Delilah’s DILEMMAS
At the risk of exercising paranoia to the extreme, Delilah took back roads home after shopping. She circled back a half-dozen times, and still she had a feeling the black SUV was tailing her, though she hadn’t seen wheel nor fender of the blasted thing since she left Naifeh’s. It had been less than a week since she received the email; They are gone – your turn now. It was impossible to know who had sent the menacing missive, but one thing was certain, whoever it was believed Eli, Dooby and Abigail had been eliminated. They had no idea that the three presumably dead people were holed up in the apartment over the garage at The Royal Flush Ranch. Delilah hadn’t told Eli and Dooby about the email. Why bother? It wasn’t like they were oblivious to the danger everyone was already in by sheer association. And the email had left no clue as to its sender, so it wasn’t likely to assist in the identification and apprehension of additional members of the Mr. Wrigley operation. Once home, Buford Beauregard helped his daughter unload the spoils of her shopping adventure from the Camaro. And then helped her put everything away. “Daddy, you don’t have to stay now that, you know,” Delilah said, with a jerk of her head toward the garage. “You trying to get rid of me, Sugar?” Buford asked on a chuckle, as he placed the laundry detergent and fabric softener on the shelf above the washer and dryer. “Of course not!” Delilah exclaimed. “I rather enjoy having you here. Especially with Mother NOT here.” Buford cut a reproachful look at his daughter. “Your momma loves you, Delilah,” he said. “Even though her actions might some32 THE CORRIDOR MAGAZINE / JANUARY 2021
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DIANE
times suggest otherwise.” “I know,” Delilah said. “And I love her.” “She might not approve of your life choices,” Buford continued, but with a bit of a grin. “And she would rather you were a little bit more like her.” He held up his forefinger and thumb as far apart as possible. Delilah smiled. “And she gets excessively annoyed because she can’t control your life,” Buford offered. “Course, that has been her constant frustration since the day you were born.” Delilah laughed heartily. “Well, I guess that’s some consolation,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that.” Another reproachful look from Buford, who took a seat at the banquette. “Okay, not sorry,” Delilah said, joining him at the table. “Daddy, do you think we need to tell Eli and Dooby about the email I got a few days ago? I think I might’ve been followed when I was in town, and I’m not certain if that’s an extension of the email, or something else. What am I saying? Any way you look at it, it all ties back to the darn Mrs. Wrigley operation. Which, speaking of, Abigail is up to something. I just know it.” “Are you sure that’s not just years of animosity speaking?” Buford asked.
