Murder at High Tide

by Lee Strauss

  Miguel scratched at his notebook. “How long was this before the body was found?”

  “I would guess not more than half an hour.”

  “And did Miss Adams appear intoxicated to you?”

  “Actually, she did appear tipsy when Aunt Louisa introduced her to me when I first arrived at the party.”

  Miguel nodded and continued to write. “Anything else?”

  “A few minutes after the argument, I saw Miss Adams meet up with a man on the opposite side of the pier. I’d started walking along the shore when I came upon them. The sun was almost down on the horizon, so I didn’t get a clear look at him. I saw him try to kiss her—”

  Inexplicably, Rosa’s gaze landed on Miguel’s lips. How often had she kissed them! Those adorable dimples jumped out at her. She blinked, then coughed into her hand.

  Drat! She felt a flare of red creeping up her neck. Had Miguel caught her staring at his lips?

  “And?” Miguel prompted.

  Swallowing hard, Rosa mastered her emotions and forced herself to remain professional. “And then she rebuffed him and started back in the direction of the party again.”

  Miguel hummed and jotted her story down. “Is there anything else? Can you describe the man who tried to kiss Florence?”

  Rosa thought back. “Like I said, I didn’t get a good look at him. He had medium-length hair which he wore loosely without any oil or it being slicked back, at least it blew in the breeze, so I’m assuming so. He was lean and wore a loose Hawaiian floral shirt.”

  “Very good,” Miguel said appreciatively. “Obviously, you have an eye for detail.”

  “One more thing.” Rosa raised a finger. “I saw him standing at the very edge of the crowd when the body was found. He seemed to notice me looking at him and then disappeared. What I find odd is that he left before anyone knew whose body was on the beach.”

  Miguel agreed. “That is unusual.” He slipped his notepad into his suit pocket and surprised Rosa with a change of subject. “How long are you planning to stay in Santa Bonita?”

  “My return date is yet to be determined.”

  “No family to get back to? You never married?”

  He dared to ask the questions!

  A knot formed in Rosa’s stomach. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d recently left a good man at the altar. And at twenty-eight years of age, she had no other prospects. Many people considered her on the verge of spinsterhood.

  “No,” she said simply. “You?”

  “Engaged.” He seemed to watch Rosa for her reaction. She kept her expression impassive though her emotions were an inner storm. Of course, he was, she thought to herself. She was surprised he wasn’t already married with a bunch of children clinging to his legs.

  “Congratulations.” It came out dryly, and before she could check herself she asked, “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  Miguel held her gaze for a moment too long before answering. “Her name is Charlene. Charlene Winter. She’s an aspiring actress and lives, for the time being, in Los Angeles.”

  “I see.” Rosa was dying to know more, especially about how their long-distance relationship was working, and then chided herself. It was none of her business. She’d lost all rights to know anything about Miguel’s life when she left him—refusing his proposal—to return to London in ’45.

  Miguel smoothed out his slacks and stood. “I need to get going. I was hoping to interview Mr. Clarence Forrester and Miss Gloria Forrester, but your aunt tells me they are still asleep. I guess I came a bit early in the day.” He smiled, and this time Rosa was ready for the dimples.

  “No need to show me out,” he said. “I can find my way. I’ll be back sometime over the next couple of days.”

  After he left, Rosa found her way to the rear garden again, feeling emotionally drained. She’d thought she’d pass through the rest of her life without ever setting eyes on Miguel Belmonte again, chalking up that tumultuous time—four measly months out of her twenty-eight years—to a youthful, emotional lapse. Seeing Miguel again was like awakening Mount Vesuvius, or rousing Old Faithful. Oh, what a dreadful turn of events!

  Aunt Louisa approached with an iced tea in each hand. She handed one to Rosa.

  “The two of you must’ve had a lot to say.”

  Rosa plopped onto a pool lounger. “We only spoke about the case, Auntie.”

  Aunt Louisa gracefully lowered herself into a nearby patio chair. “I would assume nothing else.”

  “They’re considering the death suspicious.”

  Aunt Louisa turned sharply. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Detective Belmonte was quite serious.”

  Aunt Louisa sipped on her iced tea, deep in thought. “Detective Belmonte will do his best, I'm sure,” she said, sounding platitudinal, “but there aren’t many suspicious deaths in Santa Bonita. I personally have my doubts that he is experienced enough to solve a homicide. I know this sounds terribly insensitive, but the truth is, people of his ethnicity have a harder time in positions of authority.”

  Not sure what to make of that statement, Rosa furrowed her eyebrows.

  Her aunt continued, “Well, you see people who are . . . like us, dear, may be reluctant to discuss every detail with a Hispanic man. Not everyone is as open-minded as you and me, Rosa.”

  Rosa choked on her iced tea. Aunt Louisa’s view of herself was stunning.

  Her aunt frowned in her direction. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  Aunt Louisa continued her monologue. “It just may be that he’ll have a harder time getting to the real truth of it.” She took a sip of her tea. “Frankly, I think you have more experience. And look at your pedigree.”

  Rosa’s parentage was common knowledge to the Forrester family, but what they didn’t know, what almost no one knew, was that her mother had been a secret agent during the First World War. Rosa only knew about her mother’s secret and often dangerous life because she’d happened upon an old journal where her mother had, selectively and roughly coded, recorded some of her exploits. Rosa suspected that both of her parents had been recruited by the crown during the last war.

  “Rosa? Are you listening?”

  Rosa snapped back to attention. “Yes, Aunt Louisa.”

  “I think you’d do a better job.”

  Aunt Louisa’s statement was preposterous. “I don’t have jurisdiction in California. I doubt anyone would appreciate a police officer from another country interfering.” Much less a female officer, but Rosa kept that unsavory sentiment to herself.

  Aunt Louisa’s lips twitched. She stood and patted Rosa on the shoulder. “I have some pull with the mayor. Just leave it to me.”

  “Aunt Louisa! You mustn’t.”

  “Of course, I must. I mean . . . there are a few details that I would rather keep ’in-house’, you might say. Besides, you’re bound to get bored with no grand puzzle to solve.”

  Rosa’s mouth dropped open as she watched her aunt walk away armed with a new project—her pumps clicking on the tile as she strutted away, her shoulders straight with confidence

  Rosa would’ve laughed if she didn’t know her aunt better. Louisa Hartigan Forrester was a force to be reckoned with, and the kind of lady who fully expected to get her way.

  5

  Rosa spent the rest of the day trying to relax and recharge her mental and physical batteries. When Gloria finally got out of bed, they spent time lounging around the pool. Rosa was glad she’d brought her swimming suit along, but if she were to stay much longer, she’d buy something a little more in vogue. Perhaps something from the Egyptian Collection on the cover of the Cole California magazine Gloria was currently reading. She liked the lemon-yellow one with diagonal hieroglyphic ribbons. Gloria looked especially charming, in her red suit with contrasting white piping and large four-hole white buttons on the shoulders.

  It seemed they were both determined not to bring up the unpleasantness of the night before, and the subject of Florence Ad
ams’ death never came up. Instead, they discussed the up-and-coming music star with the unusual name, Elvis—and yes, Rosa thought him to be ravishingly attractive.

  Gloria looked up from the magazine which had fallen open on her lap. “I look at you and think, if I don’t get married, I’d really like to do something with my life. I just can’t think of what. I lack purpose.”

  “You can do something with your life even if you do marry.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. It’s just, I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Did you always want to join the police?”

  Rosa considered her cousin’s question. Had she? It wasn’t something she’d thought about when she’d lived in California in the forties. What had she wanted back then?

  “I don’t think I knew what I wanted until after the war.” She’d spent several weeks feeling entirely out of place in London and was almost crippled by the pain of missing Miguel. It took serious effort to keep the British “stiff upper lip” in working order. But after a year of mourning her losses, she rediscovered her love of London.

  “I remember watching my mother solve a case. She’d recruited me to help at her office of Lady Gold Investigations.” Rosa knew it was her mother’s attempt at bringing her back to life and out of her mental slump. She’d eventually confided in her the nature of her melancholy. “You need to keep your mind busy,” her mother had said. “I’ll teach you how to develop photos in the dark room.”

  “It was during that time when I recognized my aptitude,” Rosa continued. “My father confirmed my feelings by suggesting the Metropolitan Police Training School. They were actively recruiting women for the force. The war had changed the way society looked at women, and employment options other than nursing and teaching became possible.”

  Gloria moaned. “That’s what I don’t know. My aptitudes.” She whipped her sunglasses off and stared hard at Rosa. “Can you tell? What do you think my aptitudes are?”

  Rosa pushed her own sunglasses more tightly to her face and hoped Gloria didn’t see her look of distress. How was she to answer that? Certainly not driving. Or working anywhere that required one to stay silent.

  “Rosa?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  Rosa reclined on the lounger and propped up a knee. “There are a great many things you could do.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, you could follow in your mother’s footsteps and promote charities.”

  “Oh, I suppose. I’d just like to do something—”

  “That your mother’s not doing?”

  “Yes. Thank you for understanding. I know you and your mom are close, but my mother and I have a more complicated relationship.”

  Rosa could appreciate that. “Let’s take some time to put our heads together. I’m sure we’ll think of something that you’ll want to do.”

  Gloria sipped on her drink. “It’s so nice having you here, Rosa. We’re like sisters! So much more fun.”

  Rosa held in the smile. She felt she’d burst into laughter if she wasn’t careful. Gloria’s outgoing personality was delightful. Her cousin had only been ten years old when Rosa left to go back to England, but despite their age difference, they’d spent quite a bit of time together.

  As if to make sure Rosa was listening, Gloria eyed Rosa over her cat-eye sunglasses. “I love Clarence, but he can be such a pill. I mean, you know what brothers are like, right? How is Scout, by the way? I barely had a chance to speak to him in London.”

  Scout, who went by Samuel now, was Rosa’s older brother.

  “He’s very busy with his horses.”

  “Still racing?”

  “Yes, though I warn him he’s getting a little old to keep withstanding the rigors necessary to be a jockey. I tell him he should trade in his horses for a wife and family,” Rosa huffed, “but who am I to talk.”

  Gloria patted Rosa’s hand. “Oh, you’ll find the right man one day, don’t you worry.” Rosa’s mind immediately betrayed her by going to Miguel. Her face grew warm and she flapped her hands, pretending to be succumbing to the midday heat.

  Gloria threw her thin legs over the edge of her lounger. “I’m feeling hungry, anyway. It must be lunchtime soon. We can eat inside for a change.”

  Rosa and Gloria changed into summer dresses for the afternoon and met again in the dining room for lunch. Señora Gomez produced a plate of tacos—Rosa did miss Mexican food. When she tried to explain the spicy mix of flavors to her British counterparts, she received deep frowns and looks of distrust. The British preferred their food plain and simple.

  Clarence—looking very much like an American businessman—sauntered in as they were finishing. He wore a red tie and a starchy white shirt tucked into high-waisted, pleated pants with cuffs that rested on leather loafers.

  “Vanessa called. She’s dropping Julie off this afternoon.”

  Julie was Clarence’s four-year-old daughter.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Rosa said.

  “Actually,” Clarence’s eyes registered an idea, “I was wondering if you and Gloria would like to take her out, do girl things.”

  “I love my niece,” Gloria said, “but I think she’d rather spend time with her dad.”

  “I know, and we will. It’s just that I have an awful lot of work to do.”

  Gloria’s expression was just short of ridicule. “What ‘work’ do you do?”

  He scowled at her. “I run Dad’s business affairs. You don’t know everything I do. There’s a lot more to it than meets the eye.”

  Rosa had learned from her mother that Clarence had been “officially” put in charge of his father’s vast business holdings, but it was Aunt Louisa who sat on the board and called the shots.

  Rosa pitied Clarence. It would be difficult for him to fill his father’s shoes if his mother insisted on wearing them instead.

  “Let’s take Julie for ice cream,” Rosa offered. “I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of shopping,”

  Gloria sent Rosa a pointed look. “You could use a few items more appropriate for our weather. And Santa Bonita has several high-quality clothing shops now. Very modern American.”

  Rosa also wanted to see about buying a pair of Riviera sunglasses. She had recently spied a pair in a catalogue that featured rhinestones and gilded charms on the frames. Besides, one pair of sunglasses for California wasn’t nearly enough.

  “By the way,” Gloria said as she pushed a half-empty plate away. “There’s a variety show playing at the American Legion Hall tonight. Mick and The Beat Boys are playing a set.” When Rosa failed to register the group’s name, Gloria explained. “That’s Detective Belmonte’s group. You saw them last night. Wouldn’t it be fun to see them playing some rock and roll instead of that Sinatra stuff they played at the polio event?”

  Gloria misunderstood Rosa’s hesitation. Their age difference meant that Gloria hadn’t been privy to Rosa and Miguel’s intense, but short-lived relationship. The thought of seeing Miguel again, especially with his band, filled her with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t even put a name to, but Gloria’s enthusiastic insistence was unstoppable.

  “Come on, Rosa. It’ll be fun. I can introduce you around.”

  “Won’t Detective Belmonte be busy? With the . . . er . . . case?”

  “I don’t think a drowning will keep him from playing his guitar. He’s an excellent musician, you know? If he weren’t taken, I’d make a move on him myself.”

  Rosa suddenly found it hard to swallow. She sipped on her glass of iced tea, then, as nonchalantly as possible, asked, “You’ve met his girlfriend?”

  “I’ve seen her on TV.”

  Rosa hated the heavy pit that formed in her stomach. She didn’t even want to examine what had caused it. Was it because Miguel had a girlfriend, or that he had a pretty girlfriend on television?

  “She’s in one of those Clairol commercials, you know?” Gloria continued. “ Does she?...Or doesn’t she?” She laughed at the innuendo. “Charlene Winter
s is stunning blond, even in black and white.” She smirked and arched a brow in Rosa’s direction. “And I think she does.”

  Oh dear! The thought of what that might mean made Rosa feel sick to her stomach. Now she wished lunch had been plain English food and not spicy foreign fare.

  Impervious to Rosa’s discomfort, Gloria said, “It’s just a fantasy. Mom would kill me if I actually brought a man like Detective Belmonte home.”

  Rosa didn’t doubt that.

  “But—” Gloria poked Rosa in the arm. “You know what? I could be an actress on TV! I’m just as glamorous as Charlene Winters.” Gloria patted the curls of her short and trendy hair do. “Don’t you think? Though I know, I’m not as pretty.”

  Rosa had a feeling her attractive cousin was fishing for compliments. She allowed her one.

  “You’re just as pretty, and you know it. But it’s not that easy, I don’t think, to become a TV actress. I’m sure there’s training you have to take.” Rosa didn’t know, but she was reasonably sure that Aunt Louisa wouldn’t be in favor. Social propriety wasn’t exclusive to the British, and in the minds of many upper-class people, an actress was only a step above a lady of the night.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Gloria finally said. “I’m going to look into it. Anyway, you’ll come with me? Tonight? To hear the band?”

  Rosa couldn’t think of a plausible reason to say no. “Sure.”

  Later, Julie was unceremoniously dropped off at the front door into the care of Bledsoe, the butler, who took her by the hand and brought her to the kitchen where Gloria and Rosa were socializing.

  Rosa looked at Gloria with raised eyebrows.

  “Not an amicable relationship between Clarence and Vanessa, unfortunately,” Gloria said in a hushed voice.

  Soon after, the three drove into town in the Forresters’ yellow and white, two-toned, automatic, Chevrolet Bel Air sedan. Rosa admired the vehicle’s glamorous long body and exaggerated tail fins.