Adele took a moment to look around, wondering if anyone else could hear the loud complaints that echoed all about the area surrounding Slip 22.
“Oh, where is my hat? Where is it? Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Ah, there she is. Come here, then. Lovely thing. Yes, that’s better. I look almost human now. Welcome back to the world of the living, Delroy!”
Adele placed her right hand over her mouth, trying very hard to stifle a laugh.
The sailboat’s door swung open and a thin, mad-eyed man wearing a light blue fedora with a rainbow-colored ribbon, a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of blue-and-white-striped cargo shorts, erupted from the boat’s bowels. He had a thin, gray beard that didn’t quite conceal a set of deeply sunken cheeks that lent him a decidedly emaciated aura as he moved about on shockingly thin, bird-like legs. The ends of his exposed feet were ensconced in a pair of deeply scuffed, leather sandals.
“Ah, you must be Adele!”
Despite his thin, sunken-chest frame, Delroy Hicks had one of the most powerful voices Adele had ever heard.
While remaining on the boat, Delroy reached out with a thin-fingered right hand toward Adele.
“Hello, Adele, I am Professor Delroy Hicks. If you haven’t yet noticed, I’m dying.”
Adele’s mouth fell open as she found herself shaking Delroy’s paper-skin hand while silently questioning if the odd little man was being literal or figurative in explaining his health to a woman he had just met. Delroy then withdrew his hand and used it to remove his hat which exposed a full head of surprisingly thick, gray hair, and with an intentionally dramatic flourish, leaned over at the waist and bowed before his newly arrived guest.
“Welcome to the No Regrets!”
Adele knew she was unable to hide the confusion that had fixed itself upon her face. Delroy returned his hat to the top of his head and pointed toward the boat’s transom where Adele saw the name No Regrets painted in bold red letters.
“That’s her name, and she’s all mine! Been living here in this very slip, off and on, for over forty years. Do you know John Wayne was once my guest here? It’s true! I cooked him a steak. The man loved steak! He ate two twelve-ounce rib eyes, drank an entire bottle of my best wine, and told stories of his days in old Hollywood. It was a glorious affair! He came here somewhat regularly during the summer season on that old World War II ship of his, The Wild Goose. He had read my first book on the native tribes of the Pacific Northwest and was a fan. Imagine that, he was a fan of me! The man truly gave meaning to the phrase, ‘bigger than life.’ Even when immersed in his twilight, he was a powerful personality, a fine human being without a hint of Hollywood arrogance. He stood where you are standing now. What do you think of that?”
Adele was reeling from information overload and had no idea how to respond. Delroy was either unaware of her confusion, or simply didn’t care. He just continued with whatever thought sprang forth from his mind.
“Suze tells me you’re the one who was allowed to interview Decklan. Is that so?”
Adele nodded with her mouth still half open.
Delroy Hicks lifted his head upward and let out a loud, barking laugh.
“Hah, the hermit has finally grown tired of his self-imposed banishment has he? Well, about bloody time, I’d say. I can’t imagine someone with his talent sitting around silently watching the world move by him without single a word on a page to mark its passing. He’s an ungrateful prick is what he is and I love him dearly. So then, what say you, Adele, uh, I’m sorry, what is your last name?”
Adele recovered from her initial confusion enough to respond.
“Plank. It’s Adele Plank.”
Delroy’s eyes appeared to widen almost beyond the orbs that contained them.
“Plank!? Well isn’t that the perfect name for a watery location such as this! We shall call it, walking the Adele! So then, what is next for you, Ms. Plank?”
Adele returned to the confusion that had so recently left her standing silently on the dock.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
The former professor extended his arms in front of him and stared across at Adele. His voice lowered an octave further and his green eyes twinkled with delight.
“Do you wish to come aboard, Ms. Plank?”
Adele’s mouth opened further, but no words came out. She found herself completely confused by Delroy Hicks’s question.
“I said do you wish to come aboard, Ms. Plank?”
Adele recalled a movie she had seen as a young girl where a Naval officer was visiting a ship from another country.
Ah, what the hell. Give it a try.
“Permission to come aboard, Mr. Hicks.”
Delroy’s mouth broke into a wide smile, revealing the oversized dentures he had earlier exclaimed he needed to put in before stepping outside.
“Very good, Ms. Plank! Permission to come aboard has been granted!”
Adele marveled at how much room there was within the sailboat’s stained-wood interior. She was able to stand up fully and look around at a space that included an eating area, a couch, and a small bedroom with an adjoining bathroom.
“This is nice, surprisingly spacious.”
Delroy took a seat on one end of the couch and with his left hand lightly patted the open space next to him.
“Have to rest a bit, catch my breath. As I said, I am dying after all.”
Adele removed her backpack and then sat down on the couch as requested.
“Are you really dying, Mr. Hicks?”
Delroy’s smile collapsed.
“Well, of course I am! That isn’t something one goes around saying for the fun of it! Goodness no! It’s cancer. I’m absolutely riddled with tumors. Started in my liver and now, well who knows where the damnable things have spread. Last summer they removed a third of my liver and gave me three weeks of radiation treatment and then strongly suggested several sessions of chemotherapy. Not to cure me, mind you, but to potentially extend my life by a year, or possibly two.”
Delroy’s eyes narrowed and he jabbed a finger into the open air in front of him.
“I said bullshit to that! If you walk to the end of this dock you’ll find a once-beautiful little sailboat now abandoned and nearly as dead as the man who once owned it. His name was Wilfrid. As a younger man he played college football, and even in his sixties was a big, powerfully built sort, though also a very gentle soul. Three years ago he was diagnosed. They put him on that poison, and I watched over the months that followed as he wasted away into nothingness. He finally passed shortly before my own diagnosis, and I decided then that I would not make the same mistake he had. What is another year if it’s spent unable to get out of bed, or to enjoy a meal, a glass of wine, or to have to watch as every hair upon your body falls away? No thank you. I’ll let the disease have me, but not the supposed cure.”
Delroy suddenly snapped his fingers.
“Ah, that reminds me! It’s tea time! Care for a cup?”
Adele silently noted that each of her interviews on the island commenced with the offering of food and drink. She also marveled at Delroy’s ability to jump from the subject of his seemingly impending death to making a pot of tea.
“Yes, thank you.”
Delroy rose from the couch and filled a tea kettle with water from the sink faucet that was the centerpiece of the sailboat’s small but functional galley. Then he ignited the flame on one of the two propane burners that made up the cooktop to the right of the sink. He turned halfway around and gave Adele a wink.
“Be just a minute. She warms up fast, just like I used to. In the meantime, tell me something you would like to know about my good friend, the writer.”
Adele reached into her backpack and withdrew the recorder.
“Do you mind?”
Delroy shook his head just as the tea pot began to whistle.
“Not at all! It will give you something to remember me by!”
Adele watched as Delroy brou
ght out two white, porcelain teacups and matching saucers. He placed a single tea bag into each cup, filled them with water, and delivered Adele’s with a smile and half nod.
“We’re drinking rosehip with a touch of black licorice today. I hope you like it.”
Delroy returned to his spot on the couch, crossed his legs, took a small sip of tea and then closed his eyes and grinned.
“Oh, yes, that’s the ticket! So, Ms. Plank, give us something to talk about before this gets painfully awkward. Not that I mind awkward. That can be fun too!”
Adele wondered if Delroy’s overtly friendly nature was in fact a way for him to constantly be talking without saying anything, so she decided to open with the very question that seemed to divide those on the islands who knew about Decklan Stone and his long ago deceased wife.
“Do you think he killed her?”
Delroy took another sip of tea, seemingly unfazed. He gave a shrug of his bony shoulders and then cleared his throat.
“Before approaching that kind of question, one should first ask if Decklan was even capable of actually doing such a thing. I knew them well, but knew Decklan perhaps more than anyone else other than his wife. Calista was outgoing to the point where she seemed almost desperate for approval, whereas Decklan’s personality has always been far more introverted. You had to have patience to get to the man behind the myth. Ah, but what success! Imagine being as young as he was and having the New York Times, the Boston Globe, LIFE, all of them singing the praises of this new American author! Decklan swam in those waters for a bit and found them too deep, too cold, and all too dangerous to the well-being of his marriage. Was he capable of murder?”
Delroy paused to drink the last of his tea and then continued. Adele sat listening, fully enthralled by the big voice coming from the little man who sat beside her.
“Yes, of course, we are all capable of such things when placed in the right, or should I say, the wrong circumstances. But of the two, I would still wager it would be Calista who was more capable of doing such a thing. She was a jealous, possessive woman, perpetually battling her feelings of both pride and insecurity regarding her husband’s sudden success. If an attractive woman were to make her way toward Decklan, Calista’s claws would come out. And it was Decklan who was most often left with the scratch of his wife’s jealousy. That is not to say her fears were without merit. Decklan created a bit of a reputation when he was in New York, but upon his arrival here, there was no evidence to suggest he was anything less than an utterly devoted husband.”
“What about Tilda?”
Delroy’s brows rose slightly at the mention of the hotel owner who was among the last to see Calista Stone alive.
“Ah, Tilda,Tilda,Tilda. She’s not nearly so lost as some around here would believe.”
“How well do you know her?”
Delroy grimaced and then reached down with his right hand to touch his side.
“Are you OK?”
Delroy gave a short nod and then groaned.
“It’ll pass. I just need a minute.”
Adele watched as Delroy took several deep breaths and then cleared his throat.
“Apologies, these pains are getting more frequent of late. Now, where were we?”
“I asked you how well you knew Tilda.”
Delroy placed his teacup and saucer on the kitchen counter. Then he folded his arms across his chest and looked up at something Adele couldn’t see on the ceiling.
“Yes, Tilda, a rather complicated subject, that. As far as my knowing her, I know her enough to have had dinner with her just two nights earlier in her private residence at the hotel. We are among the longest-term Roche Harbor residents, you see. The trick with her is to ignore the past because it’s the past that’s killing her as surely as this cancer is killing me.”
“Please explain what that means.”
Delroy stood up and pointed to the sailboat’s open door.
“Could we have a walk and talk? I try to keep moving as much as possible and today’s weather is especially warm for this time of year and I’d like to enjoy it, if that’s OK.”
Adele joined Delroy outside on the dock and was soon walking alongside him as he continued to share his knowledge of the mystery surrounding Decklan and Calista Stone and Tilda’s place within that same story.
“There are two things to understand regarding Tilda Ashford. One, she blames herself for causing the argument that led to Calista’s death. Two, she is convinced Decklan did in fact kill his wife and that the murder was subsequently covered up by the local authorities, namely by the former San Juan County Sheriff, Martin Speaks.”
Adele stopped walking and turned to face Delroy.
“I met the sheriff in Deer Harbor. He came off rather…”
Delroy was already nodding his head.
“Like a complete asshole? Yes, he is. And he absolutely detests me. Rather homophobic, that one. What did he have to say to you?”
The two began walking again to the end of another of several docks that extended out over the Roche Harbor waters.
“He basically told me not to go back for another interview with Decklan Stone, and he was pretty aggressive about it too. Thankfully the woman who owns the store over there intervened and got him away from me.”
“Oh, you mean Bella!”
Adele nodded.
“She’s a fine lady, isn’t she? My goodness I haven’t seen her in, it must be three, perhaps four, years. Do you have idea why the sheriff didn’t want you talking with Decklan?”
A seal’s glossy black head broke the surface of the water no more than forty feet from where Adele and Delroy stood on the dock. The sea mammal appeared to be waiting for Adele’s answer as much as Delroy was.
“No, not really.”
Delroy stopped and stared at Adele. He seemed to sense she had more to tell, and that she required just a bit of gentle prodding to do so.
“What is it?”
Adele noted how the professor had somehow become the one interviewing her.
“I thought I was supposed to be the person asking questions?”
Delroy grinned as he slowly stroked his beard with his right hand.
“Ah, you noticed that did you? It’s just my nature, always brushing away the dirt to see what is found just beneath the surface.”
“And why is that?”
The professor trapped Adele’s eyes in his own and held them there for several seconds before responding.
“Because, my dear girl, that is so often where the truth resides. Now turn around and look behind you.”
Adele paused, made certain she wasn’t standing too close to the water, and then did as Delroy requested.
“Look up toward the hill.”
Adele saw the upper half of the Roche Harbor hotel.
“Do you see her? She’s watching us. She’s always watching what goes on down here. It’s her nature, and an animal rarely changes its fundamental nature.”
At the center of the hotel’s second-story balcony stood a woman dressed in a loose-fitting white dress that hung down to her ankles. And though Adele couldn’t see her face, she knew who the woman was.
Tilda.
“Now that she’s seen you with me, your chances of being able to meet with her tonight have vastly improved.”
“So you met with me for her benefit?”
Delroy gave Adele a brief scowl.
“No, Ms. Plank, I did it for your benefit, yours and Decklan’s.”
The seal remained floating just beyond the dock, watching their conversation.
“I don’t understand.”
Delroy removed his hat and ran a hand through his thick shock of gray hair and then returned the hat to its perch atop his head.
“I think you do, Adele. It’s why you’re here speaking with me. It’s why you want to try and talk with Tilda. It’s why you took time to stop in at the bookstore and have coffee with Suze. And it’s why you’re willing to risk the anger of someone like Sherif
f Speaks.”
“OK, Mr. Hicks, please tell me why it is I’m doing these things.”
Delroy leaned in close to Adele and whispered his answer into her left ear.
“For the mystery, my young friend! The mystery!”
11.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ashford is not available. Would you like a room?”
Phillip Ozere was a tall, slightly overweight man in his early forties. He was dressed in a crisp, white shirt, red tie, and black dress slacks. He regarded Adele with a formal indifference, as if his position at the Roche Harbor Hotel was comparable to being the official greeter of Buckingham Palace. His fleshy cheeks were riddled with pockmarks, likely the byproduct of especially bad skin during his youth.
“Suze indicated you might be willing to ask her for me, and I’m also an acquaintance of Mr. Delroy Hicks.”
Phillip’s features softened, and he took another moment to look Adele up and down.
“You know Suze?”
“Yes, I spent the day with her. I’m a reporter for the college newspaper in Bellingham. I just want to ask Ms. Ashford a few questions.”
Phillip’s guarded demeanor quickly returned.
“A reporter? No, I don’t think that will be possible. And now that I’ve checked, it doesn’t appear we have any rooms available, either.”
Adele rose to her full height, a less than impressive five foot four, and gave the hotel manager an exaggerated shrug.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. You leave me with no choice but to note that Ms. Ashford made no comment on the subject in my article. This will, of course, lead to speculation among readers and might harm the reputation of the hotel.”
Phillip’s eyes narrowed.
“What subject are you talking about?”
Adele shook her head.
“I’m afraid that is between me and the owner of this hotel.”
Adele could see Phillip struggling with the decision. His loyalty to Tilda was clearly evident. After several seconds, with Phillip standing behind the massive oak desk that dominated the hotel’s red-and-gold-carpeted lobby, he issued a final answer.
“I am going to ask you to leave. Now.”
The Writer Page 9
