The Shell Collector

by Nancy Naigle

  “What do I expect?” Tug took a slug of coffee. His cup rattled on the counter when he set it down. “Customers, tourists with sunburns, random thunderstorms to cool things down, and lots of fresh fish. The wahoos are running big-time.”

  “You know I love what you can do to a fish. I might have to come for dinner one night this week.”

  “I’ll save you the best seat in the house.”

  “Sounds good.” She lifted her gaze to the water beyond the bank of windows. The sun was beginning to poke the tippity top of its bright-orange rim over the horizon. “So, what’s the latest?”

  He leaned his large forearms on the counter. There’d been a time when he had muscles like Popeye. Now they weren’t sculpted, but they were still big. “Well, rumor has it down at the campground there was a group of naked campers. A whole club of ’em.” Tug shook his head. “Now why on earth would anyone want to run around with the sand fleas and prickly briars in their nothings? That’s just a recipe for disaster.”

  “Beats me. Did the police arrest them?”

  Tug shook his head. “Gave ’em a warning. I heard they packed up and left, asked for a full refund. Nobody told them they had to leave, just had to put on some pants. I wouldn’t refund them, but you know how McDuffy runs his campground. He’s a softy.”

  “My goodness. How do you even talk with people like that? I think I’d have given them their money back to avoid the awkward conversation. Good riddance.”

  Tug snickered. “I heard they were all senior citizens too. Must have been a sight.”

  “I guess.” She drank the last of her coffee, and Tug poured her another.

  “How about a crabmeat-filled crepe? Does that sound good?”

  “Fresh blue crab?”

  Tug pulled off his ball cap, revealing the flaming tips of his ears beneath that shock of white hair. “Of course. You know me better than to ask that.”

  It was meant to be a little jab, because everyone knew Tug only served fresh crab. He hated it when people asked, and she loved it when his ears got red like that. “I’m in.”

  “Good.” He washed his hands, then went to work on breakfast for the two of them. “Heard there’s a guy wanting to open a workout venue here on the beach.”

  “Here, or over on the public access?”

  “Right below the diner there.”

  “Like Muscle Beach?” She’d seen that in the movies once. “Why would someone want to do that?”

  “I heard the guy trying to schedule an offshore fishing trip with Captain Aubrey the other day. The guy told Aubrey he’s taking it to the town meeting for approval next week.”

  “I don’t like it,” Maeve said. “There’ll be trash and a bunch of people making noise. Tourists on the private beach too.”

  “Could mean more customers for me. Can’t say that’s a bad thing.”

  That was true. It wouldn’t be half-bad for Tug. “Would there be equipment out there?”

  “No idea.”

  “If not, I guess mostly they’ll just be jogging the shoreline, trampling my shells.”

  “Or stirring up ones still below the surface.”

  “Okay. Yeah, maybe.” She didn’t want to be one of those cynical old ladies, but darn if it didn’t come easy lately. “Why can’t more businesses be like Paws Town Square? They serve a need for the community and help others too. Plus, it transformed that horrible eyesore of the empty building. Now the entrance to Whelk’s Island looks welcoming. In fact, it looks more like the courthouse than the real one.” She laughed. “Won’t Mr. Muscle Guy be surprised if he pulls up to Paws Town Square thinking it’s the courthouse only to be met by a bunch of dogs running around!”

  “Yeah, that place does look a lot nicer than our real courthouse.” Tug flipped a crepe in the air.

  Maeve let out a quiet, “Impressive.”

  Tug looked pretty pleased with himself. He slid the slip of a pancake onto a plate, then filled it with a fluffy layer of crabmeat and a drizzle of his famous milk gravy. He put another on a second plate, rolled it, and slopped it with another bit of gravy before setting the plates on the counter in front of them.

  She inhaled. The natural salt from the crab teased her senses, and that rich gravy had her stomach growling. “That smells very good.”

  He never prayed, but he always paused for her to have her own little silent moment. She bowed her head and silently thanked God for her food and many blessings. Then she added, And thanks for Tug. He’s been a true friend. A real best man. Amen.

  When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her almost as if she’d said those last words out loud.

  At the same time, they plunged their forks into the meal before them.

  “Here goes nothin’.” Tug took a hearty forkful and shoved it into his mouth.

  Maeve took a bite. “Oh yeah.” She lifted her other hand to her lips. She was raised better than to talk with her mouth full, but this was too good to wait. “So good.”

  “Just what I was hoping. Love it.”

  “I vote for this to be on the menu.”

  “At least a special when the crab is in season.”

  “Even better than crab benedict.”

  Tug’s bushy brows disappeared under his mop of hair, usually hidden by his ball cap with the diner logo on the front. “That’s a real winner, then.”

  “Didn’t I already say that?”

  From out in the gazebo, The Wife called out, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”

  “The Wife seems to agree,” Maeve joked.

  “She loves me. What can I say?” He paused between bites. “Hey, I’m going to the town council meeting tomorrow. You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Try to always make it,” she said.

  “The hearing should be interesting after them naked campers, the workout guy, and I hear there are a couple other businesses trying to get in before the season is over. Meet you there?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Can’t complain if you don’t say your piece.” He chewed, watching her. “People always listen to you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Always thinking,” the bird sang out, followed by a whistle that sounded a little like a fizzling firework.

  Maybe it was just as well Methuselah couldn’t talk. That would get on Maeve’s last nerve eventually. Since Jarvis had passed, she’d learned to like her quiet life. Actually, it had taken about ten years to feel that way, but finally it had crept in like a comfort.

  Tug walked over and unlocked the front door of the diner. A few regulars spilled inside, taking their usual seats at the counter and in booths. The tourists were easy to recognize, always fumbling around trying to figure things out and asking a bunch of questions.

  Maeve sipped her coffee, enjoying the clatter and conversation. It kept that needling feeling of something on her mind at bay, and that was a relief.

  “Are those shells from around here?” A woman dressed in a Whelk’s Island T-shirt and white jeans pointed toward the shadow boxes on the wall. “Someone down at the surf shop told me about those shells yesterday. She found one.” The woman clomped across the diner floor in what looked like flip-flops on top of two-and-a-half-inch wooden platforms. Not exactly beachwear.

  “Really?” Tug handed her a menu. “Yes, those have all been found around here.”

  “How’d you get them?” Her head bobbed with each word, but her short overbleached hair didn’t budge.

  Tug moved closer, pointing to the shell and news article framed right next to the woman. “Well, some were in articles in the local paper here. I talked the people who’d found them into selling them to me so I could display them with the newspaper clippings. Beachcomber magazine picked up a story about that one. And when folks heard I was hanging them in the restaurant, well, they ju
st started sending them to me. It’s kind of cool. I mean, something nice like that happening right here in our backyard. People who find them say the shells always have the right message at the right time.”

  “How is that?”

  He shrugged and wiped down the counter. “Just happens that way. Some things are meant to be. Some think its divine intervention. I don’t know. I like how happy it makes people when they find them. Who cares how?”

  Her mouth pulled to one side, almost a smirk.

  Maeve noticed the young woman’s bad attitude.

  “Are they always found at the same place?” the woman asked.

  “Are you a reporter?” Tug slung a towel over his shoulder.

  “No. Just wondering.”

  “They’ve been found all over the island. Heard one was found over in Beaufort one time. Someone sent a shell from St. Augustine, Florida. Can’t say if it was carried home by a tourist who’d visited here, though. Could be from all over, for all I know.”

  The woman scanned the menu.

  “What can I get you this morning?”

  “I’m not usually a breakfast person. Do you have a protein shake?”

  He sputtered at the comment. “No. I could make you an egg-white omelet. Plenty of protein in that.”

  “Okay. I’ll have that and a glass of water.”

  Maeve slid off her stool and approached the woman. “So, you were over at the surf shop? Were you talking to Kimmy, the owner? Is she still working? I’d think she should be having her baby anytime now.”

  The woman turned to Maeve. “Hi. Yes, at the surf shop, but actually I talked to her mother. She said her daughter is in the hospital, getting ready to have twins.”

  “Oh my. I hadn’t heard. Twins?” Maeve lifted her chin and motioned toward Tug. “Twins. Little Kimmy is having twins. Did you know?”

  “Yeah. Heard something about it.”

  Of course he knew. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  Tug was whisking eggs in a bowl. “I forgot. Becky mentioned it when she was here last week. She’s been having some trouble with swelling.”

  “Swelling? Becky or Kimmy?” Maeve asked.

  The young woman spoke up. “Her daughter was on bed rest, but now they have her in the hospital as a precaution. Becky said she found that shell on the beach right after they put Kimmy in the hospital.”

  For a tourist, that woman was a bit of a know-it-all.

  “Becky must be worried.” Maeve hadn’t spoken to her in quite a while.

  “She couldn’t stop talking about that shell. Like it was a sign or something. Then she was telling me about how lots of people have found them around here.”

  “What did it say?” Maeve asked.

  “The shell?”

  “Of course the shell.” Maeve pasted what she hoped resembled a polite smile on her face. That last comment had most definitely come out with a tinge of judgment she’d meant to contain.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Something about someone showing up and treasures. That’s not the point.”

  It’s exactly the point. Maeve’s heart picked up its pace. Caffeine or concern, she wasn’t quite sure. She’d known Kimmy since she was a tyke learning how to skimboard out in front of the beach house. Such a tomboy, but she’d turned into a beautiful young woman and now a mother.

  Maeve looked over to Tug. “Did you hear that? We should probably stop by and check in on her.”

  “We should.” Tug flipped an anemic-looking omelet into the air.

  “Do you really think those shells just show up? Like out of nowhere?” The woman’s arched brow and sassy tone made it clear she didn’t.

  Maeve pondered how to answer such a question. “Sometimes you have to trust things for what they are.” She looked the woman square in the eye, daring her to make another brash remark. “Just believe.”

  With that, Maeve strode out of the diner, her belly full, her heart full. And as she walked by the big parrot cage, The Wife said, “You better believe it.”

  “Oh, I do.” Maeve nodded, and The Wife did too.

  “Bye-bye.”

  Maeve stopped at the top of the steps and took off her sandals.

  A little sand between the toes stomps out the woes.

  That uptight woman back there needed to kick off her shoes and take a long walk on the beach.

  8

  Paul and his newest employee, Chase, walked into Tug’s Diner. The beautiful environment that Paws Town Square was becoming known for was all credit to Chase. He knew his stuff about landscaping, and he’d been an incredible asset to the quick start-up on this second Paws Town Square location. Former army, Chase had a hard time adjusting to civilian life, but he’d found his niche. Now they were working on three more sites together.

  “Two specials, Tug,” Paul said as they grabbed two seats at the counter.

  “Good morning, Paul.” Tug waved from across the way. “You got it.”

  “And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

  The waitress slid over with two mugs and filled them before Tug could even respond. “Got ’em,” she said.

  The woman sitting to Paul’s left pushed her omelet around on the plate. She had that look about her, like someone who sent back every meal for it being wrong somehow. Or one of those letter-writing complainers.

  She lifted her gaze.

  “Good morning,” Paul said.

  “If you say so.”

  He turned to Chase and gave him a sorry-I-asked look.

  Chase shrugged and snickered.

  The woman leaned forward, bypassing Paul, to speak to Chase. “So, what do you think about shells popping up out of nowhere with quotes on them? Think it’s possible, or a marketing ploy?”

  Chase had that deer-in-the-headlights look. The kind a husband gets when he realizes there’s no right answer.

  Paul turned to the woman and extended his hand. “I’m Paul.”

  “Stacy,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you. You have something against the shells?”

  “I think it’s bunk, and who needs to be spreading lies?”

  “Who are you to say they are?”

  “Look, I’m just saying I think it’s probably some kind of marketing ploy to get tourists invested in things around here or romanticize the place. Like something out of one of those Nicholas Sparks novels. It’s dishonest.”

  Paul should drop it, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What’s the harm if it’s real or not? The only one putting all their attention on it seems to be you. Just let it go.”

  Stacy let her fork drop to her plate and pushed it forward on the counter. “Let me guess. You’re a business owner in this town too.”

  “I am, but I also found one of those shells before I had a business here.”

  She leaned her elbow on the counter, spinning on the stool toward him. “Is this guy for real?” she asked Chase.

  “He’s a solid guy.”

  “Really?” She cocked her head. “What’s your business?” she asked Paul.

  Chase chimed in. “Paws Town Square.”

  “I love that place. I’m keeping my dog there. It’s so nice that I get a discount for visiting him each day.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy with the service,” Paul replied.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “Top-notch.”

  “Well, if I hadn’t picked up that shell, I might not have made it through the planning meeting for my business and we might not be having this conversation. So why don’t you just let people believe what they want to believe?”

  “Like some kind of divine intervention?” She made it sound sordid.

  “I have no idea,” Paul said, “but what I do know is it gave me what I needed that day, and for that I’m thankful. Whatever it is, there’s no reas
on for you to cause a ruckus in here and ruin it for everyone else.”

  She slapped the counter. “Well, Mr. Tug, I believe I’ve been called out for bad behavior in your establishment. I apologize.”

  Tug’s wild eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Apology accepted.”

  She dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and stood. Then she stepped between Chase and Paul and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Sorry I ruined your breakfast. Thanks for giving me a good place to keep my dog while I’m in town.”

  And with that she walked out, not saying another word.

  The family at the table in the corner clapped, and so did another couple at the counter.

  Tug walked over and slid two platters in front of them. “Order up.”

  “This looks good,” Chase said.

  “Paul, if that was your version of flirting, I think you need a better approach, or a better wingman.”

  “You offering to be my wingman?” Paul teased.

  “Sure!”

  “No, no, I was kidding. I’m perfectly fine alone.” He grabbed for the Texas Pete and sprinkled it over his eggs.

  “No one is perfectly fine alone,” Tug said. “Ask me. I’m alone. I know.”

  The waitress dipped into the conversation. “You’ve got The Wife, Tug.”

  “I’m The Wife,” the bird called out from the deck. “Let me go!”

  “What was that?” Chase sat taller in his chair, looking out over the counter to the outside area. “You some kind of pirate with wenches tied up out there?”

  “No.” Tug cleared the dishes where the woman had been sitting and cleaned the area with a white towel. “The Wife is my bird. She’ll outlive us all. Just as much trouble as a woman, but with none of the benefits. She doesn’t even clean up after herself, much less me.”

  “You call her The Wife?” Chase chuckled. “That’s priceless. What’s your real wife think about that?”

  “Never had one.”

  “Never?” That surprised Paul. Tug always seemed like a real charmer to him, always chatting up the local ladies.

  “Nope. For a long time I was too hardheaded, and then the only one worth having won’t have me. Here’s some good advice: never settle for second best, especially in affairs of the heart.”