Support Your Local Pug

by Lane Stone

  “I guess. For years her acting career was pretty much dormant, but in the last few years she’s gotten a lot more roles. I think the reason for those lean years was because she refused to consider grandmother roles. Now that she’s playing those parts she’s working again.”

  “I’m at Plantations East, so I better hang up. Was this a peace offering?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Did it work?” he asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m still going to the lighthouse.”

  “I’ve got to get to work,” he grumbled.

  “Thanks for telling me…” I said, but he had hung up.

  The young officer was photographing the yellowed old papers from the safe. He logged each and put it in a plastic bag. I introduced myself, and he said that Chief Turner had alerted him that I was on my way. I sat and read through the plastic. Some were the quality of high school newspapers back in the day of the typewriter. Most were dated in the early 1940s and the photographs were black and white. Once I found the commonality, it was obvious.

  When I got back in the Jeep, I telephoned Chief Turner. I was guarded and he was stiff, but I told him my theory. “I think I know why she never wanted to come in for questioning. Most of her family was killed in the Holocaust—always by someone working for the government and wearing a uniform. Billy B. and his brother, her grandfather, were just kids, but they inherited this fear of anyone in a uniform. I believe it was passed down to her, too.”

  “You were able to learn all that from those papers?” he asked.

  “And from what Julie told me. Historical trauma is real. And I think that’s what she suffers from.”

  * * * *

  Shelby and all the part-time hostesses were at Buckingham’s by five o’clock. I staffed the desk while she met with them in my office. It was crowded, but the information she was giving them was important. I saw movement near the floor. It was Abby trying to squeeze out of the room and she was looking at me between lots of legs. I went over to rescue her. When I had her safely out, I picked her up. She weighed forty pounds but I wanted to hold her for a minute. I kissed the side of her face and put her down. She would stay with Shelby.

  All the boarding dogs would get personal attention when the fireworks started at six o’clock. The dogs would share rooms so each Buckingham hostess could cuddle two at a time.

  The sun would set at five-thirty, and the laser lightshow with narration would start then. Classical music would be played in the background. The local radio station would broadcast the audio for anyone not willing to tolerate the volume of traffic that had been nonstop since yesterday morning. The tales of the 1774 storm and later sinking of the Severn in Roosevelt Inlet, with the 2004 dredging of Lewes Beach which scattered many artifacts on that beach, including the wine bottle section from South Africa, would be offered to those listeners, everyone standing or sitting on Lewes Beach, and over the loudspeaker at Buckingham’s. Shelby would turn the radio off when the fireworks began.

  She and our group of part-timers filed out of the office. I thanked them for working the extra hours and told them I’d see them later.

  “I’ll go home and change now,” I said, walking around the reception desk. Lady Anthea was already there waiting.

  “The doors will be locked after seven. You’ll need a special password to get back in,” Shelby said, grinning.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’ll text it to everybody.” She was already typing on her phone. “Sue,” she called to me, coming around the desk. “Be careful!” Then she hugged me.

  “I will.”

  Chapter 37

  I walked the short distance to my house. The Jeep was parked on the driveway since I had already hitched the personal watercraft trailer on to it and loaded the Jet Ski.

  Lady Anthea was sitting on the sofa, talking into her computer tablet. She liked to Skype home when she was here. I stayed out of her way and went to my bedroom to change into my wetsuit. She had been adamant that she would not wear one. She had agreed to the slacks, windbreaker, and walking shoes compromise.

  When I came out, she stared. “That’s why I refused to wear one of those,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wouldn’t look like you. That’s why.”

  “As long as your body does what you need it to do, what does it matter?”

  I took two plastic sandwich bags out of a drawer and handed one to Lady Anthea. “For your phone.”

  She took it and walked over to her handbag on the coffee table. Was she planning to take her handbag on a Jet Ski?

  “Are you okay doing this?” She could be thinking about last night and not wanting to stay home alone. “You’re welcome to stay with Dayle on the beach. She’ll be keeping an eye on the Fouries. That should include Julie Berger, but in case it doesn’t, you could follow her,” I suggested. We assumed they would stay for all the congratulations at the finale, but wanted eyes on them.

  “No, I’d rather go to the lighthouse,” she said.

  I nodded. “That settles that. Everything okay at home?” I asked, pointing to the tablet.

  “I had an inexplicable desire to talk to my brother,” she said. It wasn’t inexplicable to me, but I didn’t comment on her word choice. Just the fact that she had called him was quite the exposé on the state of her nerves. She had wanted to talk to family.

  I looked at my watch. “Shelby came up with a password we’ll need to get back into Buckingham’s after seven.” I read it to her from my phone, “Did Elvis regret the cape?”

  Lady Anthea gave a nervous laugh.

  “It’s five-thirty,” I said. “Time to go.”

  * * * *

  We took back roads to Cape Henlopen State Park, both to avoid traffic and being seen.

  “Oh, no,” Lady Anthea said when she saw the park was closed for the night.

  “I have a friend in the park service who’s going to let us in.” When we were near the guard shack a young woman in the tan park service uniform came out and lifted the arm to the gate and we drove through. She never looked at us.

  “She wasn’t very friendly,” Lady Anthea said.

  “She didn’t see us, and we didn’t see her,” I said. “The park closes at sunset.”

  We made a left at the fork, then another left, then a right turn for the two-mile drive north to The Point where we would launch the Jet Ski.

  We parked in the parking lot and I began unhooking the trailer so we could get the PWC to the water.

  “Is this where you and your friends come to surf?” she asked.

  “We do come to Cape Henlopen, but not this part of the park. We surf at Herring Point. It’s not surfing like they do in California or Hawaii, but we have a good time,” I said.

  The Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse and Delaware breakwater looked close enough to touch, but that was an illusion. The so-called sparkplug-style lighthouse also looked the size of a sparkplug, when it was actually seventy-six feet high. I pointed to our left. “We’re at the mouth of the Delaware Bay.” Then to the right. “That’s the Atlantic Ocean.” The Point extended north between the two. The breakwater where the lighthouse sat ran northwest before crooking off west. The Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse sat on the southern end, which made our trip a lot shorter. The breakwater was a mile and a half long.

  “I see the yachts that came to watch the commemoration ceremony,” she said, pointing further up the bay.

  My phone lit up with a text from Dayle. I read through the plastic bag, “Can’t find Martin.”

  I didn’t want to think about the effect that bit of news was going to have on Rick.

  I handed Lady Anthea a life vest, then I texted Mason, Rick, Dayle, Shelby, and Dana. Underway.

  Mason’s cryptic reply came next. In position.

  Chapter 38

  I slid my hand through the safety
lanyard and pulled it tight around my wrist. The whistle on the end dangled. I had no intention of being thrown from the watercraft. I helped Lady Anthea onto the Jet Ski and then I climbed on in front of her. I clipped the lanyard to the stop button, pressed the go button. And slowly pulled away.

  When we were in open water I accelerated. Lady Anthea hadn’t spoken since she’d thanked me for the life vest.

  The night sky was clear and my mood lifted. Soon we were nearing the breakwater and I slowed. This was the outer breakwater. Some people, like Charles Andrews, still called it the new breakwater. We went from one side to the other, checking for movement or even a flashlight, before I pulled up to the side of the dock. I pulled a line out of the storage boot and then reached for the railing of the dock. I used a clove hitch knot to secure the Jet Ski. I got out and then helped Lady Anthea onto the dock. I pulled a tarp out of the hold and covered the PWC, then slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  We walked the length of the dock and climbed the stairs up to the lighthouse. Staying out of the light, we leaned up against the cast-iron structure. I imagined some of the lighthouse’s steadiness seeping into my body.

  “Thank you,” Lady Anthea said.

  “For what?”

  “For another adventure,” she answered.

  Waves broke over the stones of the breakwater. Some of the stones were the size of a car.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Remember, when we were talking on the phone on Monday and you said you needed to tell me something. You said that you didn’t know how it came about. What was it?”

  “My brother wants to come with me on my next visit,” she said.

  “The duke?” I asked, not knowing how I should feel about the prospect.

  “Yes, but he’ll probably forget he ever thought of it.”

  I checked my phone for texts. There was a group text from Dayle and I read it to her. “The Fouries & Julie here on beach.”

  What about Martin? I texted back.

  He was looking for someone to complain about the wine to. Wants a refund.

  Then I heard the sound of a motor. A boat was on its way to us. “Then who is that?” I whispered.

  We watched as it pulled up to the dock. Captain Sandy Westlake crawled out.

  “Sue Patrick, I know you’re here.”

  Chapter 39

  I pressed my cell phone into Lady Anthea’s hand. “Stay,” I said.

  “I’m not a dog,” she said.

  “I meant, stay here in case I get in trouble.”

  “How will I know?” she asked.

  “If I sound funny. I don’t know. You just will. I’ve got to go.”

  Before she could argue or ask any more questions, I walked forward. The lights from the forty-foot boat were still on and I came out of hiding and confronted him from one bright pool. “I’m right here.” I walked down the steps from the lighthouse base to the dock.

  “Funny thing. I’ve lived here since I was born and worked on the water my entire adult life. Never thought I would ever be on a lighthouse. This is the third time I’ve been on this lighthouse in a week.” Captain Sandy talked in a lazy, drawn-out tone.

  The dock was cantilevered to the breakwater to make it more resilient to the force of the waves. Sandy Westlake and I faced each other and swayed a little.

  “When was the first time? When you brought Wags out here?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about, but figured I would play along.

  “Yeah, when I heard how much he was worth, I wanted to breed him. Billy B. thought someone else stole the dog, and that I could help him get it back.” He laughed. “So I let him go on thinking that.”

  “Who did he think had the dog?” I asked.

  Captain Sandy chuckled again, but didn’t answer. Instead he said, “He stole some dog food to try to bargain with. He was going to leave town after he got the dog back.”

  So he was afraid of someone, I thought. That’s when I heard the sound of a Jet Ski, or some brand of personal watercraft. At first I thought it was mine being stolen and that Lady Anthea and I were about to be stranded on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse. I saw a light over Sandy Westlake’s shoulder. The craft was getting closer.

  Sandy turned to watch as it tied up. Chief Turner climbed onto the dock. I watched Sandy’s face to see his reaction to the police showing up. Was the guy crazy? Instead of the fear I expected, he looked relaxed. I turned to see John’s expression when he saw me standing on the dock in my wetsuit.

  “He’s stalling for time. I don’t know why,” I said to him.

  John stared at him and waited. Even in the dark, I saw the spring-loaded tension of a predator. Not many people could hold out with that level of intensity, but obviously Sandy Westlake was made of sterner or stupider stuff.

  “Chief Turner isn’t really interested in dognapping. What did you have to do with Billy B.’s murder?” I asked.

  Westlake’s eyes widened at that, but he didn’t say anything else.

  I looked at John. “Billy B. was afraid of someone in town and Sandy knows who it was.” I turned back to our neighborhood dognapper and would-be breeder. “I think you’re stalling for time. I want to know why.”

  He chortled and looked out into the water. The only change was that this time I detected a nervous laugh. And he had gazed at the water. He was looking for something, or someone. I pushed. “Tell us who Billy B. was afraid of, or else you’ll regret it.” A large wave rolled under the dock and when we swayed, my voice wobbled. I hoped he hadn’t noticed. “Or else,” I repeated, going for a stronger-sounding tone, one that “brooked no argument,” as The Felonious French Friends author had written.

  I heard a roar coming from behind me and turned to see Lady Anthea. She flung herself at Westlake knocking him off the dock. He fell, arms and legs flailing into the two-hundred-twenty-feet-deep ocean. She turned around and smiled at Chief Turner and me, and wiped her hands together. She was proud of herself.

  Chapter 40

  John leapt to the side of the dock to help the sputtering, spitting man. I realized I could be shocked later, but now I needed to help. We each took an arm and pulled. Sandy Westlake leveraged his legs against the posts of the dock and we were able to lift him up and out of the frigid water.

  When we got him on a sort of terra firma, I turned to Lady Anthea. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because you said, ‘or else’ twice.” She looked at him with disgust. “He looks like the kind of person who could cut up rough.”

  John did a double take, then turned to Sandy Westlake. “I’m arresting you for the murder of…”

  “Murder! Wait a minute! I didn’t murder anybody,” he said, beginning to shiver.

  “I believe you were an accessory…” John continued.

  “I want an attorney,” he said.

  “Doesn’t everybody?” I asked. “So, did Billy B. think he was seeing Howard Fourie’s father when he saw Howard for the first time? Is that what scared him enough to leave a town he’d lived in for years and loved?”

  He stuck his bottom lip out and glared at me.

  John was on his radio calling for someone.

  “Listen,” I said to John. “Do you hear that?”

  In the moonlight I saw a dingy boat heading for the group of yachts. Then as I watched, it veered off to the largest yacht, which was anchored south of the others.

  Sandy Westlake smiled.

  “That’s Howard Fourie?” I asked him.

  He nodded and smirked. The guy was really childish. “I get paid if he makes it to his yacht.”

  John turned to jump on his Jet Ski. “I don’t think the Coast Guard can get there in time.”

  “Wait,” I yelled.

  Then I hit speed dial. “Do you see him?” I asked Mason.


  “Sure do,” he said.

  “I’ve got to go,” John yelled.

  I put him on speakerphone. “Waaait. Waaait,” we heard Mason say to our friends. Then he said, “Now!”

  One after another they stood up on their paddle boards. Then they shook the inflatable Pugs, which had been filled with Mason’s iridescent recipe. Soon, the bay was scattered with the Pug ghost dogs. Wags had his revenge. To get to his yacht, Howard Fourie would have to go through them. The small boat with a small motor turned starboard, then to port. The engine stalled out. Behind it, a Coast Guard vessel approached. On a loudspeaker, we heard the captain identify himself and order Howard Fourie to stop and allow— “What the hell?” the captain yelled when he saw the Pugs.

  Chapter 41

  Buckingham’s opens at nine o’clock on Saturdays so I slept until seven. After my beach run, I treated myself to a smoothie at Nectar. I was about to pay when I heard a deep voice behind me.

  “This is on me,” John said.

  I turned to him and smiled.

  “And on them,” he continued and pointed to a big table in the back dining room.

  I looked and saw Rick, Dayle, Martin, Jerry, Charlie, Lady Anthea along with our entire staff and ran back to them with arms open wide. “I don’t understand. How did you all know I was coming here?”

  “We had good intelligence that you were walking this way,” Mason said, pointing at John. “But if you hadn’t come in here, we would have scrambled to go wherever you went.”

  Shelby stood and raised her juice glass. “Sue, we will always scramble to go wherever you are.”

  I choked back tears because I needed to get something out. “I was so worried about all of you on those paddleboards last night.”

  “That’s a trick I taught her,” Martin Ziegler said, when he saw I was about to cry.

  I walked around the table thanking each for the role he or she had played in bringing Billy B.’s killer to justice. Then I ordered pancakes. I sat next to John and we talked about what had happened through the night as he had questioned Howard Fourie.