Sand Sharks

He told me where to be and the time and promised to buy me that drink.

“Thanks,” I said, figuring that Chelsea Ann could bring me up to speed by then.

CHAPTER

12

In the case of major offenses it makes a difference whether something is committed purposely or accidentally.

—Justinian (AD 483–565)

I got back to the SandCastle a little after four and as I stepped out of my car, Chelsea Ann and Rosemary pulled in right beside me. I couldn’t see anything as bulky as a chest or table in back.

“No luck?” I said, taking Cynthia Blankenthorpe’s tote bag out of the trunk.

“Not for me, but Rosemary found a great patchwork quilt for Rosie’s room.”

“All hand-stitched cotton in a log cabin pattern,” Rosemary said as she came around the end of the van with a bulky package in her arms. “In Rosie’s favorite colors.”

From the smiles on both faces, I gathered that they had patched up their differences as well. For the moment anyhow.

At the desk in the lobby, I called Cynthia’s room. No answer, so I left a message to say that her tote would be here at the desk, then asked the desk clerk to hold it for her.

“It’s bound to be five o’clock somewhere,” said Chelsea Ann, and we strolled into the bar while Rosemary went upstairs to stash the quilt in their room.

“She’s still sharing with you?” I was surprised. “I thought she and Dave—?”

Chelsea Ann rolled her eyes. “Rosemary thinks it’s romantic to pretend they’re still legally separated, sneaking out of bed and up to his room in the middle of the night like she’s still in high school and I’m the guidance counselor or something. I can’t convince her that Dave’s just playing the angles. She’s so sure that he’s finally sowed his last wild oat and that he’s ready to keep that horse in the barn.”

“And you’re not?”

“Doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not,” she said wearily. “After that public display on the balcony this morning, she might as well have bought an ad in The Star-News that she’s condoned his last affair. Just a matter of time till there’s a new one.”

We ordered drinks at the bar and carried them out to the terrace. Most of the rocking chairs were taken, so we sat down at one of the small tables just outside the door to the bar.

Even in the shade it was still warm, but not unpleasantly so. Sounds of children splashing in the pool drifted up to us. Out at the shoreline, eight or ten pelicans skimmed past like a string of speed skaters heading for the finish line. Further down the beach, a cloud of gulls elbowed each other out of the way to catch the chunks of bread a woman tossed into the air. I slipped off my sandals, took a swallow of my drink, and relaxed into the chair.

“So how was your afternoon?” Chelsea Ann asked.

“Interesting,” I said, and told her about running into Jill Mercer and the director of Port City Blues.

“Jerome Stackhouse?”

“Is that his name?”

She described him right down to his graying ponytail and I nodded. “That’s him.”

She laughed when I told her I needed a quick cram course on the show. “He wants me to tell him what they get wrong.”

“Like he really cares,” Chelsea Ann scoffed. “I’m sure someone’s told him that in North Carolina, the prosecution and the defense both remain seated to question a witness, but that’s not as dramatic as having them stride around and get in a witness’s face. Or that you don’t automatically cite the grounds for your objection. Or that wearing a robe and horn-rimmed glasses completely keeps you from being recognized when you take your hair down, take off your robe, and turn into a hot blues singer at an after-hours club.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I said. “A female Clark Kent/ Superman thing and the Lois Lane character—”

“That would be Stone Hamilton,” she interposed.

“—He never notices? Is this show played for real or is it a sort of Get Smart farce?”

“It’s a dramedy. And in all fairness, Stone Hamilton plays the club owner, Don Harper, who’s never been in Darcy Jones’s courtroom. The episodes bounce back and forth between legal dramas and Darcy’s after-hours life. Something will happen in the club that makes her see a court case differently. Or a court case will open her eyes to what’s happening to someone at the club. The story lines alternate, see? One week, it’s mostly about Don and she’s just a minor character. The next week, Darcy’s the one front and center.”

“Are they lovers?”

“On screen or in real life?”

“Whichever.”

“I think Hamilton may be involved with someone from Dead in the Water, another show that’s filmed here in Wilmington. I don’t know about Mercer. On Port City Blues, there’s enough sexual tension between Don and Darcy to keep viewers wondering will they or won’t they, but everybody knows what happens when the guy gets the girl on these shows. Kiss of death. If they’re smart, the two characters probably won’t hook up till the very last episode.”