Page 29 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“I had to go to the pediatrician for Maggie’s physical and the medical records you said she needs for kindergarten. The only appointment we could get was six o’clock and since we were out that way anyhow . . . what? You have a problem with us shopping? Cri-min-ey!”

“Son of a bi . . . bike! How did you carry all that stuff on the bus?”

“I managed. The bus driver helped. You think I’m too old to get around anymore?” her grandmother sniped. “I’ll have you know the bus driver asked me for a date. A man with a job asked me for a date! How about that?”

“I wasn’t being critical. Jeesh, Gram! Did you get everything taken care of today? The money stuff.”

“Of course.”

“No problems?”

“Why would there be?”

Her grandmother was being awfully testy tonight, for some reason. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I’ll be gone from Wednesday on, maybe for a week or more. I should have cell phone access, but just in case, here’s an emergency number.” She gave her the phone number for Bell Cove Salvaging and Treasure Hunting, figuring that, in an emergency, Harry or whoever was in the office would have ways of contacting her on the open sea. She also told her grandmother about some of the latest developments regarding the motel.

“Sounds like things are going well for you there.”

“Yes. Knock on wood. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get to A.C. in another month and bring Maggie back here with me.”

After Delilah ended the call with another quick chat with her daughter, she sat staring out the windows toward the star-filled skies over the sound. For some reason, she felt uneasy. Something about her conversation with her grandmother felt off.

She shook her head to rid it of any negative thoughts. She had enough on her plate without imagining troubles.

When the town bells began to toll in the distance, marking the hour with eleven bongs, she shut down her computer and called it a day. For a moment, she just listened to, first, Our Lady by the Sea, then St. Andrew’s, then the town hall, each with their own distinctive sounds. In fact, the entire town—businesses as well as residences—had unique bells attached to their doors. Even the diner door chimed to the tune of “Don’t Be Cruel.”

By the time she’d showered and brushed her teeth and was in bed, it was almost midnight, and the bells would be ringing again. She didn’t mind the constant exposure to bells like some folks did. After all, bells were the foundation of the town, even though the forge was floundering these days.

She yawned big and loud before shimmying under the cool sheets. Silence surrounded her, except for the whirring window air conditioner, giving her a first chance to think about her biggest trouble, a subject she’d avoided all evening by working to pan out the worry.

How could she forget about him when she had a twenty-foot Elvis sitting in her front yard? A visible reminder of how Merrill Good kept interfering in her life.

Six foot three of hard-muscled trouble, that’s what he was, not twelve feet of neonized metal. Which was even worse. A fake Elvis she could handle. Not so much the way-too-kind, meddling, presumptuous, high-handed, intrusive man of the hour. Not to mention pure temptation.

With the body of a hardened warrior and the face of a teenage heartthrob, Merrill Good spelled trouble with a capital T. And not just because of all his well-meaning intrusions in her life. If she’d had any doubt about the danger he posed, the kiss they’d shared today made it loud and clear.

If she wasn’t careful, she could fall in love.

And look where love had landed her in the past. But she’d managed to keep her romantic inclinations under control these past five years. Not so difficult when living in a women’s prison. All she would need to do now was keep a steady path of noninvolvement. She couldn’t let the man—any man—stir up her life now. Cool, calm, and focused.

Ironically, when the midnight bells began their tolls, one of the set sounded strangely like “All Shook Up.”

She wasn’t Victoria, but whoo-boy, she had a secret . . .

Salome Jones was in a hurry. Lots to do and not enough time to do it. She had the double dead bolt locks set on both the front and back doors, security chains in place, and kitchen chairs placed under both doorknobs, but she was taking no chances. By tomorrow night—it was always best to make a getaway in the dark—she expected to be on the Cape May Ferry, heading south. Time to get out of Dodge—um, Atlantic City.

Vaping away on her e-cig, ginger flavored tonight to soothe her nerves, Sal put a lid on yet another box of the tissue-wrapped Avon collectibles she was packing up. She sat on the couch and was using the coffee table as her workstation. She had gotten some really nice boxes with lids from the liquor store down the street this morning, thanks to her old friend, Carmine Lorenzo, who’d thrown in a bottle of blackberry wine as a going-away gift. And she’d purchased a pigload of pastel-colored tissue paper from Walmart this evening so she could color code her prized Avon bottles by theme. No way was she leaving behind her collection! It would be just like Jimmy the Goon to come in with his cane and break them all to smithereens, just for spite. Some people just don’t appreciate fine art. Or because she’d refused to go on a date with him to the Early Bird dinner at the Borgata. The cheapskate! Or maybe because she’d failed to pay off the total amount of her loan. Jeesh! I gave Sharkie five thousand dollars toward my loan. I told him I’d pay off the rest later. Give a girl a break, why dontcha!

“Gramma, why did you shush me when I was talking to Mommy?” Maggie asked as she came in from the kitchen where she’d been having a bedtime snack of Oreos and milk. She was wearing a new pair of Snoopy pj’s and looked cute as a button. Sal was trying to wean her off her Annie fixation, mostly to no avail. Just like her mother!

“Our secret. Remember our secret, sweetie,” she said, motioning for the little girl to come sit beside her on the couch. “You can’t tell anyone we’re going on vacation.”

“In our wagon.”

“Right. In our station wagon.” Sal had used the remaining five thousand dollars that Delilah had sent to buy a twenty-year-old Buick station wagon and various other things for her road trip. Her pal, Honkin’ Harvey Harrison over at Bonzo Used Cars, Boats, and Lawnmowers—every time he sold a car he honked a bullhorn on his TV ads—had given her a great deal on the vehicle, which had only 208,000 miles on it. A “diamond in the rough,” Harvey had called it.

“Betcha there would be room in that car for a dog.”

“We are not getting a dog.” At the hurt look on Maggie’s face, she added, “Some dogs get carsick. It’s better to wait till we get to Bell Cove and let your mother get you a dog.” Sal should have felt guilty about passing the buck to Delilah, but she didn’t. Too much other stuff on her mind.