Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery

by Jessica Sherry

  Aside from the light (which did not get done after all), the store looked great. All I needed now was customers.

  So, instead of spending Friday night obsessing about last minute details, I did something very uncharacteristic of me. Willie and I hit the boardwalk, enjoyed Tipee Island’s first evening of fireworks for the season, and accepted Grandma Betty’s offer to spend the night in a real bed. Ah!

  The boardwalk and fishing pier overflowed with crowds. Willie and I melded into the folds. Everyone was there. We had a long chat with Uncle Clark, but only short hellos later with Aunt Clara and Uncle Peter. I spied Rachel hanging out with a group of her young friends near the beach. Then later, I noticed Raina sitting on the pier, alone. I was about to wander over and see if she wanted company when Willie and I were distracted.

  “I’m glad you decided to come out tonight,” a voice said from behind. Mike Ancellotti tapped my shoulder. I turned around. “Especially on the eve of your grand opening.”

  “Everything’s ready,” I said, “I’m happy to say.”

  “Who’s this?” he asked, leaning down to give Willie some attention. Willie licked his face. Mike laughed.

  “Willie, and he’s happy to meet you,” I replied.

  “I love dogs,” he said, “just don’t have one right now. No time.”

  “My dad insisted on Willie,” I said as Mike started to walk with me. “Said if I couldn’t land a husband, I had to have a dog, as a matter of safety.”

  “That’s very protective of him,” Mike replied.

  “I guess.”

  “Tomorrow’s going to be great,” Mike said. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve done with the place.”

  We walked the length of the pier, edging through the growing crowd, and once, he put his hand on my waist to guide me around the mass of people. I was so taken back by the touch that I nearly lost my footing and fell over.

  Mike led me to what he called the “primo spot” which was at the end of the pier, left corner. A bench ran the length of the end. Years ago, this had been one of my favorite reading nooks.

  The fireworks boomed at 9:30. The brilliant lights smashed into the sky and lit up our faces. I glanced over at Mike a few times to find that he was looking at me.

  “Beautiful,” Mike remarked.

  “They are,” I grinned back. I was about to tell him that fireworks were invented in China in the 7th century, but Mike stopped me with…

  “I wasn’t talking about the fireworks,” he said.

  “Oh,” I sputtered out. I looked toward the black ocean, splattered with mirrored lights, and tried to compose a response.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’ve embarrassed you.”

  I smiled. “I appreciate compliments,” I returned, “just not good at accepting them. Thank you.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were heading toward the street, along with the rest of the crowd.

  “I enjoyed our walk,” he noted as we neared the end of the planks.

  I smiled. “Me, too.”

  “I’ll come by the store tomorrow,” he promised.

  “Good,” I nodded.

  “And maybe Tuesday night,” he added with a grin, “to take you out to dinner.”

  My eyes widened, and I chuckled. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m asking you out,” Mike said. He ran his hand through his hair, sending his light array of curls falling around his head.

  “Why would you want to do that?” I bumbled.

  He laughed. “Generally, how it works is that you see someone you like, talk to them, find out you like them even more, want to spend more time with them, and that’s when the date comes in – a set aside time to meet and enjoy each other. Surely, you’ve had these before?”

  I blushed and laughed. “Yes.”

  “And no one serious right now?” he continued.

  “No.”

  “Then, why not?” he urged.

  “I don’t know,” I returned. “I’m still reeling from the compliment you gave me earlier. It’s a lot to take in. Plus, I’m sure I’ll be swamped with the store-”

  “All the more reason to get away,” he argued. “You’re going to need a break.”

  My mind spun, one half arranging excuses and the other half shooting them down. Mike smiled hopefully. He had kind, dark eyes and a playful smile. Still, the word mistake echoed in my mind. I considered Teague. Mike might be a good distraction.

  “You’ll have a good time, promise,” he added after too many moments of silence. “I know a great restaurant. There’s music and this really cool atmosphere. You’re going to love it. Please, say yes.”

  With a deep breath, I said, “Okay.”

  “Good,” he nodded. “It was a tough call, but you made the right choice.” He laughed, and I snickered.

  After a long good-bye, he headed across Atlantic Avenue toward the Crab Shack, and I strolled leisurely with Willie toward my Jeep, parked just feet away from the pier in anticipation of heading to Grandma Betty’s.

  “He thinks I’m beautiful, Willie,” I whispered as we strolled. Willie didn’t seem impressed.

  I sighed, dreamily, looked up, and found Samuel Teague standing by his police car. Willie rushed over to him, yanking the leash. Officer Williams was busy writing a parking ticket for a vehicle nearby. He gave me a short nod as I walked over.

  “Enjoy the fireworks?” Teague asked, petting Willie.

  “Lovely.”

  “Good,” he said. “I see you’ve met Ancellotti.”

  I nodded, and couldn’t help but grin. “My Uncle Clark introduced us. He named a drink after me.”

  “Fall for that bit, did you?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I did. He asked me out.”

  “What did you say?” He kept his eyes on Willie to wait for my answer.

  With a raised eyebrow, I said, “Yes.”

  Teague shot me a disapproving look. “I thought you weren’t going to make any more mistakes.”

  “Why don’t you go solve a crime or something?”

  He grimaced. “That looked pretty criminal to me.”

  On the way to Grandma Betty’s, with the top down to be beachy-cool, I listened to the radio. The local station was the only one that came in well.

  “You’re listening to Milo and Baby Chris, Tipee Talk Radio, and we’re talking about the latest victim of the Granny Bandits – Corrine Masterson,” Milo cooed. “Sounds like a rich person’s name.”

  “Maybe that’s what the Granny Bandits thought, too,” Baby Chris returned.

  “According to inside sources,” Milo reported, “the bandits broke into her Tradewinds home Wednesday evening sometime between 9:00 and 10:00 while Mrs. Masterson attended Seaside Baptist’s Bingo night. Stole a handful of jewelry, an undisclosed amount of cash, her television set, a silver tea service, a Roomba-”

  “A Roomba?”

  “You know, one of those robot vacuum cleaners?”

  “I know what it is, but they stole it?” Chris returned.

  Milo went on, “Cleanliness is next to godliness. They even took her alarm clock and coffee maker. A Mr. Coffee.”

  “Now that’s just criminal!” Chris slammed his fist down against a hard surface. I grinned. Criminal behavior seemed to be going around.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Graveyards

  The Graveyard of the Atlantic rests just off the North Carolina coast. Pieces of over 2,300 shipwrecks have spit up on her shores. Islands are known for play, but know more than their share of death.

  A misty hue had settled across the island during the night. It took me by surprise when I walked out onto Grandma Betty’s front porch just after dawn on Saturday morning. The rooster thermometer affixed to one of the posts read eighty-four degrees, so the early fog would soon be burned off by a blazing sun.

  I drove down Atlantic Avenue, paralleling the mighty sea, and a chill went through me. The ocean looked like a graveyard, just as its history promised.
Islanders know death and destruction and danger and many dark things. I had no idea my own hazing was about to come.

  Willie growled as we neared the front door to Beach Read. My Countdown to the Grand Reopening sign, boasting its huge number one, was stained with mysterious red splotches.

  “What is that Willie?” I asked, leaning closer to see it better. The spots weren’t on the sign, I realized, but on the glass. I backed up. The window was dotted with red spots. I looked further. A light shone inside the store.

  Willie growled again.

  I fumbled for my keys and scurried to the doorknob. The used chandelier that I’d bought from Lenny at The Cotton Exchange was dangling high above the counter. Its cheap crystals glimmered. Not all of them, though. Some were red.

  I hurriedly unlocked the door, my hands shaking. Willie pushed in first.

  “Willie!” I yelled. It did no good. He rushed in, his paws sinking into a pool of blood.

  A dead body lay in the middle of the bookstore.

  I raced over to him. He was on his side, blood soaked around his midsection. I leaned in. Darryl Chambers. There was no mistaking it. Trembling, I felt his wrist. Cold and still. An object fell from his hand into mine. A painted sand dollar.

  The metallic smell in the air, mingled with my horror, and made me feel sick. Willie barked and growled.

  “Shut up, Willie!” I ordered. I grabbed the tuft of fur at his neck and pulled. I stood upright. The ladder from my storage closet leaned precariously against the nearest column. I turned toward the counter, and that’s when I saw the message.

  I let go of Willie.

  GO HOME!

  The words were scrawled out in blood across the back wall behind the counter. I gasped. I pushed the sand dollar into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My fingers were tacky with blood, and I’m not even sure how it got there.

  Willie trampled through the blood on the floor. I yelled at him again.

  Frantically, I flipped the phone open, and fumbled with it ridiculously before hearing a ring on the other end.

  “I didn’t – I should’ve called 9-1-1,” I sputtered out. “I m-messed up-”

  “What’s wrong?” Teague asked.

  “Sam, he’s dead,” I shook. “There’s a dead body. I-I should’ve listened to you-”

  “It’s okay,” Teague said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ll be there in a minute. Are you safe?” The siren erupted through the phone.

  I scanned the room, and seeing nothing move except for Willie, I answered, “I think so.”

  “Stay on the phone with me,” Teague said. “10-54,” he said to someone else followed by my address. “Delilah, are you inside the store?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go outside and wait for me at the curb, as fast as you can,” he instructed. I grabbed Willie’s neck again, leashed him, and yanked him out onto the sidewalk. Willie left bloody paw prints from the door to the light post, where I looped his leash. I collapsed to the curb.

  “Delilah, are you still with me?” Teague asked. My answer came in a half whimper.

  The fog started to lift as the sun heaved itself further into the sky. From this spot, I could barely make out a small patch of ocean, growing bluer and clearer by the second. The Graveyard of the Atlantic had come ashore, it seemed, and claimed another for its own.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seahorses

  The Dodge Charger screamed around the corner of Atlantic Avenue, fishtailing as it curved. It screeched to a halt five feet from my legs. The two men raced out. I pointed to the store, and Williams went in directly.

  Teague knelt down and asked, “Are you alright?” The ripple of his concern brought tears to my eyes. “Is this your blood?” he went on, touching my hands. I shook my head.

  His blue eyes squinted measuring me up, until he finally decided, “You’re okay. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed my hands once before rushing inside.

  One of the most unique fish in the ocean is the seahorse because of its uncanny equestrian resemblance. But, another cool feature about them is that they are born from their fathers, not their mothers. Mom lays the eggs, turns them over to dad, and dad cares for them in a brood pouch until they hatch.

  Personally, I think seahorses look less like horses and more like soldiers, so when the majority of Tipee’s police department rained down Beach Read, I likened them to seahorses. Upright, dutiful, curious. Men born of men.

  Three more cars arrived. Teague and Williams marked off the building and sidewalk with crime scene tape. Teague moved me into the back of the Charger, door open. I let my legs hang outside the car. Willie settled by my feet.

  “You’ll be more comfortable here,” Teague said. “It’ll be a while be-”

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, tears streaming. “This is my fault. I had no idea-”

  “Delilah, this isn’t your fault,” Teague returned. He leaned down, one hand petting Willie’s fur and the other resting on my knee.

  “That message was for me,” I countered. “Darryl must’ve come back to fix the light, and then someone did this.”

  “You can’t hold yourself responsible for the derangement of others,” he told me. He handed me a handkerchief from his pocket. A dark blue ST was embroidered on the corner. In a whisper he added, “Delilah, when Lewis talks to you, don’t say it was your fault. Okay?”

  I nodded, blotting my eyes. He smiled reassuringly and went back to his work.

  I calmed down and refocused on the business of murder unfolding around me. Unlike TV, there wasn’t great commotion or men in Ray Bans with vengeful looks and large-chested women wearing high heels. In fact, the whole of it was rather peaceful (minus the initial sirens). Each man went about his portion of the work, writing down notes and gathering up objects into bags.

  But, the morning wore on. Businesses stirred. Early bird tourists came out of their holes for first dibs on primo spots on the beach. As attention grew, Williams and Teague shifted from inside to out, discouraging looky-loos and questions. The men inside, now joined by Billy Mott, hurried their pace. A doctor arrived, followed by an ambulance.

  I rested my head against the cushioned backseat. My eyes caught an array of pictures gracing the visor over the driver’s seat. Officer Williams had placed pictures of his wife and two daughters there, smiling widely.

  I leaned up and pushed Teague’s visor down. No pictures. My eyes almost went right over an object hanging from the mirror. I looked closer and pulled it down. At first, it didn’t seem like anything more than a tattered collection of strings, dirty and frayed, braided together into a loose circle. I held it in my hand, ran my fingers along the length of it, and the memory returned.

  “You’re about to lose your ankle bracelet,” he’d said. On my left ankle, the knot I’d tied was dangerously loose. “I got it at one of those touristy shops on the boardwalk,” I’d told him. “Candy said I needed some decoration. She tried to talk me into a bellybutton ring. I bought this.” He’d shaken his head. “You don’t need any decoration, but I like it,” he’d said. I’d pulled it from my ankle. It was soaked with all the surfing we’d done. I hesitated, and then said, “Give me your arm.” He did, and I tied it to his wrist. “You’re giving it to me?” he’d asked. “Yes, so you never forget me.”

  I spied a shadow coming close to the car, so I hurriedly put it back in Teague’s visor.

  “Ms. Duffy?” a voice said. The man wore Dockers khakis, comfortable shoes, and a thin button-down, mustard colored shirt. His mustache made him look like he belonged in the 70’s.

  “I’m Detective Harlan Lewis,” he announced. “Let’s move over here to the alley, so we can talk.” He led Willie and me around the corner of the building to the gravel lot near the Jeep, away from most of the prying eyes on Starfish Drive.

  “Is this blood?” he asked, pointing to my right hand.

  “Oh, sorry. I touched the body,” I said. “I got it on my shorts, too.” I showed him the dark spot. He im
mediately called for one of his associates to take samples from my clothing and hand.

  “Why did you touch the body?”

  “Pulse. I was looking for a pulse,” I explained, feeling awkward. “I mean, I knew he was dead, but just thought maybe. I mean, if I were lying there, I’d want the first person to find me to check for a pulse, just in case. It could have been faint, you know. There could have been a chance.”

  He nodded. Sweat beaded up around my temples. I felt inexplicably nervous. There was something about his straight back, and forward-leaning, burrowing eyes that made me want to take a step away from him. He was rigid and emotionless.

  “Is that your vehicle, Ms. Duffy?” he asked, pointing to the Jeep. I answered with a nod. “We’d like to search it.”

  “Why? The Jeep was with me-”

  “The perpetrator could have slipped out the back after you parked,” he suggested. A shiver scurried down my back.

  “Sure, go ahead,” I said. Detective Lewis called Teague over and instructed him to start searching the Jeep. Teague pulled a pair of latex gloves from his utility belt and started searching.

  “What time did you arrive this morning ma’am?” he asked.

  “6:30. I spent the night at my grandparents’ house,” I explained.

  “Where do you live?” Lewis asked.

  “Here, at the store,” I said, “since last Saturday. The upstairs apartment is under construction.”

  “Did you know the victim?”

  “Not really. He was working on the upstairs apartment. He must have been the one who changed that light fixture. The chandelier wasn’t up yesterday when I left,” I reasoned.

  “What time was that?” Lewis asked, writing notes in his leather tablet. Behind him, Teague opened up the glove compartment and started rummaging through it.