Page 1 of A Hero Comes Home

Chapter 1

She was all shook up, for sure! . . .

Sally Dawson stood, momentarily transfixed, staring at the scene before her. She felt a little like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole, except, in this case, it must be the Graceland hole.

A native New Yorker, she had seen just about everything on the streets of the Big Apple. And, really, she’d been living in Bell Cove for almost nine years now, ever since her late husband, Captain Jacob Dawson, had brought her to his hometown as a bride. So, she shouldn’t be surprised by what the well-meaning wackos in this small town came up with. But this beat them all, even last Christmas’s Grinch contest, where everyone was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying not to get “Grinched.”

No, this was a new high for Bell Cove. Or was it a new low? In terms of corniness, that was.

“Jailhouse Rock” was blaring from the loudspeakers, the Sexy Senior Swingers (aka the Old Codgers Dance Club) were performing some amazing jitterbug moves on the newly laid asphalt parking lot, and a twenty-foot neon Elvis, with his trademark crooked grin, oversaw the entire event. Actually, it wasn’t a jitterbug, but that Carolina favorite, the Shag. No Outer Banks event could be held without that homage to boardwalks, hot sun, and beach music.

The line waiting to get into the diner was twenty deep and, with all the new arrivals, hadn’t gotten any shorter since the doors opened three hours ago, at noon. And, yes, with perfect timing, the town bells, each with their own distinctive sounds, began to chime the hour. First, Our Lady by the Sea Catholic Church. Bong, bong, bong! Then, St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong! And finally the clock in the town hall tower. Clang, clang, clang!

No one even paused in their conversations at the ringing. It was, after all, a town that had been founded over a hundred years ago by the Conti brothers, Italian immigrants who built Bell Forge. The small factory became known for finely crafted bells, the kind that hung in cathedrals and big city towers and on college campuses, but they also made bells as musical instruments. Every business in Bell Cove—every residence, in fact—had a bell attached to its door, thanks to the Conti influence. The one over the door of Sally’s bakery, Sweet Thangs, was a soft jangle that she’d come to love.

Still bemused, Sally noticed that everyone in line, not just the dancers, had made an effort to suit their appearance to the occasion. Women and girls, no matter the ages, wore sweater sets or pastel-colored blouses with Peter Pan collars tucked under tight cinch belts into circle skirts over bouffant petticoats, leading down to bobby socks and saddle shoes. Still others wore figure-hugging pedal pushers or dungarees rolled up to midcalf, with flat ballet slippers. Ponytails and poodle cuts abounded. The guys, men and boys, went either preppy with crew cuts, button-down shirts, and back-belted khaki pants with white buck shoes, or else they went full greaser with black leather jackets over white T-shirts and ducktail haircuts.

No, it wasn’t a reenactment of that movie Grease. It was the grand reopening of the Rock Around the Clock Diner and the Heartbreak Motel, and it looked like everyone in the small town had shown up . . . and was commemorating the event as only Bell Cove-ites could in their own unique, wacky style.

Delilah Jones—rather Delilah Good since she’d recently married Merrill Good, treasure hunter and former Navy SEAL—was the owner of both businesses, but a little fact like that never fazed the good people of Bell Cove who tended to take over when there was any excuse for a celebration. No wonder then that they were using the reopening of the Elvis- and 1950s era–related businesses as a prelude to the town’s new Lollypalooza Labor Day Weekend to be held in a few weeks. God only knew what they’d come up with for that!

George Saunders and Lance Bowes, whose Out of the Closet chain of North Carolina thrift shops, including the one on the town square, just down the street from Sally’s bakery, must be doing a thriving business with all this vintage apparel. Sally had to admit, she was benefitting from increased traffic in her bakery today, too, a spillover from this event.

Enough dawdling! Sally readjusted the large bakery box filled with four dozen fresh-baked hamburger rolls in her arms and walked on. Here and there, people called out to her.

“Hey, Sally! Need any help with that?” Frank Baxter from Hard Knocks Hardware asked. Frank, who was renowned for his comb-over hairstyle to hide a bald spot, or rather a comb-forward hairstyle complete with bangs, wore an Elvis wig today. And a jumpsuit! At close to seventy years old, with a bit of a paunch, he was not a pretty sight.

But that was mean, Sally chastised herself. Frank was a nice man. In truth, everyone in this town was. A little bit crazy, but good-to-the-soul people.

Still, Sally blinked rapidly to avoid gawking. “Not now, Frank. But thanks for offering. Six blocks ago would have been nice, though,” she chided in a teasing way.

“Ouch!” he said and grinned.

Standing next to Frank was his main squeeze, or the person Frank would like to squeeze. Everyone knew he had a thing for Mayor Doreen Ferguson, who owned the shop next door, Happy Feet Emporium, which had to be doing a run today on blue suede and saddle shoes. Doreen, also close to seventy, wore purple capri pants with a white sleeveless blouse tied at the waist, à la Rizzo from Grease. Her brown hair had been teased into a bouffant hairstyle with the ends flipped up, thanks, no doubt, to her daughter Francine who owned Styles and Smiles hair salon. “Where’s that outfit I sent you, girl?” Doreen inquired with an exaggerated glower. “You’d make an incredible Ann-Margret.”

Hardly! I’m too skinny. Don’t have enough on top. And my pixie hairstyle would never do for Viva Las Vegas. “Oops. I left it back at the shop. It’s a little big, and I didn’t have a chance to alter it,” she lied.

“Excuses, excuses!” Doreen wagged a forefinger at her and said, “You better not think you’re getting out of a costume for Pirate Day.”

Wanna bet? “I wouldn’t think of it.” As part of Lolly Weekend, the town council had decided to set aside one day to celebrate the shipwreck treasure discovered several weeks ago by Merrill’s salvaging company. What that had to do with pirates was anyone’s guess. But then, Bell Cove folks put their own spin on everything that happened hereabouts. In a nice way, she reminded herself. And it was good for business.

With a little wave, Sally continued walking to the back of the diner. She was about to set the box down and knock on the door, but it opened suddenly and Delilah smiled warmly at her. “Thank you, thank you for answering my SOS call! We’re almost out.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Wow! You started with eight dozen.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?” She took the box from Sally and motioned for her to come in.

The narrow kitchen that fed the diner through a wide pass-through window was a beehive of activity: Orders yelled out, mixed with laughter, and an occasional muffled curse as grease spattered. A myriad of smells. Hamburgers sizzling, peanut butter and bananas melding in grilled sandwiches, and Delilah’s trademark multiflavored cinnamon rolls. Overlaying it all was the voice of Elvis crooning through the sound system, “Don’t Be Cruel.”

Merrill, in a white apron and hokey chef’s hat, waved to her as he helped Andy Briggs, the cook, at the stove. “You’re an angel, Sal,” he declared, referring to the rolls, she assumed, which Delilah set down on the counter near him.

One high school kid worked the fryers, while another was washing dishes, the two of them exchanging trash talk about some skateboard competition.

Delilah’s grandmother, Salome Jones, whom some called the “Glam Gram,” was plating dishes, even as she was dressed to the nines in a sheer, shiny silver tunic with a deep décolletage over tight black spandex yoga pants. Her dyed blonde hair was swept up into a beehive style. No surprise that the lady had been a Las Vegas showgirl at one time. From behind, she could have passed for her twenties, rather than her sixties. In fact, she could have played the role of Ann-Margret better than Sally any day, no matter what Doreen Ferguson said.