Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery

by Jessica Sherry

  I finished counting the money. It was all there. I packaged it back in the money pouch and locked it in the cabinet.

  Teague stood staring out the front window of the store, and I gingerly made my way to his side. I set my bag down, and pulled my countdown sign off the window. Blood smeared its front from where it had splattered and trickled down the glass.

  “I’ll have to make a new one,” I noted. “Don’t know what to put on it anyway.” I set it against the wall. He turned to me, after a moment, looking confused.

  “You really don’t swim?” Teague asked me, eyebrows pinched together, blue eyes diving right into me.

  I shook my head. “I almost drowned once.” The words just spilled out, though it wasn’t something I shared often. Being afraid of something isn’t a quality I wanted to advertise.

  “I had no idea,” he said.

  “See? You don’t know me as well as you think.”

  “How old were you?” he asked.

  “Six. I fell into a friend’s swimming pool, got tangled up in the pool covering,” I explained. “Took her dad two minutes to get me breathing again and no, I didn’t have any type of supernatural experience. That’s usually what people ask, when I do talk about it.”

  “What time of year was it?” Teague asked. I gave him an odd look.

  “Um, it was fall,” I answered. “The sky was a captivating blue color, leaves were turning, but it was warm. Lisa and I were outside trying out the fairy wings she got for her Halloween costume, taking turns racing around the yard. We had this crazy notion that if we went fast enough with those wings on, we could fly.” I smiled at the memory.

  Teague grinned. “Bet you looked beautiful in those wings.”

  I chuckled. “Oh, yeah. I was fairy-tastic.”

  “Our day together must’ve been really hard for you,” he realized.

  “I thought it was going to be, but somehow, it wasn’t,” I shrugged, “I predicted I’d have an embarrassing succession of panic attacks, followed by you inevitably ending the date early and kicking me to the curb at Candy’s house, with sort of a cranky, wincing look on your face, like you’d just tasted dog food or something.”

  Teague laughed. “That’d never happen.” I cut him a confused look because that’s almost how it felt.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why, if you were so afraid of the water?”

  I huffed. “Why do you think?”

  My eyes rolled. Better to be vague than to admit that I was just crazy enough in love to literally jump into the thing I feared most. Candy had said that a surfing lesson was the only excuse she could think of for us to spend time together, and though I argued, I knew she was right. Surfing was what Sam Teague was known for back then. Candy had told me that he often went surfing at dawn just to get a couple of hours in before school started. He’d go to class with his hair still wet. Shy of simply walking right up to him, introducing myself, and asking him out, it was the only plausible scheme, especially since I was about as brave as a turnip.

  A grin eased up on his mouth. I tried not to look at him. Suddenly, the tips of his fingers dangled with mine, mingling like old friends. Tingles scurried up my arm and throughout the rest of me. My heart quickened.

  A loud tap, tap, tap interrupted. I jumped and snatched my hand away. Uncle Clark peered into the glass door, eyeballing us with a wide grin.

  “We should go,” I said, too quickly. My cheeks were flushed. Teague helped with my bag, and followed me out to the sidewalk.

  “I’ve been hunting for you,” Uncle Clark said, “but I guess I’m not the only one.” He grinned slyly, and went on. “I have to talk to you. Mom told me where you were.”

  “I guess we’re done here,” I said, glancing at Teague who was locking up the store.

  “You’ll drive her back to Betty and Charlie’s?”

  Clark nodded. “Anything for a story,” he replied. “I’m starving. Let’s get some dinner.” Clark started to pull me down the sidewalk, but I hesitated.

  “Just a second,” I said. “Could you put my bag in your car?” Clark took my duffle and left Teague and I alone again. Teague leaned against the brick by the doorway, his face pensive. I gave him a light smile.

  “Since I’ve been back here,” I started, “I’ve smiled a sum total of about four times. Each one was thanks to you. I don’t take you lightly. But, no mistakes, remember?”

  He was about to say something, but I stopped him by leaning in closer. Almost too close, I realized too late. His eyes captured me like tractor beams, drawing me in. I put my hand up to his chest, more to stop myself than to touch him, though that was a pleasant side effect.

  “I don’t mean to go all Charles Dickens on you, but you need to understand. When I was sixteen, you were the absolute best and utterly worst thing that happened to me. They’re still battling it out.” I punched his steel chest lightly, and smiled. “I’ll let you know which side wins.”

  He was confused. “How was I the worst?”

  I leaned to the left to see Uncle Clark pointing to his watch down the sidewalk. I nodded. “I should go.”

  “Delilah, we need to talk about this,” Teague said, “soon.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning toward the street.

  “Have a nice time with your uncle,” Teague said, “and watch what you say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sponges

  Sea sponges don’t look like much, but they are deceiving. These bottom-dwelling animals affix themselves to anything solid, and let the environment work for them. Water filters through their bodies, and they extract food, sponging off their environments. Sea sponges are shapely, colorful, and often live in groups.

  What most people don’t know is that sea sponges can be vicious. Some sponges are covered in a toxin; anyone who touches it suffers the poisons. Others release toxins into the water to defend against predators. What could look like a lovely underwater plant is really trouble in disguise.

  The Duffy side of my family started to remind me of sea sponges. I considered Jonathan Dekker. Maybe I was becoming one of them.

  We beat the dinner rush at the Crab Shack, and were seated street side, facing the pier and the ocean. Clark immediately pulled out his leather notebook and pen from his back pocket. My shoulders drooped.

  “I hear there’s new information about to break at the station,” Clark reported excitedly. “Wanna give me the scoop? I’m sure I can spin it better than Lewis.”

  “Lewis isn’t getting any new information,” I assured Clark. “He’s an idiot.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “Lewis is circulating the picture,” Clark informed. “He expects it to be printed. He likes you for this, you know.”

  “He likes me for a lot of things, I think,” I replied with a shiver.

  Mandy arrived and took our drink orders. She didn’t seem quite as bouncy as before, but I told her it was nice to see her again. Despite Clark’s encouragement, I insisted on a Diet Coke rather than a mixed drink.

  Clark said, “Only reason Lewis made detective in the first place is because he kissed the right asses. He hasn’t done anything of particular merit himself. This’ll be his second big case this year – the robberies being the other – and he hasn’t moved forward on either. The guy wouldn’t know a clue if it jumped out a bit him. So, even when I print that you’re his lead suspect, it won’t really amount to much.”

  “I’d like to believe you, but people will believe anything,” I said. “Most people will just say, yep, the killer has to be her, stranger in town, trying to mess things up for the Duffy sisters, the one who cursed in church-”

  “That was classic!” Clark laughed.

  “Well, now the town thinks I’m a devil-worshipper,” I retorted. “Murderer isn’t a stretch.”

  Clark chuckled again. “That’s one reason why I love it here. People are crazy and they still read the paper. If you want to tell your side, then you h
ave the perfect opportunity to do it.”

  “I shouldn’t have to, Clark,” I said emphatically. “I didn’t do it. I’m not a murderer. I may be a lot of things, but not that.”

  Our drinks arrived. Clark scribbled in his notebook. I thanked Mandy and went on to order my meal. Clark followed suit.

  “The truth,” Clark repeated. “Tell me what happened that morning. What did you see?”

  Clark listened, asking questions periodically, as I described finding Darryl’s body. I left out a lot, but gave Clark just enough to satisfy the needs of his story. Our dinner arrived, and we continued to talk as we ate.

  “So, what’s the deal with you and Teague?” he asked. “Seems like you were getting kind of cozy.”

  “I’m almost afraid to talk about that kind of stuff with you,” I admitted.

  Clark rolled his eyes. “Your love life isn’t interesting enough to print, Delilah.”

  “You’re right about that. Nothing’s going on,” I said. “He asked me out, but I kind of froze-”

  “He’s been married before, you know,” Clark said.

  I nearly choked on a piece of lettuce. “Married?”

  “Yeah, married,” Clark returned.

  “Married? No, I didn’t know.” I took a sip of my drink, but my mouth still felt dry.

  “Back in Nags Head,” Clark said, “Do you want me to do a background check, find out more for you?”

  My eyes were wide. My blood flow must have stopped. I felt suddenly cold and pale. I’m not sure why I reacted so strongly to news that a few days ago I specifically said would be okay, and none of my business. My emotions ping-ponged around my head.

  “No, no spying,” I said. “Like I said, nothing’s going on. He’s just a friend-”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being divorced, you know,” Clark told me. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “Yes, I know.” Still, Teague had been married. It didn’t seem like a congruent sentence somehow.

  “How’s everything folks?” a voice interrupted my raging thoughts. Mike Ancellotti stood at the edge of our table. He shook hands with Clark, and smiled warmly at me.

  “Delicious,” I answered.

  “Delilah, I’m sorry about what happened,” Mike went on. “I just can’t believe it. The police called me to check on your whereabouts Friday night.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike,” I replied. “They’re just trying to rule me out.”

  “She didn’t do it,” Clark added, with a hint of a grin, “in case you were wondering.”

  “Oh, no, I wasn’t. I mean, I’m sure she’d never-” Mike stumbled.

  “At least, she says she didn’t do it,” Clark cut in, “I’m not sure I believe her.” I rolled my eyes at him.

  “He wishes I were the killer,” I said, “so he could have a scoop.”

  “For my own safety, I hope you’re not a killer,” Mike chuckled. And, turning to Clark, he asked, “Did she tell you about our plans for tomorrow night?”

  Clark’s eyes widened beneath his glasses. “She didn’t, Mike.” My mouth fell open at the remembrance of our date and at Clark’s sudden joy in knowing about it.

  “We are still on, aren’t we?” Mike turned to me and asked. I smiled. Teague popped into my mind again, like a song running through my head. He’d been married. I still couldn’t digest it.

  “Um, sure,” I returned, “can you pick me up at my grandparents’ house?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “8:00.” Mike excused himself to go back into the kitchen.

  Clark’s raised eyebrow reminded me of my mother. “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he said. “Your love life gets more interesting by the second.”

  I shrugged. “So, tell me, what should I expect with the story on Wednesday,” I prodded. “Just be straight with me.”

  Clark nodded. “I’ll report that you’re a suspect, that you’ve been questioned, and that a weapon was found in your vehicle. These are all facts and I wouldn’t be much of a reporter if I didn’t report them. That naughty picture has become compelling, too.”

  “Oh, come on,” I protested. “You know it doesn’t have anything to do-”

  “I have to bring it up in the paper or it’ll seem like we’re avoiding it,” Clark replied. “Do you want to make an official statement about the picture?”

  I shook my head. “No. I shouldn’t have to defend it. It was a private moment with my then-serious boyfriend. No matter what I say about it, people are going to make their assumptions. I’ve been down this road before and it never ends well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Music

  Recent studies show that sharks process music similarly to humans and enjoy certain types of music over others, especially when courting. Some songs intensified their dating, while other tunes left them bored. Music sets the mood, even for sea life.

  Mike Ancellotti arrived at my grandparents’ house at 7:55, driving a blue Prius with the license plate CRBSHK. He drove us to the other side of the island to a hopping, three-story joint called Lucy’s View. The structure sat against the Cape Fear River with piers lined with boats jutting out in three directions. Marshes surrounded the parking lot, which was loose gravel. I could hear the music playing when I got out of the car.

  “I’m going to own this place one day,” Mike said, looking up at it admirably. “Best kept island secret. Good food. Cool atmosphere. You’re going to love it.”

  The building was cinderblock and siding, rustic and slightly dilapidated. We climbed a flight of concrete stairs to a door that led to a huge, open dining room. Unfinished floors. Graffiti covered walls. A long bar sat to the left. A space for dancing on the right. Straight ahead was the water – no windows, no wall, just the open night.

  Mike grabbed my hand and led me across the busy dining floor to an empty table in the back corner, against the wall-less view. He waved to the bartender. I sat against the wall and ran my hand across the scrawled messages of hundreds of visitors. Jenny loves Jason. Tina and Carly BFF. Bobby was here ’07. I could have spent hours reading them all. I love Coldplay. Panthers Kick Ass. Kelsey Tuirns R.I.P. The bartender arrived with two beers and Mike ordered for us.

  Beautiful Day began playing over the speakers, almost drowning out the sound of crickets and frogs in the marshes below. I thought of my one day with Sam years ago. I always did when I heard this song. Fortunately, Mike didn’t give me much time to think. Mike took a swig of his beer, and then stood up.

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t dance.”

  “Tonight you do,” he insisted. He grabbed my hands, and led me to the dance floor. One couple was practically making out, while another was slow dancing. A group of friends leaned against the wall nearby laughing and drinking beers.

  Mike held my left hand outward, and kept one hand on my waist. I put my right hand on his shoulder and he guided me around the space, dipping me a few times just for fun. I smiled and I laughed.

  The air was stuffy. I was sweating. For once, I’d picked the perfect dress – a little, blue, sleeveless thing. Still, there was a sea breeze drifting in and around the tables like a ghost and it managed to bring sweet relief.

  “See? You do dance,” Mike said.

  “You’re the one dancing. I’m just hanging on,” I corrected.

  “Having fun?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you do this often?” I asked, as he twirled me around.

  “Dance? Yes, often.”

  “No, I mean bring girls who have their own drinks named after them here to Lucy’s View to go dancing.”

  He spun me around again, landing in a dip. “I come here often,” he said thoughtfully, “I mostly dance at home when no one is looking. But, no, usually not with a girl who has her own beverage namesake. What about you? I know you don’t dance, but do you often date devilishly handsome chefs?”

  “You are the first.”

  �
�I’m honored,” he replied, flashing that knee-weakening smile.

  The food arrived at the table before we did. A bucket of blue crabs, three dipping sauces, short ears of corn and two buttery corn muffins, two fresh beers, and a pile of napkins. Mike, our dinner, this place – nothing was the way I expected, in a good way.

  “So, what’s it like to be in the restaurant business?” I prompted. He started into a story about how he loved to cook, spent his college years studying abroad, and knew that he’d own a restaurant one day.

  “My parents helped me raise a little of the capital to start the Crab Shack,” he admitted, “but since then I’ve done so well that I made them investors. They pull in part of the profits each month. Helps with their retirement. They’re in Wrightsville.”

  “So, the next step is expanding then? Buying a place like this?”

  “I’ve always loved this place. I’d buy it in a heartbeat,” he said. “I love the Crab Shack, of course. That’s my place. But, I’d like to have both ends of the spectrum – the nice, touristy gourmet Crab Shack and the low-end, no overhead, simple life of Lucy’s View.” I glanced around Lucy’s View and didn’t feel that it was low-end at all. Sure, there was dirt on the floor and graffiti everywhere, but it was charming.

  “I’ve been talking too much,” he said, reaching over to help me with a tough crab. He smiled. “Tell me about you. What brought you here?”

  I gave him the very watered down version of how I ended up in Tipee.

  “Wow, that’s so brave, to change careers like that,” he said.

  “Brave isn’t the adjective I’d use. Foolish is better.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “This town needs a good bookstore. They just need to know they need it. Once you get over this situation, it’ll be great. Give it time.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said.

  “Work on a niche,” he advised. “That’s what islanders love. Your aunts got a good one. Don’t just sell books. Make it some kind of experience.”