Yellow is the color of happiness and sunshine, but simultaneously symbolizes cowardice and crazy. It is multi-faceted, just like me these days. I tried to keep up a sunny disposition, but internally was another story. Yellow is also the name of one my favorite songs by Coldplay. And appropriately, it was the song that Sam programmed into the new smartphone he got for me, and would play every time he called. Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you and all the things that you do. It was all yellow.
But, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. First, it was Wednesday. Four days after my first successful Fright Night party. Six days since the robbery. Three days until I would host two more parties, and I was mired down with busyness. I couldn’t even stop to read the paper on Wednesday, but rather had Henry read the article aloud as I worked. Franken-Fun at Beach Read headlined the front page, along with a gorgeous picture, taken from the balcony and looking down, of the whole group surrounding Frankenstein Henry as he gave his intense reading. Delilah Duffy charms her way into the hearts of the reading public with the grand debut of Fright Nights, weekly book/author parties that provide guests with a novel experience. D. Duffy and Bellows are hosting a Back to School Bash on Saturday, 2:00-4:00, for children of all ages and an Agatha Christie Fright Night at 8:00. Of the latter, D. Duffy said, ‘The Christie night will be more interactive. Guests will have to become sleuths, and there are surprises around every corner.’ I winced, the nervousness swelling in my gut. Maybe I’d oversold it.
What I didn’t see in the paper, after checking three times, was anything about the robbery. While the first two robberies had made front page news, mine got zero coverage. Clark Duffy didn’t know about it. And if Clark Duffy didn’t know about it that meant that Sam had made sure to keep it quiet. He’d done his investigative work. He’d reported the crime to his higher-ups. He’d started following leads (or at least suspicions since evidence was limited or still being tested). And yet, he’d protected me, too. I could almost feel my trust-meter rising, and that made it easier to focus on business.
Labor Day weekend approached, and I had to take full advantage, the last weekend of the summer, to boost my profit margins. It didn’t need to be all yellow, but rather all green.
Because I was so insanely busy, Sam and I combined business with pleasure, and by way of a date, he escorted me to the Cotton Exchange Wednesday afternoon for loot for my upcoming parties. Between scoring a plethora of used chairs (mostly of the lawn variety) and several small porch tables, what could pass for turn-of-the-century garb for me and Henry, and a few boxes of mismatched tea cups, saucers, doilies, and pots, he gifted me with the phone – an anachronism considering my bounty.
“I haven’t really missed having one,” I noted, ogling the touch screen like a monkey. The background was a yellow rose. Sam slid his finger across and, what I suppose was the menu, appeared.
“You need it.”
“I can’t even begin to-”
“I’ll show you.”
“But, it’s too expensive,” I protested.
“Shut-up, it’s fine,” he laughed. “And I promise, this is just a gift meant to keep us closer. It’s not a manipulation or a distraction.”
I put away the suspicious look I’d given him. “Well, how do I add minutes?”
“Delilah, it’s not a pay-as-you-go phone,” Sam smirked. “We’re sharing a plan. Call, text, email, surf all you want.”
I grinned. “We’re sharing a plan? Sounds serious, Sam.”
Sam’s smile widened, and maybe he blushed slightly. He pulled out his own phone, and said, “You’ll like this.” He pressed his own screen with his thumb, and a second later, mine was ringing. Coldplay’s Yellow sprang to life as we stood there in the middle of the Cotton Exchange crowds, and on the screen of my phone was Sam’s picture. A green answer button and a red ignore button were my options. I let the song play… Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you and all the things that you do.
“What made you pick this song?” I had to know.
“Reminds me of you,” he returned, “and not just because it’s a love song. You wore yellow that day, remember?”
Our first and only date as teenagers flooded back to mind. “Oh, right. The yellow sundress over my bathing suit,” I recalled. Candy had lent me the dress when I complained that the bikini was too revealing. “You can’t win the prize if you don’t show your talents,” she’d advised, but I insisted on the cover-up anyway.
Edging into me, he said, “I remember how that dress pressed against you in the wind.” His grin widened, his eyes squinted, and his fingers played with mine. “Could see every curve.”
“There’s the Sam Teague I know and love,” I giggled. “You better watch yourself, sir, or your wait until we’re married plan will be out the window.”
An easy smile eased up on his handsome face and he said, “My memory’s fuzzy. What plan?” He took my hand and we started walking again, but it was hard to stay on task. I needed to eyeball the tables of goods, not his gorgeous face. Focus, Delilah. Focus.
Sam helped turn my attention. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I saw something interesting the other day when I was out jogging.”
I winced, as if him just mentioning jogging was an indictment for me to get out there, too. “What?” I prodded.
“Lucius Kayne’s black Viper out in front of Love Rentals,” Sam returned. “It was early, around 6:00, and I was running by on the boardwalk. Kayne gave Love a package, the two shook hands, and that was it.”
“Huh, that’s odd considering that Dave was ready to rip Kayne’s eyeballs out at the party,” I added.
“I have no idea what was in the packet, but it looked like money,” Sam explained, “a lot of money. I know Love’s been hurting for it.”
“How so?”
“Well, his daughter, Amber, is at Duke, a pretty expensive school. I hear that he’s had to take out a few loans against his business to pay for it,” Sam went on, as I ogled lace doilies at a table. “And he’s behind on his payments.”
“So, you think Kayne was paying him off,” I finished. “Maybe Lucius Kayne feels guilty.”
“He should,” Sam decided. “The Love lawsuit was nothing more than a confirmation to the world that lawyers can be just as sleazy and manipulative as their reputations suggest. I heard Love’s payout was something like $10,000 after Kayne was finished with it. Can you imagine? $10,000 wouldn’t even cover the funeral expenses. It was laughable.”
“Wow, no wonder he was so angry.”
“Might be good information to add to your notebook,” Sam advised. I gave him a confused look. “Haven’t you started your notebook yet?”
I shook my head.
Sam smirked. “Come on, honey. Order and method, right? I’d think that on the cusp of your Agatha Christie party you’d have implemented your tools already and be on the brink of figuring it all out.” I shrugged. In the Chambers case, I used a notebook to record everything that I knew about the murder and the vandalism at Beach Read. Writing down the facts and my feelings helped me put the pieces together.
“Guess I haven’t felt that there was enough evidence,” I reasoned. “I mean, we’re still not sure the redhead even existed and though the robberies were real, there’s been little to go on. I have suspicions about everyone: Jason Kent, David Love, Ricky Wakefield, Lucius Kayne, Ricky’s creepy uncle, Wake but nothing substantial.”
“Start with your suspicions,” Sam advised, “and go from there. And maybe, like last time, you can share your notebook with me, and I can help fill in the blanks.”
My eyebrow cocked up on my forehead. “You make it sound fun.”
“Actually, Delilah, dangerous situations aside, if anything good could have come from the Darryl Chambers murder and your aunts’ vendetta against you, it was that we worked really well together. Teaming up with you was a lot of fun.”
I smiled, couldn’t help it.
“I want it to be like that all the time, whether it’s figuring out a case or picking out curtains. I want to partner up with everything.”
“I admit, it has felt better just to open up,” I returned, holding his hand. “Maybe with practice, we’ll both get good at this whole sharing thing, no more secrets, no more hiding, even when it’s about things that we aren’t proud of.” My panic attacks and nightmares came to mind, crashing down on me like the burdens they were. Sam was silent as we passed through the crowds. The man who sold me Gary gave me a toothless smile as we went by. Molly Tubbs’ table was empty.
“I really need to tell you something,” Sam finally started. I eyed his face. He couldn’t look at me. “I’ve been meaning to-” His voice stopped. Maybe my heart did, too.
After another hesitation, I said, “Tell me. What is it?”
I stopped in the middle of the dirt lane, letting the people filter around us, not caring that they were there. We turned toward each other. He took my hands. “I know how you felt when you moved here with all that crap from your past hanging onto you. It’s like you have this knot in your chest, a rock, and every day it just gets bigger and bigger until you feel you might burst. I feel like that, too.” His words to Aunt Beverly flooded back to my mind. I love Delilah, but it’s hard to move forward when you have to keep looking back.
Inexplicably, he stopped talking. I prodded him again, anxious over what he was going to say as much as I was anxious for him to just say it.
“Sam, whatever it is. You can tell me. I love you, but we’re never going to be true partners if you don’t trust me.”
He met me eye-to-eye, but struggled. Finally, he sputtered out, “I want all the same things you want, even more, but I can’t – I haven’t been entirely-”
“Hey, book girl!” a familiar voice cooed from the busy DVD tables. Sam and I glanced over simultaneously, and spotted Benny, the dishwasher from Mike’s restaurant. He waved us over, and I plastered on a smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Benny, do you know Sam?” I introduced dutifully. The two shook hands.
“Seen you around,” Benny noted. Benny was a huge black guy, formerly one of Darryl Chambers’ football teammates. Size aside, his next most distinguishing characteristic was the large, colorful dragon tattoo on his arm.
“What’re you up to?” I asked, though I didn’t want to engage in much conversation.
“Trying to find a wheelchair,” he said, glancing around at the many displays. “Ain’t been lucky yet, though.”
“A wheelchair? What for?”
“Sadie,” he replied. “She done broke her ankle last week at work.” Benny’s longtime, live-in girlfriend Sadie was just as large, white, equally tattooed and worked as a stripper at Via’s, which was where I met her when I was investigating Darryl Chambers’ murder. “Crowd got rowdy, and this idiot rushed the stage, knocked her right off the pole.”
“Oh, my gosh!” I exclaimed, simultaneously trying and not trying to picture it.
“Yeah, she’s a mess,” he reported. “Been cooped up at home, goin’ stir crazy. Thought I’d try to score the chair, maybe some movies. Cheer her up.”
“I’ll have to come by and visit her,” I decided, though I certainly didn’t need to announce it. Benny smiled wide with relief.
“Come tomorrow,” he said quickly. “I’m working all day and she’ll be all by her lonesome.” Benny and Sadie rented a quaint cottage in the Breakers, the poorer, marshier side of town. It was also where I’d had my final showdown with Mavis Chambers, a few streets over. I’d been to their home a few times for BBQs, and socializing with their diversely employed group of family and friends (strippers, day laborers, cooks, pedicab drivers, Henna tattoo artists, fishermen, and street musicians just to name a few of their guests).
Once the plans were made, Benny folded back into the Cotton Exchange crowds. Alone again, I hoped to pick up where we left off, but strangely that didn’t happen. I tried. I prompted him with coaxing words, brought it up at least three more times during our ‘date’, but never got an answer. Sam had turned yellow at the idea of talking about it more.
The comforting part about all my hang-ups (if there was a comforting part) was that I knew what they were; everyone did. Sam’s were a mystery, and that made whatever he was holding back feel darker. As we picked up a few more teapots and waited for the vendor to wrap them in newspaper, Sam stepped away to take a phone call. I watched him from afar. Whatever was said, whoever it was, the call frustrated him. He ran his hand through his hair, turned his back to me twice, and once even rubbed his temples.
When he returned, he said only one thing about the phone call. “I have to go out of town again,” he reported, almost tiredly. “I’ll leave tomorrow and get back Saturday, hopefully in time to help you with the Christie party.”