“And Mamma,” Candy added, “the term cotton-pickin’ is offensive.”
“I wasn’t offended,” Damon insisted. He was the only African-American member of the Duffy family, a fact pointed out more often by his wife than noticed by anyone else. Candy went on to explain the offense to Grandma Betty, while I excused myself and disappeared into the bathroom.
Chapter Seven
Ghost Crabs
Female turtles aren’t the only creatures that enjoy the beach at night. Ghost crabs, two-inch crustaceans, wet their gills twice a day and prefer nighttime swims. Ghost crabs are called such because they are rarely seen in the light, and at night they dash across the beach so fast that it’s almost like you don’t see them at all. During the day, they hide, burrowing deep into the sand to stay cool and moist until the moonlight hours. For the most part, ghost crabs don’t bother anyone, and no one really bothers them. I was hoping for a ghost crab kind of life.
Of course, as I walked along the beach, trying my best to catch glimpses of the crabs skirting by my feet, Willie went crazy, barking, and chasing down whichever one he could get in his sights (all for nothing, of course). They were much too fast for him.
We’d been walking the beach for almost an hour. I had a mostly finished bottle of beer in my hand that had turned warm, and a spare bottle shoved in my pocket. After returning to Beach Read only to feel more discouraged, Willie and I got away, and thankfully, here on Tipee Island, there are no shortages of escape.
The ocean breezes whipped up, and pulled my hair back from my face like hands running through it. The Tipee Island Fishing Pier jetted out into the darkness of the Atlantic just ahead of me, and that was the marker for home. On the other side, over the boardwalk and across Atlantic Avenue, sat Starfish Drive.
Willie tired of the ghost crabs and raced to the pier. I jogged to catch up, but he made it to the other side without me, and found something other than crabs to play with. I raced over and found him getting his fur stroked by Samuel Teague, this time in shorts and a t-shirt.
“You know he has to be on a leash, right?” Teague asked. “$35 citation.”
“But, you’re off duty,” I tried. “Please don’t-”
“And Ms. Duffy! Drinking on the beach?” he added, eyeing my bottle. “That’s another citation.” A smile drifted over his face.
I raised an eyebrow. “I have another one,” I said, pulling an unopened bottle from the pocket of my sundress. “Could be yours.”
He grinned. “Bribing an officer?”
“Accepting?”
He took the bottle, and twisted it open. I clinked my bottle with his and swallowed what was left.
“So, you following me?” I asked him. I tossed my empty bottle in a nearby trashcan with a loud clank.
“I live over there,” he said, pointing to the stretch of cottages I’d just walked by. “I thought I saw you walking earlier, so I wanted to catch up with you when you came back.”
“To get me for the leash thing?”
“No,” he started, “It’s Aunt Bev’s canasta night. So, right now, there’s a bunch of old ladies in my kitchen playing a mean game of cards and every time I walk in they whistle and hoot. Aunt Bev calls me a distraction. So, when I saw you out here, I thought I’d check and see how you were doing, if only to get me out of the house.” I chuckled.
“You live with your aunt?”
“Yes, which isn’t quite as bad as living with your parents,” he grinned, “although she did raise me.”
I shrugged. “Well, I’m about two steps away from living with my parents, so I can’t judge.”
“Where are you staying tonight?” he asked, offering me his beer. I hesitated and then accepted.
“In the store.” I took a sip of his bottle. How could I be here, sharing a beer with Sam Teague? It felt surreal, like a dream. I glanced toward the ocean to make sure a tidal wave wasn’t mounting against me.
“I’m impressed.”
I shrugged. “I have an air mattress.”
He smiled. “Can’t your relatives put you up?”
“A couple offered,” I replied, “but, I didn’t want to start off this adventure being afraid. Besides, I’ve got Willie, beer, and boxes full of books. What more do I need? Do you think it’s a mistake?”
“No, not at all,” he replied. Then he added, “Unless our vandal strikes again and he probably won’t.”
We started walking down the beach. I thought about the ghost crabs again, burying themselves under the sand and how much I had wanted to do the very same thing, yet here I was, sharing information like I was the town crier. Willie tagged along, lagging behind us like a chaperone.
“You aren’t afraid, are you?” he asked after a minute. “That curse thing is just talk-”
I waved my hand to dismiss it. “Oh, I know. Just slightly creeped out.” I laughed. “Snakes, spiders, and rats… Oh, my.” I sang it to the tune of “Lions, tigers, and bears…” but I’m sure it didn’t sound as good as in The Wizard of Oz. Still, he chuckled politely.
“I don’t mean this the way it’s going to sound,” he said, handing me the beer again, “but I could stay with you, just for company.” I looked over at him, crinkling my eyebrows together. “It’s not a come-on, Delilah. The first night’s the hardest in a new place, especially the way you found it. We were friends, once. I’d hate to think so much has changed since then.”
I took another swig of the beer, unsure what to say. The word ‘friends’ snapped at me like a crab’s claw. Spending one day together didn’t make us friends, and the use of the word was like a sad consolation prize. A relationship with him labeled “friends” felt inaccurate (because we weren’t) and shorted (because that’s never what I wanted). But, I wasn’t about to argue semantics.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe it was a bad idea.”
Finally, I grinned and motioned back toward his house. “I’d hate to disappoint the ladies.”
He chuckled remembering his aunt’s canasta buddies. “They’ll manage. There are embarrassing pictures of me all over the house.”
“I know this is just your way of getting to the rest of my six-pack,” I went on, “but I’m sure Willie and I will be just fine on our own. The offer is appreciated, though. Who knows? If tonight goes badly-”
“Let me see your phone,” he said. I pulled my phone from deep in my pocket and handed it to him. “Wow, this is ancient.”
“I can’t stand complicated phones,” I explained, kicking at the sand.
“Kinda creaks when you open it,” he laughed. “It’s like an old person’s phone.” I gave him a playful punch on his arm.
“Don’t tease me,” I ordered with a grin.
“Yes, ma’am.” A kind and sweet smile crossed his face as I watched him program his number into the phone, something that would have been hard for me to do myself.
“If you have trouble, just call me,” Teague instructed, handing it back. I nodded, though I doubted I would (either have trouble or call him if I did).
I’m not sure if it was the beer (I’m a lightweight) or the company, but my mind was a complete jumble, fluctuating oddly between the events of the day, what lied ahead and Teague’s soft cologne. The ghost crabs scurried from our path. Willie padded along behind us.
“Do you know Freddy Weaver?” I asked.
“The snake guy. Yeah, I already talked to him. Denies any knowledge of the incident,” Teague reported. “But, Captain Tanner, who operates the North Carolina, the morning ferry, confirmed that Weaver was a passenger this morning into Tipee and then back to Shawsburg a couple of hours later.”
“Uncle Clark made a remark at dinner about snake skin shoes and purses,” I contributed. “He directed it to Aunt Charlotte, but I can’t imagine that she would do something like this.”
“Your aunts definitely want the building and that means they want you out of it.”
“Yeah, they made that clear at dinner.” I shook my head. “You know,
I was a flower girl in Aunt Clara’s wedding. Wore my first and only hoop skirt.” I chuckled thinking about how many times I spun around in the gorgeous pink and white dress. “Aunt Charlotte used to let me play dress-up in her sewing room, taught me how to tie a proper bow, and the difference between satin, silk, and lace. Hard to believe they could be so-”
“Ruthless?”
“Yes, ruthless.”
Teague’s eyes darted over to me, and he tilted his head. “Maybe it wasn’t them,” he offered. “Clara’s turned much of the town against you. She’s a politician as much as she is a business woman.”
“Yes, she has that… vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself.”
“Hamlet?”
“Macbeth.”
Teague grinned.
“I had no idea that reopening the bookstore would upset so many people. I thought it would be welcomed, something to honor Laura Duffy. I can’t believe Uncle Joe didn’t tell me.”
“If he had told you, would you have come?”
I smiled. “No.”
“Maybe that’s why he didn’t,” Teague suggested. “That has to count for something.”
“It does,” I began, “but, he’s not here. I don’t know if I can fight this fight.”
“What are your other options?” he asked.
I shrugged, knowing I really didn’t have any, though Ruby Tuesdays was sounding better and better all the time. I couldn’t explain to Teague that despite my education and seven years of experience, I couldn’t return to teaching. Instead, I made light of the question.
I shrugged, then smiled. “Think the poop police have an opening?”
He shook his head. “We don’t hire habitual offenders. And on that note, you wouldn’t be qualified for traffic control or our technology department either, I’m afraid.”
“I’m just mounting up strikes against me,” I laughed.
“You show promise, though,” he said, and pointing to the beer, he added, “You’re prepared and excellent at dead snake removal.”
“You got most of them,” I reminded him.
“Eh, give yourself a little credit,” he countered lightly. “Most people would have run for the hills.”
“There’s still a chance I might.”
“You don’t strike me as a runner,” he returned. In the darkness, I rolled my eyes because that’s exactly what I was. “If dead snakes and ruthless relatives didn’t scare you off, then I’d say you got this. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I took a deep breath. For the first time that day, the shadow of my past lifted off my shoulders. A crab scurried across my left foot, tickling my skin.
Chapter Eight
Racing
The moment sea turtles pop out of their eggs, they face one shell-cracking obstacle after another. They stare down an expanse of beach that might as well be the distance of the Atlantic itself to something so small and vulnerable. The goal… deep water, where preying birds, at least, can’t reach them (the predators there are a different story). So, the race begins, and the turtles high-tail it to the shore. For every few steps they scurry, a couple more get taken away, either by predators or faster family members or the shore itself. Sea turtles aren’t wimpy, and only one in every couple of thousand eggs actually grows to adulthood.
I felt like a baby sea turtle, shell-less, as I resolved to race to the shore.
I stared blankly at my Countdown to the Grand Reopening of Beach Read sign. I had to pick a number to put on the hook.
I huffed. For once, I remembered to charge my phone. I grabbed it from the cord and found Great Uncle Joe’s number.
“Bean sprout! What’s shakin’?” he asked in his raspy voice. “How’s the ol’ place?”
“It’s seen better days,” I replied. I told him about the condition of the apartment.
“Candy’s responsible for takin’ care of the place. That really frosts my cookies. She’s so hell bent on becoming top seller at Beach Realty, she’s let family stuff slip to the wayside. Anyway, I’ll cover the repairs.”
“Thanks, Uncle Joe,” I replied. “That’ll help. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. Candy told me about the stipulations. I had no idea that Clara and Charlotte wanted the place. I wish you would’ve told me-”
“So you could back out?” he insisted. “So what if they want it? When it rains, it pours, bean. There’s some other nut job wantin’ it, too. Anyway, I’m puttin’ them both off, ‘cause I know Laura would want that. You were like a daughter to her.”
My heart thudded. “She meant the world to me, too.”
“Profit doesn’t have to be much, just a profit. So, keep your expenses low, and you’ll do fine,” he advised.
I took a deep breath. “Yes, I will.”
“Get those doors open,” he added. “Time’s a’wastin’. Get Damon over there to get the work started, and tell ‘em to send me the bill.”
I thanked him again and got off the phone. I stared at the neon sign once again and picked a six from the pile. The grand reopening would be Saturday.
The race began.
I spent the day cleaning and organizing all of the left-behind books. The day slipped by, and before I knew it, the light disappeared from the windows (I had carefully removed the plywood barriers and replaced them with my blue bedsheets). It felt good to go an entire day without having to face anyone.
Damon and his crew started work upstairs Monday morning. The dumpster out back ended up being very convenient for the construction crew. All morning I heard the thuds and bangs of items being tossed from the stairs and into the huge trash bin. It drove Willie bonkers. I leashed him, and we went for a long walk.
We padded along the boardwalk, stopping once to look over the gates at Jubilee Park. The Ferris wheel circled, the Tilt-a-Whirl spun, and the air was alive with giggles and laughter. I smiled.
“Saw Sam Teague for the first time here, Willie,” I told him. He panted. “In the funhouse.” I scanned the grounds, and didn’t see the colorful building I remembered. In its place, there was a roaring go-cart track.
“That’s pretty symbolic, I’d say,” I muttered.
I pulled Willie’s leash and continued toward the beach. “Why am I thinking about him in the first place, Willie?”
Aunt Clara stood outside the door of Beach Read when I came around the corner of the alleyway. She wore a leopard print dress, matching shoes, and a fedora-like hat with a lacy veil. She appeared to be on the prowl.
“There you are,” she said impatiently. “I see that you’ve started work on the place. Five days.” She motioned toward my awesome sign.
“Yep.”
“We’ll see. This is a waste of their time and Joe’s money,” she sighed, pointing to the work trucks parked along the side of the building. “But, what do you care, right?”
A hand went to my hip. Willie moaned and tugged at the leash. “What do you want?”
She reached in her large black purse and pulled out a stack of papers. She shoved them toward me. “Only to give you this. Call it a store-warming present.”
I glanced down at the stapled stack – a long list of signatures. “What is this?”
“A petition,” she announced. “These people have vowed not to patronize your store in support of Top to Bottom.”
I flipped the pages. Back and front, the names went on and on. “How many are here?”
“Seven-hundred and thirty-two,” she beamed. “Woulda been more, but we only kept it out for a few days, just to get an idea of our support level.”
“Your support level? You’re full of it,” I told her. “You wrote… A petition in support of Top to Bottom’s expansion and against an incoming, experimental business. Did you tell people it was a bookstore?”
Aunt Clara tilted her head. “If they asked.”
I huffed. “Come on, Willie. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Clara tried. She stepped a bit closer. “If you stop this whole thing right now, I could give you a little
somethin’, some start-up money to get ya goin’ someplace else. Plenty of nice beaches ‘round here.”
“I don’t want your money or another beach,” I huffed.
Clara smiled. “Look at this place, Delilah.” She put her arm around my shoulders. “It’s an eyesore. A hot mess! I can turn it into somethin’ beautiful. We could do it together, and you could come work for me at the store. I’ll give you the start-up money, too to get you settled. How does $10,000 sound?”
I cringed. I eyed the store’s chipped paint and dirty windows. Hard work wouldn’t even scratch the surface; it was going to take years of devotion to get it back to its former glory. Still. There was no relic of the dead more precious to me than this one.
“The answer is no.”
“You’ll regret it,” she assured me, turning toward her store, “when you’re back home with mommy and daddy, jobless, hopeless-”
“Maybe,” I called back, “but I’ll never be heartless.”
Her laughter pushed me back toward the upper beach, like a helpless turtle. Five days would feel very long indeed.
Chapter Nine
Sperm Whales
Sperm whales work best under pressure. Their favorite food is giant squid, but they often have to go deep, very deep to hunt them. Sperm whales can sink over 9,000 feet, where the pressure is 300 times stronger than on the surface. A person would be crushed under the weight, but sperm whales, whose rib cages collapse to enable their deep dives, can handle it.
I am very bad with pressure.
I had a business to get open in four days, under the dreary shadow of a town against me and a creepy vandal still on the loose. Still, Uncle Clark visited to add some pressure of his own.
“I’m running a story about you,” Clark said, leaning up against the counter. Uncle Clark looked like Clark Kent – nerdy and handsome – and I found myself often hoping that there was a superhero beneath his glasses, button-downs, and khakis because owning the paper gave him great power and responsibility.
Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery Page 4
