Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery

by Jessica Sherry

  I rolled my eyes and jolted from my seat. “A boy is dead! He isn’t even in the ground yet, and all anyone can think about is business! Don’t you even care that a life has been lost?”

  “Delilah, he was trouble,” Candy cut in, “came from a broken home and had nothin’ but strikes ‘gainst him his whole life-”

  “So, what? That makes it okay? He should’ve had his whole life to make up for whatever mistakes he’d made, but it was taken away from him, and no one here seems to care.”

  “Delilah’s right,” Raina announced, standing up from her seat near the back of the deck. I hadn’t even realized that she’d been listening. “Ya’ll are being disrespectful, and – and – and un-Christian-like!” She stormed off inside the house.

  “At least someone in this family knows how to show compassion.” I took a deep breath, and said, “The last thing Darryl Chambers did with his life was help me and he may have been killed for it. That’s all the more reason for me to open the store as soon as the police tell me I can.”

  Raina had the right idea – disappearing into the house. So, I moved toward the sliding glass door determined to find some kind of peace in the sanctity of my temporary rooster bedroom. Clara had other ideas.

  “We all can understand how you feel, Delilah,” she began, almost in a singsong voice. “But, opening the store won’t make up for it.”

  “Excuse me?” Taking her bait was a dumb mistake.

  “Surely, you realize that this unfortunate death,” Clara explained slowly, “well, it’s a great deal of guilt to carry. If you had only listened to reason-”

  “You want to blame me?”

  “If you hadn’t begun this ridiculous venture in the first place,” she went on, swinging her glass in the air as if on a stage, “then, maybe he’d still be alive. You said yourself that he was there doing work for you-”

  “That’s right!” Charlotte said, pointing in the air. “That poor boy! He could have been safe at home or at the movies or anywhere. Oh, bless his soul!”

  Clara smiled. “As I say to my customers, Delilah, if the shoe fits, then charge it.”

  Part of my resolve crumbled. Guilt had found a place in the mixed up brew of emotions that had been stirred up over the last eight hours or so. Still, it wasn’t Clara’s place to highlight it. I stormed over to where she stood and stared her down. The urge to strike her surged in me.

  I slapped the drink from her hand, sending it shattering on the deck. Everyone turned and stared like statues, mouths hanging open.

  I fumed, “You’re the one who’s incited everyone against me, just so you can make more room for your hats and shoes. If it turns out that he died to send me a message, then the blood’s on your hands just as much as mine.”

  “Want to know a detail, Clark?” I called out to him, though I still stared at her. “The killer left me a message. Go home, written in blood on the wall.”

  “Holy shit,” he blurted out.

  “Sounds like a message you would send, Clara,” I added. “If not in action, at least in spirit. You’re a devil, Clara, and I hope to God you had nothing to do with this.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sleep-breathe

  In the ocean, sleep is a luxury. Sea creatures can’t simply curl up under a sand blanket and drift off to sleep. It’s just not that easy. The cetacean family, comprised of the celebrities of the sea – whales, porpoises and dolphins – require trips topside for air. They can’t afford a normal, dormant sleep because they have to breathe. So, their amazing bodies actually shut down half of their brains at a time, leaving the other side (whichever side is on duty) to take care of breathing. This sleep system enables the cetaceans to multitask, to sleep-breathe, and is the ideal combination of rest and self-maintenance.

  The night after the murder, I would have been happy with a half-brain sleep, even a quarter. As it was, I laid in Grandma Betty’s rooster guest room, skipping dinner with the family after the blowout with Clara, and stared at a darkening ceiling for hours.

  I drifted off into an incoherent dream about whales surfacing to breathe, tsunamis, and bloody water sometime in the early gray hours, and awoke to the gentle sound of Grandma Betty saying, “Church.”

  “What?” I asked groggily.

  “It’s time to get up for church.” Grandma Betty handed me a hot cup of coffee as an encourager.

  “I hardly slept,” I told her, taking a sip.

  “Church’ll do you good,” she advised.

  “Some keep the Sabbath going to church. I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome,” I recited tiredly. But, Grandma Betty wasn’t familiar with the lines by Emily Dickinson.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” I sat up in bed and noticed that she’d hung a blue dress on the back of the door.

  “It was Candy’s,” she said. “With most of your things under police tape, I thought you could stand to borrow some things from Candy’s closet.”

  “Won’t she mind?” I muttered.

  Grandma Betty shook her head. “She better not. These are her left-behinds. If she says a word in protest, I’ll smack her upside the head. Now, rise and shine, Delilah dear. You gotta keep holding that pretty head of yours up high and forging ahead.” I took a deep breath.

  Seaside Baptist’s sanctuary vibrated with a much different tone than the fellowship hall on bingo night. Gentle piano music played as congregants filtered in and took their seats, socializing along the way. The dark wood of the pews combined with the velvety red cushion of their seats gave an air of comfort, while the two enormous brass chandeliers exuded warmth.

  Reverend Bill Richards sat near the choir loft. He’d swapped his Bermuda shirt and sandals for a bright blue button-down dress shirt, tie, slacks and black shoes.

  The Duffy clan filled a complete pew in the middle of the sanctuary. I sat on the very end. Before the service officially started, Grandma Betty circled the sanctuary to talk to friends, leaving me with Grandpa Charlie. Clark tossed me a light wave. Mamma Rose greeted me with a smile, but the rest mostly ignored me. Clara actually rolled her eyes, and I had a flashback to high school.

  “Remember Alice in Wonderland?” Grandpa Charlie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve got two Mad Hatters,” he remarked. A smile eased up on the corner of his mouth. I chuckled.

  “In the seventeen and eighteenth centuries, mercury was used to make felt, and felt used to make hats. Hatters suffered from mercury poisoning, which actually did make them crazy,” I told Grandpa. “Mad Hatters really existed, and well before Lewis Carroll wrote Alice in Wonderland.”

  Grandpa Charlie gave me a warm grin, and said, “Is that so?” I smiled.

  Reverend Richards spoke about Jeremiah. I knew little of the man. All those Old Testament guys kind of run together after Moses. But, I learned that Jeremiah was a reluctant prophet, tasked by God to tell the Israelites that they’d screwed up and because of their royal mistakes, major disasters were coming. Jeremiah’s job sucked.

  “But, the story of Jeremiah is an invitation, a love letter from our Lord to each one of us,” Reverend Richards explained, moving across the stage. “The book of Jeremiah contains fifty-two chapters and begins in 1:5, ‘I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born I set you apart.’ You are set apart. He formed you and he knows you. He has plans for you.”

  I feel like I already know you, Darryl had said. Images of his body lying on the floor flashed through my mind like I was watching a bad movie. I shut my eyes, tightly. I felt a little like I was in a half-brain sleep, fluctuating between the dream world and the real one. The blood smell filled my nose. I cringed.

  Reverend Richards continued, “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search
for Me with all your heart. I will be found by you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back from your captivity’. Jeremiah 29:11-14 tells us that God wants what is best for you. All you have to do is seek him out.”

  “BULLSHIT!”

  The word spat out of my mouth like I’d been choking on it. Suddenly. Crazily. A hundred faces zeroed in on me. I’d said the word aloud, not in my head as intended! The expert mistake-maker struck again!

  The once reverent, peaceful sanctuary erupted with gasps, whispers, general shock. “What did she say?” Raised eyebrows. Hands to mouths. Horrified faces. I inspired it all.

  No one was more surprised than me. I whimpered with embarrassment.

  “Are you alright dear?” Grandma Betty whispered. Everyone was looking.

  “Um, it was bull,” Reverend Bill sputtered. “At least, that’s what Jeremiah thought. He was persecuted, hated, miserable. He wished he’d never been born.” He went on with his sermon unscathed. Reverend Bill made an amazing recovery.

  I didn’t.

  The back of my neck burned. My cheeks flushed. My heart palpitated and raced. Tears flooded into my eyes like someone had just knocked the dam over. Everything started to sweat, from my hair follicles to between my toes, like I was a soaked sponge freshly squeezed. I got up and rushed out the back of the church.

  The sun blanketed me. I only wished it could cover me up. I plopped down on the first step of the church’s stoop, folded my arms across my knees, and hid my face. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. I couldn’t believe that I’d just cursed in the middle of a church service. What the hell – I mean, heck was wrong with me?

  “Here you go.”

  I jumped. Samuel Teague stood over me, the bright sun shining behind him. He was holding out a white handkerchief.

  As I dried my eyes and sweat, Teague sat next to me. He wore a blue suit, tie, and looked like something off the cover of GQ. I was a whale, with runny mascara and Candy’s blue dress, two sizes too big for me.

  “What was that all about?” Teague asked.

  “Everyone must think I’m a lunatic.”

  “Ah, that wasn’t so bad,” he replied. “One time, Mrs. Kenning brought in a garden gnome in a cat carrier. Brought it all the way up to the front of the church and set that ridiculous thing down right below the Baptismal cross.”

  I cast him an odd expression, and broke out in a curious smile. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It was trying to steal her soul.” He said it so plainly and normally that I couldn’t help but to laugh.

  “So your little outburst,” he started, “no big deal. Happens around here all the time.”

  I nodded. “Ha, I wish that were really true, but thanks for the effort.”

  Two pelicans squawked overhead. The light changed to green at the corner. Teague pulled his suit jacket off, and started rolling up his sleeves.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Sometimes when you call out to God, even if you do it over and over and over again, you don’t hear anything. He’s silent, like the grave.” I dabbed my eyes again. “I bet Darryl Chambers called out to God,” I added, tears slipping from my eyes like they were running races, “and look what happened to him.”

  “God delivered him, Delilah. He was never alone or without comfort. I truly believe that, and I’ve seen death a few times before.”

  “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “I’m not a crier. Didn’t cry during Titanic or Marley, not even for any of those blasted Lifetime movies that try so hard. I’m so embarrassed. You’ve seen me more in tears than not. Please don’t think I’m a drama queen.”

  “Never.” He smiled. “Death isn’t easy. I’d wonder about you if you weren’t showing any emotion over it.”

  I shook my head. “No need to worry, Teague. I’m a basketcase. I hardly knew him, and I’m blurting out curses in church and finding it impossible to sleep.”

  “It’ll get easier,” he said. “You’re still trying to make sense of it. Try to keep yourself distracted.”

  I sighed. “Distracted, right. Until I can get back into the store, I’m totally on hold. I just hope the delay on the store means that they’ll advance the case.”

  Teague smiled. “That’s a good attitude, especially considering that you’re their top suspect.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Delicate

  My parents named me Delilah, a Hebrew name that means “delicate”, but has come to mean many other things thanks to Biblical Delilah, who truly ruined the name forever. ‘Amorous, seductive, temptress’ describe the name now, though I am none of those things (one suggestive picture aside).

  My mother was looking for a good name, something that sounded Southern, and different from the Jennifers and Megans and Sarahs. My maternal grandmother, Mary Waverly, was putting an undue amount of pressure on my mother to choose a “good, Christian name” and she had several picked out (Mary was the first on the list, which would mean three generations of Marys if my mom had agreed). So, when I came into the world my mother named me Delilah, straight from the Bible, and not at all what grandma had in mind.

  Though Biblical Delilah gave us a soiled reputation, she was a strong, determined woman, just as my mom was when she picked the name. I try to remember that. But, today, I didn’t have any of Delilah’s strength. Rather, like the name really means, I felt delicate. One more thing and I would shatter.

  The unbearable silence as Grandpa Charlie drove us home was just about enough to do it. Betty fidgeted. Charlie tightly gripped and then loosened the steering wheel. My curse in church had pushed my generous hosts over the edge.

  I scanned my brain for something of interest, something to share, to lighten the heavy tension that had settled between us. I was just about to tell Grandma Betty about my upcoming date with Mike Ancellotti (that probably wouldn’t happen now) when she beat me to the punch.

  To Grandpa Charlie, she said, “Pastor Bill and Joanne went to visit Mavis yesterday afternoon.”

  “How is she?” Charlie prodded.

  “Well, they said. She didn’t want meals, or yard work, or visits or anything.”

  “She’s never been one to take handouts,” he noted.

  “That’s true,” Betty sighed, “but this is different than charity. It’s more for the givers, really. When people don’t know what to say, they at least like to offer food or help as a substitute for wisdom. We are a church family.”

  “When’s the service?” Charlie asked. “We could send flowers.”

  “No service,” she returned, shaking her head. “Mavis didn’t want one.”

  I sat up and leaned forward. “What do you mean? No service?” I urged. “No funeral? No memorial? No wake?”

  “She’s having her son cremated,” Betty explained, “and she told the pastor that she and Ronnie will do something special on their own.”

  “That’s crazy,” I argued. “How can you not have a service?”

  “Services aren’t mandatory. Arrangements are very expensive,” Betty went on, “and the Chambers family, well, they’ve always been very tight with funds.”

  “Plus, it’s a lot of hubbub,” Charlie added, “and they’ve never liked a lot of attention either. Always been that way.”

  “Still, how are people going to pay their respects? How are his friends going to say good-bye to him?” I asked. “He’s a young guy. Surely, he has friends.”

  Grandma Betty shrugged. “He was very popular in high school when he played football. Even had colleges interested in him, but he made some bad life choices, was in and out of trouble since then. I’d be willin’ to guess that Mavis is tryin’ to stay away from the bad element his funeral may have attracted-”

  “If that’s true, then the funeral could have brought out his killer,” I argued, “and maybe he would have slipped up and given himself away-”

  Grandma Betty laughed. “You sound like a mystery novel. Mavis knows what’s best. I respect he
r courage, frankly.”

  The word ‘Bullshit’ echoed in my mind, but this time, I didn’t say it. The tears slipped down my cheeks again. I caught them with Teague’s hanky. Whatever sadness I felt for Darryl Chambers had just quadrupled.

  “Delilah,” Grandma Betty said after a moment of silence. The way she said it indicated trouble ahead. “Um, dear, I know you’re goin’ through a time right now, but I must say that I cannot abide foul language, especially in church. Just the idea that such words fall from your lips is enough to-”

  “Grandma Betty, I know,” I interrupted, “and I’m sorr-”

  “Now, you need to listen to your grandmother,” Grandpa Charlie stated sternly. My lips closed shut. “You’ll hear her out.”

  “Thank you, Charlie,” she said, “Delilah, as I was saying, a young lady as privileged as yourself shouldn’t talk like you’re common. It’s inappropriate for a lady. And, I must say that I’m rather mortified that you had that outburst in the middle of a Sunday sermon. Oh, the phone calls I’m goin’ to get!” She stopped talking, but I waited to make sure.

  “I am sorry,” I repeated when it seemed safe. I didn’t consider myself ‘privileged’ in any stretch of thinking, as she so put it. Nor did I think she’d get the phone calls she predicted. People may talk, surely. But, having just been through the fire, as I had been, I happen to know that when people talk, they do it behind your back. Still, as upset as I had made her, I didn’t want to further the insult by arguing.

  Grandma Betty fixed chicken salad sandwiches, fruit salad, and iced tea for lunch. She prepared it all in plastic hula-girl dishes she got from the Dollar Store in Shawsburg, and topped it off with paper umbrellas in our sweet iced teas. Sitting down to her creation, she grinned widely.

  That’s when the phone rang the first time.

  Grandma Betty left the table and took the call in the kitchen. Grandpa Charlie started eating, so I followed his lead. Please, God, don’t let it be about me, I prayed.

  “A Wiccan?” Grandma Betty yelled suddenly. “Of course she isn’t!”