“Then it’s a no-brainer!” David Love called from the first row. “You guys promised all these improvements – cleaner beach, nicer boardwalk, more fireworks and festivals to bring in tourists. You promised national advertising. I ain’t seen none of that yet, and I’m gettin’ a little tired of you tellin’ us what to do and not doin’ anything yourselves. You don’t take the money, it’s like you’re admittin’ this is a personal vendetta against this girl. And that ain’t right!”
A short smile crossed my face. I remembered David Love telling me about how Ricky had tormented his daughter in school. His defense felt fatherly.
“This ain’t personal,” Clara defended. “It’s just business. We hold everyone to the same standards. It just so happens that her store is the ugliest.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” a voice shot out.
“It looks like an oceanside business to me,” another agreed.
“How can we let her have more time when other businesses didn’t have that luxury? It’s not fair. The fact is that the list has already been made,” Clara went on, “and we’ve already agreed to it and the terms associated with our bylaws. They are unbreakable.”
“I’ll match Ms. Duffy’s donation to TIBA,” another voice called out. Chris Kayne stood up from across the room. I hadn’t even known he was there. “If she closes, TIBA gets $10,000 in exchange for putting the repair list aside, which doesn’t cost you anything. You’d be fools not to take this deal.”
The hubbub started again, and with $10,000 staring them in the face, they leaned more toward what they’d do with the money rather than refusing it. I tossed Chris a weak, but confused smile.
Pressure mounted. As business owners rallied for the money, her confident smile fell. Finally, seeing no other recourse, Clara folded. “I suppose we could extend the repair deadline until the end of the year.” The crowd clapped, but Clara hadn’t finished. She stood from her front and center seat, and held her hands up to quiet the crowd.
“But,” she started, “there must be a few minor stipulations.”
I sighed. “I’m listening.”
Clara moved out from behind the table and took center stage. “How is TIBA to know if you really meet Joe Duffy’s requirements? I mean, whose to say you won’t cook your books to keep the store open and get outta payin’ us off?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I argued futilely.
Clara shrugged. “This comin’ from the same woman who was a murder suspect, from the same woman who single-handedly ruined the Kayne’s beautiful party with her craziness, and had a complete mental breakdown just the other day.” Clara shook her head. “Come on, Delilah, honey. You can’t seriously think we could just trust you.”
Nods waved across the audience. I was losing them again. “My books are meticulously maintained by Betty Duffy.”
“Right, your grandmother,” Clara grimaced. “I wanna third party checking your books. Nathan Hainey’ll do it,” Clara pointed to the unsuspecting volunteer. “And let’s all be straight ‘bout what’a true profit is ‘cuz you clearly don’t know nothin’ ‘bout business. A profit means that after you give Joe his cut and paid all your bills, you are able to pay yourself and your employee at least minimum wage per hour worked and your profit can’t come from gifts or loans.” She eyeballed Chris.
I pressed my lips together tightly. Joe Duffy had never been so specific in his requirements, just that I appeared in the black rather than the red on my balance sheet. With Clara breathing down my neck, a profit might be harder to prove. Still, if I could save myself $15,000 in store repairs, a profit was possible. My shoulders fell, but I nodded and said, “I know what a profit is, Clara. And, I have nothing to hide. That’s fine.”
“Well, that’s settled. You two better keep your checkbooks handy.” She pointed a pink fingernail at me and then Chris, and then the angelfish, attack over, swam back over to her territory.
When the meeting finally ended, Mike congratulated me on my success before mixing with the crowd. I found Chris and thanked him for his help. “You didn’t have to do that, Chris. I think I had them.”
“Eh, don’t be silly,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You almost had them. I closed the deal. Your strategy was smart, they just needed a little more convincing.”
I smiled weakly, instantly reminded of what Chris had said about his father – how he threw money at problems to get them to go away. I thought about what Clark had said about Lucius Kayne’s donation to the hospital, and how Sam had spotted him handing money to David Love. When you have tons of money, I suppose it’s easy to whip out your checkbook at the first sign of trouble, but I had thought Chris would be above such tactics, even those on my behalf.
Chris went on as he walked me outside, where the late August sun’s bright orange hues caused me to squint. “For someone who just pulled off a major victory, you don’t look too happy.”
I shrugged. “I’m tired and just relieved that’s over.”
“Come have a drink with me,” he offered. “Let’s celebrate.” I didn’t feel like celebrating, but pangs of obligation nipped at me. He’d just put up a lot of money. I owed him a drink at least.
I smiled, and was about to agree, when my phone chimed. A quick glance at the screen and I grinned. If your meeting’s over, meet me at the pier. Ten minutes.
“Can’t do it now, Chris. Some other time?” I returned, eyeing my Jeep like it was the last escape pod on the ship and someone had pulled the self-destruct lever. Chris’ face fell, like a child being denied a playmate, but I didn’t care. I thanked him again, said good-bye, and rushed off to meet Sam.
Chapter Forty-Four
Upwelling
Most sea creatures live close to the sun where plant life keeps the waters full of food. But, even the ocean’s surface nutrients become depleted. But, no worries. It replenishes itself with a little help from its friend, the wind. Upwelling occurs when wind drives cooler, nutrient-rich water up to the warmer, nutrient-poor surface, bringing back everything the surface water has lost. It’s a lot like what happens to Kool-Aid if you don’t stir it enough. All the sweet stuff sinks to the bottom and it needs a good stir to make it right again.
Likewise, recent events had left me depleted, even lost. But, Sam had inspired my own upwelling, and the successful TIBA meeting energized me.
“You clean up nice,” Sam smiled. I ignored the ocean and the twinges of anxiety that were tickling my thoughts, and focused on Sam. He was decked out in his dark uniform – gun, belt, vest, and all – waiting for me at the foot of the Tipee Island Fishing Pier. He had a bag tucked under his arm. In the dirt parking lot, Williams was writing a parking ticket. I met Sam at the end of the pier on the boardwalk, where he leaned down and gave me a soft kiss. “How’d it go?”
The whole story spilled out of me in less than thirty seconds, and ended with something like, “Now, I can focus on making money instead of spending it.”
But, Sam’s face fell. “That’s great. I’m proud of you,” he started, “but I don’t like it.”
“Like what?”
“Chris Kayne swooping in with his checkbook,” Sam returned. “The Kaynes don’t do anything without strings attached.”
“It won’t matter,” I assured Sam, though I’d felt the same unease. “He was just tipping the balance in my favor. Hopefully, he’ll never have to break it out because I’ll stay open.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Sam smiled. The warm hues of sunshine were bundling up, being pulled, it seemed, beyond the horizon. Sam ogled it for a minute, taking a deep breath. “I had an idea.”
“Uh oh,” I smiled.
“Let’s meet here everyday at sunset,” he proposed. “I can put reminders on our phones and sync them up so that ten minutes before the sun sets, they’ll signal us that it’s time-”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“It’s beautiful, for one thing,” he noted, glancing back at the orangey expanse. “And it�
��ll break up a long shift of being away from you.”
I raised a crooked eyebrow at him. “Come on. What’s the real motive?”
Sam shrugged. “Trying to get you to go to the Point with me was a bad idea. Sorry I put that kind of pressure on you.”
“It’s okay. It was logical-”
“But, insensitive,” he finished. “You’re right about me. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do.” He motioned toward his uniform and I nodded. “And maybe I try a little too hard sometimes.”
“And maybe I don’t try hard enough,” I admitted with a shrug.
“I don’t want to pressure you, but I want to help,” he explained, running his hands along my arms. “Rather than jump right in, we could inch our way along.” He stopped talking long enough to lean down and kiss me, softly, slowly, and when he pulled back, he smiled. “Funny. A beautiful sunset right over our shoulders, but I can’t take my eyes off you.”
I smirked. “If your plan is to shower me with compliments, then I’m all for it.”
“My plan is to do this,” he said, “every day we’re able. Today, we’ll kiss right here. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll kiss on the sand and each day, maybe we’ll get a little closer-”
“Until one day we can get our feet wet again?” I finished for him.
“You got it.” He grinned, and slid a lock of my hair behind my ear.
I chuckled. “Sam Teague’s kissing therapy, I like it.”
“Good, but it can’t take the place of calling the doctor,” he reminded me. I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t called Dr. Deanna Dey yet. Something kept coming up every time I thought to do it, though I couldn’t remember what all those little somethings were.
“Okay,” I breathed out. I stared into his eyes, the sun’s rays making him look golden, and if I could have frozen that moment, I would have. Just like the sun disappearing in the background, it felt fleeting. All my moments with Sam did.
“Oh, before I forget,” Sam said, grabbing the bag he held under his arm. “Got you something.”
“Sam, goodness gracious,” I spat out as he handed me the bag. “Kissing therapy and more presents. You’re spoiling me.”
“Just open it,” he prodded. I reached into the plastic bag and pulled out what felt like a book. A leather journal with a starfish pressed into the front cover.
“It’s beautiful,” I sighed.
“Order and method, remember?” he reminded me. “When you journaled all you knew about the Darryl Chambers case, you figured it all out-”
“Not all of it,” I sternly interjected.
“Most of it,” he allowed. “Maybe you could do it again.”
I shook my head. “It’s a beautiful journal, Sam. But, my mother’s actually right this time. I need to leave well enough alone. I’ve been on a wild redhead chase and it’s done nothing but make me crazy and everyone else knows it.”
He pushed the journal toward me and said, “What harm could possibly come from making some notes? Besides, you were right about the redhead.”
I squinted my eyes at him. “What?”
“I’ve been back to the Peacock,” Sam explained, “and searched the crawlspace. I didn’t find her, but I found something.”
“What?”
“Mid-way through, I found strands of your hair. Nearby caught in a bunch of weeds, I found another. A long, curly red hair. I’ve sent it off for DNA testing, see if it matches anyone in the system.”
“Are you sure?” I stammered. “I-I was so ready to give up and really it could be anyone’s right? I mean, this doesn’t clinch it, does it?”
“No,” Sam said, “but it’s something. You didn’t imagine a redheaded woman, Delilah. She was there. I don’t know what happened to her. I’m not even sure there was a crime, but we’re closer to figuring it out. That’s why you should trust your instincts.”
“Wow, I don’t believe it,” I sputtered. “You really snooped around the Peacock and Lucius Kayne let you?”
Sam smirked. “Yes and no. There’s something else.” The sun slipped away and darkness took over. “The testing came back on the cigarette butts I found in the parking lot-”
“Ed Wakefield, right?” I stammered out.
“No, Ricky Wakefield,” Sam returned. He breathed out heavily and took a seat on a nearby bench. “We brought him in for questioning today. Kent handled it.”
“Sounds like you aren’t happy with the way Kent handled it,” I urged, sitting down next to him.
“He asked all the right questions,” Sam lamented, “but not much more. I wish Kent would’ve let me-”
“And what would you have done? Resorted to military tactics?”
Sam nodded enthusiastically. “I would have gotten results. Kent’s leisurely chat didn’t do any good, as far as I could tell. Ricky had alibis for each robbery-”
“Let me guess,” I returned. “He was with his friend J.J.”
Sam nodded. “He told Kent that he didn’t know any of the victims, and as far as we can tell, that’s true. He has no connection to you, Valerie Kent, or the tourist. And, he was at the pier the night before for the fireworks, which-”
“Completely nullifies your evidence.”
“Right. He’s a no good thug, but we can’t connect him to anything. I’d corner him myself, except that I’m not sure either.”
“Sam, you can’t do-”
“Ricky Wakefield’s resume` reads like criminal’s what-not-to-do handbook. He had a few juvey offenses for vandalizing people’s sheds in his neighborhood. The idiot used the same paints and wrote the same designs and expletives on each one, which tied them all together nicely. Then he had the brilliant idea of taking his paints with him to school. One of his teachers smelled the paint in his backpack, and that’s how he got busted. Then, he got in trouble for setting his school’s lab on fire, and the genius has no idea how he did it, or at least, none that he ever explained. The rest of his criminal history relates to drug use,” Sam vented. “The robberies seem to be the work of a more professional criminal. Don’t you think?”
“Um, I try not to think about it,” I admitted, “but, yes. I see your point. Um, he seemed very careful.”
“Careful’s a good word,” Sam replied, “that doesn’t describe Ricky Wakefield.”
“Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe those cigarette butts were from the night before,” I reasoned.
Sam shook his head. “The evidence doesn’t show it, but my gut tells me he’s the one. There was something about the way he-” Sam stopped and glanced down at his feet.
“The way he what?”
“The way he looked when Kent asked him about you,” Sam finished hesitantly. “He said he didn’t know you, but I could tell he did.” Sam clamped his lips shut, and glanced back out at the sunken sunset. There was little left to see except a darkened expanse. I kept my eyes on him, not the view.
Sam took a deep breath, “Maybe he is foolish enough to commit armed robbery for the sake of some iPods and running shoes, but to pull it off so well?”
He wasn’t asking me as much as he was just airing his thoughts, but I said, “I don’t know, Sam. Ricky’s gone from using to dealing, so maybe’s he’s stepped up his game in other areas, too. Could have been him. Could have been anyone.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t caught him yet, whoever he is,” Sam said softly. “There’s just so little to go on.”
I shrugged. “That’s my fault. I was wrong not to call the police right away-”
“Makes perfect sense,” he cut in, “the way you’ve been treated by them, by this town, I’m not sure I would’ve called them either. But, you could help now.” He pointed to the journal.
I breathed out heavily and eyed the journal on my lap. “Maybe,” I said. “You know, if I were going after Ricky Wakefield, I’d get him for the drugs. Like you said, he’s not careful. Shouldn’t be too hard to keep an eye on him and then wait for him to do something stupid.”
“True,” Sam replied. “Williams and I have al
ready been thinking about that possibility, but I’m sure Kent’s conversation will spook him into good behavior, at least for now. Course, no matter what we get him for, it better be airtight. As soon as he stopped being amused by Kent’s chitchat, he lawyered up and I swear, I’ve never seen Lucius Kayne get there so fast. It was like he was waiting in the parking lot.”
“You’d think Lucius Kayne would have enough to do not to bother with lowlifes like Ricky Wakefield,” I mused. “So, sometime during the interrogation, Ricky went from amused to serious? What changed?”
“Kent took him on a trip down memory lane,” Sam returned, “made him angry. Course, I can see why. Ricky Wakefield’s got a messed up past.”
“Tell me.”
Sam smiled shortly. “His mother Luanne Wakefield had him when she was fifteen, father unknown. They lived in that house with Luanne’s mother and brother, Ed. Kent listed off all the times the police were called out to the house for domestic disturbances-”
“Ed.”
“No, Luanne. She was the worst kind of addict: the violent kind. Routinely beat up on Ricky, until finally, when he was about six and after calls from neighbors and teachers, social services stepped in and took him out of the house. Luanne died of a drug overdose about a year later. Ricky came back to live with his grandmother, Wake went to prison for unrelated charges, and everything seemed to be fine for a while. Wake got out. The grandmother died. Ricky started getting in trouble.”
“That is pretty messed up,” I returned, “explains his anger.”
“I feel for the kid, but just because you have a shitty childhood, doesn’t mean you earn the right to be an asshat the rest of your life,” Sam breathed out.
“I’m sorry you have to go through all this,” I told him, laying my hand on top of his. “I wish I could help-”
“You can. Just fill up the journal,” he grinned.
I squeezed the book closer to my chest, and nodded. “I’ll try.” Sam’s flood of information had been an upwelling, restoring my sanity back to its sticking place. The redhead was real; it was a mental victory. My panic disorder was also real, but at least crazy hallucinations weren’t a part of my repertoire.
Luna-Sea Page 25
