Deceived - Laura S. Wharton Page 0,17
parcel out lots under the grand 200-year-old, live oak trees (the oldest, near the town’s library, was claimed to be 800 years old).
Doubling back through narrow streets lined with antique shops, Sam found himself in front of an ice cream shop. The smell of oversized waffle cones wafted through the open doorway, tempting Sam.
“Why not?” he said, half aloud as he entered the small shop lined with sacks of coffee beans on one side and a long freezer and counter affair on the other.
“Death-by-chocolate on a sugar cone,” he ordered from the sunburnt fellow behind the counter. Two licks later, he was outside in the cooling night and heading back toward his car.
His stroll was disturbed by a cloud of dust kicked up by a passing semi rig rumbling toward Johnson’s Fishery. When Sam got to the parking lot servicing Provision’s customers, he noticed the truck had a New York license plate and considered the amount of driving one would have to do to cover territory between Florida and New York, collecting fresh seafood all along the way.
Sam drove slowly through some of the side streets and back out to Howe Street, which was also Highway 211. Southport was a booming town, now sporting a new Sharky’s Superstore, much to the chagrin of many of the swank historic district homeowners. They loved that it was close, but they also hated that it was close.
Turning on Highway 87, Sam rolled down his windows and enjoyed the night air as he approached the entrance to the old Brunswicktown ruins and Orton Plantation. He kept meaning to go there, but he never seemed to remember it as a destination when he had time off. He made a mental note to check it out soon. The road from there to Wilmington was desolate, with only an occasional deer surprising a driver racing for the next hourly ferry to Bald Head Island.
Sam had been over there once, but the boat ride was expensive, considering he’d had to rent a golf cart or a bike to get around once on the resort island where no cars were allowed. Sam had been more than a little put off at the snobbery of the waiter and pricey food he found in the resort’s restaurant the one time he and Angel had gone. He had hoped to rekindle a dwindling romance between them, but between the high costs, the voracious mosquitoes, and their fighting about money problems, it wasn’t a fun day, as he recalled.
Angel had been interested in seeing some of the more isolated beaches known collectively as East Beach, but Sam refused to rent a golf cart. Instead, they walked around the marina to a small beach that faced the river. It really wasn’t much to look at, and anyway, Angel had pointed out, they could see it from the ferry’s deck.
After going to a little coffee shop and browsing in the gift shop near the bed and breakfast inn called Theodosia’s, Angel had wanted to stay the night. But Sam had said they couldn’t afford it, and they had fought about money on the walk back to the ferry.
Now that he looked back on it, the $189 a night for a room might have made a difference in their relationship. Not the money, but the effort, he thought. Angel didn’t really care if they stayed there, but she did want and need some romance, Sam knew. Sam used money as an excuse, though that wasn’t the reason. He was selfish, and he knew it. He didn’t spend money on them, even when he knew it might make a difference.
Sam’s thoughts were interrupted by bright headlights in his rearview mirror. The narrow two-lane road had little traffic, so surely the large SUV with rack-mounted lights would pass. But it didn’t. It just sped up as it approached Sam. He stomped on the gas to pull away from it. The SUV followed suit, this time ramming the back end of his loaner car. Sam swerved to the edge of the road, then regained control. Once more, the SUV sped up and rammed the left side of the Altima, pushing him off the pavement. But instead of backing off this time, it slammed Sam’s car hard in the left rear panel as Sam tried to get back on the pavement. The force set his car spinning out of control, down an embankment, and into a dense row of pine trees lining the road. When the airbag didn’t deploy, Sam’s