“Are you sure you saw what you saw?” Clark finally asked. I huffed at the question. “Bad things don’t wash off easily, Delilah. Maybe what’s happened to you is dirtying up your perceptions.”
I sucked in a deep breath. I stared into my coffee, took a long sip, and set the Charlie Brown mug back down on the table. “My missing shoes prove my story.” I got up from the table, telling Clark that I needed to get back to work, and he thankfully didn’t press me any further.
Clara’s group still lingered at the bottom of the stairs, comparing clipboards, when Clark and I cut through them.
“Hope you got all the facts, Clark,” Clara sang. “If you’d like a more reliable eyewitness, I’d be happy to give you a few words. Delilah looked like a looney-bin lunatic, causing such a fuss over nothin’. I’m not sure if the poor child imagined it or invented it, but either way she’s missing more than just one pair of shoes from her closet, if you know what I mean.” She laughed and her friends joined her.
I fumed, but couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Why don’t you just butt out?”
Clara turned, smiling broadly, and said, “You’re the one who butted in, my dear. You’re like a snake in the henhouse, slithering in, and stealing all the eggs when the hens aren’t lookin’. You wanna know what I do to snakes like that-“
“Hang them from people’s awnings?” I demanded.
Clara smirked. “No, how silly! I grab the shovel, and chop the suckers’ heads right off.”
I no longer saw my aunt, but rather a maniacal robot, completely driven by ambition. You’d think that her previous bad behavior would have been enough for me to realize the lengths to which she’d go – the dead snakes hanging from the awnings as my welcome present, the upsetting clippings she and her sisters plastered to my windows, and of course, the drive-by smashing of my windows to prevent me from opening. But, it wasn’t until this moment that I felt how serious she was.
No matter what, I’d never be safe from her lust for Beach Read. Never.
“Um, Delilah?” Clark’s voice ripped through my thoughts, causing me to jump. I spun around. He stood next to my Jeep. “Are these the shoes?”
Sure enough, he was holding my $15 Wal-Mart pleather pumps.
“They were shoved under the seat,” Clark said, seeming just as surprised as I was.
Clara laughed. “My, oh, my darlin’. The screws aren’t just loose, they’re spillin’ out of their hinges, aren’t they?” She set her arm around my shoulder, as I stared dumbly at my missing shoes. Even with her arm around me, I was exposed – nothing to hide behind.
Chapter Ten
Undercurrents
The natural tug and pull of the ocean’s surface hides a seemingly unnatural current below, an undercurrent, that slips in around your feet and legs like a snake and sometimes, tries to drag you in, down and away. On the outside, I appeared normal (I hope), just another woman walking her dog along the boardwalk.
On the inside, undercurrents were circling. My heart wouldn’t stop racing. My hands shook. I wasn’t even looking at the ocean, and I felt like I was being carried away by it. Again. Images from my night at sea flashed through my head like strobe lights.
I yanked Willie across the street and down the alleyway toward the store. He yapped at me a little, disappointed in the diversion. But, there was no testing the waters for me today. I shouldn’t have even tried.
The morning had been tough. When I arrived at the front door of Beach Read to open up, I found two packages awaiting me. First, The Tipee Island Gazette sat graced with the headline Feathers Fly at The Peacock and a juicy story about how a lovely welcome home party for Chris Kayne was marred by a false alarm. Yes, he used my name along with the words “sole witness” and “frantic partygoer” and “potentially overstressed.” The undercurrent of the article was that I had lost my marbles, even though Clark mercifully didn’t mention the shoes – either losing them or finding them again.
The second was a large envelope from TIBA outlining the list of aesthetic compliances I was expected to make to Beach Read before Octoberfest, the community-wide celebration they were sponsoring to bring in tourists for Halloween. The envelope was thick with the undercurrent that there was no way in Hades or anyplace else that I’d be able to get the work done in time, let alone afford it. I was Cinderella, overwhelmed with someone else’s to-do lists and completely lacking in resources to even try.
Walks with Willie had been a saving grace when I first came to Tipee, a chance to clear my head and think things through. But now, time in my own head only led to panic.
“There ya are,” Raina cooed as I rounded the corner of the store. She stood by the lamppost near the entrance, carrying two large tote bags, and looking elegant in her flowing sundress that just barely showed the protrusion of her pregnant belly, hardly a bump. She smiled widely, and my panic vanished. Raina was eighteen, grieving the death of her boyfriend, pregnant, and without the father to help her. Plus, Clara was her mother. Who was I to complain about anything?
“Been waitin’ for ya,” she went on. I held the door to Beach Read open and followed her inside. She set the bags down by the counter, greeted Henry with her usual cheerfulness, and leaned down and gave Willie some enthusiastic attention. “You read the paper?”
I huffed out a dulled “Yep.”
“Sorry ‘bout all that,” Raina returned. “Never imagined gettin’ you to babysit my sister would end up making you out to be a – a-”
“Crazy person? It’s okay. I’m used to it. So, what’s in the bags?”
Raina gushed with excitement, taking each item out of the bag. Raina was an artist, a good, but under-appreciated one. This was her first delivery of merchandise that I had requested a couple of weeks ago (and frankly had forgotten). After the Darryl Chambers murder was solved, I had returned the beautiful hand-painted sand dollar she’d made for him, and asked her to make some sellable items like that for Beach Read. Those plans had been swept away to the back corners of my mind, thanks to a disappearing redhead, reappearing shoes, and a business about to go under.
Hand-painted shells with Bible verses and small canvases decorated with beach scenes. Picture frames adorned with tiny clamshells. A couple of crosses made of shells wired together. Raina had given me an awesome display. I paid her as much as I could for the whole lot.
She held the money in her hands for a minute, lost in thought. “Can’t believe I’m takin’ money for ‘em,” she told me. “I’m sure that’s what Darryl would want, but that’s not what we planned.”
“You and Darryl had a plan for your hand-painted shells?”
She nodded, smiling sadly. “Been makin’ these things forever. Had this enormous stash of ‘em in my closet. You see, Mamma wouldn’t buy me canvases or proper paper for my paintin’s. Too expensive. So, I just used whatever I could get my hands on.” She fiddled with the unique pendant around her neck, a twisted metal piece, resembling a cross. “Darryl made me this, so I wanted to give him something in return, that sand dollar. And when I told him about my stash, he had this crazy idea.”
She stopped to chuckle, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Darryl’s life, being what it was, you’d never think he’d say it, but he told me I should just give ‘em away.”
“Give them away?” I repeated.
“Yep. He said, let’s take a bunch to the beach and just scatter ‘em everywhere. Let lucky tourists find ‘em and be inspired by ‘em. And that’s what we did – our own little ministry,” Raina stopped, her eyes filling up with tears. “In spite of the bad things he did, Darryl was a generous person.”
“I know he was,” I told her. Raina wiped her eyes, and smiled widely.
“Tourists aught to love ‘em,” she gushed with pride. “So if these sell, I can bring more.”
“That’d be great,” I said, though I didn’t know how I’d afford them.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Raina grinned, reached into her bag again. “Felt kinda bad ‘bout
hookin’ you up with my ridiculous sister, so I gotcha somethin’.” She pulled out a bright orange shoebox. I opened the lid to find bright blue Nikes with hot pink laces.
“Holy cow!”
“Got a great deal off my friend Molly Tubbs,” Raina beamed, “at the Cotton Exchange. Brand new!”
I ogled the shoes, mouth agape. “How’d you – Why’d you – You spent too much!”
“Oh, please,” she returned with a roll of her eyes. “Gotta good deal, like I said, and knew you needed to replace those ratty ol’ sneakers.” She pointed down to my feet. I shrugged. She was right. “Oh, and this. I gotcha this, for your desk.” She pulled out a spiral, flippable desk set. “Bible verses to give you a little encouragement.”
“Wow, thanks. You really didn’t need to get me anything. You have way more important things to spend your money on.”
She shrugged. “Well, you only saved my life, solved my boyfriend’s murder, and gave me a new vocation. You’re due! Besides, puttin’ up with Rachel while she practically throws herself at Chris Kayne. Well, that’s gotta be worth somethin’ and whatever you did, it worked.”
“Oh?”
“He called, asked her to dinner,” Raina reported. “Gotta run. Mamma’s takin’ me to the doctor for a check-up. Get to hear the baby’s heartbeat today.”
I turned to the verse-a-day spiral book she’d set on my counter, and eyed the scripture from 2 Timothy 1:7. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. I smiled. The undercurrents had let up, and I was floating on the surface again.
Chapter Eleven
Area 51
Area 51 is the name of a military airfield in Nevada, and America’s best evidence that if people don’t know what something is, they will create an identity for it. At least, it is a location for weapons’ testing, certainly secretive. And at most, if you listen to conspiracy theorists, all sorts of dark work is being done, including and especially in regards to aliens. It is also the name of a highly addictive video game that happens to reside in the Family Arcade.
Presently, I was blasting my way through the third round of Area 51, Sam by my side, and though I can’t stand video games, this one had me hooked. I hadn’t even wanted to come to Jeff Travers’ Family Arcade, but having a plastic gun in my hand and shooting aliens seemed to help clear my head, just as Sam promised.
“I hear you found your shoes,” Sam prompted.
I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I swear, you can’t even burp in this town without everyone talking about it.”
Sam laughed. “Surprised you didn’t mention-”
“I’m still trying to figure it out myself,” I defended, shooting my way through a storage facility. “Anyone could have put them there.”
“True. Just like the gun,” Sam replied. After Darryl Chambers was murdered, his mother planted the gun she used behind my spare tire. Though having a Jeep is fitting for an island lifestyle, its openness has proved problematic – for the planting of evidence and the sudden rainstorms.
“Any news on the girl?” I asked mid-triggering. A few days had passed since that catastrophe, and though I knew I had to stop thinking about what had happened to her and instead focus on what might be happening to me, I couldn’t. In between staring blankly at bills, I’d done Internet research on the number four, drugs, poisons, and the topography of the Peacock. Shoes or no shoes, I was determined not to be crazy, just like the verse propped up on my desk read – sound mind.
“No.”
“So, what has been going on at work? Anything?” I tried.
“We’re usually pretty quiet this time of year, or starting to be,” Sam explained, taking out two aliens that had jumped through an elevator shaft. His score tripled mine, and it hardly seemed like he was trying. “But, we have seen a jump in drug activity lately. Kent’s making us all undergo a training program in Wilmington. Williams and I go tomorrow, all day.”
“What kind of drugs?”
Sam shrugged, popping an alien behind me while I shot a barrel to make it explode, taking out two more. Their guts sprayed the screen. “Usual stuff. Mostly weed and X, though a couple officers busted some kids the other night for cocaine. Don’t see that everyday. But, I guess I’ll learn all about it tomorrow.”
I smiled. “Hard to picture you in a classroom.”
“Not my favorite assignment, but for the greater good, I guess,” he smirked. I eyed his face a second too long, and got killed by the aliens. I groaned in frustration, and wanted to throw the gun at the screen.
“Maybe we should play something a little less violent,” he laughed and pulled me over to Skee Ball. The balls racked up and we started rolling, side by side.
“So, have you made any decisions about the whole fix-it list thing?” he asked. His voice was hesitant, rightly so. TIBA was the last thing I wanted to think about, now or ever. Only a few days had passed since the delivery of their demands, and I’d only grown more and more angry. Around every corner someone was pestering me about it. Lionel Waters had called this morning to get a status update. Marla Britt wouldn’t serve me donuts in her shop yesterday saying that once I did some work, I could earn the right to have her donuts. And, of course, every time I see one of my aunts, I’m staring down their Cheshire cat smiles. Now, we’ve got you where we want you. I hadn’t done anything, but stew.
Finally, to answer his question, I said, “No.”
Sam rolled his next ball, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a thick, wrinkled envelope. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked. He pushed it toward me. It was unsealed, so I peered into the opening to see an enormous wad of cash, several thousands of dollars. “What the-”
“Don’t go crazy,” Sam said softly, eyeing me. “I have it. You need it. Simple as that.”
“No,” I insisted. “Absolutely not!” I shoved it back to him, but he put his hands up. I let the envelope drop to the floor with a smack. I stopped Skee Ball and headed for Ms. Pacman.
“I want to help you,” he argued, following me after he scooped up the money. “Beach Read needs repairs, and this should go pretty far-”
“No!” I insisted again.
“You took money from your parents,” he argued.
“They bought me a stove, and some furniture. So?”
“You should take money from me,” he returned.
“No, that’s different.”
“How?” he demanded. He gently tugged on my arm until I turned away from the game to face him. “How is it different?” he asked, eyes delving into mine. “And don’t say it’s because they’re family. It would kill me, if you said that.”
My resolve weakened at his expression. I scrunched my eyebrows together. There was no one on this earth I felt closer to than Sam, and yet, it hadn’t really occurred to me that we were family. And for his sake, he shouldn’t want to be.
“It’s not that,” I replied after a minute. “It’s bad enough that the building’s been handed to me. For the rest to be handed to me too, then what have I done? What have I accomplished on my own?”
“Call it a loan, if you want. Make me an investor,” he compromised, pushing the envelope toward me again.
“No, it’s too much of a risk-”
“So, you won’t take my money because you don’t think you can pay me back?” he reasoned.
“Right. I’m pretty sure I can’t.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Then maybe the problem with Beach Read is you.”
I set my eyes back on Ms. Pacman and her tedious task of eating pellets. Sam had a point. If I didn’t believe in Beach Read, then how could I ever succeed?
Sam set his arm around my waist and kissed my neck. “I love you. The money’s here, if you change your mind.”
“I love you, too,” I said, “and I do appreciate the offer.” He tucked the money away, and I smirked. “You really think you should be carrying that much money around? Tipee’s a hotbed of criminals, you know.”
/>
Sam laughed, as if daring those said-criminals to come out of the woodwork and try to accost him. No, if I were a thief, I wouldn’t mess with him either. Sam was tall, broad and muscular, downright intimidating even without his police uniform. But, it wasn’t just his physique. It was his presence. I half-wondered if he viewed the world through a site. Alongside the kind, loving, tender parts of him, there was a part of Sam that felt very Jason Bourne to me. He was constantly analyzing, teeth clenched, ready. I was pretty sure he could roll a Skee Ball while simultaneously taking out a Ninja, and still hit the 100 point ring. While this mysterious air about him was exciting, I also feared it, the same way people get so hung up on Area 51. What’s going on there? What kind of secrets does it hold? I wondered if I’d ever get through all the levels.
Chapter Twelve
Forts
Once arcaded-out, Sam and I drifted down Starfish Drive on the sidewalk opposite of Beach Read. The night was beautiful. Stars dotted a cloudless sky, and the lights of stores, streets, and the pier added to the already warm and lovely collection. A slight breeze cooled my skin, making me inch closer to Sam and he gently rubbed my fingers as he held my hand.
This perfectly pleasant, joyful moment was ruined when I asked, “Ready to tell me about Fayetteville?” Sam’s expression went from happy to frustrated in the time it took to take one more step toward home.
Three hours up the Cape Fear River from Tipee Island, Fayetteville, North Carolina is home to over 205,000 people, most of them soldiers. It is also home to Fort Bragg, an enormous military base, which hosts the U.S. Army’s Airborne and Special Operation Forces.
Sam had spent six years of his life in and out of Fayetteville, including the night of the Peacock party, and I had to know why. But, getting to the bottom of it was hard, like I was cracking open one of the dusty boxes in Sam’s head and peering inside.
Luna-Sea Page 6