Grayton Winds

by Michael Lindley

  He backed away, smiling, and then got in his car and drove away. I sat back and let myself settle down a bit. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking. I thought about Palumbo and his role in the Howard boy’s death and I certainly wasn’t surprised. He was a ruthless sonofabitch and of course he had gotten revenge for his wife’s dalliance with Seth Howard. I thought about Louise and the life that was ahead for her. The bastard wouldn’t let her live in peace with that transgression between them.

  I realized Palumbo would probably be spending the rest of his life in prison, if he wasn’t executed for the crime of murder. Louise would be free of the monster, and then I thought about Atlanta and the business. All of that would fall apart without Palumbo’s influence and power. But did it really matter? My family had already been paid extravagantly for his access to my father’s suppliers and connections. The only thing that stuck in my gut about this was the O’Leary family would now be free to take it all over. First, they had killed my brother and now they would have everything else my father had worked for his whole life. Palumbo’s gesture of revenge on the man who actually killed Jess did little to lessen my rage at the situation.

  I sat there for a while thinking about all the implications of Palumbo’s arrest. One minute it seemed the best possible outcome for a dangerous man that deserved what he had coming. The next I was thinking that Seth Howard was a piece of shit, too, and Palumbo had only done himself and Rebecca Bidwell a favor by taking him out of this world.

  The thought of O’Leary and his family taking over my father’s enterprise kept eating at me as I sat there and finished my smoke.

  Five minutes later, I was in my car driving toward Panama City. I knew I couldn’t beat Crowe to the club, but I hoped Palumbo was still at the hotel where he had always stayed. It seemed one of the longest drives into town as I kept thinking about the repercussions of what I was about to do. I kept thinking I should let the bastard rot in hell or stretch from the hangman’s noose for all he’d done in this world. His little plot with Eleanor Whitlock seemed the least of his crimes, but I was certainly not ready to forgive and forget. And it wasn’t the money from the future payments Palumbo had promised our family from the business. That was the last thing I cared about and I’m sure my mother and sister would agree if they knew all of the details of this sordid affair.

  In my mind, I finally rationalized I was doing this for my father and my lost brother; that both would do the same thing if faced with the situation. The fact I was about to aid and abet a murderer was not lost upon my conscience, however.

  It hadn’t occurred to me on the trip into town that the hotel along the beach could possibly be closed from the storm and my heart sank as I pulled up into the parking area and saw the damage the place had taken in the hurricane. There were a few cars parked, but very few lights on. I went into the office and an older lady was sitting behind the desk, her head down asleep in a book. I walked up and nudged her on the shoulder and she didn’t move. There was a little bell on the counter, so I rang it loudly a couple of times and she sat up and rubbed her eyes. I had thought it best not to ask for Palumbo specifically if anyone ever came around inquiring about me. I asked her if she had taken in any new guests today. She told me no, that they were closed and were referring everyone to the Palmetto Motel, inland a mile or so.

  I drove through the night and found the little place tucked in along the back bay of water that ran through Panama City. Palumbo’s car was parked in front of one of the rooms. Anthony was nowhere to be seen and I figured he had taken an adjacent room. I looked at my watch and it was just past ten. I was surprised Palumbo hadn’t headed down to the club by now. I knocked on the door and heard shuffling inside. Then the door next to this room opened and Anthony peered out. When he saw me, he nodded with little expression and went back inside. The door in front of me opened and Palumbo stood there in a sleeveless undershirt with his suspenders hanging from his pants. I looked into the small room and saw Louise sitting on the bed in a nightgown, holding a towel to her face. She had been crying and when she saw me she let the towel down for a moment. I could see the welt of the bruise on her cheek. I shook my head in disgust and started to turn and leave.

  “Coulter, what the hell is it?” Palumbo said, grabbing my arm.

  “You sonofabitch,” I said, “just let me go.” In that instant, seeing his bloodied wife, I decided he could face his own fate with Sheriff Crowe.

  Palumbo looked back at his wife and then at me. “This is between a husband and a wife, kid and you got no right to judge,” he said.

  I stood there staring at him for a moment and then I decided on a new course of action. “Willie Palumbo,” I said, “I’m about to do you the biggest favor you ever got.”

  “And what’s that, kid?” he said defensively.

  “But you need to swear to me you’ll never lay another hand on that woman there,” I said, gesturing at Louise Palumbo.

  He got a strange and puzzled look on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Just swear to me, Palumbo,” I yelled, “or I’ll let you rot in hell.”

  “All right, kid,” he said. “Just settle down.”

  “Swear to me!”

  “I swear, you asshole. Now what the hell is this all about?”

  I took a deep breath and then told him about Crowe and the man he had arrested earlier today. He listened carefully to everything I said and I watched his face lose its color in the low light of the porch of that seedy motel.

  When I finished, he said, “You’re not shittin’ me are you, kid?”

  “Could I make this up?” I said. “You hired this guy, right?” He just looked at me and of course he wasn’t going to admit anything. “Crowe’s probably waiting down at the club for you right now.”

  He seemed to think this all through for a moment and then said, “You done the right thing and this conversation never happened.”

  “Palumbo,” I answered, “I’m only doing this to protect my family’s interests back in Atlanta. You better never let those pieces of shit O’Learys get another sliver of business in that town.”

  “You can count on it, Coulter,” he said with an evil smile. “You better get the hell out of here.”

  I looked in at Louise and she tried to manage a smile of gratitude, but she winced in pain. I wanted to slug Palumbo right there but knew I had to get back to Grayton Beach and let him work out the rest of this.

  I started to leave, but Palumbo stopped me and said, “By the way, Mathew… about Eleanor. I’m sorry, it was just business.”

  This time I couldn’t stop myself and I let loose with a right hand that started somewhere down deep inside me and when it landed on the surprised chin of the big gangster he fell over like a house of cards and landed on his fat ass in the doorway. He picked himself up and I prepared myself for the worst from either him or his goon next door, but he just smiled and rubbed his chin.

  “You better get out of here now before I lose my sunny disposition,” he said.

  As I got back in the car I felt good in knowing I may have just created some safe harbor for Palumbo’s wife. On the way back to Grayton Beach I was thinking about nothing but the second deal I had just made with the devil.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was a week later I heard from Eli Bidwell when I was over in Point Washington picking up some supplies that Sheriff Crowe had been found dead, floating in the Choctawhatchee Bay. There was a gunshot wound in the back of his head, what was left of him, at least, from what the crabs and gators hadn’t chewed away. I was certainly not surprised Palumbo had found a way to eliminate this latest threat. I was also sure that the man he had hired to kill Seth Howard would have met a similar fate by now. Anthony had certainly been busy these past days.

  My complicity in these murders was more than a nagging concern. In fact, I was nearly nauseous when Bidwell told me about the sheriff’s demise. As I drove back to Grayton Beach that
day, I realized what a steep price I had paid to protect my family back home in Atlanta. For the rest of my life I would live with the guilt of these deaths and for whatever other trail of carnage Palumbo would leave behind him in the future.

  When I got back to the Headley place, Sara told me Palumbo had been by earlier. He had left a message he was going back to Atlanta with Louise and that everything would be all right. He had also left me a sealed envelope. I took it from her and started walking down to the beach. I told Sara I would be back in a while. I didn’t open the envelope until I was down to the shoreline. I had been sitting for some time, looking out at the emerald water and rolling surf, thinking about the events of the past weeks.

  Inside was a note written in Palumbo’s sketchy hand.

  Kid,

  You did the right thing. I’ll take care of Atlanta for you. I won’t be back down this way any time soon, so I thought you might take care of the place for me.

  WP

  I opened the other piece of folded paper that was with the note and it was the deed to his club in Panama City.

  I walked into the Panama Club the next night at about eight. The place was filling up and already buzzing with music and laughter. Palumbo had obviously alerted the manager, Larry, about new ownership. The man came right up to me and shook my hand. “Welcome, Mr. Coulter.”

  So, I was Mr. Coulter now. He showed me over to what was my table now that Palumbo had moved on. A waitress brought my drink before I even had to order and Larry promised a big steak would be out in a few minutes. Several people at other tables were looking at me and whispering something back and forth. Obviously, word of new ownership was spreading quickly.

  Then I saw Eleanor Whitlock come out from the kitchen. She saw me and froze for a moment, a look of sudden embarrassment on her face. I was struck again by her beauty and the memories of our better times together came back to me. She hesitantly came over and then sat down beside me at the table. I didn’t say anything and we just looked at each other for a few moments.

  Finally, she reached over and put her hand on my arm and said, “Mathew, I’m so sorry about all of this.”

  “What are you sorry about?” I said, and she seemed confused by the comment. She shook her head as if she didn’t understand the question. “Why are you sorry?” I continued. “You got paid.”

  My words were like a slap across her face and tears started to well up in her eyes. “Mathew,” she was finally able to say, “I really did fall in love with you.”

  I couldn’t help myself and had to say, “Do you fall in love with all your men? You must really love Lucas Crowe. Looks like he pays very well.”

  She stood up quickly and started to rush away, but I grabbed her arm and motioned for her to sit back down. Her face was blotched and flushed with tears. “I told you I was sorry, Mathew and no, I don’t feel that way about the others,” she said. “I just need the money. I need to get out of this town.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to make a living,” I said, surprised at myself in how calm I was about all this. “Well, I have a business proposition for you.” She looked at me with a confused expression again. “I want you to get into a different line of work,” I said.

  “And what would that be?” she asked, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.

  I took Palumbo’s deed to the club out of the pocket of my jacket and slid it across the table in front of her. I let her read it and then she looked up at me and I said, “You just need to promise me you’ll never turn another trick.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Palumbo’s gone. He gave me this club. I’m giving it to you. It’s as simple as that.” Then I stood up. “This is a new start, Eleanor. Don’t waste it.” As I started to walk away, I turned and asked, “What about that promise?” She nodded and managed a thin smile.

  I walked over to the manager, Larry, who was standing at the bar and told him he had another new boss for the second time today. I gestured over to Eleanor Whitlock who was still sitting at the table watching me, the deed to her new life in her hands. I took one last look at her before I walked out the door, certain I would never see her again.

  The beach house was dark when I returned. I walked in quietly, trying not to wake Sara and her daughter. Then I was startled to hear a movement over in the corner and I turned to see the glow of a cigarette. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see it was Sara and that she was lifting a bottle to her mouth. I went over and sat down beside her. I could smell the sweet and at the same time, sickening smell of the whiskey. I tried to take it away from her, but she pulled it back. When she spoke, her voice was slurred from the liquor.

  “I thought you were staying with your lady friend over in Panama City,” she managed to say.

  All of this was coming at me too quickly. My first reaction was concern she was drinking and might be falling back into old patterns. “Please let me have that,” I said, and she gave me the bottle. I sat it down over away from her on the table. “Let me make you some coffee.” I got up and lit one of the kerosene lights and went into the kitchen. I started a fire in the stove and filled the coffee pot. In a few minutes, it started to perk and I walked back over to Sara. She was sitting there on the couch with her head in her hands.

  “I’m sorry, Mathew,” she said. “I’m just so scared.”

  I moved over next to her and pulled her close. She buried her head in my chest and I let her cry it out as I held her. She had been so much better for the past month that the nurse had gone back to leave her on her own.

  When the coffee was done, I poured two cups and we sat together in silence. A little later she asked for more and then said, “Let’s go outside so we don’t wake Melanee.”

  I followed her out and held her arm when she staggered a bit. We sat together on the chairs in the front yard. It was cool, so I gave her my jacket. The new moon was a thin sliver above and soft winds were pushing scattered clouds by it every so often.

  Finally, I said, “It’s over with me and Eleanor.”

  In the darkness, I saw her look over at me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said earlier. Really, I’m sorry.”

  I let her comments hang there. I looked up at the sky and wondered about where I would be sitting a month or a year from now and how that moon and those stars would look from wherever that might possibly be.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I had ordered a new typewriter from the Bidwell’s store and it came in on a boat shipment from over in Destin. Jonas brought it over the next morning when he showed up for work. While he got started on the day’s work on the roof, I set the typewriter up on my writing table inside and then went into the closet and pulled out the suitcase that held what was the current state of my unfinished manuscript. I laid the pages out and began to sort back through the story to get caught up on where I had left off. Sara and Melanee both woke while I was working, but I got so lost in getting back into the story I barely acknowledged them. Before I realized it, the sun was up high in the mid-day sky. The girls had left to go down to the beach. Jonas was pounding away on the roof, but I hardly noticed. The story was back inside me again and I was enjoying the familiar feeling of it seeping into every part of me. The characters were so familiar and I realized I had missed them and was anxious to delve back into their tale.

  My back was aching so I got up to take a break and poured some water from the pump and then walked out to see how Jonas was coming. Up on the roof he had repaired most of the damage to the structure, removing twisted metal and broken boards. I told him I would be up soon to help, but I wanted to go down to the beach first to take a swim and check on the Dalton women, as I had begun calling them in the past few weeks. I asked him to take a break and join me, but he declined and kept on with the job.

  Sara was lying on a blanket down at the water’s edge, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Melanee was a few feet away building a sandcas
tle with a small garden shovel. It was a blustery day, although still hot and muggy. The waves were being pushed in hard on the wind from the southeast, churning up the sandy bottom and turning the water a dull brown. The sun darted in and out around big feathery clouds blowing by quickly overhead, their tops a brilliant white and darker blue and purple beneath.

  Sara had food laid out for a lunch. I sat down and grabbed a sandwich. She looked over at me and tried to smile. She still had a look of remorse from her behavior the past night. I had poured out all the liquor in the house when I first woke that morning. No need for further temptations for the vulnerable and fragile Sara Dalton.

  “Mathew, it’s too rough to go in swimming today,” Melanee said, and as usual she surprised me as I didn’t think she had even heard me come up in the roar of the surf. She just kept digging and piling sand on her new creation. Sara and I sat there watching her play for a while without speaking and then out of the blue, Melanee said, “Do you love my momma, Mathew?”

  Sara started to choke back her embarrassment and I just looked at the little girl in amazement, trying to think quickly of an appropriate response. Did I love Sara Dalton? I knew the answer without having to think more than a second. My trust issues with women were such lately I doubted at that moment I would ever allow myself to fall in love again. Sara was a beautiful and amazing, troubled and flawed person who was still an enigma to me. She had so much love and compassion for her daughter and mother and yet, harbored demons that drove her down unimaginable paths.

  “I love you both, Melanee,” I said, hoping that would suffice to move the discussion. “What are you building there, little squirt?” I asked.

  “It’s our new hotel.”

  We made a fire that night on the beach and most of the Grayton Beach residents came down to join us and enjoy the sunset, all trying to put thoughts of the storm and reconstruction out of our minds, at least for a while. Everyone brought food and it was a grand party and celebration of survival. The boardwalk and pavilion Lila had built had been swept away in the force of the wind and storm surge so we all found our place in the soft white sand, looking out over the glorious waters of the Gulf. Most everyone was drinking some form of illegal locally brewed or imported drink, but I sat with Sara and Melanee and kept sober with a glass of cold tea in my hand. It was really a marvelous night of recovery and jubilation in our mutual survival.