Bound for the Outer Banks (9 page)

Lacey continued, “Now I’m not going to be asking about all that, but I have to be honest. I’m terribly curious what you’re going to do for a living here on little Roanoke. Basically ninety percent of Manteo works in the tourist industry somehow.”

Ella knew Lacey was curious and she didn’t even mind. Ella always assumed any new people near the coast in Biloxi worked for the gaming industry in some capacity. Ella offered up information which she almost never did. “I’m a writer,” Ella lied. But she felt it was a God sanctioned white lie since her life was on the line.

Lacey sat straight up in her seat. “Ooooo, what kind of writer? No! No! Let me guess. Hmmmmm, you’re out here on The Outer Banks…I’m picturing some kind of lusty sailor coming into port to see his maiden. Do you write those little Harlequin Romances? I love those things!” Lacey giggled and sipped some more Riesling. A party of four came into the restaurant but she ignored them and Eric, the waiter with the little round glasses, showed them to a table.

“Oh no, nothing like that!” Ella took a big swallow of her complimentary Merlot and decided not to deter Lacey with the standard women’s health, vaginal dryness type stuff kind of answer. “I write about fashion.”

“Ah Hah!” Lacey shouted. “I knew I had a good feeling about you. I mean after, you know, I tried to knock you out with the front door and all. But wait, why in the world would you come here to write about fashion. I mean women wear mid-thigh length beach cover ups trying to pass them off as dresses and men wear socks with sandals. Manteo is as fashion forward as Leningrad.”

Ella laughed, “I came here for peace and quiet to write. I’ve just been on an extended vacation in Europe. I’ve done all the research and now it’s time to pitch some articles to magazines.” Ella was proud of that by-the-seat-of-her-pants answer.

“Now THAT makes a lot more sense. I used to think if my business wasn’t here I’d have flown the coop years ago, but now in my almost middle age I’ve accepted that I kind of like it here. And by the way I’ll be saying almost middle age for quite a while because I’ve convinced myself I’m gonna live as long as Methuselah. Mid age for him was what? Five hundred years?”

Ella surveyed the restaurant which was more than half full at five twenty. “It looks like you have a very successful business and I love the décor.”

Lacey held the stem of her wine glass and firmly placed it on the table. “Oh no, this neutral baby shower gone bad is my Mother’s. I’m filling in while she and my Aunt Harmony are in New Bern for the day visiting my Great Aunt Imogene in the nursing home.”

Ella tried not to look stunned. How many sisters could there be in tiny Manteo named Melody and Harmony? To Ella it rang of a bad Michael Jackson – Paul McCartney song. Thankfully at that precise moment Eric appeared with her fried green tomatoes.

“I’m gonna let you eat in peace. Let me go channel Miss Melody for a little while.” Lacey sauntered over to a table with two elderly couples. The men did indeed have on dark socks and sandals and each woman was sporting a sleeveless loose dress. One was a cross between an acid wash and tie dye and the other sported seahorses around the bottom edge of the skirt. Lacey delighted them with a story about a couple who sneaked on to the Queen Elizabeth II museum ship across the water at Roanoke Festival Park. They had apparently enjoyed some type of sexual rendezvous and accidentally fallen asleep in the nude. The next morning they were greeted lying on some flour sack props by a high school tour group led by one of the sailors on the interpretive staff. The actor never missed a beat and speaking in true old English said, “Aye, as you can see, privacy was hard to find on such a small ship.” After Lacey had shared her story complete with accent, the table roared with laughter.

Ella quietly ate the entire plate of fried green tomatoes although it was most assuredly an appetizer meant to be shared by an entire table. She watched Lacey continue to work the room and “channel Miss Melody” as she’d put it.

Ella ate the Arugula salad with pecans and sliced strawberries until there was nothing left and she was tempted to lick the plate clean. The poppy seed dressing was some of the best she’d ever had. During her meal Lacey walked by and stealthily placed another Merlot on the table. Ella gave her a big genuine smile. If Lacey was anything like Melody and Melody was anything like Harmony then Ella certainly understood why BeBe had so much fun with her best friend.

Eric cleared the shrimp and grits plate and looked at Ella as if she’d been lost at sea and this was her first meal since being rescued. As Eric stepped back from the table, he revealed Lacey standing behind him holding a large serving of “Non Yankee Bread Pudding.” Lacey sat down as she placed the delicate pink floral plate on the table in front of Ella.

“Belle, I’m a one woman welcome wagon at the moment. I hope I’ve done Manteo proud.”

“No worries. I can’t imagine better food or better company. Thank you so much for the meal. I haven’t had bread pudding since I was a kid.” Ella was careful not to say too much.

“Well that my friend is a crying shame,” replied Lacey.

Ella quickly asked about Melody’s décor choice for Pinkie’s before Lacey began inquiring about Ella’s history with bread pudding and the obligatory “Who’s Your Momma?” question that would surely follow.

“This place used to be called the Wheelhouse or something and after my Dad passed away, it went up for sale. My Momma said she was sick of nautical themed restaurants and she went to the SBA in New Bern and got a small business loan and bought the place. She wanted to try to tie the theme in with the whole sixteenth century English Lost Colony thing, but she figured diseased, starving colonists didn’t sound appealing so she thought about decorating it in the style England would have had at that time. Like a place the colonists would have been missing while they were over here fighting Indians and eating tree bark to live or something.”

Ella liked Melody’s idea. From the large windows you could see The Lost Colony Park entrance across the bay. There were reenactments of how the Indians and the colonists lived, and there was a large amphitheater where a drama was performed telling the story of the failed expedition. Ella especially liked the idea of having the brutal life of a colonist juxtaposed with that of an Englander of the time.

Ella snickered at the tree bark comment, but she knew that in modern day North Korea some citizens ate it while the round, crazy little dictator ate off gold spoons. “That’s a communist country for you,” BeBe would say.

After swallowing one of her last bites of the bread pudding Ella commented, “Well, your mother did a great job. I kind of like the pink and the blue although I have to admit that your neutral baby shower gone bad comment was pretty funny.”

Lacey scanned the room. “She fudged a little but we figured nobody would find out and they probably wouldn’t care if they did.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ella.

“Toile wasn’t even invented until the 1700’s, a full century after the Roanoke fiasco. Momma just hated the dark brocades and cut velvet that were popular at the time. She always says that living around dark colors makes her want to blow her brains out.”

Ella thought about how much like BeBe Miss Melody sounded. “Anywho,” Lacey continued, “when Momma was googling stuff - God forbid. That woman is dangerous with a computer. She’s discovered Ebay. Anyway she came across the Pinkie painting which was actually painted in the 1700’s and since it was painted by a fellow named Gainsborough and that was Daddy’s last name, she thought she was being directed by the hand of God.” Now why Momma thought that God would ever have an opinion and put his hand in interior decorating is beyond me.”

Ella laughed and said, “Well I’ve seen a lot of places I wish he’d put his hand in.”

Lacey smiled and went on. “Since Daddy had just passed away Melody Gainsborough was a woman on a mission and took the bull by the horns and decorated everything around that big ass Pinkie painting. She was happier than a fly in a pie when she discovered Toile was an eighteenth century fabric. Then when she saw her Aunt Imogene had a little picture of blue boy on her vanity she got that painting, pointing to the life sized representation of the boy in blue. She thought she’d died and gone to Heaven. So she and I painted the place. We went to Atlanta to a used hotel furniture store and got all these chairs, and Momma taught herself how to upholster on YouTube.”

Ella was amazed at the ingenuity of Miss Melody. She was a woman after Ella’s own heart, and she was so like BeBe. Ella assumed that necessity really was the mother of invention. If you didn’t have the necessary funds to buy it, you needed to make it.

Ella finished her delectable bread pudding and thanked Lacey heartily for the food, the hospitality, but mostly for the company. She laid down a tip for Eric and left. Lacey was busy seating a young couple who were wearing neither beachwear nor socks with sandals. Ella wondered if the two were locals.

Ella decided to skip the grocery store. When she returned to the cottage it was still daylight but she was exhausted. She put on an oversized Hard Rock Hotel T-shirt. She looked out the bedroom door into the living room and was pleased with the jolt of color now present in the cottage. She stood at the foot of the bed and admired the bright red headboard against the large Cayman Waters colored panel on the wall. She thought about Pinkie’s and how just being surrounded by the sweet décor had made her feel good. The great conversation with Lacey had made her feel like this place was more than just a stop on the way to a trial. She went to the still unstocked kitchen and grabbed one of the cans of red spray paint. She opened almost every cabinet until she found a small stack of Styrofoam plates left by a previous star witness no doubt. She sprayed the paint directly on to the plate until she had a nice puddle of red. She grabbed the small brush lying by the side of the sink she’d cleaned earlier. Ella carefully stepped up on to the bed and painted on the aqua panel, in her most beautiful scrolled hand, SWEET DREAMS. This would be her gift to the next resident of 20 Cemetery Road.

Chapter 10

Chief parked in the gravel driveway of what would be his home for possibly the next three months. He’d managed to find a small white Craftsman within walking distance to the Wanchese Village proper. The timing was fortunate since late summer was the interval after high season where the homes were rented on a weekly basis and before the snowbirds came from Canada or New England to rent homes monthly in order to escape frigid temperatures. Renting something on the north end of the island in Manteo seemed too conspicuous since Ella Barrantine aka Belle Butler had just arrived. Chief reminded himself to only think of her as Belle Butler and to try and forget her real name.

Chief figured it was more serendipitous than anything else that he was being sent away from The Bureau for three months to his hometown which happened to be near one of the agency’s safe houses. Flynn had given to him neither special surveillance equipment nor specific instructions regarding the witness. He was just told to keep an eye on her. Never before had he been given instructions that vague. Chief recognized it as a ploy to make him feel as if he were on the job in some capacity when Flynn probably knew his “assignment” was really nothing more than mandatory R and R.

As Chief stepped through the door of the Craftsman, he figured it was probably a cash cow for the owner touting it as a girls’ getaway, bridal party, or bachelorette weekend rental. The décor was clearly geared to this clientele. The walls were painted a Pepto-Bismol color and all the furniture had white slipcovers. There were four shadow boxes hanging on each wall displaying vintage swimsuits. The decorative pillows on the couch were hand painted with cartoon like mermaids with huge pouted lips and exaggerated eyelashes. Chief dropped his duffle bag on the floor and proceeded to the kitchen. The cabinets were painted 1950’s era aqua and the stove and refrigerator were Big Chill vintage reproductions in the color “pink lemonade.” Chief thought to himself he’d be eating out a lot in Manteo since Wanchese only had a few Mom and Pop old seafood house establishments.

Looking down at his watch, Chief realized he only had five minutes before it was time to be at the dock. His brother, Samoset, was coming in and eager to see Chief. As soon as he got his shrimp trawler tethered to the slip and had his haul weighed in by the seafood processor, Sam had texted Chief to meet him at the dock and invited him for a beer.

Chief headed down the brick steps of the craftsman, across the perfectly manicured lawn, heavy with angel trumpets, cosmos, and petunias in the bordering beds. The craftsman was only a short walk to the dock and Chief was relieved to see that very little had changed since the last time he had visited. It seemed that the D.C. landscape changed monthly with old buildings being demolished and new ones being built to take their place. Establishments were constantly going out of business while other new optimistic proprietors took their place, with a majority of them hanging “going out of business” signs in their windows usually less than a year later. Chief had a great respect for these entrepreneurs. Although most knew that fifty to seventy percent of small businesses would fail within eighteen months, they still made a go of it. Very little had changed in Wanchese. Businesses were usually handed down through the generations. Chief didn’t consider this a bad thing. There was definitely something to be said about being in a place where “everybody knows your name.” There was an unspoken comfort in this that he always felt when returning home to visit his family. He just hoped three months of living in Wanchese wouldn’t have him going completely stir crazy.

As Chief approached the wharf, he could see the large block letters on the back of Sam’s trawler. They read “LACEY LORELEI”, the name Sam had christened the boat while dating Miss Lacey Gainsborough. Sam had told Chief that Lacey would have to marry him after he named his boat after her. Chief thought it was the ultimate display of counting one’s chickens before they’d hatched, but apparently Sam’s plan worked and he and Lacey were married three months later.

Lacey’s middle name was not Lorelei. It was Imogene after the spinster aunt who stepped up to help finish raising Harmony and Lacey’s mother, Melody, after their own mother had run off with the life insurance salesman. Sam decided on Lorelei after the German maiden similar to a mermaid who would sit on a cliff above the river, combing her golden hair distracting shipmen with her beauty and song. The description fit Lacey Gainsborough to a T since she had long blonde hair, sang like a meadowlark in the Manteo Methodist sanctuary choir, and had so much charisma the suitors of The Outer Banks were falling all over her like ants on a honeybun.

Samoset walked out of the processor’s office and waved to Chief. Although he was a few years older, Sam had always been close to his young brother. When Chief chose West Point for college, which would inevitably lead to a military career, Sam briefly tried to talk his brother out of it. He realized it was a losing battle and instead convinced their parents they should give Chogan their blessing. Sam explained that, in his heart, this was the path chosen for Chogan. Hassun and Nuna listened to their first born and respected his opinion. They gave Chief their blessing and he was off to West Point and then to the military.

After brief pleasantries, hugging one another, and some strong patting on the back, the two brothers made their way to the Schooner Wharf Bar. Mattie, the crusty old bartender who everyone was convinced arrived with the original Lost Colony settlers, greeted the Montauk brothers.

“I’m sorry about Brad,” Sam said solemnly.

“Thanks,” said Chief as he took a long swallow of the ice cold, non-alcoholic beer.

“You’re actually going to be here for three months? Are they worried you have PTSD from the Brad thing?”

“I actually have an assignment, even though I think it’s a bullshit assignment.”

“Hey, you’re getting paid to get out of that concrete jungle for a while. Whatever it is, I’m all for it,” said Sam, happy that his brother was going to be home for more than a weekend visit.