I couldn’t imagine life without Sam, though the thought occurred to me as I eyed the bullet-ridden house that I might not have to. I understood the pull of duty, but what he’d done crossed all lines of obligation and moved into something like insanity. He hadn’t just faced danger. He’d invited it in and asked it to party with him.
I stepped across the lawn behind the house, littered with broken glass and debris. Williams spotted me, and stopped me at the back entrance. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Where is he?” Tears were already welling up in my eyes.
But, Williams smiled. “Kent’s pickin’ him up.”
“Picking him up?” I repeated.
“Teague chased the shooter ‘bout four streets that way,” Williams reported, pointing to the back of the property, where a fence separated one backyard from another. I choked out an awkward breath, and the tears escaped anyway.
“He’s okay?” I clarified.
Williams laughed. “He lives for this shit.”
“Did he catch ‘em?” Officer Tripp asked.
Williams shook his head. “Naw, shooter got away. I’m goin’ to tell Teague he’s gettin’ old and out a’shape.” The two policemen laughed, but I couldn’t join in.
Officer Tripp added, “I’m goin’ to ask ‘em if he brings all his dates to gunfights.”
Williams chuckled, and nodded. I left them to their amusement. Back in front of the house, I spotted Sadie giving her statement to police. She was wearing a pink nightie that said Hot Stuff on it, and the boot on her ankle, which didn’t stop her from getting around in the wake of all this excitement. I was about to go over to her, when Kent’s Porsche pulled up. Sam got out of the passenger side, and I nearly crumbled at the sight of him. He smiled coolly as I jumped into his arms.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” I ordered sternly. “Ever.” Tears dripped out of my eyes as I held on to him.
“I’m okay,” he assured me. “Sorry I scared you.”
“Teague, I want a full explanation of what’s gone on here,” Kent ordered. “Gentry says we got three bodies in there?”
Sam went on to describe the event to Kent, using his police jargon and codes, which basically boiled down to this: An unknown shooter was interrupted by police in the middle of committing multiple homicides. Threatened by police presence, the shooter escaped through the back window, and was chased four streets over. He got into a black car with tinted windows and Florida plates, license plate CLNR, and took off. Ed Wakefield, Ricky Wakefield, and J.J. Lucas were all killed – Ricky and J.J. by the original shooter. Ed, who was armed with a shotgun, by the police.
“CLNR?” I asked once Sam finished his report to Kent. “Cleaner?”
Sam nodded. “I think so.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I fumed, taking a deep breath. “The drug dealers sent a cleaner to deal with the idiots who pinched their drugs.” My brain spun wildly. “And they never would have known where to look had it not been for me and my Octoberfest fiasco.”
Kent eyed me with confusion and irritation. “First of all, you shouldn’t be here. And secondly, what do you mean?”
“Several weeks ago, you guys got a call from a truck driver – Backwoods Buddy – who claimed, at least initially, that he’d lost his load. Later, his bosses told him the truck was empty. But, it hadn’t been. Backwoods Buddy was carrying a huge drug shipment hidden in the soles of shoes. While he was hooking up with his girlfriend, his shipment was stolen. Ricky Wakefield took the bulk of it. Molly Tubbs took the rest.”
“They didn’t know what they were stealing,” Sam added. “It was a crime of opportunity. Later, Wakefield figured out what he had. Tubbs didn’t. Wakefield stole the remaining shoes from Molly Tubbs, and then targeted her customers. With the drugs hidden inside, each pair of shoes would be worth around $1,000.”
“And worth even more than that if it kept the drugs secret. Molly Tubbs wasn’t just robbed, but beaten. He had to figure out who her customers were,” I continued, “and I’m sure it didn’t take much convincing for her to give them up and not to report what he’d done.”
“It would’ve incriminated her, too,” Sam reminded me.
“But, what does that have to do with Octoberfest?” Kent pressed.
“I think I may have been purposefully tricked into believing that Ricky had tampered with the candy so that I’d raise an alarm,” I admitted. “Backwoods Buddy detoured a long way off his normal route to come here and see Molly Tubbs. His bosses didn’t know where he was and he didn’t tell them for fear of getting in trouble. For all they knew, the truck robbery could have been anywhere along the I-95 route. I assume that’s his normal route, right? Isn’t I-95 the drug corridor of the United States?”
Sam smiled. “Yes, and we’re a two-hour detour. The news stories about Octoberfest and the drugs found in the Nikes told them where their drugs were.”
“The cleaner came to Tipee, discovered the identity of the thieves, and cleaned up the mess,” I continued.
“How would the cleaner have known about Ricky?”
I shrugged. “He could have traced Ricky through users, other dealers, or maybe he just found out who Backwoods Buddy came here to see and put two and two together. With Ricky’s big mouth and empty Nike boxes littering up their living room-”
“But, where are the drugs?” Kent demanded.
Sam and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“And who tricked you into thinking Wakefield tampered with the candy?” Kent added, frustration growing. “According to you, he incriminated himself with that conversation outside your bookstore the night before. If that was a fake conversation just to trick you, then who put him up to it.”
“I don’t know. He clearly didn’t understand what he was doing,” I explained. “Someone probably convinced him that making me look crazy would be to their advantage and Ricky didn’t expect the explosive outcome.”
“So, there’s another perpetrator,” Kent summarized. I nodded, though unsure. Instead of arguing, Kent said, “Makes sense. I talked to the friends of Lorna Dobbs, the ones who reported her missing. They’re also prostitutes, by the way, and they tell an interesting story. Four of them being picked up and hired by four men, three of them matching the descriptions of Ricky, J.J. and Ed. They don’t remember much, just going off to party. Plenty of drinks, drugs. They were picked up in Wilmington and they couldn’t even tell me where they went except that the next morning, Lorna was gone and they woke up in their apartments with mad hangovers and-”
“Numbers on their foreheads,” I finished.
“Right,” Kent said. “A weird sex thing?”
“No. Ricky scored a huge supply of drugs to sell, and he wanted to make it last. He used the women to experiment with how much tampering he could get away with. They were numbered according to their doses. Number four exceeded the maximum.” A chill shot through me at the idea of it, how someone could be so callous toward a human life. Sam put his arm around my shoulders, like he could read my mind.
Police business ensued around us. Sam and I blended into the background. We leaned against the back of one of the police cars, answering questions when needed, and waiting for Kent to send us home.
“You know who the fourth person is, don’t you?” Sam asked. We’d been alone and silent for almost an hour, just taking it all in, lost in our own heads.
“Could be anyone,” I allowed, “but I have a guess.”
“Thought you might,” Sam smiled softly.
I leaned my head against his upper arm, and breathed out a sigh. “Sam, will we ever be a normal couple?”
He chuckled and moved his arm around my shoulders. “Eh, normal’s overrated.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
The Moon
The moon does more than provide us with tides and fables of lunacy. It provides balance. The gravitational pull of the moon keeps the earth steady on its axis, creating the stability that gives us our twenty-four hour days, our easy rotati
on. Mark Twain said, “Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” But, our dark sides aren’t so easily hidden, nor do they provide balance. Our dark sides breed chaos, tipping the balance from light to dark, hidden or not.
In all the chaos, Sam and I had found an odd balance. And because I’d never experienced such a partnership before, our mutual trust felt equally perfect and strange. We caught sunset on the deck of his house, and this is where we formulated our plans. Proving my theory was going to be tricky business.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked him. “If I’m wrong-”
“Eh, we get in some trouble,” he finished carelessly. “No big deal.”
I scoffed. “We’ll just heap it on to the already impressive pile?”
“Exactly,” Sam grinned.
“If I’m right, then there may be some danger-”
“As long as the fourth man is out there, you’re in danger anyway,” Sam reasoned. “He’s the one who’s been playing this sick game with you. We have to draw him out or we’ll never have any peace.”
Feet safely planted on the boards of his deck, I stared out at the orangey expanse and took a deep breath. Even though my life had folded in on top of me, I felt stronger. Sam took my hand. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
“How about we keep each other safe?” I countered. “We’re in this together.”
The next day, late morning, I traipsed through the woods at the Peacock, following (or trying to follow) the exact same route I took the day I snooped on my own with Willie (who abandoned me for the sake of squirrels). This time, I was loaded down with a backpack filled with tools – a bolt cutter, a taser (Sam insisted on a weapon), a flashlight, water, and my phone, connected to Sam on speaker. Sam was behind me somewhere. I couldn’t see him. But, unlike Willie, I was sure he wouldn’t abandon me.
“You’re doing good,” Sam whispered. “Thirty yards north.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“Close. Radio silence from now on.”
“10-4,” I sputtered back with a smile. The lighthouse came into view, and I trudged through the thick brush until I found the narrow path that circled the round structure. I huffed out a deep breath before I edged in front of the main door, where the so-called fake camera could see me. I set my bag down and pulled out the bolt cutters. With effort, I clamped down on the padlock and applied pressure. Busting the lock was harder than I thought – taking way more muscle than I expected (or that I had).
“Shit,” I cursed loudly after my fourth try, “thought this’d be easy.” I’m sure Sam had a difficult time staying quiet, but he did. I could almost feel him shaking his head out there, watching from his secret hiding place. I lifted the heavy cutters back to the high padlock, and tried again, my arms feeling like wet noodles.
Finally, I heard a snap. I hesitated to make sure it wasn’t one of my bones breaking, and then dropped the cutters. The padlock dangled from the hook. “Finally,” I breathed out. “That thing was an absolute bitch-”
“Well, if they were easy to break, it’d defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” a voice asked, causing me to jump and let out a sissy squeal. Chris emerged from the path that led to the inn. I took a deep breath.
“You scared the poop out of me,” I told him, smiling lightly.
“What are you doing?”
I grinned, trying to stifle the unease building up inside of me. Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea. “Breaking in to your lighthouse. What’s it look like? What are you doing here, Chris?”
“Just out for a stroll.” He moved in front of me, placing himself between me and where I imagined Sam was, and leaving my back to the door of the lighthouse.
“Funny coincidence,” I grinned. “You out for a stroll at the very same time I was attempting a felony but then again, you always seem to show up at just the right time.” Chris stared at me through the tops of his eyes. I hid a shudder.
“Serendipitous, but that’s been us from the beginning,” he mused. “Perhaps I’m meant to talk you out of it. I’d hate for you to get in more trouble.” His hands rested in the pockets of the thin jacket he wore.
“Me, too, but your daddy’ll get me out of it, right?” I taunted. “Besides, the lock’s already broken. Might as well take a look inside.” I flipped the hinge back, daringly.
“I knew you’d be back,” Chris told me. “Knew you couldn’t resist. I’d be honored to give you a tour of my lighthouse.”
I moved aside, and motioned for him to go first. He chuckled, but didn’t move. “You seem a little nervous, Delilah. I thought we’d surpassed the awkward stage of our relationship long ago. In fact, upon reflection, I don’t think we ever had an awkward stage. We just clicked, right from the start. You’ve gotten this far. Go ahead. Open it.” Chris motioned toward the door, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn my back on him, fearful that he’d shove me inside and lock me in there forever.
Sam appeared behind Chris like a Jack-in-the-box. Gun to head, arm around neck. Chris froze. I jumped (though I knew he was coming at some point). Sam said, “Let’s check it out together.”
But, just as fluidly, Chris’ hand emerged from a pocket and sprayed something into Sam’s face. The action took less than a second, and left Sam defenseless. Sam choked, and dropped like a sack of potatoes. I screamed and started to rush to his side.
Chris stopped me by grabbing my wrist and twisting it firmly. “That’s the problem with these dumb jock types,” he told me. “They always underestimate me.” Chris leaned down and grabbed Sam’s gun. He tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.
“What did you do to him?” I insisted. My hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding a million beats per minute. I eyed Sam’s chest but I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. He just lay there, lifelessly.
Chris shrugged and chuckled. “I removed a variable. I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw that Neanderthal. He’s always hovering over you. Doesn’t it bother you?” Chris asked, as if we were having a normal conversation at a coffee shop.
“Is he going to be okay?” I questioned.
Chris rolled his eyes, and pulled the gun out of his waistband. He aimed it at Sam, and said, “Maybe I should put a couple bullets in him, just to be sure. Toss your phone, and open the door.”
I obeyed, and moved into the darkness of the lighthouse. Chris followed close behind me, and once in the doorway, he switched on a light. He moved to the center of the room, and turned around, hands extended like he was a stage performer about to do a monologue. The room was a large laboratory. Tubes, beakers, vials, dishes, microscopes, Bunsen burners, test tubes, heat lamps, and a myriad of other paraphernalia covered two stainless steel tables. Stacks of shoeboxes covered the wall behind the spiral staircase. Though the equipment looked new, the bricks and the cobwebs combined with a slight mold smell gave the place an ancient look, reminding me of Frankenstein.
“Welcome to my home, my lab,” he grinned. He pushed a button on his phone, and the door slammed shut behind me. I jumped. “What do you think?” I wanted to tell him what a nerd he was – to install a Star Trek door in his lighthouse lab, but I bit my tongue.
“Um, I think it’s frightening.” My voice trembled.
Chris laughed. “Thank you.”
“So, this was what it was all about? Drugs?” I sputtered out.
“You have to tell me, what was it that gave me away?” Chris egged me on, circling me like a panther deciding when to pounce.
“The mermaid clinched it.”
“Ah, that feisty bitch. She told my secrets, huh?”
Power… Keep him talking. “The graffiti was a threat. At first, I suspected David Love was trying to intimidate your father over the mess he made of Love’s lawsuit. That would explain the heart, but not the fire, and both were important. If you put love and fire together, you can’t help but to think of the fire in Mrs. Love’s school lab several years ago. The message was a reminder, not t
o your father, but to you and it coincided nicely with your arrival in town.”
Completely amused, Chris prodded me again, “What does that fire have to do with me?”
“You caused it,” I told him, “and Ricky took the blame.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he taunted me, but I could tell by his grin that I was right.
“Granted, you two were unlikely friends, but you were friends,” I told him, “as much as two psychopaths could be, anyway. The picture in your mother’s study proves it – you and Ricky Wakefield dressed up as characters from your favorite book. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“Ah, that damn picture,” Chris lamented. “It was probably the last time my mother thought I was acting like a regular child. She thought Ricky was good for me, but she didn’t know his appetites like I did.”
“And he knew yours,” I prodded. “He still calls you Hyde, and so did the redheaded woman, Lorna Dobbs. She wasn’t telling me to hide. She was trying to tell me who had done that to her – the one man out of the four who scared her most. You. You started your experiments, but had to leave them under Ricky’s watchful eye to attend your welcome home party. But, Ricky lost one. He was looking for her at the party. And so were you. You can see just about everything that happens here on your phone, right? That’s how you knew I was here.”
He shrugged and grinned, proud of his setup. I shook my head.
“Where is she? Lorna Dobbs? Number four?” I pushed, taking a step toward him. “Ricky caught up with her when I went inside to get help. He dragged her to the nearest hiding place, under the house, where he kept her quiet while the hubbub was going on above their heads. That’s probably where she died. She is dead, isn’t she? When the coast was clear, he took her up the back staircase-”
“That prick put her in my bed,” Chris added clenching his teeth.
“And Wake went up later to dispose of her properly.”
“Do you know how easy it is to commit murder on an island?” Chris mused. “They don’t call it the Graveyard of the Atlantic for nothing, you know.” He chuckled. “Number four is probably number two, by now.”
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