,” he said, and leaned down for a quick kiss. “I have plans for that dress, later.”
“I bet you do.”
“You smell good, too. Is that an Avon product?”
“No, it’s Ivory Soap.”
“My new favorite.”
“How are Maggie and my grandmother?”
“Unbelievable! I’ll tell you about it later. My parents have been transformed. Suffice it to say, those two are miracle workers.”
Whaaat?
But Mayor Doreen was already up on the dais, announcing the beginning of the press conference. For the next hour or so, the team, along with the mayor, all sitting on the dais, gave presentations on their discovery and what would come next, taking questions at the end. Delilah managed to stay off to the side with Gabe and Harry, although when it came time for pictures, they joined the others.
It was actually a fun event. Serious stuff when Bonita and Adam gave a history of the Falcon and how it ended up at the bottom of the ocean, but much laughter when they talked about the expedition, including the surfeit of spiny lobsters. Finally, Merrill said that the press conference was over, that they would pose for some photos, and in the coming weeks would be available for more interviews, including some special events at the same time as the Lollypalooza over Labor Day weekend. Apparently, the author of a book on shipwrecks, including the Falcon, would be doing a book signing then.
Mayor Doreen said, “Thank you all for coming, but we need you to clear the property, except for those invited. We have another event about to take place.”
“What event?” one of the reporters asked.
“A wedding,” the mayor announced with a big smile, but then said, “Oops!” when she noticed the wince on Merrill’s face.
Merrill looked at Delilah.
She looked at him, puzzled. But then, she understood.
He wouldn’t.
“You wouldn’t!” she exclaimed.
And how could he, anyhow? A secret wedding? Ridiculous! People needed marriage licenses and stuff, didn’t they?
Suddenly the papers she’d signed and the priest in vestments began to make sense. And somehow all the chairs had been arranged so that there was a center aisle. Stu and Barb were unrolling a runner from a huge bolt of white fabric down the center from the end of the room to the dais. A florist was coming in with baskets of flowers, pink and white roses. The table on the dais was being made into an altar with candelabra and a gold ciborium, which held communion hosts in a Catholic Church. Off to the side, the band was tuning up with that famous shag dance song, “Carolina Girls,” which was a must-have anywhere along the beaches, from the Outer Banks to Myrtle Beach. On the other side, bell choirs from both Our Lady by the Sea and St. Andrew’s were setting up for some kind of performance.
It almost looked like preparations for a wedding, and a wedding reception.
“You wouldn’t?” she said again, staring at Merrill with accusation.
“Let me explain,” he said, trying to make his way to her through a crowd of guests who were attempting to ask him more questions.
That’s when she bolted from the room, almost knocking over Long John Gorilla, a keg of grog, and two palm t
rees.
That’s when she realized that Merrill Good had pulled off the ultimate interference in her life.
That’s when it was all over.
There were many ways for a man to sway a woman to his way of thinking, but the best way was . . .
Merrill had his work cut out for him in the damage control department.
Rushing after Delilah, he caught her heading toward the back of the house. She was in the hallway just off the kitchen when he pulled her into the butler’s pantry. Yeah, they had butlers in the days when this old mansion had been built.
She backed up to the window at the far end of the galley-like room. There were marble-top counters on both sides, one of which had a sink for washing the fine china and sterling flatware that would be stored there. The cabinets, top and bottom, were a dark cherry with an aged patina. “Leave me alone.”
“Not until I have a chance to explain.” He moved closer.
She put out a halting hand. “You interfered again!”
He ignored the halting hand, and reached out with his own right hand, cupping her cheek. “I did, for the best possible purpose.”
She bent her face away from his hand. “And that would be?”
“Because I love you.”
“Bullshit!” she exclaimed, and he could tell that she didn’t like that she’d let that foul word slip, but she was too proud to take it back.
“I do. I love you so much I can’t think straight.”
“Were you thinking straight when you planned a surprise wedding for me?”
“Probably not. But in my defense, I just started the process and it kind of got out of hand.”
She leaned left when he tried to kiss her neck.
When that didn’t work, he went directly for her mouth.
She ducked down and under his arm, heading for the door, which he’d fortunately locked behind him. He yanked her back and held her tight in his embrace until she stopped struggling.
“I love you, Delilah,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“You don’t even know me. You don’t know anything about why I was in prison.” She was speaking against his neck, and her breath felt warm and sexual.
