“About the store, I hope.”
“We need to talk,” Clark spit out, “about why you left teaching.”
“I burned out,” I recited.
“I mean the real reason,” Clark countered, “why you got fired.”
“No, that’s no one’s business but mine.” I tossed my cleaning rag on the counter and folded my arms.
“I can finesse the story, make it sound better than maybe it is.” Clark paced the length of the counter.
“There is no story,” I sternly replied.
“If you have any chance of making it here, you have to get people on your side. People want to know about you, where you come from.”
“People just want gossip.”
“If you wait until Clara figures out what happened, that’s what they’ll get. And believe me, she’s working on it,” he warned.
I shook my head, and clamped my lips together.
“I spoke to Jonathan Dekker,” Clark told me, his eyes lowered, “your high school’s assistant principal.”
My heart thudded. I felt hot. I didn’t answer, but cocked my head and gave him an angry stare. It used to be that such a look would silence my students. It didn’t work with Clark.
“He’s the mysterious boyfriend you’ve had for the last year or so? Always thought it was strange that you never brought him home to meet us. I figured you’d gone and pulled a Candy, got involved with a black man or something,” Clark surmised, with a light laugh. Because of his race, Candy had kept Damon a secret for over a year before telling the family.
“Delilah, did you get fired for sleeping with the boss?” His voice was soft, as if a lower volume made the accusation softer, too. My lungs felt like they were collapsing. The idea of anyone talking to Jonathan about me made me feel sick.
“Is that what you’re going to print, Uncle Clark?”
“Is it true?”
I considered it for a moment, and then decided, “Sure. Go ahead and print it.” Clark returned my words with a skeptical glare.
“Holy crap,” he exclaimed, “Whatever you did, it’s worse than that? Delilah, what did you do?”
“Isn’t that bad enough!” I retorted. “If you have to print something nasty about me, can’t it just be that?”
The pressures of my past got to be too much for me. I slammed my hand on the counter and fled out the front door. I raced around the side of the building, anxious to get to the Jeep and feel the wind against my face.
Loud voices brought my mission to a dead stop.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” one man demanded.
Behind the edge of the building, I peered around the corner to see two men in an angry conversation behind Beach Read. One was Darryl Chambers. The other man was more Jell-O than muscle, a good five inches shorter, and had sloping shoulders.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” the shorter man insisted. “You’re screwing up everything!”
“I’m taking control of my life. You should do the same before you get in trouble or worse. Before it’s too late,” Darryl told him.
“Isn’t it already too late?” the smaller one asked, a little calmer.
“You should sign up, too” he replied. “We could do it together.”
“That ain’t for me, and you know it.”
“Then, I don’t know, but you gotta stop with this bullshit,” he said sternly.
“Since when did you get all high and mighty?” the smaller one demanded, his voice climbing again. “You’re the one who started all this so-called bullshit in the first place!”
“It was a mistake!”
“Too late! You can’t back out now! I’ll make sure of it,” he warned.
“If you care about me at all, Ronnie, then you’ll make this as easy as possible,” Darryl replied. “I’ve always done what I could for you.”
“Right, where would I be without you?” he asked sarcastically. “Good ol’ Darryl, always looking out for his little brother. Well, I don’t need you! You do this, then you don’t have a brother no more!”
Ronnie gave Darryl a weak shove and headed back to the strip club parking lot. Darryl didn’t follow. He sighed. An image of two little boys catching snakes in the marshes popped into my mind, and I felt sad for him.
Then in one sudden, unexpected motion Darryl slammed his fist into the side of the dumpster.
It startled me, and I screamed. The noise thundered. I turned to run back to the store, but bumbled into Uncle Clark instead.
“There you are,” Clark said. “We aren’t done with this-”
“Shhh!” I tried to tell him, but Darryl Chambers had already come around the corner. His hand was bleeding from the knuckles.
“Are you okay, Mr. Chambers?” Clark asked him.
“Fine.” He walked toward Via’s.
“Why you’d want to live and work behind a strip club is beyond me,” Clark remarked once Chambers was out of earshot. “Let’s get a drink,” Clark said. “I know a good place.”
“Right, so you can get me drunk and then grill me about my past to beef up your story?” I retorted. Clark chuckled.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, slipping his arm around my shoulders. “I wouldn’t need to get you drunk for that.”
Somehow, I believed him.
Chapter Ten
Damselfish
On the surface, the sea might seem like a serene, quiet place, but underneath is a symphony of sounds. Damselfish are small, but loud. They create a racket of pops and chirps when they feel threatened. These damsels in distress aren’t shy about communicating their angst in a noisy sea.
Honest communication creates problems here on land. I’d told myself that a new life in Tipee would mean practicing more honesty – with myself and others – if I ever expected to be happy. Honesty going forward, that is. Honesty about the past would only bring distress, and I was determined to leave that all behind me. I had to be careful what I communicated.
Speaking of honesty, Clark insisted that I freshen up before going to the restaurant because he wasn’t going to be seen with someone who looked like a “cleaning lady.” The Crab Shack, at the corner of Starfish Drive and Atlantic Avenue, boasted ocean views and a comfortable dining area.
Mandy was our waitress, the ‘cheerleader’ from the snake prank incident. Teague’s girlfriend. She was depressingly beautiful.
Clark eyed me curiously. I hated when he did that.
“Don’t like the waitress?” Clark asked after she headed off. I slouched.
I gave him another irritated look, and said, “She’s fine.”
Clark chuckled. “You need to work on your poker face, especially since you’ve got secrets to keep.”
I sighed. “Just tell me. What do you plan to print?”
“A concerned citizen suggested that it would be in the community’s best interests for me to investigate the reason you left teaching,” he explained.
“A concerned citizen, huh?”
He shrugged. “Clara may be devious, but she has a point. If a sexual predator moved into one of our neighborhoods, I’d run a story. What’s the difference?”
My eyes widened. “I’m not a sexual predator!”
Just as I said that, Mandy brought our drinks, with a distasteful expression on her face. I sat back in my seat. She set the drinks down and Clark waved her away.
“Right, but you did something,” Clark continued, “and it was bad enough to get fired from a teaching job, not an easy thing to do after you’ve been there for seven years. And, nice try but, I’m confident it wasn’t about the Dekker relationship.”
I perked up. “So Jonathan didn’t tell you anything?”
This time, Clark leaned back. “I know that for the last two weeks of school, you were on leave. You were brought before the school board and questioned in a closed session. Dekker claims your contract wasn’t renewed for administrative reasons.”
I smiled. “You don’t know much.”
“If I print what little I know and leave the public to come up with their own theories, you might as well be a sexual predator. That’s what they’ll say. Beautiful young teacher, unmarried, lonely, around all those athletic young men-”
“That’s enough!” I ordered. “That’s not what happened.”
“It’s terrible, isn’t it? The way people think,” he replied.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. “Doesn’t matter what they come up with. That’s on them. I’m not going to drive a nail in my own coffin.”
“A day trip to Durham is all I need,” he warned. “I’ll get the right office grunt talking or maybe I’ll just have lunch with Jonathan Dekker. He didn’t give away the prize, granted, but he’s not exactly a shut door. He told me on the phone that you two were…” Clark stopped to look down at his notebook. “Ah, friends with benefits.” I cringed. “Nice, huh, Delilah?”
My stomach turned. I had lectured students against using such a phrase (and arrangement). I’d fooled myself into hypocrisy.
“Then do it,” I urged, irritated. “You’re not getting the story from me. But, you go right ahead, Uncle. And the day it’s printed, you can all have a little party because that will be the day that I’m out of here. I will not live under the shadow of those mistakes any longer. I’ve already paid dearly for those, and here you are trying to exact some kind of double payment. And you don’t even know what I did! The whole thing’s like a noose dangling by my head, and you’re ready to shove me into it.” With each word, my voice grew sterner. My heart thudded with anxiety just at the thought of Clark spilling my life on the pages of the newspaper. I closed my eyes, and took a breath while twisting the linen napkin in my lap like I was wringing it out.
Clark’s face softened. “It’s that important to you to keep it quiet?”
“My life will be over if it comes out,” I insisted.
Uncle Clark broke into a wide grin. He raised his hands and clapped. “Glad you inherited the Duffy family balls. You’re going to need them. Waitress!”
Mandy sauntered over as instructed, smiling broadly. My shoulders sagged.
“Get Mike over here,” Clark ordered. “We need real drinks.” Again, she bounced away.
“You really don’t like her, do you?” Clark questioned. “What’s up with that?”
“She’s really pretty, huh?” I returned, as if just talking to myself.
Clark shrugged. “Gorgeous, if you like Barbie dolls.”
“Who doesn’t like Barbie dolls?” I questioned.
“Good point. Why the interest-”
“Quit changing the subject. Are you going to do it or not? Are you going to Durham?” I said, snapping myself back to the conversation.
Clark shrugged. “Doesn’t fit my schedule right now. The story coming out tomorrow is about the snake prank. My photographer, Billy, said that’s what you called it.”
I nodded. “That’s all it was.”
“You’re wrong about the prank part,” he insisted. “It was a warning. Let me introduce you to Mike.”
I looked up to find a handsome, thirty-something man smiling down at me, very George Clooney-ish. He had soft, curly brown locks, and matching eyes that seemed thoughtful. He extended his hand, and held mine in his for more seconds than he really needed to, which was surprising since I smelled like furniture polish and dust.
“Mike, this is my niece, Delilah. Delilah, this is Mike. He owns the joint,” Clark explained.
“Pleasure to meet you, Delilah. I hope you’re enjoying the island,” he said.
“Delilah’s not a tourist. She’s taking over my uncle’s shop on the corner,” Clark smiled.
“Ah, so she’s the troublemaker, huh?” he laughed. “I hope you’re keeping it a bookstore. This island really needs a bookstore.” My heart almost leapt out of my chest.
“Yes, I am.”
“When is the grand re-opening?”
“Saturday.”
“I’ll be your best customer,” he assured me. “Mandy tells me you need drinks. Let me make you something special.” He left the table and headed back to the bar. I smiled.
“Oh, my, he’s like butter,” I said, without thinking.
Clark laughed. “Butter?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“He’s single. Kind of a ladies’ man, I hear, but a good guy. You want me to set you up?”
“No!” I replied.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Everyone needs… butter, though. Just remember that.”
“No time for butter,” I insisted.
“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Clark warned. “Truth’ll come out. Always does.”
“Why can’t it just be left alone? Whose business is it anyway?”
Clark leaned in. “I know you’re right, but you’ve stepped into a circus here and everyone’s waiting for the big show. Besides, you really want to carry that burden? It must feel like lead on your shoulders. Are you Atlas? Might feel good to just drop it.”
“Drop it? Yes, that would feel good. Let’s just do that.” I smiled.
Mike Ancellotti delivered the most beautiful drink I’d ever seen. In a tall glass, it was a myriad of mixed blues, dark at the bottom to sky blue at the top. With my own ocean in my hands, my own goals seemed reachable again.
“My own special recipe,” Mike said when asked. “I’m calling it the Delilah.”
“Oh, Christ,” Clark rolled his eyes.
Chapter Eleven
Signs
There are no people more superstitious than sailors and sea folk, and they are constantly on the lookout for signs. They take their albatrosses (can’t kill them, they hold the spirits of dead sailors) and women (bad luck on a ship) and other beliefs seriously. And all events have meaning. Dolphins swimming with the ship is a good sign. Sharks swimming behind is not (I’d figure that one out on my own). Birds flying in various groupings or directions can mean good or bad fortune for a ship and the sailors aboard her.
My list of bad signs was growing, starting with the dead snakes and topping off with a serious string of unearned stink eyes. Plus, I’d had tidal wave and snake nightmares every night. Last night I woke up soaked with sweat. It took me several scary moments to realize I hadn’t been taken out to sea.
Wednesday morning burned hot and bright. I changed the sign in the window. Three days until the grand re-opening.
I spent the morning at The Cotton Exchange, a half-mile stretch of warehouses and dirt lots filled with vendors. Located in the island’s center, near the slit where the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) reaches up into the guts of the island, The Cotton Exchange is the place for bargain hunters.
Lenny Jackson operated a table of housewares and knick-knacks. He wore a t-shirt from Via’s Sports Bar and Gentleman’s Club.
“A guy like me is good for a job like that,” he explained when I asked about his shirt.
“So, you’re a bouncer?” Lenny Jackson looked like a tattooed Mr. Clean.
“Prevention Specialist,” he corrected. He gave me a smoky chuckle. “I prevent bad things from happenin’.”
“We’re neighbors,” I told him. “I’m opening up the bookstore behind Via’s.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” he grinned. “That’s good to hear. Empty buildings are breedin’ grounds for trouble. Nice to know it’s gonna be put to good use.” I smiled.
Lenny talked me into two lamps, a chandelier, a Mr. Coffee, and a set of six Charlie Brown mugs.
It took two trips back and forth to the Jeep to deposit my new wares. When I was done, I spied Darryl’s brother talking with Lenny. I wouldn’t have thought much of it except that Lenny put his hand on his shoulder, squeezed tightly, and then pushed him away, a move that began as fatherly and ended meanly.
The Cotton Exchange provided me with a Jeep full of used furniture for the apartment. For the store, I purchased a child’s chalkboard easel and a few beanbags. My bounty lifted my mood.
That cha
nged upon returning to Beach Read.
A strange woman stood by the store’s front windows, staring. I wondered if my blue sheets had fallen to reveal the work-in-progress inside. There was nothing to see in those windows really, except my awesome countdown sign. I parked quickly.
The woman smiled at me. She was Darryl Chambers’ mother. She was in her fifties, wearing a jean dress, bob haircut, and perfect make-up that made her skin look like porcelain. I joined her on the sidewalk. She introduced herself as Mavis Chambers.
The windows and door had been covered, top to bottom, with newspaper clippings. Headlines were underlined in red marker.
Duffy vs. Duffy: New Proprietorship Halts Expansion Plans, Top to Bottom rises to the Top: Starlet Places Order for Original Hat, First Lady of North Carolina Visits Top to Bottom: A Hat and Shoe Boutique, Beat the C Days at Top to Bottom: Cancer Benefit, Local Businesses See 6% Average Sales Increase, Top to Bottom Brings Off-Season Shoppers to Tipee, Duffy Sisters Host Christmas Eve Benefit for State Park, Clara Duffy-Saintly Honored as Businesswoman of the Year…
Over fifty such articles plastered the windows. A cluster of them covered up my countdown sign completely.
“What is this?” I asked. My heartbeat raced double time, and my stomach churned.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” the woman smiled. “I just noticed it walking by. Who do you think did it and why?”
I shrugged. “Could’ve been anyone I guess. This town hasn’t been very welcoming.” I took a long look around the street to find it barren. Toward the beach, I spied a few oblivious tourists, but no one out of place. A shiver passed through me.
Mavis walked up to the article taped at eye-level on the door and pointed at it. “This one isn’t very nice.”
In red marker, someone had scrawled across the top, GO HOME! The article underneath was not from a local paper, but rather from a Durham newspaper out of the suburb where I had taught – The Tattler. The headline read: High School Teacher Questioned By School Board. The article was barely two inches long, and didn’t say much, including my name. Still, it was about me, and the fact that someone had threatened me with my past, for the second time in two days, felt invigoratingly irritating.
Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery Page 5
