by Sandra Hill
“Yeah, but I left all the boys’ things.”
The youngest, about Maggie’s age, stepped forward and said to the little girl, “I have a new bike. It’s red. Wanna see it?”
His brothers gawked at him like he was either brave or crazy. They might have liked to do the same thing but they were much cooler older guys, at least six or seven.
Maggie looked to Delilah for permission and she nodded. She just knew that the next thing Maggie would be wanting was a bike.
“I promised the boys burgers and fries at the The Bay Shack for lunch if they behaved,” Sally said. “Wanna join us?”
“Sure. I need to pay for this stuff, then put loads of wet laundry into the dryers over at the Laundromat first.”
“Good. I should be done by then. Can’t wait to hear about the big treasure discovery on Sweet Bells. You guys are gonna make this town famous.”
“Um . . . where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over town. Annie and Sam from The Morning Show did a news alert about it on NBX-TV this afternoon. Treasure Found. Bell Cove Riches. Or something like that. More news to come at six.”
That must be why she hadn’t heard from Merrill. He would be swamped with inquiries if news of the shipwreck discovery had leaked.
An hour later, and a hundred dollars poorer, Delilah sat with Sally eating delicious soft shell crab sandwiches with sides of coleslaw, while Maggie and the boys devoured cheeseburgers and homemade boardwalk fries. They would have eaten outside on the deck, except that the sky was dark gray and the breeze uncomfortable. She’d like to be home before the downpour hit.
Before Sally had a chance to grill her on the shipwreck discovery, Laura Atler, the local newspaper editor, came over to their table. “Congratulations, Lilah!”
“Well, I’m just the cook and odd job person. I don’t dive.”
“Still, this is so exciting! I’ll have enough news to put out a special edition this week. Exactly how much gold do you figure the team has brought up so far?”
Delilah realized then that the news leak around town hadn’t been specific, so far, and she wasn’t about to be the confidential informant. “Gold? What gold?” She batted her eyelashes with innocence.
“What a kidder!” Laura said, but she wasn’t amused. She was in full-blown newshound mode. But then she smiled. “The whole town will want to be involved on Wednesday when the press conference is being held. It will be held over at Gabe’s mansion to accommodate the out-of-town crowd that will no doubt be here. All the major networks have called, and People magazine wants to do a cover story.”
On Wednesday? So soon? And publicity. I do not want to be involved in any publicity.
“The town council has already met. It would have been nice to have a parade and all that hoopla, but two days is just not enough time. Even so, we’re asking all the merchants in town to participate in some way. Banners in the windows. Products related to treasures or gold or shipwrecks. Anything you could do at the bakery, Sally?”
“Maybe gold dust sugar cookies. They make sprinkles now that look like real gold.”
“Great! Tony over at the Cracked Crab is going to put Shipwreck Spiny Lobster on the menu.”
Delilah groaned.
“What?” Laura asked.
“Nothing. I’m just not a fan of spiny lobster.” Anymore.
“Frank Baxter at Hard Knocks Hardware is ordering in more metal detectors. People always get the fever when any kind of treasure is found, even like that class ring found over by the sound last summer. You would have thought it was a Cartier creation.”
Delilah thought about the high-tech underwater metal detector that Merrill had bought and how his investment had paid off. The news media would probably love that angle on the story, and, yes, that would mean a rush on metal detectors everywhere.
“Too bad that neon Elvis of yours isn’t lit up yet,” Laura said to Delilah. “We could throw a gold lamé cape over him, which would be perfect. Betcha Stu and Barb over at Blanket-y Blank could scrounge up a length of lamé somewhere.
Delilah refused to rise to the bait. “Sorry. No time. Maybe next year, if Elvis is lit up by then.” Then, she thought of something else. “Won’t the storm be raging here by then? That should dampen the crowds coming to town.” Please, God!
“Hopefully, the rains should have stopped by then. The latest weather forecast says it might veer north by Tuesday night. Just in case, we’re having Father Brad over at Our Lady by the Sea and Pastor Morgan at St. Andrew’s hold an ecumenical prayer vigil tonight for good weather.”
“Isn’t that kind of materialistic to pray for weather to hold an event that would benefit the town merchants?”
Laura put a hand to her chest as if Delilah had stabbed her. “You have to live through a barrier island hurricane to know why people pray for good weather here all the time.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend,” Delilah apologized, even though that’s not exactly what she’d said. A town praying for good weather in this case had nothing to do with hurricanes, but it wasn’t an argument Delilah wanted or needed to engage in.
Laura nodded an acceptance of her apology and went on, “There’s just so little time. We’re already discussing a bigger celebration for later this summer, maybe a Pirate Gold Day for the salvage treasure in combination with the Labor Day Lollypalooza. You and the Sweet Bells crew could dress up like pirates and all the gold you’ve discovered could be on display in a huge pirate treasure chest on the town square, and a ship resembling the Falcon could be brought into Bell Sound, where tours could be given, maybe even stage a fake battle between the Falcon and whatever Yankee ship shot it down, and . . .”
On and on Laura went with plans involving a private venture which had suddenly become the town’s venture, and what any of the Sweet Bells venture had to do with pirates was beyond Delilah’s understanding. She barely restrained herself from putting her face on the table and pounding her forehead, but then she noticed Sally grinning at her and realized that some things about Bell Cove just needed to be taken with a grain of humor.
How was Merrill reacting to all this hoopla?
She checked her phone. Still no messages.
After Laura left, Sally patted her hand and said, “Welcome to Bell Cove.”
Delilah and Maggie got all the laundry folded, most of which was put in laundry bags, which they dropped off at the warehouse before heading home. There was no one around the salvage side of Bell Forge, which didn’t surprise her. They were probably all hiding out, avoiding the press and nosy townspeople.
She stopped at the grocery store, where folks were emptying the shelves in preparation for the storm. Even though a major disaster wasn’t predicted, people took no chances. Delilah didn’t, either, buying more than she usually would, considering the size of her small fridge and freezer.
Rain started coming down just as they’d arrived in the parking lot back on the diner/motel property. Maggie ran ahead of her, giggling at the warm shower, while Delilah hurried with her heaping basket of clean, folded, soon-to-be-wet-if-she-wasn’t-careful sheets, towels, and clothing. Maggie was already chattering away to Gram about her new friends and burgers and fries and a wish for a bike, along with a dog, while Delilah ran out for a second trip to the truck to get the bags from Out of the Closet.
Through the now-pelting rain she saw two vehicles pull up to the motel, driven by Kevin and Gus, who had two beautiful women with them, who were so tall and slim and gorgeous they could be models. They all ran, laughing, for the second and third motel rooms. She assumed that Gus was using Adam Famosa’s room and that Adam was staying over at Ocracoke with Bonita.
None of her business.
Except that Merrill was not yet back.
And he didn’t come at all that night. She knew because a panel truck marked “Stella’s Wine and Cheese Bar, We Deliver,” pulled up about nine o’clock before the motel. About one a.m. there was a pizza delivery. Party time at Heartbreak Motel! Fo
r some people.
By then, after two more failed attempts to contact Merrill, she went to sleep on her sofa bed. Not that she slept much.
Merrill was either in trouble somewhere. Or he was in trouble with her.
Either way, Delilah knew there would be trouble come morning.
Chapter 17
Sometimes a high I.Q. doesn’t equate with smartness . . .
Merrill drove Delilah’s motorcycle directly to the hospital in Hatteras. The rain hit halfway there, and by the time he arrived, the pellets were coming down in torrents. He looked and felt like a drowned rat. Perfectly fitting for his mood!
He was shivering when he entered the air-conditioned premises and dripping a puddle where he stood at the reception desk. “I’m looking for a patient. Cordelia Good.”
A nurse (he knew she was a nurse because of the name tag hanging from a lanyard around her neck, which said: Melissa Adams, R.N.), who’d just come up beside him, asked, “Do you mean Dr. Good?”
“Yeah. Dr. Cordelia Good.” Man, even in an emergency his parents had to flaunt their academic credentials.
“Second floor IC unit. Room 203. The elevators are down the hall.”
Intensive care? Man, that is not good. He felt a twinge of regret for his negative thoughts about his parents’ academic snobbery at a time like this, and guilt for not answering phone calls as soon as he’d docked this morning.
He was about to walk away when the nurse said, “Wait a minute.” She put up a halting hand and passed over some papers to the receptionist on duty, explaining details about an incoming patient and his special needs. Turning back to him, she asked, “Are you Lt. Merrill Good, by any chance?”
“I was,” he said. At her confused look, he explained, “No longer in the military. What happened to my mother?”
“You should speak with her doctor.”
“I will, but in the meantime, can’t you give me a clue? Today is the first I knew she was in a hospital, and just now, the first I knew it was something serious enough to be in an ICU.”
“Well, your family has been expecting you for days.”
Was there a reprimand in there? Ah, so that was the reason for her snarky mood? The “family” had portrayed him as the black sheep, the unsympathetic son. “I’ve been away. Just got back in town.”
“No cell coverage?”
Definitely a reprimand. And out of line, professionally. “Actually, no.”
“A mild heart attack,” she revealed. Her stance indicated that would be the extent of her cooperation.
She gave him a quick once-over and remarked, “You need a towel.”
“Ya think, Melissa?”
Frowning at his sarcasm, and probably the use of her first name, she motioned for him to follow her to a utility room, where she handed him several towels, which he used briskly to dry his hair and bare arms. There was nothing he could do about his sopping clothes.
He was not unaware that she watched him closely, and that she was not unaware that he was physically fit. And, yeah, a SEAL or ex-SEAL.
“Come with me. I’m going to the ICU.”
She was back to being snippy again, probably because he’d caught her in the act of ogling him.
When they were in the elevator traveling to the second floor, she turned on him and said, “Wait. Are you the guy . . . the treasure hunter . . . who just discovered a billion dollars in gold in a sunken ship?”
“Uh. Where did you hear that?”
“A spot news flash this afternoon on NBX-TV.”
That damn Annie and Sam! Couldn’t keep their mouths shut for a minute. Bet Laura has gone to town, too. Literally. For the first time since he’d left Bell Cove three hours ago, he glanced at his cell phone.
“Oh, my God!” There were seventy-three text messages and forty-one voice mails. Several of them were from Delilah, a dozen from his father and his brother, but many were from news outlets. With a muttered curse, without reading or listening to any of them, he mass deleted the whole bunch.
“Aren’t you worried that some of those might be important?” the nurse inquired, watching him.
“Obviously not.”
When he got to the intensive care floor, there was a beehive of activity. Nurses, aides, doctors, technicians. Monitors beeping. The usual antiseptic smell of a hospital ward that he hated. Through some of the doors, he saw patients in seriously bad shape, while others were sitting up in bed chatting with visitors, though attached to a gazillion wires. In one unit, the attendants wore what looked like space suits right down to the booties; must be a case of sepsis.
Vanessa and Ben were standing outside the last room. Vanessa gave him her usual snooty look, accompanied by a muttered, “About time, asshole!” Then she gasped at his appearance. “You . . . you . . .” She pointed at his wet clothes plastered to his body, giving up steam by now. Whereas the AC had been running full blast on the lower floor, it was tropical heat up here.
“Hey, Van, it’s raining outside, in case you didn’t notice.” He thought about adding, “With your nose perpetually up in the air like that, you better stick inside or you might drown.” But then, he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble.
Ben looked embarrassed at his wife’s remarks, but not enough to rebuke her. Merrill held out a hand for Ben to shake. He took it. In other families, where two brothers who’d once been so close reunited again for the first time, there would have been at least a bro-hug.
Ah, well!
“How is she?” Merrill asked.
“Stable. Wanting to go home. They’ll probably move her to another floor later today.”
He nodded. “Does that mean you guys will be sticking around for a while yet?”
“Another week, at least. Van needs to get back to work . . . a project she’s heading is at a critical stage, but I’ll stay with Father until she’s released.”
What a stilted conversation! I could be a stranger he’s just met for all the warmth. “Still at Johns Hopkins?”
His brother nodded and would have said more, but his father noticed him from inside the room, and Merrill stepped inside.
“You got here,” his father said with a sigh of relief, as if Merrill’s presence mattered.
“Father,” he acknowledged because he knew that’s what the old man preferred, but instead of going over to shake his hand, he walked directly to the bed. His mother was awake and propped up on several pillows. She might be stable, according to Ben, but she looked like hell. She had always been thin, but she appeared frail as well now.
A thin line of gray showed at the roots of her frosted brown hair, which she would hate. Instead of the silk bed jacket she wore at home on those rare occasions when she’d been sick, she had the usual white johnny coat on, the kind that opened in the back, which would be a huge indignity to her refined self. An oxygen cannula was attached to her nose, and a dozen or more wires ran from her chest and arms to heart and blood pressure monitors.
Under it all, her skin was pale, without the subtly applied makeup she’d used through the years, some stuff she’d take the train into Bloomingdale’s twice a year to buy. The crap cost as much as a car payment but was guaranteed to make you look like you weren’t wearing makeup.
Women! Even his mother! Go figure!
“Hey, Mom!” he blurted out, without thinking not to offend, and leaned down carefully to give her a hug.
The “Mom” and the hug were both out of the norm, but instead of the stiffness he might have expected, a stiffness indicating that once again he’d done something inappropriate, she raised her thin arms to his shoulders and hugged him back. Against his ear, she whispered, “Oh, Merrill!” and patted his shoulders, followed by another “Oh, Merrill!”
Raising his head and seeing the tears welling in her eyes, he wondered what that was all about. She’s patting my back? Like I’m the one needing comfort! Shiiit! Have I entered an alien universe?
The moment passed and he pulled a chair close to the bed, next to his fa
ther. Ben and Vanessa came in, too, and sat on chairs on the other side of the bed. They chatted softly, mostly over her as she dozed off, mostly relating to Merrill what had happened.
“Is this the first sign of heart trouble?” Merrill asked.
“No,” his father said, “she had a few minor episodes a year ago, but she was following a heart diet and getting regular exercise. Seemed to be doing fine.”
“It was probably the stress that brought this on,” Vanessa opined.
“That’ll be enough, Van!” Ben warned his wife.
Which surprised Merrill. Usually Vanessa was the one who wore the pants in their family.
Instead of being upset with Ben, Vanessa cast a glower Merrill’s way. Man, the woman had never been fond of him, but this was taking her venom a step further.
But wait . . . is she implying . . . ? “Are you saying that I’m responsible for my mother’s heart attack?”
“No one is responsible,” his father said, loud and firm enough to zip Van’s already-thinned lips. “There’s a history of heart disease in the women of Delia’s family.” To Merrill, he added, “As you’ll recall, Grandma Fulton died when she was only fifty-seven.”
Merrill did remember. He’d been only ten at the time, but he’d been grief-stricken. As different from her daughter, Merrill’s mother, as night and day, Grandma had been a homemaker who loved cooking, and baking, and her half dozen grandchildren. He recalled her kitchen being the heart of her home, and that it had always seemed to be filled with sunshine and laughter. She’d graduated from college and taught school for a few years, but didn’t consider that academic credential essential to her self-identity.
Duly chastened, Vanessa took out a biophysics book, which she proceeded to read. A clear “Fuck you!” signal to the rest of them, mostly him.
“Do you and Van have any kids?” he asked his brother.
Van stiffened but pretended not to have heard the question.
“No. Van . . . we decided early on that our work was too important to be diverted by child rearing.”
Seriously, Ben? You expect me to buy that bullshit? But Merrill said nothing. It was their business.