Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dell’s place was located on a side street off the north end of Ocean Highway. Little more than a shack, the small building cowered behind a row of tall marsh grasses. In an apparent attempt to make the place look more like a California or Florida resort, the owner had planted a hapless palm tree in the yard. The plant thrust upward, dying. Its fronds drooped, listless despite the breeze.
A small walkway poked through a gap in the overgrown hedge of grasses. I plunged through and approached the door.
A knock on the door and, moments later, it opened a crack. A rheumy eye peered out. “Yeah?”
“Hi, my name’s Erica. Are you Dell?”
The eye squinted. “Whatever it is, I’m not buying.”
“Good, because I’m not here to sell anything. I’m looking for Terry.”
“What?” It came
