Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery

by Jessica Sherry

  Now pirates are a seaside novelty, a romantic and mysterious part of history that we let our children dress up as for Halloween. Darryl’s high school, the home of the pirates, made me wonder about how something can be at once treasure and terror, what daggers in men’s smiles Darryl may have seen.

  Willie and I didn’t go home. We drove instead to Beach Realty and arrived just before closing time. I found Candy packing up a large Coach bag on her desk. She grinned slyly when I entered.

  “Nice picture in the paper,” she cooed.

  “I’m sorry about getting you in trouble with Uncle Joe,” I told her. “I wanted to come by, apologize, and make sure everything’s in order with the paperwork.”

  She waved me off. “Ain’t no trouble. I haven’t been paying much attention to the building, that’s for sure. Got bigger fish to fry or at least I had bigger fish to fry. Now everything’s about Beach Read. Anyways, the paperwork is fine,” she relented. “Any idea when you’ll be able to open?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I’m hoping for next week.”

  “Just ain’t givin’ up, huh?” she asked.

  I shrugged, remembering what Teague had said to me. “I’m not a quitter.”

  “I hear Momma bit your head off today,” Candy went on, a twinge of a smile on her face. “I thought she saved all those kinds of talks for me.”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “When she gets upset, she gets to talkin’,” Candy explained. “She called and asked if you came by. I think she’s fixin’ to apologize. Mamma heats up like lighter fluid on hot coals, big and fast. Then, she comes to her senses. She’ll probably have something baked for you when you come home.”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief, and grinned. “She doesn’t need to apologize, but it’ll be nice that she’s not pissed at me anymore.”

  “She told me what you said about the picture,” Candy went on. “Men can be such assholes. I had a few like that before I met Damon. I’m really sorry that things have been so shitty for you here.”

  “Really?”

  Candy shrugged. “I felt squeezed in the middle, but I am sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I just get all caught up in tryin’ to hold my own around here. It’s all so competitive. I’ve been here a dozen years and I ain’t never been top seller, not once. Anyway, I’m glad you’re goin’ to stick it out.”

  I grinned. “Thanks” Candy buckled her bag and turned off her computer. “Candy, you remember that summer when I was so ridiculously in love with Sam Teague?” I asked the question while rolling my eyes.

  “What makes you bring that up?” she replied.

  I laughed lightly. “Just thinking about old times. I never thanked you for what you did that summer. I’m sure it must’ve been a hassle dealing with me.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what aunties do, I suppose.”

  “Do you remember when he came by your house,” I prodded, “and he spoke to you?”

  She nodded, piling files into a stack on her desk. I could see the irritation creeping up on her face. Her penciled eyebrows perked up, awaiting my question.

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  “Oh, my gosh. We’ve only been through this a million times-”

  “I know. I know.”

  She huffed. “He said he wasn’t interested in you.”

  “But why?”

  “He wouldn’t say,” she replied. “Just wasn’t. It was a good day, but that’s all. That’s what he said.” I nodded, but couldn’t hide the pained expression on my face. Candy was used to it.

  She went on, “Sometimes people just aren’t interested, plain and simple. It could’ve been a thousand different things and you know what else? Men have very selective memories when it comes to that sort of thing. Damon’s like that. It’s amazin’ what he’s conveniently forgotten ‘bout our datin’ back then. I bet Sam Teague had himself ‘nother honey. Come to think of it, I do remember seein’ him with some girl after that. Can’t remember who it was.”

  I shrugged like it didn’t matter, but wondered if that girl ended up being the one he married.

  Candy squinted her eyebrows. “You interested in him again?”

  I shook my head. “We’re friends.”

  “Well, he’s with Mandy Davis,” she reminded me.

  “He told me he wasn’t,” I returned.

  Candy huffed, flicking her hair back behind her shoulders. “I’ve seen them out and about, not too long ago. Considering your history with men, maybe you shouldn’t trust your own feelin’s. You’re like blinded or somethin’.”

  Candy grabbed her bag and headed out of the office. I followed. She switched off her office light and turned down the hallway where we ran into one of her co-workers.

  “Megan, this is my niece, Delilah,” Candy introduced. “She’s tryin’ to open Beach Read across the street.”

  “Oh,” she said with trepidation. “Nice to meet you, Delilah.”

  “Megan is one of our top sellers,” Candy replied.

  “Yes, I think I’ve seen you before,” I remarked casually, “talking with Darryl Chambers on my move-in day.”

  Megan Masters rolled her eyes under her poofy bangs. “Oh, I remember that. Yes, that poor boy. It’s such a shame, what happened to him.”

  “Delilah found the body,” Candy mentioned.

  Megan’s face fell into shock. “Bless your heart! How disturbin’!”

  “It was,” I said. “Did you know him well?”

  “Oh, no,” she said with a wave of her hand. “He had come to me a few weeks earlier because he was interested in buying a house in the Tradewinds.”

  “Darryl Chambers?” Candy clarified in disbelief.

  “Yes, he went to look at a great three bedroom, two bath cottage,” she explained, “at a terrific deal. Owners had it as a second home and just wanted to get out of it. It was perfect for a young couple. Chambers said he had enough money to put down a substantial down payment and he made an offer. The bank denied him, too high risk.”

  “How disappointing!” I remarked as we exited the building and made our way to the parking lot.

  “Tell me about it,” Megan went on. “I thought he was going to blow a fuse! But, he didn’t. He said that he’d make a better offer, and that he’d secure a job that would make the bank change their minds. Well, in the meantime, someone else bid on the house and that offer was accepted.”

  I shook my head. Candy beeped her Eos unlocked and opened the door to air it out.

  Megan went on, “He came to me with a letter that said he intended to enlist. He also told me that he had raised $25,000 as a down payment. But, it was too late. What could I do?”

  “Where would a kid like him get that kind of money?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Megan said. “He’d been working a couple of jobs. I just assumed he’d saved it up.”

  We’re all pirates to some extent, taking advantage when we shouldn’t at least, and at worst stealing. I was beginning to think that Darryl was involved in his own pirate games, and that they could have gotten him killed.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Plunge

  In seventeenth century Britain, seawater was a popular medicinal treatment. Ailing people flocked to beaches. Contraptions were invented to plunge the sick into the water, and just as quickly pull them back out again, like skewered food in a fondue. The rich went to oceanside spas to soak their troubles away. Throughout history there has been something about the beach that has brought many people relief.

  Yet, as I stood staring out at the sea, I couldn’t bring myself to plunge in. Instead, I breathed in the sweet breezes and buried my toes in the sand, hopeful that something was better than nothing.

  Friday afternoon.

  I’m not sure how it happened, but I’m certain that Teague had something to do with getting Lewis to release the building. The lab reports had cleared me, for now. Damon and his crew were back to work upstairs in the apartm
ent. Downstairs, a man named John Mack from Custom Cleaning Service was decontaminating the wood floors, walls, and windows.

  But, that hardly mattered.

  Public opinion had mounted against me. My newspaper portrait had become window dressing for most of the local businesses. Anyone supportive of Aunt Clara’s cause clipped the article and plastered it in their doorways, on their windows, or bulletin boards. I saw it everywhere I looked, and everywhere I went, people ogled me like I was a bearded lady.

  Being back in the store felt different. Death still hung there, a dark shadow looming over the place, feeling heavy on my shoulders.

  So, I came to the sea, but found no relief.

  We crossed over the boardwalk, and waited for traffic to clear on Atlantic Avenue before crossing to my alleyway. I spied Ronnie Chambers passing by in a dark green truck. He turned onto Coral Avenue, and though I didn’t want to take the business route home (my picture was literally in every window, poised next to blood drive flyers, lost dog signs, and event announcements) I pulled Willie along. We jogged down the street in his direction.

  Chambers parked in front of the post office at the end of the strip. He reached in the back of his truck and pulled out several packages of various shapes and sizes and awkwardly carried them inside.

  “Come on, Willie,” I urged, picking up the pace. I peeked into the post office window, and saw Ronnie at the computerized self-postage counter, where he was weighing each package and affixing the printed labels.

  I tied Willie’s leash to the nearest lamppost and went inside. I eyed the packages as I made my way to the man at the counter. One was headed to Nevada, another to Ohio. The return address was a post office box rather than a home address, and didn’t say Ronnie’s name anywhere.

  “A book of stamps, please,” I said to the postal worker. I paid for the stamps, taking my attention away from Ronnie’s labeling. When I finally turned to leave, Ronnie was staring right at me. He grinned. He said nothing, but gyrated his hips in my direction. I hurried out the door.

  Willie and I couldn’t make it home fast enough. Back at the store, John Mack handed me a huge bill, a toothless smile, and told me the work was complete.

  Where the blood stain had been was now an unfinished section of hardwood, perfectly round. John Mack had cleaned, sanded, and swept Darryl Chambers away leaving what looked like an island.

  “You’ll have to stain and reseal it,” he told me, noticing my disappointed face. “Then it’ll be just like the rest of it. I just clean. I don’t do the fix-up work.”

  “I know.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to fix it.

  Damon Carver came in the store as John Mack was leaving it. He examined the spot on the floor, rubbing his chin. “I could take care of this for you,” he said.

  “Um, let’s just leave it for now,” I said. “How’re things upstairs?”

  “Done,” he said, with a smile. “Finished.”

  “Really?” I asked, perking up.

  “Yep, come see.” He waved me toward the door. Willie and I followed him.

  “I can’t believe it,” I said as we rounded the corner. “It seems like it’s been years since we started.”

  “We would’ve been done last Saturday, if not for-” he said, stopping himself. “Well, you know. I had no idea that Chambers was coming back to the store to put up that light fixture.” Damon shook his head.

  “It’s okay. It’s not like you could have known,” I replied. “He seems like the kind of guy to do things his own way.”

  “He was,” Damon agreed. “You know, I always heard all this crap about him, how he went from job to job because he stole or didn’t show up or did something else stupid, but he was perfect for me. Always on time. Always a good worker.”

  “I heard he was good with his hands,” I added.

  Damon’s eyes lit up as we climbed the back stairs. “Hell yes. That boy could fix anything. You know, he insisted on doing all your cabinetry himself, custom. I was content just to buy you some mass produced stuff, but he said, oh no, Mr. Carver, isn’t she family? Let’s do her up something nice.” I smiled.

  We stood at the top of the third floor, in front of the glass and purple door. Damon smiled. “Let’s do it,” he said. He opened the door, and we walked inside.

  The sun was setting just over the ocean and the orange lights streamed into the windows making the whole room warm and soft. The oceanside brick wall had a fresh layer of white paint and now looked clean and bright. The exposed beans and columns had also been repaired and repainted white. The remaining walls, Damon had painted sky blue giving the entire apartment a true cottage feel. I gasped.

  “You like the color?” he asked. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise instead of just borin’ ol’ white.”

  “It’s perfect.” Tears came to my eyes.

  The kitchen had been gutted and replaced. Birch cabinets lined the kitchen, in one part floor to ceiling, and on each face Darryl had created an intricate lattice work that was beautiful. New countertops, sink, and faucet. The window above the sink had been completely replaced. There was a gap where the stove used to be and a small space for a refrigerator.

  “You’ll need to get yourself a stove and fridge,” Damon said. “There’s a Lowe’s in Shawsburg. The ones that were here were trashed, didn’t work.”

  Damon had already moved my Cotton Exchange finds in – the lamps, Charlie Brown mugs, and Mr. Coffee I bought from Lenny, the prevention specialist, an old kitchen table with mismatched chairs, and a long mirror with a thick black frame. New pendant lamps hung down the length of the apartment, shining against a floor that had been buffed down to the wood and refinished to its original dark wood glory. I couldn’t have dreamed it better than this.

  “The bed’s a gift from Rose,” Damon told me. “She had my boys come by and pick it up for you. She wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Damon had moved Mamma Rose’s spare bed into place against the far wall. It was a dark wood, four poster canopy bed, like from a ritzy furniture store (we have tons of those here in North Carolina).

  “Check out the bathroom,” Damon said. Damon opened the door to reveal a clean, sky blue bathroom with a pedestal sink, ivory tub, and freshly tiled floors. An oval mirror was flanked by two silver sconces. He even installed two towel racks because he said that one was never enough.

  I was home.

  Damon handed me a tissue from his pocket and showed me the narrow, but long walk-in closet. They’d cleaned it out and installed a rod for hang-ups and an upper shelf.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  I wiped my eyes again. “I love it. It’s amazing. I can’t believe this is the same place. I feel like I’m on one of those dumb TV shows and the cameras are going to come out or something.”

  “Nah, no cameras. I’m glad you like it,” he grinned. “I’ll give you some time to get acquainted, unless there’s something else you need right now?”

  “No,” I said, “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “Welcome. Enjoy the new digs.”

  And, tomorrow, I would finally open the store.

  I pushed open one of the seaside windows and basked in the warm glow of sunlight and ocean breezes. The ocean’s medicinal effects were starting to sink in, after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Clownfish

  The clownfish makes its home within the poisonous tentacles of the sea anemones. Because of a slimy covering on its scales, they are protected and able to live symbiotically with the anemones. The clownfish eats the sea anemones’ leftovers, keeping them clean, and both offer each other protection. But, if the clownfish’s mucus covering should get wiped off, their own home can be their demise. The balance, as with anything, is delicate.

  My first night in my new apartment overtop Beach Read began with a heavy dose of excitement. I raced to get my things from Grandma Betty’s. Then traversed the stairs a dozen times carrying the boxes I had in the office and storage room. I set up the kitchen. I l
oaded the bathroom with my toiletries. I made the beautiful bed. I hung up my clothes. Progress was grand.

  By the time the fireworks blasted over the pier at 9:30, the drain of my activities wore me down. I leashed Willie and took him out for a last stroll around the alley, and then prepared for relaxation.

  By 10:00, I climbed into the glorious bed, wearing only a tank top and underwear, and escaped in one of Agatha Christie’s capers. Again, Wuthering Heights called to me, so I picked it up and alternated between the two. My eyes drifted into dozing sometime around midnight.

  A low growl woke me up. I peeled my eyes open to find Willie on high alert, staring at my front door. The boom, boom of Via’s rattled in the background. In the distance, a car alarm sounded momentarily. Still, I heard nothing that should have upset Willie.

  I’d left the stair light on, so the gleam shone through the door’s slated window and dingy sheer curtain, producing a criss cross pattern on the floor. I looked over. Nothing.

  “What is it?” I asked him. He jumped off the bed, barking. I then heard the distinct sound of footsteps. Thud, thud, thud. Someone was coming up the stairs.

  “Oh, shit,” I said. Don’t freak out, just think, I told myself. I jumped from bed, and searched for weapons. I dashed over to the kitchen and grabbed the longest knife from the butcher block, and retreated back behind Willie.

  Growl. Growl. Willie didn’t like this one bit. He started barking again. I grabbed my pay-as-you-go phone from the table. A large shadow formed at the door-window. It looked like Frankenstein’s monster, broad in the shoulders and neckless.

  “Shit.” I dialed 9-1-1. The operator answered.

  “Help, there’s a-”

  My phone clicked off. No more minutes.

  The monster tried the door handle. It turned. It shook. He pushed it back and forth. Willie barked like an incessant fire alarm.

  “Holy shit!” The phone slipped from my hand and pounded against the floor. I expected the door to bust open any second or glass splintering all over the room from the monster’s force. But, the villain stood there. Then, the handle moved again. He banged on the glass. I jumped at the noise.