Yacht Girl

by Alison Claire Grey

  Meg had never hired anyone; that had always been her father’s job. Since he’d died they’d been lucky. No one had left, quit, or been fired other than the recent night auditor who moved to Alabama. Meg realized now that, technically, Dee was her first hire.

  Lovely. She bet her father would be tickled by that.

  She called the local paper first, and painstakingly went through the process of placing an ad in the classifieds section with a description of the position she was hoping to fill. For now, since it was the slow season, she would just be hiring one person to run the front desk. It meant Meg would have to work seven days a week to cover the two days off that person would naturally expect, but she’d make sure to hire an additional two people before the spring when high-season started.

  After that, she went online and posted on craigslist and some other local job boards. Hopefully someone would bite within the afternoon. Jobs were scarce this time of year, so she was hopeful she could fill the position pretty fast.

  A couple of hours later her stomach moaned, reminding her she hadn’t eaten yet.

  As she grabbed a frozen meal out of the office refrigerator and pressed the buttons on their ancient microwave, she couldn’t help but wonder how Dee was doing. Hopefully she was asleep. Meg would need her tonight, something she hated to admit.

  “Someone’s asking for you at the front desk,” Rita called to her, shaking Meg from her thoughts.

  Meg sighed. What now?

  Fifteen

  Turned out it was just someone trying to sell her and the motel a subscription for digital marketing services. She took the man’s card and made up an appointment she was late for to get him out of the lobby.

  “He was worse than the Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Meg muttered and then immediately realized she’d forgotten that Rita was a Jehovah’s Witness.

  “Sorry,” Meg stammered, but Rita hadn’t heard her anyway, which was a relief.

  Melvin and his wife walked in as Meg was finishing up her pitiful frozen lunch.

  “Good afternoon!” Daphne chirped. “It’s so good to see your beautiful face!”

  Meg smiled. “Hey, Daphne. I’m happy to see you too. Hope y’all are staying out of trouble.”

  “Trying our best,” Daphne said. “You know, we met your sister last night! Dee! How exciting is that?”

  Meg closed her eyes but nodded. “Yes, she’s here… For a bit. Helping me out at night.”

  “Well, I could just cry!” Daphne squealed, and Meg realized Daphne was crying. “Robert would be so pleased! It’s all he ever wanted was to have his girls back together. I feel his presence all over this place. He’s here right now!”

  Meg had no idea what to say.

  “Daphne, you sound like a crazy person,” Melvin spoke up now, noticing Meg’s discomfort. “Forgive her, she’s already had three cocktails! She started at ten.”

  Daphne playfully slapped her husband. “Four cocktails! Don’t make me sound like a lightweight!”

  Everyone laughed then, and Meg waved to them as they walked out the back door of the office that led to the stairs of the upper floors.

  It was just Meg and Rita now along with an uncomfortable silence.

  “I’m going to pick up Jessa,” Meg finally said, even though school wasn’t out for another hour and a half. “I’ll be back by three, so you can clock out.”

  Meg rushed through the glass door of the office to the safety of her car. She turned over the ignition and turned up the radio as loud as it could go. The air-conditioning hissed out of the vents, which was fine with Meg.

  It was just another way to cover up the sounds of her sobbing— the kind of sobbing she only did when she was completely alone, and no one could see how bad everything really was, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

  Sixteen

  Dee wasn’t sure when she’d finally fallen asleep, but when she woke up it was dark outside, which felt very odd to her. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was, and it was pure bliss.

  She fumbled around for her cell, which she’d slipped under her pillow. It said it was eight-thirty. She’d been asleep about ten hours; it was the most she’d slept in years.

  She could hear people talking out in the living room. She presumed they were Jessa and Meg.

  Part of her wanted to join them and part of her felt like an intruder, someone who wasn’t completely welcome here, but who was being tolerated anyway.

  Dee understood her sister’s contempt, she really did. She wasn’t mad about it.

  She just wished it didn’t have to be like this.

  Dee wanted to know what it was like to come home and be welcomed. She wanted someone to be excited to see her for once. Not for who she was (famous, at one point) or what she could provide them with.

  But just because.

  Now that her father was gone it seemed like the chances of that ever happening again were slim to none.

  Dee Beckett would never be somebody’s good news.

  Dee arrived that night at five to eleven. Teresa was there, and Dee tried to be more cordial when she saw her, knowing that this would be a constant routine in her life for the time being.

  “Drawer’s counted,” Teresa announced. Dee walked over to the other side of the front desk and signed the receipt saying she’d confirmed Teresa’s tally.

  “Don’t you want to double-check it?” Teresa inquired.

  “Nah, I’m sure it’s fine,” Dee replied.

  “Okay.” Teresa grabbed her purse off the chair behind her. “Do you mind if I go ahead and scoot? I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend at Newby’s at eleven.” Newby’s was the most popular local bar on the beach. Dee was happy to hear that hadn’t changed at least.

  “Sure,” Dee insisted. “Go ahead. Have some fun.”

  Teresa was all smiles now. “Thanks, Dee. I appreciate it.”

  Dee watched Teresa’s salt and pepper bouffant meander out the lobby doors and toward a waiting Honda Civic. Teresa hopped in the passenger side and leaned in to kiss the driver.

  Dee wasn’t sure why it made her so sad, but it did just the same.

  Dee had been in love a couple of times in her life. There was nothing like the beginning, she remembered that much. She thought about that as she tallied the drawer.

  Sure enough it wasn’t a penny off.

  Dee wasn’t sure what she would do tonight. There were no more guests due to check-in. The property was quiet now, Dee could hear the gentle lapping of the Gulf faintly in the distance from the opened window of the back office. It was comforting.

  Dee had missed the smell and feel of salt in the air— how she was constantly having to shake sand out of her clothes. She’d missed going to Publix in her bathing suit and a cover-up; it was the Florida panhandle uniform of choice, after all.

  But mostly she’d missed Meg. And Dad.

  Always Dad.

  Around one in the morning, the phone rang.

  It was room 223, but when she picked up, whoever it was immediately hung up.

  Five minutes later they did it again— rang the front desk and as soon as she answered, the phone clicked over to dial tone.

  After that it was every two minutes until Dee just let it ring and ring.

  “Who is the asshole staying in 223?” Dee wondered out loud. “Probably somebody’s bratty kids.”

  Dee rolled over to the computer in her wheeled office chair. She typed and clicked to see who was staying in the room.

  Goosebumps rose on her arms.

  According to the system, no one was staying in Room 223.

  So, who was calling?

  Seventeen

  Meg should have been asleep when her cellphone rang at two in the morning. Jessa had been snoozing since ten, and Meg had been sure she’d be not long after, especially after such a time-consuming day that had involved dealing with an (as she’d predicted) angry Mack Gentry who demanded to know why Meg had fired his beloved sister.

  “Your father told me a
s long as that motel of yours stayed open, Marion would always have a place there.” Mack Gentry’s booming drawl reached through her iPhone’s speaker and smacked her in the eardrum with its rage. “And you’ve made him a liar.”

  “Mack,” Meg’s voice stayed steady despite being intimidated. “I ask you to kindly not bring my father into this. This has nothing to do with him. He’s not the owner of The Siesta anymore. I am.”

  She could hear him guffawing on the other end of the line.

  “Well, would you listen to that! Girl, you must have forgotten who you’re talking to. You might be the owner legally, but you’ll never be who your father was. It would be a shame if you weren’t able to sustain the business your family worked decades to build. Wouldn’t it?”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Gentry?” Meg calmly asked. They both knew he was. Mack Gentry decided what businesses flourished and what businesses failed in this town.

  “Just stating a fact,” Mack’s smirk could be heard without being seen. “You sure you want to fire my sister? This is your chance to make this right, Margaret.”

  “Meg,” she corrected him. “No one calls me Margaret.”

  “Your grandfather did,” Mack replied. “I used to play pool with him on Friday nights. He’s another man who understood how businesses are run in the panhandle. But he’s not here to make you understand things, is he?”

  “He is not,” Meg said, her voice flat. “Not sure why that matters now. Grandpa’s been dead for almost twenty years, Mr. Gentry. You keep invoking the names of my dead relatives. It’s very strange.”

  “Is it?” Mack sneered. “I thought you’d want to make them proud. Margaret and Delilah Beckett are all that’s left. And we all know your sister can’t be counted on. Marion told me she’s the real problem.”

  “I think we’re going nowhere with this,” Meg asserted. Her father had never liked Mack Gentry. He was a thug with money, that was all.

  And Meg had never liked how he pushed her father around, even on his last day on earth. She wasn’t going to let the trend continue.

  Mentioning Dee was the last straw.

  “I’ll give you a couple of days to come to your senses,” Mack said, his voice lower now. Calmer. “Rumor has it you weren’t expecting Dee to be back. I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and say you’re under a lot of stress right now. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Marion does too.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, Mr. Gentry,” Meg retorted, and they both hung up.

  She’d been cool as a cucumber on the phone, but she’d been frazzled all day by the conversation.

  So, when her cell rang that night, she was awake, still discerning her options when it came to the motel. She didn’t want Marion back. She’d already received thirteen replies to her help wanted ads and she was looking forward to having some new blood on staff and hopefully a morning front-desk staff that she actually liked.

  But she was terrified of Mack Gentry’s bad side, which she would surely be on if she didn’t cave to his demands.

  The late-night phone call was a welcome distraction until Meg Beckett realized who was on the other end of it.

  “Meg.”

  It was Dee.

  She sounded like she was out of breath— or like she was having a panic attack.

  “What’s going on?” Meg sighed. She wasn’t in the mood for Dee’s histrionics.

  “You need to get here. Now.”

  “Why?” Meg was frustrated.

  It was only the second night she’d allowed her sister to work at the motel, and already Dee couldn’t handle the easiest job at The Siesta.

  The night auditor at a Florida beach motel basically only had to ensure the place didn’t burn down to the ground. What on earth could Dee be panicking about? It was the slow-season. The motel was barely occupied. The neon vacancy sign would be blinking until March.

  “I’ll be there in the morning,” Meg declared. She felt like she was talking to her teenage daughter and not her thirty-eight-year-old sister.

  “No. You have to come now.”

  That’s when Meg realized Dee was crying.

  “What’s going on?” Meg slid her bare feet into flip flops that sat by the front door. Clearly Dee wasn’t going to let her sleep tonight.

  “Someone…” Dee was inconsolable. “There’s a dead body. In room 223.”

  Meg’s stomach dropped.

  This happened more than she cared to admit. Almost every other year one of the snowbirds would pass away in their sleep or have a heart attack by the pool or in one of their rented beach chairs.

  It was terribly sad, but also part of life. Meg had never enjoyed those days and nights— she wished her father was here again to make all of this easier.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” Meg replied, grabbing the keys off the hooks next to the door. “Have you called anyone yet?”

  “Just you.” Dee exhaled. “There’s more, Meg.”

  Meg was almost to the car now. She turned around quickly to go back and lock the door behind her, cradling her cell between her ear and shoulder.

  “I don’t need the details, Dee.”

  “No, you don’t understand. The dead guy… I know him. We know him.”

  Meg froze for a moment, confused, but more than that— dismayed.

  Yet somehow, she knew what Dee was going to say next before she even said it.

  Meg had been waiting for this moment for ten years. She just hadn’t realized it until that moment.

  In some ways, Meg had known this was inevitable.

  “What do you mean?” Meg’s voice was barely above a whisper now.

  “The dead body is Rooster McCoy,” Dee choked out. “So, no, I haven’t called anyone else. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  Meg dropped her phone and could hear the screen smack against the gravel of her driveway.

  It couldn’t be.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Rooster McCoy had been dead for ten years.

  Meg knew that and so did Dee.

  Because they’d killed him together.

  BEFORE

  Eighteen

  According to a Vanity Fair article from August 2005, Delilah Goodacre had an epiphany on her twenty-first birthday; she realized she was born to be famous.

  “It came to me in a dream! I saw myself on a stage, golden statue in hand. And then what sounded like the voice of God Himself telling me I should move to Los Angeles to become an actress, so I could touch people’s lives through my work.”

  That’s what she would tell every magazine and newspaper that interviewed her after she appeared out of nowhere to land a leading role on The Good Cop. It fed into the narrative of her success being predestined by some sort of divine entity, all according to the plan set forth by her high-powered talent agent, Josh Greene.

  “You’re a southerner, and our data tells us that’s the one demographic that still watches network television. Especially if they’re over the age of 65,” Josh explained at one of their many meetings in his Burbank office that overlooked the BDE Network! lot, the studios that produced and aired The Good Cop.

  “And what do southerners love more than football, barbecue, and hot chicks?” Josh had continued. “Jesus. So, every chance we get, let’s remind them you’ve been ordained. Chosen. That’s the angle we’re coming from. Delilah Goodacre is a sweet southern belle who just can’t believe any of this has happened to her. Any time you talk to the media, that’s the vibe you need to give off. You know, that ‘aw-shucks’ bullshit. The public is sick of all the silver spoons, actors and actresses born to powerful Hollywood families. They’re hungry for the beautiful girl from po-dunk nowhere who was plucked from obscurity to become a star. It gives them something – someone – to believe in. If it could happen to you, it might happen to their nephew or granddaughter or that girl down the street who sings the anthem at the football games on Friday nights. It won’t, of course, but we’re selling a dream here. And
remember, people want actresses to be grateful— and not too much of anything. Don’t be too funny, too cynical, or too confident. Remember that, and you’ll be around a while.”

  Of course, like most of what comes out of Hollywood, Dee’s story was mostly a lie.

  In reality, Dee had wanted to be famous long before she’d turned twenty-one— really, she’d wanted it for as long as she could remember.

  Her first taste of it occurred when she was 4 years old and her preschool class sang “Tomorrow” from Annie for their school talent show. Her dad would tell her later he could hear her voice above everyone else’s.

  After that, she’d been in the actual play Annie for a local community theater group in Apalachicola. She’d been given the role of the orphan that said, “Oh my goodness! Oh, my goodness!” when Annie pulled her pranks and stunts with Miss Hannigan, making the audience chuckle every time the Beckett girl with the long braids and loud voice spoke.

  Their laughter and applause were like rocket fuel. At night, after a performance, she’d never sleep. Her sister Meg would be in a twin bed across from her snoozing away and Dee would be staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d taped to the ceiling of their room, dreaming about the future.

  Dee was hooked, from that moment on.

  There was never much money, of course, so her options were limited. She entered beauty pageants, tried out for local commercials, and entered every little talent show on the Forgotten Coast. If a church, community center, or school needed an actress, singer, model, presenter or just about anything else that would put her in front of an audience, Dee Beckett was there with bells on. The fact that she could barely carry a tune never slowed her down when it came to singing. According to her daddy, “personality beats perfect pitch any day,” and Dee lived by that motto, infusing her vocal performances with her million-watt smile and dance moves for any style of music or occasion. And with every passing year, she became more beautiful, and hungrier for something bigger than the Florida panhandle could offer her.