The mimic octopus changes color and transforms itself so that it can hide in plain sight. Unlike other sea creatures with this talent, the mimic octopus is a multi-impersonator: sea snakes, lion fish, flatfish, jellyfish and it picks the deadliest sea critters to copy, knowing that these are the ones that will frighten predators away. The mimic octopus uses its power, not just to hide, but to prey on its own victims, too. It masks itself as a flirtatious charmer or the damsel-in-distress, pretending to be a victim, making it the queen of manipulation and nasty tricks.
To solidify my relationship with Sam, I’d have to mimic a normal girl-next-door, an idea that plagued me after our almost-encounter. Emergencies aside, how awful was it for a guy to take a phone call mid-making out and then leave? I was stunned and self-conscious and overall just baffled.
My work life wasn’t helping.
The day after my Countdown to Frankenstein Fright Night went up, my aunts posted their own sign, Countdown to the GRAND Re-Closing of Beach Read. 71 Days until October 31st. Mimicry in pink cursive on a light pink background, vicious disguised as pretty.
On Saturday, the front page article in the Gazette was not about Beach Read’s upcoming event (that was on page six), but rather Family Feud Face-Off, with a picture of our storefronts and their opposing signs gracing the spread. This topped a story called Boardwalk Stick-Ups about the two armed robberies in four days – the tourist and Valerie Kent. My name wasn’t mentioned. And while I was always happy to be ignored by Clark’s paper for once, I was a little irritated, too. He does a full layout for my “supposed” encounter with a woman in distress, but fails to even mention me for helping the very real Valerie Kent. It was clearly in Clark’s best interest to keep the community guessing about my sanity.
But, I pressed on. The spiral verse-of-the-day gift Raina had given me had become my mantra: For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind and I kept this one posted, though there were hundreds of other verses to flip to. Tipee was not going to make me crazy, I decided (though Sam might).
Willie pawed at the glass door of Beach Read, smudging the glass that I had just cleaned an hour ago, and giving me that weepy dog look. I’d been hanging white twinkle lights from the metal bars of my awning for the last hour. With Henry on a walkabout, Willie had been cooped up all day and was anxious to stretch his legs. I ignored his pleas until he started whining. I can’t stand whining.
Determined to make this a quick alley visit, I leashed Willie and left Beach Read unlocked. But, the alley didn’t do it for him – picky dog – so we travelled through the bushes, across Via’s parking lot, and spat out to Coral Avenue. At the end of the road nearest the ocean and across from Britt’s Donuts, sat Love Rentals – a four-car garage decorated with every type of beach vehicle you can think of from dune buggies to skim boards, all available to rent. The sign drew me to it, however. We padded down the sidewalk and crossed the street. Love Rentals was written in bold blue and green letters – graffiti-style bookended by two red hearts. David Love owned the business, so the name made sense. But, the icon reminded me distinctly of the mermaid at the Peacock. Could the heart on the mermaid have been a reference to David Love?
As Willie and I pondered this question at the open entrance to the store, I spotted David Love on the other side of the back door. He was giving someone a big chunk of his mind. Willie and I moved to the right to see the recipients. My mouth dropped with surprise. Ricky Wakefield and J.J.
Willie and I moved inside, eyeing the surfboards and bikes blankly, but the conversation ended without a single overheard word. David Love re-entered the store, exchanging his frustration with a smile, and the two boys headed down the back alley.
“Oh, hey,” he greeted, “Ms. Duffy, nice to see you.”
That people I hadn’t met before knew who I was shouldn’t have been surprising, thanks to Clark’s incessant newspaper coverage, but it still made me stutter. I shook his hand. David Love sported a split lip and a shiner, at least a few days old, but ugly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Love.”
“Call me Dave,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”
I sputtered. What was I doing here? I’d left the store unlocked and unmanned, and here I was browsing for adventure sports gear? I can’t even get near the water, let alone surf, skim, or boogie board it. I just said the first thing that came to mind, “So, I see you know Ricky and J.J.?”
He huffed. “Not really.” He spat those words out almost too quickly, and then added, “Um, nothin’ but worthless punks if you ask me. Ricky used to give my daughter Amber a hard time in school.”
“My cousin Rachel, too,” I added.
“I don’t want ‘em hangin’ around near my store,” he said, peering out the back door to make sure they’d moved on. “So, what can I talk you into rentin’ today?”
I ignored his question, and said, “I can see why you wouldn’t want them hanging around, especially after what Ricky did to your wife’s science lab.”
Dave’s brown eyes squinted together. “Ricky’s a psycho, that’s for sure, but Ally never thought he caused the fire.”
“He confessed, didn’t he?”
“Yep. That was good ‘nough for me, the school board, and the judge who decided in our favor when the school tried to sue Ally for being negligent. But, Ally suspected he was lyin’.”
“If he didn’t do it, then who did?” I prodded.
Dave shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter, I guess.”
“I was surprised to see Ricky at the Peacock party,” I prodded on.
“Was he there?” Dave returned hesitantly. “I didn’t notice. So, what can I help you with today? I’ve got a ton of paperwork-”
“Oh, I understand,” I cut in with a dismissive wave. “My desk is overflowing with paperwork, too. Better get back to it. It was nice to meet you.”
Real customers shuffled in behind me, so Willie and I took the side door, cut through the small lot of bikes, dune buggies, and golf carts, and exited through the back alley. My store was left open and unattended, but stupid me. Where had Ricky and J.J. gone?
The alley was empty except for a few cars, most likely belonging to the business owners. I slipped by The Sparkling Gem, a restaurant, a couple bars, and came to a stop at the end of the strip, behind Tipee Tattoo. Voices drifted to my ears. I slowed at the corner and peeked around the edge. Ricky Wakefield and J.J. had met up with a younger, but just as scruffy teenaged boy. He handed Ricky a small wad of cash. But, after consideration, Ricky grabbed the boy by the neck of his t-shirt and pushed him against the brick wall.
“Shit, man!” the boy exclaimed.
Ricky leaned in, enjoying his power over him, and said, “Deal’s a deal. Where’s the rest a my money?”
The boy scrambled to pull another twenty out of his jean pockets, and Ricky let him go. J.J. laughed when the boy fell to the ground. Spawned by his friend’s delight, Ricky added a quick kick to the boy’s side.
“Don’t screw with me, kid,” Ricky warned, as he fled toward Coral Avenue. Ricky and J.J. shared a chuckle and turned toward the back of the building, where I was crouched behind the corner. Shit! I bolted away from the corner and wedged myself behind the nearest dumpster, pulling a reluctant Willie back there with me. I gave Willie the shhh signal, hopeful he’d catch my drift. The dumpster reeked and oozed like it belonged in a biological hazard bag. Made sense. It was the dumpster shared by the tattoo joint, Loco Fish Taco, and The Spittoon Saloon – not a lovely bouquet of odors. Willie sniffed frantically.
“I hate this fuckin’ town,” Ricky spat out angrily. “Don’t know why these assholes think they can pull one over on me or tell me what to do. Once Hyde’s done, we’ll have ‘nough to teach ‘em all a lesson. These fuckers have done nothin’ but underestimate me. Well, they’re gonna learn the hard way-”
“Whatcha gonna do?” the taller one asked as they strolled by, thankfully unaware of my presence. I leaned down, knees to ground, so I could be face to face with Willie. He couldn’t give us away now. J.J. sputtered out a nasal laugh, like he tried but failed to be really maniacal.
Ricky huffed. “Somethin’ epic, but first, gotta make sure Hyde’s done his part.”
J.J. laughed. “Whatcha goin’ to do if he don’t?”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout how I handle my business,” Ricky warned, “so long as I do.”
“Yeah, that’s cool, man. I know you got him wrapped ‘round your finger.”
“And he better not forget it,” Ricky added, laughing again.
The two scurried by my hiding place, and out of earshot. Meanwhile, Willie couldn’t be covert any longer. A cat scooted by the dumpster and set Willie into a barking tangent. He jumped from behind the dumpster to the right, pulling me with him. Further down the alley, on the left side of the dumpster, Ricky and J.J. stopped and stared at us. Willie barked and growled toward the thickets the cat had fled to while I yanked his leash and yelled at him. From their angle, it could appear that Willie and I had just come around the corner – not that we were hiding behind the dumpster listening to their conversation. At least, that’s what I hoped they saw.
“He saw a cat,” I called down the alley by way of explaining. J.J. shrugged, uncaring. Ricky smiled slightly. Did he know I was listening? Did he care? Why was he staring at me like I was a buffet? I yanked Willie down the alley beside Tipee Tattoo, out of their sight.
Unintelligible scum littered my arms and shirt. My feet hurt, thanks to my uncomfortable shoes and ridiculous running around, which hadn’t earned me any useful information except that Dave didn’t want to talk about the Peacock party and Ricky Wakefield is a psycho. I almost interrupted what appeared to be their drug deal, and I probably contracted a flesh-eating virus thanks to my brilliant hiding place. I’d wasted time, likely lost customers, and potentially let books walk right out of the store. If I were a mimic octopus, I’d be a perfect replica of the town idiot right now.
I slugged back to Beach Read.