Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery

by Jessica Sherry

  I made a new sign for the window. One Day Until the Grand Opening of Beach Read.

  So, at 6:00 I found myself in the parking lot of Seaside Baptist eyeing all the cars and golf carts. It was Bingo night. I paid my entry fee, and found all the usual competitors parked at the back table. I sat across from Teague, next to Grandma Betty and Mamma Rose. Mavis Chambers sat on my other side. Teague was in uniform.

  “Hoping you’d show,” he said smiling.

  “Need to make some money somehow,” I replied with a grin.

  “Delilah, Samuel told us that you went out for a boat cruise yesterday,” Grandma Betty cooed. “As afraid as you are of the water and how much trouble you gave Grandpa over fishing, that just shocks me.”

  I shrugged. “Well, Sam’s boat was bigger, and I didn’t swim,” I said, setting up my boards.

  “You don’t swim?” Mavis chimed in. I was surprised to see her, similar to how I felt seeing Ronnie Chambers at the bar at Lucy’s View.

  “No, the water scares me to death,” I said, “Ms. Chambers, I’m so sorry about your-”

  “Pish, posh,” she waved me off.

  “We’re just really glad you’re here tonight,” Grandma Betty told her.

  Mavis shrugged. “Can’t play bingo with my dolls,” she laughed. “Well, I could, but it’s not as much fun.”

  Bingo was a dismal failure for me again, but that was okay. Tomorrow, Beach Read would open. Even Lewis had given me a solid twenty-four hours of peace. Teague had to leave for his shift at intermission, so I walked him out. I promised to take Aunt Beverly home for him again, and he said he’d come by the store tomorrow.

  “Funny, I don’t picture you as being much of a reader,” I said.

  “I could be talked into it,” he replied. With a smile, he kissed my cheek. I grinned.

  “Be safe tonight,” I told him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m always safe. Hoping to rub off on you.”

  Back down the long hallway toward the fellowship hall, I spied Mavis Chambers on her cell phone again, one ear pinned with the tip of her finger even though there wasn’t much noise. “I’m finally ready to trade the Rose,” she told the caller. “You’re going to love her. She’s lovely. All original parts. And I have another doll I want to show you, too. This one’s very special.”

  I smiled at her as I passed, and made my way back to my seat. Aunt Beverly gave me Teague’s boards, but I still didn’t win at Bingo. Ray said I had “the curse of the devil on me!”

  When bingo ended, Aunt Beverly and I headed to the Jeep. She handed me something out of her purse – a white handkerchief embroidered with my first name and a tiny monarch butterfly in the corner.

  “I make ‘em when I watch my soaps,” she said, “and since Sammy was singing in the shower this morning, I thought I’d better go ahead and make one for you.”

  I laughed. “Sam was singing in the shower?”

  Aunt Beverly nodded, and said, “Like he was Elton John or something.”

  I grinned. “I love it. Thank you. It’s beautiful.” I laid it in my lap as I pulled out of the parking space.

  “I figured you could use a hanky,” she said. I guessed she was going to say something about how often I’d been crying lately, not that she’d been a witness to it herself. It had felt like a grand spectacle. Instead, she said, “A hanky’s much more useful than what my Sammy gave you way back when, especially since you don’t even like the water. Doesn’t make much-”

  “Pardon?”

  “He sang in the shower then, too,” she added.

  “What do you mean? What did he get me?” I prodded.

  “Oh, you know,” she returned. “When he was leaving the house that morning, he had his old life jacket and I asked him what he was doing with it. I mean, it didn’t fit him anymore. He told me that you needed it, Delilah Duffy. That’s a name that stands out.”

  My eyebrows creased together. “A life jacket?”

  “Yes, you know, honey, like you wear on a boat,” she explained.

  I dropped Beverly off and thanked her again for the handkerchief. I watched her get inside before I pulled back out onto Atlantic Avenue. Instead of heading home, I turned toward Grandma Betty’s house. Questions circulated in my head, and I needed answers.

  Grandpa Charlie answered the door. I could tell he’d been dozing in front of the TV because he had sleepy eyes. “Delilah, you okay?”

  “Grandpa, I need to look for something,” I said, coming inside.

  “What is it? Did you leave something?”

  “No, it’s something old,” I replied. “I’m not even sure it’s here at all.” My mind spun with where to start. The huge house with its closets, bedrooms, and even an attic, overwhelmed me. I paced the hallway, not sure where to go.

  “Tell me what it is,” he prodded.

  “It’s a life vest.” Regardless of how crazy it sounded, Grandpa Charlie nodded, and held up a pointed finger.

  “Let me get my shoes,” he said, trudging to the hall closet.

  With a flashlight, Grandpa Charlie led me out to the back deck, down the stairs, and then to the first floor garage. Inside, he had a small storage shed that he unlocked with a key.

  “Keep all my boat stuff in here,” he told me as he opened the door. He pulled the string of an overhead light and revealed a storehouse of islander supplies, wall to wall. Everything was tidy and organized, but overflowing. He went inside, rummaged around, and pulled out a dark blue life vest.

  “I think this is what you’re looking for. Just showed up down here one day, so I put it in with the rest and didn’t think anything of it.”

  I set it on the concrete floor, dropped to my knees. Grandpa Charlie handed me the flashlight. The light fell on a name written in rough lettering on the back of the neck. I sighed. Sam T.

  “Oh, you don’t think it belongs to Officer Teague, do you?” Grandpa asked, scratching his head. “That’d be weird. Wonder where Betty is. She’s late.”

  I sat back on my legs, teary-eyed and a little breathless. I’d made another mistake, but, for once, I was overjoyed to be wrong. I waved the flashlight over the vest once more and noticed a zippered pocket on the upper left side. I opened it. I stuck my fingers in and felt around. A piece of paper:

  What to do the next time you have a bad dream:

  1.) Grab vest to feel safe and realize it’s just a dream

  2.) Think of me and smile

  3.) Go back to sleep and have good dreams (hopefully with me in it)

  Let me know if it works, Love Sam

  I stood up, vest and note in hand, and kissed Grandpa Charlie on the cheek. I handed the flashlight back to him.

  “Thanks, Grandpa,” I said. “I have to go.”

  “Okay, Delilah,” he said. “Glad you found what you were lookin’ for.”

  I climbed in the Jeep, whale heart full, and raced out of the lot. I needed to find him. I dug for my phone, and started to dial but it was dead. I threw it against the seat. I cruised down Atlantic Avenue, all the main thoroughfares, down all the lines of businesses, looking for the black Dodge Charger. Nothing.

  Eventually, I decided to go home to take care of Willie and use the store’s landline to reach him.

  In the alley behind the store, I parked the Jeep. Parking from Via’s had overflowed into my side because there was a strange truck, but I hardly noticed. My thoughts were fixated on Sam, and all the things I wanted to tell him.

  I got out of the Jeep and reached in to get the vest. In doing so, I dropped my hanky. I bent down to get it, mentally kicking myself for being so careless. That’s when someone whacked me over the head, hard. My vision blurred. My legs gave way. Darkness took over.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Currents

  The blow knocked me out, but the pain woke me up, like an electric drill burrowing into the back of my head behind my right ear. I lifted my hand to touch it, but my hands were bound. So were my feet. I was enclosed in canvas material, da
rk and solid. I couldn’t even see shadows. I rested on a hard floor, a squishy pool of blood beneath my head, and the distinct roar of a motor reverberated through me and coursed through my ears. I was on a boat.

  Terror joined the pain and seized me together.

  All ocean water, and its various outcroppings, is directed by currents, constant movement based on overlying forces out of its own control – tides, gravitational pulls, winds, waves, salinity, and even temperature. All these elements make the ocean different than your bathtub, some random collection of water molecules, giving it its breath, its change, its action, its life.

  The currents in my life had suddenly mounted against me.

  Except for my own heart pounding through my ribs like a snare drum, it was quiet, just the hum of the motor. Images from childhood spat through my head, how the plastic tarp had magnetized to my skin, leaving me trapped, unable to breathe, unable to see.

  I had to calm down. My peace I give to you… I have overcome the world.

  Breathe. Think.

  My rope bindings were well tied but loose fitting. With my teeth, I worked at untying them. With no movement that wasn’t necessary, I gently tugged and pulled, a little at a time.

  The boat skirted over some choppy waves, and my body thumped against the floor. Pain ripped through my head. I stifled a scream. I know the plans I have for you, plans for a hope and future… Lord, help. I thought of Sam, how cool under pressure he’d be in this situation (which he’d never be in the first place) and took a quiet breath. I could hear him telling me that it would be okay. Teague had said that Darryl was never alone. Strangely, I didn’t feel alone now either.

  Breathe. Think.

  My covering wasn’t Saran-a-Wrap tight, but snug, with no apparent opening. In micro-movements, I tugged at the rope around my wrists, further loosening them.

  The boat came to an abrupt halt, jerking the vessel forward, banging my head against the side. Pain surged through me, but I stayed quiet and still. With the motor just idling, I heard my captor circle the deck, hard steps. My head vibrated with each one, sending stabbing sensations across my skull. My heart raced. I know the plans I have for you… not to harm you… plans for a hope and a future, echoed in my head. The footsteps stopped right in front of me. Then, I was airborne. I wasn’t in a blanket. It was a duffle bag! Panic struck me just as I hit the water.

  The quiet night was split open with my screams. Water saturated the bag quickly, my clothes, my skin. I couldn’t spread my limbs enough to kick or thrash. I was sinking. The boat revved up and sped off just as I belted out one last shrieking curse.

  A deep breath later and I sunk. I was that six-year-old girl again, wrapped up and sinking into nothingness. I panicked, kicking and thrashing, choking. My heartbeats boomed, as if knowing this was the last hurrah.

  My peace I give to you… I have overcome the world.

  Think.

  I couldn’t tell how fast I was dropping, but I felt heavy. I stretched as far as I could in the bag. Frantically, I searched for a zipper. Too much time was passing. My back landed on the seafloor. My fingers landed on a seam and followed it.

  Be calm. Think.

  It had a double-row zipper that went down the length of the front. One of the two pull-tabs poked through on my side. I grabbed it securely, only one chance, and pulled.

  The bag fell off me like a cumbersome dress. The ropes around my wrists dangled, but held. My feet were sewn together. My lungs screamed for air. My hands brushed sand, and I felt the bottom. I set my tied feet against it, bent my knees, and pushed as hard as I could.

  Up I went. And up, and up. I slowed. Too slow. Water filled my mouth. I choked. The salty water slid down my throat and burned my eyes. I chopped at the water with my tied hands.

  I spied a light, glorious and majestic, high above me. I thrashed my arms, one last dash. It was the moon. I swallowed more water.

  And then, I burst through.

  I gulped up the air, coughing and gagging as I did so. Then I threw up, spitting out the wretched salt water along with dinner. The nausea lingered. Dizziness and pain scourged my head.

  Still, I untied my hands with my mouth and fingers. My shoes felt like bricks on my feet, so I kicked them off. With one hand treading, I used the other to work on the ropes on my ankles. Twisting my legs against them, I could feel them chaff against the roughness. I cried out. My head wound throbbed.

  Breathe. Think.

  With one hand, I felt the ropes and pictured them in my head. After many painstaking minutes, I managed to break free and let the bindings fall to the ocean floor.

  There was relief, but temporary. With the agony of my head and nausea continuing to plague the rest of me, I gazed out at my surroundings.

  The moon stared at me in its waxing gibbous form. In a day or two, it would be in its fullest glory. I wished that could have been tonight. Still, its light brought comfort. Perched about seventy degrees in the sky, the moon was still on its rise. I must not have been unconscious long.

  To my left, far in the distance, I could just make out the string of lights off the Tipee Island Fishing Pier. To my right, I eyed the red lights posted on the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, which had to be at least two or three miles away. In between the two, as I bobbed up and down, I spied tiny specks of light here and there with no particular meaning, except that they were incredibly far away.

  The currents pulled me along, making the lights move like cars before my eyes.

  I was being dragged toward the black greatness, toward the Graveyard of the Atlantic, and so I started to swim.

  Before I hated the water, I was a child of the beach. My father would bring me to the shore whenever we visited his parents, and there we would stay all day. He’d fish mostly, standing ankle deep in the water holding his ancient fishing pole. I’d play tag with the waves. This was before he forced me to learn to swim, before my near-drowning, at that age when the world opens up and you either embrace it or shy away from it. I’d start out right at his side wading in thigh deep water. Next time I looked, I’d be yards away from him. I’d have to run through water to get back to him again. Waves would come in, little ones, then medium sized, and then suddenly I’d get barreled over by a whopper. My entire body would tumble. My face would smash against the sandy bottom. For one nanosecond, I’d be afraid. But, then, Dad’s hand would reach into the water and pull me out. Just like that.

  Bean, kick faster. Stroke.

  The tiny lights on the island became fewer, extinguished by a cruel god. My body ached for rest, but I plowed onward. The moon sat high up in the sky now, like the star atop a Christmas tree. Time was creeping by, taking pieces of hope with it as it vanished. It already felt like I’d been in the water for an eternity. My skin pickled in the salty water, and felt tight, stretching across my bones. Thinking about the past was all I could do to keep myself focused on moving.

  My childhood pool accident forced my mom into a state of hyper-vigilance. All she wanted was to drape her wings around me and never let go. My father balanced her out with a stern determination to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. He set out to equip me with all the life skills he thought I needed to avoid catastrophe.

  So, when I was seven years old, dad insisted on swimming lessons. He was no take-her-to-the-Y kind of guy. Dad took me off a pier that jetted into the Cape Fear River, where the bottom was mushy and gross between your toes, if you could touch it. “It’s just water, Dee,” he said when I refused to jump in. After another ten minutes or so of begging, Dad finally snapped. He surged from the water, grabbed my arm, and yanked. Just water echoed in my ears, along with the splash.

  Pretend your feet are flippers. Legs straight like scissors. Kick, Bean.

  Progress was indeterminable. I fixated on what I thought might be the nearest light, still a great distance away, and couldn’t tell if I had moved any closer to it. All of my perceptions were off, untrustworthy. I was in open water. Fifty yards could look
the same as a half-mile. And nothing looked true at night.

  Breathe. Don’t panic.

  “Keep those legs straight, like scissors,” Dad had told me. “Cut through the water. Arms strong, Dee.” I could feel the movement of water beneath me, but it was like I was on a treadmill.

  Kick faster. Stroke.

  The ache in my head was excruciating. I grew tired. The water wasn’t cold, but I was cold in it. My head wound was bleeding. Was it enough to attract creatures of the sea? The mind plays devilish tricks.

  Dizziness. Nausea. Panic.

  Fear started taking over. All manner of terrifying creatures and what they could do to me flashed through my brain. My skin prickled with anxiety, believing that any movement would bring me to a touch or bite or sting or puncture. My leg brushed against something. My hand felt scaly skin. Tricks. Or not. I didn’t know. I stopped swimming. I looked around, and expected to see the terrifying dorsal fin of a shark.

  A wave hit me square in the face and filled my mouth with salt water. I gagged. My heartbeat quickened and my whole body trembled. That’s when the cold darkness introduced me to a painful reality.

  I cried out. I wasn’t going to make it.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Drowning

  More than 350,000 people drown each year. Once the airways are submerged in water, it takes just minutes to lose consciousness, but those minutes are agonizing. The victim becomes desperate to breathe, and then inhales a large amount of water. Death comes quickly.

  I had been one of those people once. Lisa’s dad pulled me from the pool and brought me back to life, spitting and choking, with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Here, in God’s pool, I wasn’t going to get so lucky.

  The moon had eased into its descent, lowering itself toward the sea. I wondered which of us would sink first. The sky had become darker, or perhaps it was just a reflection of my waning hope.