“Ugh,” I fumed. “No one understands why I’m here.”
“Why are you here, honey?” she asked.
“For a fresh start,” I answered. “That’s all.”
“It’s upset you, I can tell,” the woman said, putting her hand on my arm gently. “Don’t let it get to you. Can I help you take them down?”
I hesitated. “I’d like to rip them all down,” I started, “but, maybe I shouldn’t.” I smiled at Mavis and shook my head. “You’ve been kind. Thank you. I’m going to make a phone call. The worst part about being backed into a corner is having to do things you don’t want to do.”
She shrugged. “Good luck, honey,” she said heading down the street.
I whipped out my phone, huffed, and hunted through my programmed numbers. When he answered, I sighed and turned back to the decorated windows.
“So, when I call you, is it the same as calling the police or am I just calling you?” I asked directly.
“What happened?” came his reply.
“It’s not as bad as the snakes,” I answered, “but not police-worthy. I remembered what you said about it happening again, and thought I should tell someone.”
“I’ll be right there,” Teague decided.
I flipped the phone shut. Three gulls yapped overhead and flew toward the shore. It’s a good thing I’m not superstitious because that’s a warning of death.
Chapter Twelve
Piers
Teague drove a green Toyota truck and wore plain clothes, putting me instantly at ease.
“You’re right. Not as bad as the snakes,” he said. Upon closer inspection, he asked, “What about this one?” He pointed to the article from Durham, and I mentally kicked myself for not removing it before he got here. I snatched it down.
“That’s nothing,” I said.
“Delilah, is it about you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I assured him.
“Yes, it does,” he said, rolling his eyes at my stubbornness. “Can I see it, please?” I shook my head. “I’m trying to help you, you know. You called me.”
I shoved the tiny article into his hand. He straightened out the wrinkles.
“High School Teacher Questioned by School Board,” he read. He scanned over it quickly, and decided, “This is our best clue to figuring out who did this. Who knows about Durham?”
“That’s just it,” I muttered. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“No one?”
“Not a soul. They’ve all made assumptions, I’m sure,” I explained, “but I haven’t talked about it. I mean, everyone knows that’s where I’m from, that I worked there, but not about this. Clark tried to find out, but got nowhere, even after I’d had a few drinks, which is pretty good for me.”
“Clark could’ve easily tracked down this article.”
“Yes, but Clark wouldn’t do this,” I insisted. “Besides, all this drama’s been good for him.”
Teague shrugged. “Maybe he’s broadened his business into creating drama, not just reporting it.” Teague took a picture of the scene with his phone and then started collecting the articles into a folder. I helped, happy to get them off the window.
“You know, everyone makes mistakes,” he offered as we worked. “Whatever happened in Durham, I’m sure you could tell me and nothing bad would come from it.”
“Really?” I challenged. “I can’t stand to have one more person thinking less of me. What friends I had in Durham, I lost, including my sort-of fiancé. So you telling me that nothing bad would come from it doesn’t do anything for me. You don’t know.”
To this, he half-chuckled. “Yes, I do. I’m not them.”
“What makes you different?”
“I know you,” he said simply. “And honestly, I wouldn’t even care what you did except that it might help us now, and give you some peace. Whatever it was, it was done for the right reasons because that’s just who you are.” He finished what he said with a short smile, and then continued to take down the last of the articles, leaving me stupefied.
Finally, he said, “You need a break. Let’s get Willie and go for a walk.”
Late summer and fall of my sixteenth year, I spent cloistered in my room in Wilmington. Teague’s message had reduced me to a fit of tears that I’ve only had one other time since – when Great Aunt Laura passed. I’m sorry to say that my reaction to Teague was more dramatic, perhaps because what he did was unexpected, and I’d prepared myself for Laura’s death, as much as one can, anyway. In Candy’s room, I cried for three days before dad finally came to get me. But, at home I was no better. Depression had reached up through my bedposts and wrapped her icy fingers around me.
I couldn’t tell my parents, though dad almost got it out of me once or twice. I felt embarrassed, like I was in the throes of a tantrum and knew all they’d say was get over it. My mom’s solution to my mysterious angst was a shrink. One and a half sessions later, the doctor hardly listened to me before pulling out his prescription pad. I didn’t want to be numb. The sadness was comfortable. After that, I faked being better, until the falsity took over. It wasn’t a divine existence, but it was something.
The same person who caused my teenage hell now held Willie’s leash as we made our way down Starfish Drive toward the beach, and neither of us said much.
Tipee had been an unkind place, so far. Teague had made it better. I was having trouble digesting how that could be possible.
We rounded the corner of Starfish and Atlantic, passing by the windows of the Crab Shack, when my mixed-up feelings were shoved aside.
“Sammy! Sammy!” a singsong voice called out from behind us. Mandy Davis rushed out of the restaurant and bubbled over to Teague’s right side, placing her arm around his waist. “I was hopin’ to run into you.”
“Mandy, this is Delilah Duffy,” he introduced. “Delilah, this is Mandy Davis.”
I grinned widely and shook her soft, petite hand. “Nice to meet you, Mandy.”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” she returned. She hung on Teague’s shoulder. She was tall, like him. Tan and beautiful, like him. I slouched. “Are we on for tonight?”
“No, I-” he started to say.
“Honeypot, you promised,” she went on.
I grabbed the leash out of Teague’s hand. “Willie has to go, so I’m going to let you two talk it out. Nice to meet you, Mandy.” She waved me good-bye and pulled Teague toward the restaurant.
Willie and I dashed away. We crossed the street, and fled to the right side of the pier. But, instead of walking, I opted for a shaded spot underneath and leaned against one of the dryer pilings. Willie jumped around anxiously, and in spite of Teague’s previous warnings, I let him off his leash.
“Don’t go far, Willie,” I said. He went directly into the surf.
The Tipee Island Fishing Pier stretches out into the Atlantic some 900 feet, and hovers above the beach (and my head) around twenty-five feet high. Like the lures that hang from the fishermen’s poles off it, I wonder if it’s not a lure itself, tempting the tough ocean waves to pound into it like they’re having target practice. After all, fishing piers like these typically don’t have a long life, and they are one of only a handful of permanent structures to dare infringe on the ocean’s space.
Sitting beneath, leaning my back against the tall, thick piling, I felt pounded, targeted, and I wondered how much longer I would endure. I pulled my knees up to my chest, and set my head down against them. Annoying tears popped into my eyes. Three days until opening and already I felt defeated.
“What can I do?” Teague asked. He’d just come around the corner of the piling. I wiped my eyes quickly.
“Nothing,” I insisted.
He sat across from me, against a neighboring piling, so close that if I had stretched out, my feet would have been in his lap. Strangely, I imagined that if I were brave enough to do that – to rest my sandy feet against his legs – he’d only smile and let me. I shook off the idea, deciding it would definitely fall
into the mistake category.
“I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble back there,” I told him.
“Why would you?”
“With Mandy, honeypot,” I replied.
He rolled his eyes. “Mandy’s special.”
“She’s very beautiful,” I contributed. Teague raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sure she knows that,” he said.
“I hear she’s into the whole Pilates thing,” I went on. “I tried Pilates once. Hurt for four days afterwards. I decided that if my body was meant to bend that way, it wouldn’t feel so bad to do it. I heard Mandy’s as flexible as a paperclip-”
Teague chuckled. “You know an awful lot about her.”
“Candy mentioned it,” I explained. “I didn’t ask. She just volunteered.” I stopped talking long enough to take a breath. “Just to clarify, I wasn’t asking about who she was in general or in relationship to you. Candy just said it, as if I would want to know, which I didn’t.”
Teague laughed at me. “I get it.”
“I just want to be clear.”
“Actually, the more you talk, the more unclear you are,” he informed.
I sighed.
“You’re a nervous talker,” he noted. “I remember that.”
I cast him a confused expression. “What?”
“You talk a lot when you get nervous,” he repeated, grinning. “It’s a thing you do.”
I tilted my head at him. “Are you really that observant, Officer Teague?”
“Has nothing to do with being a cop,” he said. “I remember that from our day on the beach. When we were practicing how to pop up on the board, you were so worried about doing the wrong thing that you told me about your mom fighting your English teacher over a B on a paper that should have been an A, about not making the cheerleading squad, about your best friend. What was her name? Lisa? Anyway, she liked this guy who was completely wrong for her because he watched wrestling on TV and you felt that was equivalent to a male soap opera.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I said, burying my face in my hands.
“When I picked you up,” he grinned, “you told Candy good-bye half a dozen times and basically narrated our way to the car. You even said, ‘I can’t believe he’s opening the door for me’.” My face flushed. My palms sweat and the sand beneath stuck to them.
“I’m so embarrassed-”
“Don’t be,” he smiled. “I loved it.”
“Just for the record, that whole cheerleading thing was just a confused phase I was going through,” I explained. “How do you remember all of that?”
“I remember everything about that day,” Teague said. I allowed myself to look in his eyes. He seemed so sincere. Yet, the ache that followed that perfect day returned, grasping a hold of my chest like a vise. I shook my head, and looked down at the sand.
Teague said, “She’s not my girlfriend, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Why is everyone so eager to give me information? I wasn’t wondering, actually,” I returned quickly. “I’d be fine with it, if she was or even if you were married by now. That’d be acceptable, and none of my business. Mandy seems a very willing candidate, Teague. She called you honeypot, which is an odd endearment. Is that a Winnie the Pooh reference? Anyway, if she isn’t your girlfriend, she’d sure like to be.”
He laughed. “There you go again.”
“Stop it,” I ordered.
“Okay,” he said. “I helped Mandy’s little brother and made the mistake of accepting a dinner invitation – once. Ever since then, she kind of makes it seem like we’re dating. We’re not.”
“Did you sleep with her?” I asked, eyebrow raised. The question sputtered out without going through my normal filters.
“No,” he answered.
“You’re not bothered that I asked you that?” I followed up.
“Why should I be?”
“It’s personal.”
He shrugged. “Not coming from you.”
The breeze kicked up. Willie bounded back over to us. He was soaking wet from his bath, and shook the water out right between us.
“Willie!” I scolded.
“That’s what happens when you let him off-” Teague started to say.
“Don’t be a cop right now,” I ordered, putting my hand up. “Just let Willie have his fun.”
Our feet moved a little slower on the way back. Teague held Willie’s leash (yes, he insisted on putting it back on), and had his hands (leash included) in his pockets. My arms hung loosely at my sides, and occasionally brushed his, especially when people passed by us and we moved closer together. I felt idiotic noticing these moments, like that sixteen-year-old again who let herself dive headfirst into trouble. Sam had other things on his mind, though.
“I’m concerned about these warnings,” he told me. “You should consider some security.”
“Security?”
“Cameras,” he went on, “an alarm system-”
“I can’t afford any of that,” I protested. “I’ve got two months to show a profit or I’m out. Besides, nothing’s happened to me-”
“Yet.”
“And nothing will,” I assured him. “These things have been harmless, just meant to scare me.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t working.”
“Well, the fact remains that I can’t afford superfluous stuff,” I replied.
“Then, move in with your grandparents,” he tried, “at least until things settle down.”
“If I did that, then they will think their antics are working,” I explained. “I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.”
“You’re instigating desperation,” he told me. “Not a good idea.”
“Well, all my ideas are turning out to be bad ones,” I noted. “Why stop the trend? Don’t worry. I will lock the doors up tight. I’ve got Willie. I’ve got your number in my phone. I’ll be fine.”
Chapter Thirteen
Conches
Fortunate beachcombers can sometimes find conch shells on the shores of the Atlantic. Conches are mollusks with one of the coolest mobile homes in the sea. Under the right conditions, the creature can hide inside for months. Their shells can be as big as twenty inches, and if done just right, you can blow it, like a trumpet. The closest thing to a trumpet on this island was the church bells. When they sounded, the community gathered. On Wednesday nights, as regular as the tides, the bells call out, “Bingo!”
Grandma Betty and Mamma Rose insisted I attend, promising that I could meet potential customers and mingle with an “in” crowd. I drove myself, in case I needed a quick getaway.
A string of multi-colored golf carts in the gravel parking lot told me that I would be bringing down the average age of the group. The fellowship hall was filled with gray heads and determined competitors. A handful of them donned oxygen tanks. Half of them sat in scooters or wheelchairs. This was the ‘in’ crowd. I huffed. I quickly spotted three exceptions to the gray-haired rule.
Reverend Bill Richards, around forty, ran the show in a bright Bermuda shirt and shorts. His blonde hair fell over his eyes and reminded me a little of a halo.
A chubby, red-haired man around my age dutifully escorted his mother. Grandma Betty informed me that he was Neil Greene, Park Ranger.
Finally, much to my disbelief and maybe dismay, there was Samuel Teague. He sat across from Grandma Betty and Mamma Rose. He wore his uniform, but the smile on his face told me that he wasn’t on duty.
“There you are!” Grandma Betty greeted, tapping the seat next to her. “We’re about to start.”
“Samuel was just tellin’ us about the lovely day you two spent at the beach when you were teenagers,” Mamma Rose caught me up. “I didn’t realize you were friends.”
Grandma Betty handed me two bingo boards. I nodded, and said, “Yes.”
“Delilah, this is my aunt, Beverly,” Teague said, turning to the woman who sat next to him. She extended her hand, and I shook it. She had a wide smile and dark hair
cut short.
I was about to tell her how nice it was to meet her, when a gruff looking man interrupted with, “I read about you in the paper. You’re the fox in the henhouse!”
“Excuse me?” I returned. He edged in beside Teague, and smiled. A front tooth was missing, but that didn’t discourage him.
“Fox is right! You sure are foxy! That there was a funny picture of ya in the paper with dem snakes,” he remarked, with a nudge to Teague.
“Ray Crackle, this is Delilah Duffy,” Teague introduced. He shook my hand across the table.
“I can snap and pop, too,” he told me with a wink.
“Delilah ain’t a fox in nobody’s henhouse,” Grandma Betty piped in. “We’re real proud of what she’s doing, most of us, anyway.”
“Ain’t no difference to me,” Crackle said. “I’m a fisherman. Ain’t got no use for women’s shoes or books. But I sure do like it when a couple of she-devils go at it.” He paused to shake his head. “Used to be that they had mud wrestling down there at Via’s, but I guess it was too darn durty for ‘em. Shame.”
My chin dropped, but nothing came out.
Mavis Chambers said sitting down across from Crackle, “You ain’t supposed to say every little stupid thought that goes through your head, Ray.”
“Mavis, them damned boys of yours were a’pissin’ on my roses again,” Crackle accused, finger pointed. “My Hybrid Teas went all limp and wilty.”
“My boys did no such thing,” she replied calmly.
“As sure as I’m sittin’ here, they did,” he argued. “Next time, I’m callin’ the police on those little bastards.” Crackle pointed at her once more before settling down.
“It’s nice to see you again,” I told Mavis. “I’m Delilah Duffy. I don’t think I ever told you my name.”
“Well, that’s okay. You had a good reason to be absentminded,” she said.
Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery Page 6
