“Who could have started it?” Shelby asked. “Only the police, Lady Anthea, and you know about Henry’s murder, right? I told our people what I knew, but I don’t think any of them would embellish it.”
Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The only Buckingham staffer that would play fast and loose with the truth like that was Henry.
Anthea and I headed down Savannah Road to Lewes Beach at its end. A handful of cars were lined up facing the ocean. “About half of these people are vacationers. After Labor Day, only locals will come here.”
“When is that?”
“It’s the first weekend of September.” I parked but didn’t budge. It felt good to be still. “Most of the regulars who come here at this time of day are retirees and a lot of them are our clients.”
“I think it’s a good idea for the people here in the car park to see you and, if necessary, hear you refute that nonsense about their dogs being abducted.”
“After the day we’ve had, I’d rather have an early night.”
“It’ll help restore confidence. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”
I looked over at her.
“Shakespeare,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Henry IV, specifically.”
“I meant, thank you for stepping up when we dropped off the dogs,” I said. “You charmed their socks off.”
“I was laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” She laughed at herself, but I had heard pride in a job well done in her voice.
“I wonder how many people will decide they have other plans for Friday night?” I looked through the windshield at the ocean, like it could tell me the future.
“What about after Friday night?” Lady Anthea’s question brought me out of my daze. “Could Henry’s murder irreparably damage the confidence the town has in the business?”
“Not if I can help it.” I opened the car door. “‘Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway.’ That was John Wayne.”
She got out and followed me to the white, sandy beach. Some of the sunset watchers were enjoying ice cream cones from the Dairy Queen across the street. Hopkins Farm ice cream is from a dairy farm on Route 9 and was also an excellent choice, but for convenience you couldn’t beat DQ. This gentle ritual of our small beach town was certainly more to my taste than the rumor mill that had our clients’ dogs emigrating to Canada. A light wind swirled the sugary sand around the asphalt, making and unmaking one design after another. If I caught the eye of anyone in a car, I waved. I introduced Anthea to three couples sitting on the white, wooden benches where the parking lot met the beach.
“Want to walk a little?” I asked.
“Brilliant!” she said.
I pulled off my sandals. “Uh-oh.” I had forgotten that she was wearing pantyhose and heels. I pointed to the Beach Patrol office. “There’s a restroom in there if you want to change.”
“No worries.” It was obvious she had no intention of removing her shoes. She began walking and I scrambled to catch up.
“Where are the waves I’ve heard so much about?” she asked.
“Lewes Beach is on the bay. Our town is at the mouth of the Delaware Bay.” Then I pointed east to the series of low, rock walls extending out from the shore and the two lighthouses. “That’s our breakwater. On the other side is the Atlantic Ocean where the waves are. The breakwaters reduce the intensity of the waves and provide safe harbor.”
“Safe harbor,” she repeated. I wondered if they used a different term in England.
We walked down the shoreline, and I introduced her to other beach walkers. She made conversation comparing US beaches to those in England. Suddenly she gasped. “Look!” she yelled and pointed to the western sky. “We almost missed the sunset.”
Chapter 3
Gilligan’s Waterfront Restaurant overlooked the Lewes-Rehoboth Canal that cut through downtown Lewes. Before its major renovation it looked like a boat used as a bar, with a restaurant that had seemingly sprouted from it.
Wayne was at the bar when we walked in, wearing jeans and a mostly yellow Hawaiian shirt. He smiled and held up a beer mug. I was hoping I hadn’t started anything I had no interest in pursuing. Surely, he knew if I wanted to date him, I would have by now. He was surrounded by a couple I knew from the Lighthouse Foundation Board and a couple I knew from surfing. If you can call what we do at Cape Henlopen surfing. Mostly we sit on our boards, joking around and talking about nothing. This was the town that had welcomed me back after my years of roaming.
“You’re about as far out of uniform as you can get.” I pointed at Wayne’s flip-flops and laughed. He laughed back. “I thought you’d be working overtime.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “For now, the case is being handled by the city police. Lucky for us, it happened on the street instead of at the ferry terminal.” That unapologetic lack of ambition was part of his charm.
“Let me introduce Lady Anthea Fitzwalter.”
Wayne transferred his beer to his left hand, dried his right on his jeans, and then held it out to her. She smiled and then pumped it up and down with such vigor that his beer sloshed. Obviously this was all unfamiliar to her, but she was making a when-in-Rome effort. Considering she was only here for a week, then she’d be gone, I appreciated it. Next I introduced Barb and Red Moulinier from the Lighthouse Foundation, and the surfers, Jerry and his wife, Charlie. All four put their drinks on the bar before submitting to Anthea’s athletic grip.
Wayne turned to talk to Jerry and Charlie about the repair work being done on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse, and Barb and Red moved closer to me and Lady Anthea. Red tilted his head toward Wayne. “Why won’t you go out with him?”
“Yeah, what could possibly be wrong with him?” Barb ran her eyes up and down Wayne’s pretty darn close to perfect body and giggled.
“Easy, now,” her husband of forty years said.
“I know him too well,” I said.
Barb looked at Lady Anthea. “That’s a new one. There was the guy whose hands were too small. The guy that mispronounced potpourri. The guy who used air quotes.”
Red picked up the list of the reasons I had ended, or never begun, relationships. “The guy with teeth that were too white.”
“Time to change the subject,” I said. I turned to Lady Anthea. “Red and Barb are finding musicians for the gala.”
Red pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and presented it to Lady Anthea. “It’s just something we started after we retired.”
“He’s being modest. They run the best booking agency in southern Delaware. Every other event in Lewes uses them.”
“We aim to please,” Red said in an aw-shucks way. “We found your classical guitarist. Can we talk about that other matter?”
“An Elvis impersonator? Still, no.”
Barb reached out a hand to me. “Sue, we were just thinking you could sing a duet with someone.”
“You sing?” Lady Anthea sounded surprised.
“Maybe. A little,” I said. “But not with Elvis impersonators.” Just to be clear.
Red looked at Barb. “You can’t say we didn’t try.” He turned to me. “The guitarist will play while the guests eat, then you’ll sing, if we can find someone who is not an Elvis impersonator to sing with