“I can’t believe someone did this to Great Aunt Laura’s store,” I mused. I looked beyond the vandalism and the covered up windows to see the store I remembered.
The plywood covering the store’s large double windows detracted from its charm. In front of the left one was a large For Sale or Lease sign. The store sign perched above the blue and white awning was in the shape of a frothy blue wave and read: Beach Read Books, Gifts, and More.
There were actually two things I fell in love with the summer I was sixteen – the gorgeous boy (turned gorgeous, but annoying cop) and books. Only one was short-lived.
The first time I came in to Beach Read that summer, Great Aunt Laura with her gorgeous red hair and beautifully freckled skin told me that I had blossomed, and that I reminded her of Tennyson’s Lady of Shalott. Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about then. Later, I guessed she said that because I was pale, had really long, wavy hair (still do), and acted like I’d been sequestered in a tower all my life (my mother’s a tad overprotective). It was as true then, as it today – I am half sick of shadows, just as the poem says.
So, Great Aunt Laura started shoving books at me, like they were bricks of gold. Wuthering Heights was the first one. No wonder I fell in love that summer and no wonder it ended badly.
Teague asked, “Any idea why someone might-”
“People are sickos,” Candy interrupted.
“It’s the curse,” Officer Williams repeated. In his fifties, Officer Williams had an air of authority about him. Completely bald up top, he wore a gray goatee that stood out like a zebra stripe against his black skin.
“Are you kidding?” I bolted back.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Place has been a tobacco shop, clothing store, dollar store. All bankrupt before Laura Duffy turned it into a bookstore. And we know what happened to her.”
“Aunt Laura died of cancer,” I stated. It hurt just to say the words even though it happened over ten years ago.
“I know,” Williams returned, as if I’d made his point for him.
I rolled my eyes.
“Place’s been empty ever since for a reason,” he continued expertly, “and now this. Looks like snakes slithered up from hell.”
The crowd agreed with Officer Williams. An old lady gasped. A mother gathered her two young children closer. A grown man visibly shivered. I sighed.
“This was probably the action of bored, albeit morbid teenagers,” I returned (also expertly), “not the result of any curse, Officer Williams. But come to think of it, the curse of the abandoned bookstore… I think I saw that on an episode of Scooby-Doo once.”
Teague chuckled, but no one else was amused.
“He’s not kiddin’, Delilah,” Candy chimed in. “Why do you think it’s sat empty for so long? I heard there’s a band of pirates buried underneath here. That’s why this place is so unlucky.”
Williams nodded. “That’d make sense.”
“Oohh, pirates,” a woman from the crowd cooed. A young boy clapped excitedly.
“Nonsense!” I countered. My stomach churned.
“Well, you may not believe it, Delilah,” Candy returned with a roll of her eyes, “but everyone else on the island does.”
“Everyone?” I asked weakly. I surveyed the crowd. They were awestruck. Teague’s uphill battle remark rang in my ears.
“Everyone.” Candy flicked her long blond hair. “Clark’s going to love this for the paper! The police photographer, Billy Mott, also works for Clark, you know.” Candy giggled. I cringed. My uncle, Clark Duffy, owned and edited The Tipee Island Gazette.
When I decided to come to Tipee and reopen the bookstore, my father, who has been a business owner all his adult life, had boatloads of advice. He owns a boat repair shop in Wilmington, and grew up in Tipee. He said, “Bean” because that’s what he calls me. When I was a toddler, I stuck green beans up my nose and had to be taken to the emergency room to get them removed. Ever since, he’s called me Bean. “Bean,” he said, “when you run a business, you have know what customers need and want, even when they don’t.”
“Wait!” I called out. The officers looked up. “Is it too late to call you guys off?”
“What do you mean?” Teague asked.
“I mean, I don’t want to press any charges,” I explained. “I don’t want the photographer here. Can you tell him not to come?”
“What the hell are you doing?” Candy demanded.
“Perception is everything,” I told her. “If this is in the newspaper, then people’ll think this stupid curse thing is true. Won’t be good for business.”
“It’s not about business,” Teague countered. “It’s about crime.”
“Look, no damage has been done and if I’m not mistaken, vandalism is only a misdemeanor, so it’s not like someone’s going to get in any real trouble over this anyway.”
With hands on her hips, Candy asked, “How would you know that?”
“Working with teenagers for seven years,” I reminded her.
“What about cruelty to animals?” Williams chimed in. I ducked under the police tape and eased over to the dead snake museum.
“These snakes weren’t killed for this,” I noted, pointing to the carcasses. “That black snake looks like road kill the way it’s flattened out in the midsection. Those two copperheads have been dead for several days. And, look at that water moccasin. It’s got a fish stuck in its mouth. Is that a catfish?” I asked the question and everyone looked, but no one responded. “Well, it clearly choked on the catfish, stupid snake. He bit off more than he could chew.” I chuckled.
I held up a pointed finger. “That’s a tobacco idiom. Comes from putting too much tobacco in your mouth at once,” I babbled. With a sigh, I went on, “And now that my nerd-dom has been firmly established, these snakes died from natural causes and were collected for my welcome present. Besides, is your department prepared to do necropsies on all of these snakes just to pin a cruelty to animals charge on someone?”
Teague chuckled, and said, “Ah, no. Probably not.”
“This is just a snake prank,” I decided, though my nightmares would be full of tidal waves and snakes tonight. I pointed to the snake with the fish in its mouth and chuckled, hoping that my lightheartedness (however fake) might convince them to call off the hubbub.
A flash lit up my face. My mouth dropped open just in time for the police photographer to snap a few more embarrassing shots. Billy Mott had slipped into the mix of people just in time to get the most unflattering picture of me making fun of a dead snake.
“Sorry, Delilah,” Teague replied. “We at least have to file a report. Smart to file the report anyway, just in case.”
“In case of what?” I prodded.
“In case it happens again,” Teague replied.
The crime scene tape drew more people to the spectacle. They ogled and snapped pictures. The odd attraction had become rotten bait.
“Officer Teague! Officer Teague!” A lovely, young blond woman pushed her way through to the front of police tape and snapped her fingers when she didn’t get Teague’s attention.
I heard Williams mutter, “Oh, Lord.”
“Oh, my lands!” she exclaimed eyeing the snakes. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”
“Mandy, everything’s fine,” Teague stopped her.
“I was just going to work and saw all the commotion,” she told him. “I was so worried.”
Candy leaned over and whispered, “That’s Mandy Davis. She’s a waitress at the Crab Shack and a Pilates instructor. That girl can bend like a paperclip.” She reminded me of cheerleaders back in high school – bouncy, blond, perfect.
Candy went on, “They’ve been datin’ for a while.”
“Good,” I spat out. “I don’t care. I can’t have people coming by here like it’s a freak show. I’ve got to get these snakes down.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Candy returned.
“Will you help me?” I asked.
<
br /> Candy rolled her eyes and clickety-clacked her heels across the sidewalk. She got something from her car, clopped back over, and handed me a set of keys. “I’m outta here. Got things to do. Besides, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle before I’m settin’ one pretty toe in that place. Probably infested with pythons.”
I shook my head. “Highly unlikely. Pythons aren’t indigenous to North Carolina.”
Candy cast me a stony glare.
“You really can’t help me? Just to hold the bag open while I drop them in?” I tried, but it was a lost effort. Candy wasn’t the type to get dirty, ever. Her tangerine dress, matching fingernails and toenails, gold beach-themed jewelry, and perfectly pieced hair were all testimony to that fact.
“No way, Jose`,” she shook her head, making all her jewelry jingle. “You’re on your own. Be at mom’s for dinner, though. She’s expectin’ you.”
Candy peeled out in her convertible, and my shoulders sagged. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and our reunion had been marred by the snake hazing. I missed our younger days, spending hours with her listening to music, drinking Cokes, and talking about boys.
Teague interrupted my revelry by handing me a large black trash bag and a pair of latex gloves.
“Mott’s done. You’re free to discard the remains. Williams and I can stay until we get a call,” he said.
With a sigh, I said, “Thanks.”
Teague held out his hand, just like he had on the dune. I took it, like I was accepting an invitation to dance. I’m an idiot.
“The keys?” Teague asked. A smile eased over his face. “To check inside the building.”
“Course,” I said, face flushing. I snatched my hand away and gave him the keys. “I wasn’t thinking,” I babbled, “or maybe I was thinking too much. I’m up to double digits on my mistake-making for the day. Trying for a new record. I’m flustered, and grossed out, and this is a big day for me, you know. I’m sorry.” I clamped my lips shut.
“It’s okay, Delilah,” he chuckled. I let out a puffy-cheeked sigh as he headed to the front door. Officer Williams opted for crowd control, saying something about not wanting to get involved with curses. Teague searched the building.
I stared up at the disgusting display. The slimy bodies wreaked and oozed. Their skins peeled away from their bones, almost seeming to melt under the hot June sun. I pulled the gloves on and got under the first black snake, hanging an impressive four feet down from the metal bar. I clumsily held the bag under the body one-handed, and grabbed onto the snake with the other. With a gentle pull, the snake came down. The crowd gasped. The snake brushed my neck. I screamed. Officer Williams laughed.
Still, the snake landed safely in the trash bag. The crowd clapped. I curtsied.
“Only about twenty more to go,” Williams chuckled.
“Thanks for all your protection and service, Officer Williams,” I returned.
He grinned. “No problem.”
Teague exited the front door, and since my back was to him, I jumped – again.
In a laugh, he said, “You okay? I didn’t mean to-”
“How’s the inside?” I asked.
“Fine,” he replied. “I mean, it’s a mess, but it’s not vandalized.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t see any snakes,” Teague reported with a smile. “I’ll check the third floor. The entrance to the apartment is around back, right?”
“Yes,” I said. He started to round the corner of the building. “Teague,” I called out. He turned back to me. I shrugged.
“Sorry about the poop police thing I said earlier,” I told him. “It’s okay if you want to say you told me so.”
With a light laugh, he said, “Ah, it’s understood.”
Chapter Three
Hermit Crabs
Hermit crabs are homebodies. Born with soft abdomens, acquiring the right shell means a good life, and they’ll use anything for shelter – snail shells, wood, stone, soda cans, other creatures, whatever works. Because their mobile homes are so important, hermit crabs will fight and steal from each other to get the perfect one.
I was looking for just the right home for me to become a homebody. But, as I stared up at the disgusting snakes, I wondered if this one would be worth the fight.
The fourth snake tumbled grossly into the trash bag, slapping into the other snake bodies, when Teague returned.
“Come with me,” he said. My stomach knotted.
“Oh, no.” I left my death bag and pulled off the soiled gloves. “What is it now?”
Williams stayed behind to ensure that no one bothered anything (as if anyone would). I followed Teague around the right side of the building.
“What’s your plan for the upstairs?” Teague asked.
“Uncle Joe said that I could live there while I’m trying to get the business going. Free, furnished apartment.”
“Really? He said that?” Teague shook his head.
My feet stopped. “Not more snakes.”
“No, no snakes,” he assured me.
I raised my eyebrows. We turned the back corner where we stopped at the foot of the wooden stairs that led to the apartment. Behind the staircase sat a long green dumpster that reeked of beer and rotten seafood.
“The upstairs apartment wasn’t secured properly,” Teague reported. “There’s a broken window. The door was ajar. I’m afraid there’ve been some animals living there. Birds and rodents, nothing dangerous. But, you’ve had a squatter.”
“A squatter?” I repeated.
“You know, a person who’s come in and-”
“I know what a squatter is,” I cut him off. “Was he or she there?”
“No,” Teague replied. “Oh, and there’s no furniture. Only a torn up cot.” My mouth dropped open.
“Chances of me being able to live here?” I asked.
He laughed. “Do you like camping? Because it would definitely be roughin’ it.” I followed him up the steps with tired feet and a heavy heart.
The stairs led all the way to the flat roof, but we stopped at the purple paneled door with two panes of glass. To the right was a small broken window.
Teague opened the door, which creaked like it belonged in a haunted house. He led the way inside.
The apartment was one large room broken up by four columns. The ceiling was exposed beams, littered with nests. The walls were chipped and dirty brick. The cabinets in the tiny kitchen were broken off their hinges and their cubbyholes had become animal dwellings decorated with feces, leftover animal bits, and feathers. To the left was a single door. I reached for the handle.
Teague grabbed my hand. “Ah, wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Teague warned. “It’s the bathroom.” I pulled my hand away. “It’ll have to be gutted.”
A second door to the left was also closed. I pointed to it. “What’s that?”
“Closet. It’s empty, except for spider webs.”
The cot in the corner had been thrashed to cotton bits, as if Freddy Kruger had been trapped inside and sliced his way out. Empty soda cans and other trash covered the floor. I cringed.
I toured the room, watching where I stepped, and stopped at the cloudy window. “I can’t live here.”
“It’s not so bad,” Teague said. “Just needs some work. You should call your uncle.”
I nodded. Aunt Candy’s husband Damon was a general contractor, and after Great Uncle Joe, the owner of the building, I’d call him next.
The room was hot and smelled like death and dumpster. I felt faint. I wished I had my own hermit’s shell to crawl in to because maybe I’d made another huge mistake.
Chapter Four
Pet Snakes
“I need some air,” I said finally.
I followed Teague out of the apartment, but instead of heading down the stairs with him, I went up the next flight to the roof. I’d been up here hundreds of times with Great Aunt Laura when business was slow.
The best view of the ocean was in the far right corner. I leane
d against the brick ledge and let the ocean breezes dance around me and through my hair. The glittering expanse seemed as endless as the possibilities this ocean town could provide for me, snakes and squatters aside.
Still, the heaviness on my shoulders didn’t relent. Back in Durham, my seniors were graduating today. And I couldn’t be there. I let out a soul-weary sigh.
Loud voices shattered my pity-party. Across the street at Beach Realty, a young man argued with an older woman in the parking lot.
“Please, just hear me out,” the man said. He was in his early twenties, with broad shoulders like a football player. He held a paper in his hand that he shoved at her. She shook her head, and put a hand on her hip.
“There’s nothin’ I can do!” she replied. She left him there, defeated.
I knew the feeling. I circled the roof and found the stairs again, ready to return to my disgusting duty. The young man had joined the small crowd. I ducked under the yellow tape.
“How was the roof?” Teague asked, handing me a fresh pair of gloves. In my absence, Teague had disposed of a handful of reptiles for me. The job was starting to appear less overwhelming.
“Just as I expected,” I answered happily. “The only thing so far-”
“Teague, we got business,” Williams called from the car. “415.”
Teague snapped off his gloves, and told me, “Gotta go.”
“Thanks for your help,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said as he rushed to the Charger. “Oh, and Delilah. In case no one else says it, welcome back.” After a gentle smile, which I couldn’t help but to return, he disappeared.
From the sidelines, the defeated young man slipped under the tape and asked, “Want some help?”
“It’s super gross,” I warned.
“I don’t mind.” He took the bag out of my hands and held it open for me.
“Thanks,” I smiled. “I’m Delilah Duffy.”
“Darryl Chambers,” he replied. He had a boyish grin and green eyes. He wore a yellow neon T-shirt with Via’s printed on the pocket.
“What’s Via’s?”
Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery Page 2
