Whisper Beach

by Shelley Noble

  “I’m just the bartender,” Mike said.

  Hal shook his head. “Man, I’m not touching that one. My wife doesn’t even like me coming down here. But, hell, a guy needs to hang with his buddies.”

  “You know where she is, Joe?”

  “Not me.” Though he had some ideas. “She’s an adult. It’s not like she doesn’t know what she has to do. She’ll find a place to stay if she’s smart.”

  “Well, I’m staying out of it,” Hal said. “Next thing I know he’d be stopping me for speeding, or rolling through a stop sign or whatever. I don’t need that kind of aggravation. But, Joe, I’d watch my back if I were you.”

  Joe sighed. “Yeah, we never got along, but I’m getting a little tired of him being in my face all the time about those poor dumb clam diggers out by the marina.”

  “I think he’s just using it as an excuse to stay in your face, Joe. He keeps harping on Dana about what she’s doing with you.”

  “She’s not doing anything with me, and contrary to popular opinion, she never has, and never will.”

  “Yeah, we know. But the truth don’t mean shit to Bud. He gets something in his head and just lets it grow till he cracks.”

  “Well, at least he’s on duty tonight,” Hal said. “Though I don’t know how Jerry stands him.”

  “No, he ain’t,” Mike said. “Leastways, he wasn’t in uniform when he came in awhile ago.” He leaned on the bar. “So Joe, what are you going to eat?”

  “Not another burger. How about a chef’s salad if the lettuce is fresh.”

  “Man, you sure know how to get a guy where it hurts. My lettuce is always fresh.”

  “Okay, I’m convinced. Salad.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “What? You’re out of salad?” Joe asked.

  “No, I got salad. But Bud just walked in, and he’s headed your way. I don’t want no trouble, Joe.”

  “You won’t get it from me. I just came to have dinner.”

  Joe didn’t turn around. He didn’t have to; he could feel Bud stride across the floor, people stilling as he passed them like a cowboy in an old B western.

  “Must’ve seen your truck outside,” Mike said under his breath.

  “Must have. You’d think I had the only gray truck in town.”

  “Maybe you should start walking from now on.”

  Or just move back to the vineyard and eat at home.

  Joe steeled himself for the confrontation. This was not how he wanted to eat dinner, but he was prepared when Bud’s beefy fingers closed on his shoulder.

  “You son of a—” Bud whirled Joe around to face him. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mike appeared at the bar. “Okay, Bud. She ain’t been here. Nobody knows where she is. So just go on home now.”

  Bud ignored him. He was fixated on Joe and looking for a fight.

  Joe held both hands out to his side, fingers stretched in full view of the others. “I’m not going to fight you.”

  He saw Bud wind up, saw the fist coming. Joe was still seated, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Chapter 14

  A SLEDGEHAMMER RAMMED INTO JOE’S GUT, KNOCKING THE air out of him and driving him back against the bar.

  “Hey, stop that.” Hal started to get off the stool, but Bud round-armed him and knocked him to the floor.

  Joe had managed to get to his feet. “Stop it, Bud. If you want to fight, let’s go outside.”

  Bud backfisted him and as he fell to his knees, Bud got off a kick to his gut that knocked Joe to his side before Hal and another man pulled him away.

  Someone across the room threw a punch at the guy next to him. He fell against a table and knocked it over. The two people there joined the fray.

  Fighting had broken out throughout the bar. It was going to be a free-for-all.

  Joe was half aware of Mike running around the bar.

  “Mike,” Joe yelled. “We’ll handle this. Call the cops.”

  That’s all Joe heard before Bud grabbed for him. He dodged to the side, and Bud crashed into the bar, rattling mugs and overturning glasses and bottles.

  He spun around, sending bottles and glasses flying. “Where is Dana?”

  “I don’t know where she is,” Joe yelled. “I don’t care. I’m not interested in her.”

  “You’re lying.” Bud knocked Hal aside and threw his full weight against Joe. Joe felt something give in his ribs. Bud outweighed him by twenty or thirty pounds. Two men and Hal pulled Bud away but Joe was having a hard time getting on his feet.

  “Okay, dammit, that hurt.”

  “Where is she? I gotta tell her.”

  But it was too late.

  Joe pushed away from the bar, but Hal pulled him back. “Don’t do it. Stay cool, man, this is exactly what he wants.”

  Joe hesitated, gulping in air and trying to get his temper under control. But Bud broke away from the other men and lunged for Joe’s throat. Joe ducked and came back with his best right hook. Bud’s head snapped back, and blood gushed from his nose

  Sirens rent the air, and people rushed to the doors.

  Joe could hear Mike cursing over the rest of the din. “I’m pressing charges, Bud. Don’t ever show your face in here again.”

  Joe sat back in the closest chair, as the police rushed in and began rounding up anyone still left in the bar.

  “Tell me I’m seeing things and you didn’t start this.” Joe looked up to see a slightly blurry Jerry Corso standing over him. “Oh man, why did you have to come to Mike’s tonight. Come on.” He pulled Joe to his feet.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Mike said.

  “I’m sure he didn’t start it, but the captain said to bring everybody in. I think Bud just hit strike three. Are you okay, Joe? You look like shit.”

  “Sorry, Mike,” Joe said as Jerry helped him to the door.

  “Not your fault,” Mike said. Then the door closed, and Jerry pushed him into the back of a patrol car where Hal was waiting.

  “Mary Kate is going to kill me.”

  “Tell her it was my fault.”

  Jerry leaned into the door opening. “I doubt if the captain will hold you. Mike said he’d vouch for you two if need be.”

  “Where’s Bud?” Joe asked.

  “They took his ass away right off the bat. Sure glad I’m not Bud tonight.” Jerry shut the door.

  “Or any night,” Joe said under his breath. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He was beginning to hurt everywhere.

  “DANG IT ALL to hell,” Dorie said and groped for her cell phone. “So help me, Harold, if this is you needing money, or a ride or wanting to home come before I’m ready to let ya, I’ll do something awful.”

  “Hello,” she barked. “What? Uh-huh. Oh Lord, is he okay? I’m on my way. Thanks.” She turned to Van and Suze who were sitting on the couch. “I need you to drive me somewhere.”

  “Sure.” Van grabbed her purse. “Is everything okay? Is someone hurt?”

  “I won’t know until we get there. You too, Suze.”

  “Me?” Suze asked, but she got up and slid her feet into her shoes.

  They hurried out to Van’s rental car.

  “Suze, you sit up front.” Dorie climbed into the back.

  “Where are we going?” Van asked as she backed out the drive.

  “The police station.”

  “Really? I can’t believe you’re still bailing kids out of jail.”

  “Some kids. And not usually this one.”

  Van headed for the station. She knew where it was, though she’d never been taken in herself.

  She parked in a visitor’s parking place. “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, you just stay put.” Dorie hurried up the sidewalk to the entrance of the station. Jerry Corso met her just outside, then escorted her inside.

  Van sighed. “Things just don’t change in Whisper Beach.”

  Suze agreed. �
�Only now Jerry Corso is upholding the law instead of breaking it. Go figure.”

  Dorie was gone for a long time, and Van grew impatient.

  “Do you think it’s a kid? Or maybe Harold? I could do without him,” Suze said.

  “Me, too.”

  Finally the front door opened, and Dorie and Jerry came out, propping up a man who was barely managing to stand on his feet. “He better not be drunk,” Van mumbled. She would be pissed as hell if he threw up in her rental car.

  She tapped the steering wheel. He didn’t even look like a teenager. Too big for Harold. For one blinding nanosecond, fear seized her and she could hardly breathe. But he was too young to be her father.

  She had just whooshed out her breath, when the man looked up. It was almost as horrible as having to see her father.

  Joe Enthorpe looked out at her from a face that rivaled Dana’s for battered and bruised.

  “Oh my God,” Suze gasped.

  “My exact thoughts,” Van said, trying to banish the utter sadness she felt to see how far he’d fallen. Jerry ran around to the passenger side and opened the back door. He helped Joe inside. Dorie climbed in after him.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not going anywhere tonight. Still, call my cell or the dispatcher if there’s any trouble.”

  Obviously Jerry was continuing a conversation. Van had no idea what he was talking about, unless he was afraid Joe was going to cause more trouble. Her stomach turned. She was the one who was in danger of throwing up in her car. How had this happened to someone like Joe?

  “Don’t worry about us,” Dorie said. “I’ve got my shotgun.”

  Oh good God, Van thought. As much as she thought she had divorced herself from her past, it just kept coming at her. She lived in Manhattan and didn’t know anyone who carried a gun.

  Jerry wagged a finger at Dorie. “You know you don’t keep that gun loaded, and so does everybody else in town.”

  “I’ll load it tonight.”

  Jerry didn’t bother to argue. He leaned in to the back where Joe was barely sitting upright. “You. Keep your head down.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said.

  “Put on your seat belt.” Jerry pulled out the belt and reached across Joe to buckle him in.

  Joe hissed between his teeth.

  “Hey, Van. Suze.” Jerry looked grim. “Are you having fun yet?”

  Van didn’t bother to answer. Jerry nodded and shut the door, watching them until Van had pulled out of the lot.

  “Where are we taking him?”

  “Marina,” Joe said.

  “My house,” Dorie said.

  “Marina. I’ll walk.” He reached for his seat belt.

  They took him to the marina.

  No one spoke for several blocks. Van had moved past surprise, shock, disgust, to curiosity.

  “Barroom brawl?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

  Joe grunted. “Tripped.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dorie had been quiet in the backseat. Now she snorted. “Tripped into Bud Albright’s fist.”

  “Really?” Van said, exasperated. “You and Dana should try staying away from him.”

  “Pretty impossible if you live here.”

  “Well, I don’t, thank God.”

  After that no one spoke, and Van didn’t bother to try to make conversation. Not even with Suze, who looked straight ahead.

  Things didn’t change. Except when she’d left town, Joe hadn’t been a fighter. He didn’t drink much. And he certainly wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with Bud Albright. He’d had real plans for his future.

  Van guessed she should feel lucky that things had turned out the way they had for her. It hurt like hell at the time and for a long time after, but on the other hand, if it hadn’t happened, she might be stuck living at the old marina with a drunk for a husband—just like her mother had.

  Still, she felt a stab of disappointment for the way things might have been. She shoved it away. She had a real affection for some of the people in town, but no way did she want to be like them.

  “My truck,” Joe said as they passed Mike’s Pub.

  “The girls will come back for it,” Dorie said.

  The girls, thought Van. She didn’t bother to point out that she and Suze were adults.

  She knew the way to Grandy’s Marina. She’d spent many a night there, drinking beer with the local kids and dangling her feet off the end of the pier. It was tucked in a bend in the river with a few berths for larger fishing boats and a handful of pleasure cruisers, most of which had seen shinier, cleaner days.

  Still, she almost missed the turnoff in the dark. Not a light was on to mark the entrance to the marina. The office as well as the attached apartment where the watchman stayed were dark.

  She turned into the lot, pulled around back, and stopped at the steps up to the door of the wooden shack. There were smaller boats on racks in the yard. Several on trailers were waiting to be launched or put into dry dock.

  Joe was living here?

  Joe fumbled with his seat belt. “Thanks for the ride.” He opened the car door, gingerly got out, then leaned back inside. “Thanks, Dorie. You didn’t have to come for me, but thanks.”

  “Who did you think would come for you? You gonna call your ma or grandpa to come get you? Or did you think staying in jail overnight is going to make things different?”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “I’m coming in with you. Give me the keys to your truck. Van and Suze will bring it back over here. Won’t you, girls?” Dorie grinned at them.

  Suze took the keys. “You have to sympathize with Ichabod Crane when she grins like that.”

  “I thought the horseman was headless.”

  “He carried it under his arm.”

  “Ugh.” As Dorie helped Joe up the rickety stairs to the marina office, Van turned the car around and backtracked to Mike’s. “You know how to drive a truck?”

  “No,” Suze said. “I’ll have to drive your rental.”

  Van took the keys and got out. Suze moved to the driver’s seat and waited for Van to start up the truck. Then she followed Van back to the marina.

  But when they got there, Suze refused to get out of the car.

  Van trudged up the steps. Knocked. When no one answered, she went inside.

  “Yeah, and I’m gonna keep her as long as she’ll stay. Now get some rest. And stay out of trouble.”

  Great. This was about Dana. So maybe things weren’t over between them. Van wrestled with an unexpected pang of jealousy. Squelched it. Decided it was annoyance and not jealousy at all.

  “Here are your keys.” Van dropped them onto the counter where Dorie was cleaning Joe’s face with a washcloth. She’d meant to leave but got a look at his face.

  “Maybe you should go to the hospital.”

  He shook his head slightly.

  “You might have internal injuries,” Dorie said.

  “If I start coughing up blood, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Hey, show some respect.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m not sure you should be left alone,” Dorie said. “What do ya think, Van?”

  “Go ahead and stay, Dorie. Suze and l will pick you up in the morning. Maybe Joe has an extra toothbrush you can use.”

  Joe pulled the washcloth away. “I’m fine. Thanks. You don’t need to stay, Dorie.”

  Van really wanted to get out of the small, claustrophobic room and the pervasive stink of beer that was emanating from Joe. The smell from the river was almost as overpowering. She couldn’t believe that he’d stooped to living here.

  Then she saw the wine bottles lined up across the back of the table. And she understood.

  More wine bottles were lined up throughout the room, like he was keeping count. Other were placed in groups or sometimes stood alone. Wherever he put them down.

  She sighed; the disappointment and sadness she felt was much deeper than the realization called for. Her father did the same thing
. Didn’t even bother to throw them in the trash. And Van had cleaned up after him, night after night after night.

  “Maybe you should lay off the vino and stay out of the pub for a while.”

  “Wha—?” He followed her gaze to the bottles. “No. You don’t understand.”

  “Van—” Dorie’s voice warned her to be quiet.

  “Save it. I’m not interested in excuses. Been there, done that. Good night.”

  She felt Joe staring after her as she turned and almost fled the room.

  “You’re wrong,” he called after her.

  She didn’t slow down, but she heard the scrape of the stool and his footsteps across the floor.

  “You think you’re the only one of us who isn’t a failure. Well, you’re not.”

  “Fine.”

  “Oh hell, what’s the point.” His voice cracked and he slammed the door.

  Van reached the car and threw herself into the passenger seat.

  “I guess that means I’m driving,” Suze said.

  “I never thought Joe would turn out like the rest of them, but he did. There were bottles everywhere.” She slumped in her seat and covered her face with her hands, but she couldn’t block out the memory.

  “That’s a shame,” Suze said, and then they were quiet.

  Dorie finally came back to the car. Got in the back.

  Suze started the car and backed out.

  “Maybe Joe’s a little right about you,” Dorie said from the back.

  Van turned to face her. “What does that mean? That I’m somehow deficient because I don’t approve of guys who brawl in bars. Who have empty wine bottles on every available surface? Thanks. But I don’t have any sympathy. I could have spent a lifetime without ever seeing him like that.”

  “Do you know why he has all those wine bottles?”

  “Trash day isn’t until Wednesday?”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Van.”

  “Okay, why does he have wine bottles everywhere? The answer seems pretty obvious to me, but go ahead and tell me. I really need to hear the excuses. I know them all.”

  Van’s teeth sank into her lip, creating a little specific pain to take her attention away from the pain in her heart.

  “Because he’s started a vineyard. He’s studying the competition, deciding on labels, the design, working on a logo, and, yes, probably running some taste tests. But it’s research; didn’t you notice all those big reference books?”