“How did you know?” I questioned.
Mike chuckled. “Bill and Ted – yes, that’s really their names – do that about once every three months. They made some kind of bet with each other when they were kids and they’ve just kept on doing it. It’s the worst in the winter, especially when you see them coming out of the icy ocean.”
Laughter spilled from both of us, and it felt good. Bill and Ted splashed and dove into the waves briefly, before heading back to the shore. I averted my eyes. I smiled and set my binoculars down. Below, I heard the faint sound of a car door close and the hum of an engine. Sam was leaving. My smile faded.
“You okay?”
“Course.”
“Sorry if I interrupted something down there,” Mike said again. “My timing seemed bad.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I returned. “Our binocular moments never keep to a schedule and it truly would’ve been a shame to miss that.” I laughed, and though it trickled out of me, it didn’t feel real.
“Things okay with Robo-Cop?” Mike grinned. Mike always referred to Sam this way, and the nickname fit, though I’m not sure he meant it as playfully as I took it. Still, his question stuck in my throat like an allergen, making me want to cry.
I didn’t linger on the rooftop with Mike. I tossed out a few excuses about work, and retreated back to the empty store. Once back inside, I paced the length of the shelves, for no reason in particular. I climbed up the spiral staircase, and meandered along the open balcony. I leaned over the railing, staring down at the dark counter. It’ll be great. Sam had etched those words on the dust-caked counter the first day I came to Tipee. A smile crossed my lips. Then, I envisioned a make-shift science experiment on that counter. A car battery. Dead cockroach. I laughed, out loud.
I turned around and scanned the titles. I found Frankenstein and flipped through its pages. Was I, then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?
I smirked. Frankenstein’s monster and I have some things in common. I set the book back upon the shelf.
I needed to stop mooning or roaming aimlessly and give people a jolt, not by exposing my bummer, of course, but by exposing myself in a different way. Great Aunt Laura made books come alive for people. Maybe there was a way I could do the same thing.
Chapter Eighteen
Portuguese Man-of-War
The Portuguese man-of-war is a floating jellyfish that likes the warm Gulf Stream. Its long, spaghetti tentacles drift below the surface, seemingly benign to other creatures, like beaded curtains between doorways. Unsuspecting fish will travel too close. The tentacles merely brush them, inserting their venom and paralyzing them. Then, the man-of-war, also known as the bluebottle, will suck it up, literally absorbing the prey into itself, like The Blob.
Amazingly, sea turtles have developed immunities to the bluebottles. Turtles will feed off these deadly creatures like they truly are bowls of spaghetti. Experiences over time have enabled turtles to adapt in seas where often these are the only good things to eat.
The poisons of my past life still continued to paralyze me, and new fears added to them all the time. If I didn’t develop some immunities soon and pull myself and my relationships together, I’d be forced to turn turtle.
Hours later, sun long gone and the moon serving up only a slice of light, I was on the roof, enjoying the soft ocean breezes and a glass of wine. Mike had given me a bottle ages ago to celebrate opening the store, but I’d let it sit in my fridge for emergencies. When money’s an issue, you tend to ration little luxuries. But, tonight felt like a wine kind of night.
I’d abandoned the steno pad I’d been using for brainstorming, and was simply staring off into the darkness. Drove her crazy and had her put away like they used to do in the old days. Voices echoed in my head like they were testing the waters, seeing if it was okay to come out and play. We’re all just one pain away from lunacy. I’m not done with you yet, you bitch!
My skin broke out in goose bumps. I downed the rest of my glass and headed for the stairs. It was a quiet night. The loud bass from Via’s Sports Bar and Gentleman’s Club was barely reaching me, and otherwise, nothing was going on in downtown Tipee. Reputable businesses were closed. Tourists were sleeping. And I needed to go to bed, if I could sleep. Hopefully, the wine would help make that happen.
I climbed down to my porch, thinking about Sam. I’d been too hard on him. He just wanted to help me, and I practically chewed his head off and spit it out like a man-eating dragoness. Why was I such an idiot?
A noise broke up my self-deprecation. Down the alley toward Atlantic Avenue, I heard a moan. I stepped to the edge of the railing and peered over. Way down near the other end, I spied a shadow rising from behind Britt’s dumpster and then tumbling again.
“Help!” echoed through the tunnel of buildings.
I huffed, unsure. Was I really seeing what I thought I saw? Or was this just another chapter in the latest edition of Delilah Duffy’s Descent Into Madness? I set my empty glass by the door, and took a deep breath. No shaking. No sweating. No heart palpitations. Could it be real?
“Help!” the voice prodded me once again.
Shaking my head, I trudged down the stairs. “If this is another hallucination, I’m going to be the second woman Sam commits to the looney bin,” I uttered, though I didn’t believe a word of that rumor. I rounded my dumpster and spied her again. A woman, holding her head and stumbling like a drunk through the alley, reached her long arms out to me – zombie-like. She spotted me, and called out, “Please help me!”
Crazy or not, I rushed down the alley, and grabbed onto her before she fell down again. Valerie Kent. She was dressed in her normal running garb, minus shoes. A nasty gash stretched across her temple. She writhed in pain.
“What happened?”
“I got robbed!” she returned, more irritated than shaken. “Got my phone, my iPod. Asshole even took my new shoes. Hadn’t even broken ‘em in yet.” I eased her back to the ground, seeing that she was too unsteady to stand. She rested her head against my thighs while I called the police. I wasn’t going to let her out of my sight, just in case.
“They’re coming,” I assured her a few words later. “Are you okay?”
“Bastard whacked me with the butt of a knife when I fought back. Coward. He’s lucky I didn’t have my taser with me. Woulda got ‘em right in the balls.” Valerie Kent’s anger radiated off of her, making me angry, too.
“Can’t even go for a run around here without something happening,” I lamented.
“I’ve run this route at this time of night every Thursday forever,” she huffed out, closing her eyes. “Never had an issue, even with the drunks that spill out of Via’s.”
“I can’t believe he even caught you,” I added.
“Got me from behind, the true coward’s way,” she explained. “Ah, I’m feeling sick.” The sirens screamed that help was coming, but Valerie – as tough as she was – couldn’t wait. She rolled over and spit up in an alley puddle.
Our quiet conversation transformed into a chaotic circus. Three police cars. An ambulance. Jason Kent. He skidded into the alley in a silver Porsche, and raced to his wife’s side, his face pained with worry. He reached out and sweetly touched her face. Whatever spat they had at the Peacock party had poofed out of existence. I hoped it wouldn’t take a trauma to do the same for Sam and me.
Since the police had a real victim, they didn’t give me a hard time. They simply took my statement and focused on the victim, just as they should have. Lewis, who can never leave well enough alone, did suggest that my first woman-in-distress sighting may have been a premonition for the second and laughed when he told me that being psychic might be a hair better than crazy.
I was about to head back to my apartment for another glass of wine when Sam showed up. He parked next to the Jeep and rushed out to meet me in the alley.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I returned as he ran his
hands along my arms. “Poor Valerie Kent-”
“Officer Macavoy called and told me,” he said. He eyed me curiously, watching the tears well up in my eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem-”
“I’m just sorry,” I spat out, embracing him. “So sorry. I had no right to yell at you or run off to the roof with Mike. You must’ve hated that-”
“A little,” he smirked.
“I was just caught off guard and frankly, being on guard is the only way I know how to be. I – I – I just don’t know what to do.”
Sam smiled. “We’ll figure it out together.”
That the victim stuck around to say hello to the cops this time gave me some much-needed validation. Sam’s arms around me felt pretty good, too. The seed of an idea for Beach Read had been planted in my head and it was growing. The dangers of Tipee Island hadn’t disappeared, but perhaps I was growing more resilient.
Chapter Nineteen
Gargoyles
Grotesque stone monsters seem like a weird choice for disguising a water drainage system, but that’s truly all that gargoyles are, affixed to the tops of buildings to remove rainwater. They’ve been used for centuries, and during the medieval times, they were posted on the tops of cathedrals because some believed they scared away evil spirits. Others hoped they would scare people into coming to church.
“How much?” I asked the big-bellied seller who manned the table.
He eyeballed the cement monster, then back at me, and spouted off, “Fifty.”
“No way,” I insisted. “This thing weighs fifty pounds. You should pay me to take it off your hands.” Truth was, I was already in love with Gary the Gargoyle. He had a devilish face with a menacing smile, pointed ears and horns, wings, and was sitting like a dog waiting for a treat. He was perfect. Even the half-inch chip taken out of the first talon on his right paw gave him character.
“I’ll give you fifteen for him, and you won’t have to lug him out of here,” I reasoned.
One of the positive side effects of moving to Tipee was visiting the Cotton Exchange, a huge flea market where hundreds of vendors set up their stores daily, and where I was becoming a seasoned haggler.
“Forty,” he shot back. The cigarette hanging from his lips lost an inch of ashes as he spoke.
I shook my head. “Maybe if it were in good condition,” I replied, ogling the monster again, “but this thing’s worn and chipped.”
“Just battle scars, is all,” he corrected, giving me a wide smile. He was missing two teeth, which provided a pocket for his cigarette.
I chuckled. “Battle scars from you having to lug it everywhere, I bet.”
He shrugged. “Thirty-five.”
“I’ll give you thirty,” I insisted, “and that’s a gift, but only if you’ll lug him to my Jeep, so you can say your good-byes.”
The man laughed, and nodded. “Anythin’ for a purr-ty lady.”
I smiled, and handed him the money.
“Would you quit flirtin’?” Rachel insisted. “Sometimes I think mamma’s right.”
“Right about what?” I urged. I told the toothless man we’d be back in a little while, and we headed to another table.
“You’re all flirt and no fancy,” she recited.
“What the heck does that mean?” I demanded, eyeing both her and Raina.
“Means you’re a big flirt with nothin’ good to back it up,” Raina explained, though she clearly didn’t appreciate the expression. I rolled my eyes. We’d been shopping at the Cotton Exchange for a few hours, and still had many tables to go. I’d done well, especially now that I had Gary to take home with me. I’d also scored a bolt of black lace fabric, ten clear bottles, vials, and vases of various sizes and shapes, and a half dozen old picture frames.
My big day of getting arrested and upsetting my boyfriend bore something good in the rubble. An idea. I’d spent the last three days working on it, and now it was taking on a life of it’s own.
“Yep, all flirt and no fancy,” Rachel repeated with irritation.
“What’s your problem?” I asked her. “You act like you’re mad at me.” Rachel rolled her eyes and stormed off to a table donning used wigs.
“She’s a little perturbed,” Raina told me.
“Why?”
“She had her dinner with Chris Kayne last night,” Raina informed, “and apparently, all he did was talk about you.”
I winced. “Oh. I didn’t – This isn’t-”
“I know,” Raina replied. I followed Rachel over to the wigs, feeling as though I had done something wrong, even if I hadn’t.
“He was probably just nervous. Pretty girl interested in him. I bet he doesn’t spend a lot of time outside his lab,” I suggested, “and didn’t know what else to talk about and since he and I were just-”
“Just what?” Rachel repeated, with an insinuating tone.
“Well, he gave me a very innocent tour of the grounds, that’s all,” I explained. “There was nothing more to it than that. Rachel, no offense, but he’s a baby. For me to flirt with someone his age – your age – well, it just wouldn’t be right.”
Rachel’s face softened slightly. “Well, he has a different view of your age difference, I ‘spect.”
“If he does, it’s through no fault of my own.” I scanned my brain to remember our talks, if I’d mentioned Sam or even that I had a boyfriend. I hadn’t, but it hardly seemed like a fitting topic. We talked about lighthouses, books and Great Aunt Laura.
Rachel shrugged. “We did talk ‘bout other things, too, I suppose.”
“Did he ask you out for a second date?” I asked, hopefully.
“A midnight cruise on his daddy’s yacht,” Rachel grinned. “Ain’t never been on a yacht before. Think your boat has to be extra-expensive to be called a yacht.”
“Look, there’s Molly Tubbs,” Raina pointed to a large woman manning a table of knick-knacks. We followed her over, and the twins introduced me. She wore a Tweety Bird T-shirt and a sour expression.
“I bought your shoes from Molly,” Raina explained, “and we’re in the same Sunday school class.”
“When I go,” Molly added abruptly.
“Got any more of them Nikes?” Rachel asked, eyeing my cute but uncomfortable shoes.
“Had a couple more boxes, but they got pinched.”
Raina repeated, “Pinched?”
“Someone stole ‘em outta my car,” she explained. “Pity. They were real good sellers.” Molly dropped her cigarette and blotted it out with her clogs. Promptly, she lit another, as if she needed to smoke in order to talk. “How you feelin’, Raina?”
“Good,” Raina smiled. I imagined she heard that question often. Her circumstances had made circles in the town’s gossip loop. Everyone knew. And in spite of the questions, I think Raina was relieved to not be hiding it anymore.
“Glad that no good boyfriend of mine never knocked me up,” Molly shook her head, “and never will now.”
“Did you two break up?” Raina questioned.
“Last time he was here,” Molly reported, proudly. “We had the dumbest fights ‘bout everythin’ and I just said that I was done. Ain’t heard from him since.”
Raina smiled weakly. “I know that was hard to do, but you’ll be better off.” The two kept talking about Molly Tubbs’ boyfriend woes while Rachel and I drifted off to another table.
“Her boyfriend,” Rachel whispered to me when we were far enough away, “was twenty years older than her and married. Only came to see her when his job took him nearby.”
“Wow,” I returned. “I think I’ve heard of him. Is his name Buddy?”
“Yep. Gotta hand it to her,” Rachel went on. “She’s just a year older than us, but she’s got her own place and her own car. Makes all her livin’ off sellin’ other people’s leftovers. And now that she’s got rid of someone else’s husband, she should be doin’ alright for herself.”
Rachel picked up a cute porcelain cat, and smiled. She checked the price, and
frowned, setting it back down amid the other cats.
“I’m sorry if I unintentionally messed anything up with you and Chris Kayne,” I told her. She smiled and shrugged.
“I’m sure I just overreacted,” she decided. “We tend to do that in this family, ya know.”
I chuckled. “True.”
“Guess I’m just a little frustrated ‘cause I hoped I’d like ‘em more,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s cool and all that he’s rich and cute, but I don’t know. There was just something ‘bout him that rubbed me wrong.”
I thought back to my conversations with him, and suggested, “Maybe you just need to get to know him better. I was intimidated by him at first, but once he got to talking, he seemed very nice.”
Rachel nodded, and let a mischievous grin cross her face. “Not a bad kisser neither.”
Speaking of men who surprised us, we returned to Beach Read to find Sam, tool belt and all, changing out my exterior lights.
“Didn’t know Officer Teague was so handy,” Rachel grinned.
“Me neither,” I returned. The girls and I made a beeline to the front of Beach Read.
“These are cool,” Raina commented, eyeing the store’s new light fixtures.
Sam stopped his work, and smiled proudly. Two new fixtures flanked the front door. “Thought the nautical look would suit her nicely.”
“You didn’t have to-” I started to say.
But, Rachel cut me off with, “Mama ain’t goin’ to like this at all.”
“Well, she demanded new fixtures,” Sam returned, “so, that’s what she gets. Got a great deal at Lowe’s.” The brushed silver domed lanterns were perfect, and I couldn’t help but to smile. It was the first improvement made to the store since TIBA’s list, and upon seeing how nice they looked, I felt more inclined to see the other items done. Beach Read deserved a facelift.
“Thanks, Sam,” I finally uttered as the girls went inside.
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