by Sarah Fox
Ed reached out and squeezed my hand. “Thank you, Marley.”
The gratitude in his voice almost brought tears to my eyes. As soon as I’d confirmed that both men wanted their usual orders, I hurried off to the kitchen, desperately hoping Ray would solve Yvonne’s murder quickly.
Chapter Seven
By the time I closed The Flip Side later that day, my mind was still spinning. I couldn’t stop wondering why someone had killed Yvonne and why they’d done so here in Wildwood Cove. Despite how highly Ed had thought of Yvonne, I knew she wasn’t the nice woman she’d pretended to be when she was around him, but I was still shocked by her murder.
Did that not-so-nice side of her have something to do with why she was killed? Maybe what I’d witnessed while Ed was out of earshot was merely a hint of what she was truly like. Or maybe it was just a bad moment. I didn’t really believe that, though. Yvonne had argued with Claudia Wu at the park on Friday evening, and there was that blond man who definitely wasn’t glad to see her. I hardly knew the woman, but it struck me as though there were more people who disliked her than those who liked her.
Was that simply because she was rude and unkind? Or was there more to it? Did the fact that she was a reporter have something to do with her death?
I shook my head as I swept the floor of the pancake house. So many questions. They rattled around in my head, making it hard to think of anything else, but no matter how much I mulled them over, I didn’t come up with any answers.
When I arrived home that afternoon, I spent some time with Flapjack and Bentley. My preoccupation had caused my mood to slump in the middle of the day. Hanging out with my animals cheered me up, but my mind was still a muddle of questions. The hot weather only seemed to make matters worse. It was the hottest day of the summer so far and I felt sluggish, like my limbs and my brain were struggling to work properly.
I didn’t know how to answer all the questions lingering in my mind, but I did know how to make myself feel better.
After changing into my swimsuit, I headed down to the water. The tide was working its way in, just one sandbar left to cover before the ocean would creep over a swath of pebbles to reach the high-water mark. The sun beat down on my bare shoulders as I crossed the sandbar, leaving a trail of footprints behind me. In the shallows, the water was as warm as a bath, thanks to the sun-heated sand. As I waded deeper, the temperature dropped until it was nice and cool, and even a bit chilly.
I dove into an oncoming wave, feeling refreshed as soon as I broke through the surface, shaking salty water from my face. Instead of going any deeper, I swam parallel to the beach, getting into the rhythm of a front crawl. I headed eastward, since there were fewer swimmers in that direction. Closer to town, children, teens, and a few adults splashed, swam, and floated on the waves.
Once I’d gone a good distance, I turned and swam in the other direction until I was in line with my house. I floated on my back for a few minutes, rising and falling with the waves. For the first time since I’d learned that Yvonne was murdered, I relaxed and my racing thoughts slowed down. That was the magic of the ocean and Wildwood Beach. No other place brought me such peace.
Feeling much better, I swam and waded back toward the shore. I’d reached the shallows when I saw Brett coming down the beach toward me, wearing his swim trunks. I waited for him to approach, the incoming tide swirling around my ankles.
“Looks like you had the same idea as I did,” Brett said as he reached me.
“It’s the best place to be on a day like this.”
“I can’t argue with that.” He took my hands and kissed me. “I need to cool down.”
“Want me to come back in with you?” I asked.
He squeezed my hands. “Not if you’re cold. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait up on the beach then.”
As refreshing as my swim had been, it had left me with goose bumps on my arms and legs. I stretched out on my towel and closed my eyes as the sun dried me off and warmed my skin. By the time Brett returned from the ocean and dropped down on his towel next to me, my goose bumps had disappeared.
“Good swim?” I asked.
“Perfect,” he said as he wiped water droplets from his forehead.
I sat up so I could give him a kiss. His lips tasted salty from the ocean.
“How are your parents?” I asked once I’d pulled back.
Brett had planned to spend part of the day with them while I was at work.
“Good. I helped my dad with a bookshelf he’s building. He’s glad to be back to working with his hands again.”
Brett’s dad had suffered a heart attack during the winter. After receiving bypass surgery, he’d recovered well, though slowly, but he’d retired from his job as a general contractor. Now that he was healthy again, he’d started to grow restless and had decided to work on some small carpentry projects to keep busy.
“He and my mom are thinking of taking in a tennis match or two this week,” Brett continued.
“I’d like to do that too. Are you interested?”
“Sure. Are there any matches tomorrow?”
“I think so, but I’d have to check the schedule.”
Thinking about tennis reminded me of Easton Miller, and his drowning reminded me of Yvonne’s death.
“Have you talked to Ray today?” I asked.
“No. Have you?”
“No, but I found out something about Yvonne’s death this morning.”
“Of course you did,” Brett said with a hint of amusement. He was no stranger to my tendency to get involved in mysteries.
“I wasn’t snooping,” I said, “but I’m probably not supposed to know this.”
“Now I’m intrigued.”
Even though nobody was nearby, I kept my voice low. “Yvonne was murdered.”
A crease appeared between Brett’s eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. It sounds like Ray and his deputies have been searching for a murder weapon.”
I filled him in on how I’d come to have that information and what Ivan had observed when he found Yvonne’s body on the beach.
Brett ran a hand through his wet hair. “So there was a murder and an accidental drowning in the space of about twelve hours?”
“Hmm,” I said, thinking.
“You’ve got a different theory?”
“Not really.”
“But?” he prodded, knowing I’d left something unsaid.
“It’s just that we assumed Yvonne drowned accidentally, but now we know she didn’t. We also assumed that Easton Miller drowned accidentally.”
“But maybe he didn’t?” Brett finished.
“From what I’ve heard, no one quite knows how he went overboard.”
“Was he alone on his boat at the time?”
“I think his wife was with him,” I said. “But if she was, wouldn’t she have seen him go overboard?”
“Not if she had her back turned or was below decks.”
“True.” I gazed out at the ocean as I turned things over in my mind.
“I know that look,” Brett said, watching me.
“What look?”
“That one you get when you’ve got a mystery on your mind and you won’t be able to rest until it’s solved. Is it Yvonne’s murder or Easton’s accident?”
“Both,” I replied. “I’d really like to know if the two deaths are connected, but without knowing the circumstances of Easton going overboard, I doubt I’ll be able to figure anything out.”
“And Ray won’t want you asking him.”
“No, he won’t.”
Ray wasn’t very enthusiastic about my sleuthing habit. He’d warned me to stay out of his investigations in the past, but I wasn’t very good at taking that advice. Fortunately, he was a patient man, although I knew I tested that patience now a
nd then. At least my inability to leave mysteries alone hadn’t strained Ray’s relationship with Brett. I hoped it never would.
“I went to school with a guy who works down at the marina,” Brett said. “He might know something about the Miller incident.”
That caught my interest. “Do you think he’d talk to me about it?”
“If I introduced you, he probably would.”
“Will you introduce me?”
“On one condition,” he said with a grin.
“What’s that?”
“We stop for ice cream on the way home.”
I smiled back at him. “You’ve got a deal.”
* * * *
We decided to turn our excursion into dinner out as well as information gathering and a visit to the ice cream shop. We ate at the Windward Pub, which was located near the marina. The pub’s food was as good as always, but the place was packed full with locals, tourists, and people in town for the games. There was such a rumble from all the conversations going on around us that I could barely hear anything Brett said to me as we ate. As much as I enjoyed my shrimp and veggie wrap, I was glad to get back outside, where it was far quieter.
Despite a gentle breeze, the evening wasn’t much cooler than the afternoon had been. I was glad I’d dressed for the weather in shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. Brett and I held hands and walked slowly along the street as we headed for the marina.
“So where will we find Charlie?” I asked Brett. He’d told me the name of the guy he knew at the marina while we were eating dinner.
“Sometimes he’s in the office. If he’s not there, we might have to look around.”
“Hopefully he’s working today.”
Brett slid his phone from the pocket of his shorts and checked the time. “There’s usually someone on duty until seven. If it’s not Charlie today, we can try again tomorrow.”
I hoped we wouldn’t have to wait. One more day wasn’t very long, but I knew I’d feel restless until I had a chance to find out what Charlie knew, if anything.
The tiny whitewashed building that sat at the entrance to the marina was locked when we arrived, and no one answered when Brett knocked on the door. My hopes slumped, but Brett shaded his eyes and looked down at the floating dock.
“I think I see him,” he said, raising my hopes again.
He set off down the steep ramp, and I followed behind him, holding on to the railing with one hand. Most of the boat slips were occupied, and a few people moved about on the decks of the boats or on the dock. Some of the boats belonged to locals, but there were also plenty of visiting vessels at this time of year.
When we reached the bottom of the ramp, Brett led me off to the right. A stocky man with blond hair was talking to a young couple a few feet away. When the couple climbed aboard a small yacht, Brett raised a hand in greeting and called out to the blond man.
“Charlie!”
When the man looked our way, he smiled with recognition. “Brett. How’s it going?” He held out a hand as we approached, and Brett shook it.
“Good, thanks. How about you?”
“Can’t complain.”
Brett put an arm around my shoulders. “This is my fiancée, Marley. Marley, this is Charlie Quinton.”
Charlie grinned as I shook his hand. “I hear the wedding’s coming up soon.”
“Just a few more weeks,” Brett said.
“Are you looking to rent a boat?”
“No, although I wouldn’t mind going out fishing one day this summer. We’re wondering if you know anything about what happened to Easton Miller the other day.”
All traces of Charlie’s grin faded away. “That was sad. Did you know the man?”
“I met him earlier in the week,” I said. “I was so shocked when I heard about him going overboard.”
“Everybody was.” Charlie scratched his jaw. “But I’m not sure how much I can tell you. No one knows exactly what happened.”
“I heard that he and his wife had gone out for an early morning sail,” I said.
Charlie nodded. “That’s right. That’s something they liked to do—head out early and sit on the deck to watch the sun rise.”
“His wife didn’t see what happened?” Brett asked.
“Nope. I heard one of the Coast Guard guys say that Mrs. Miller was down in the cabin making coffee when she heard a splash. She ran back out onto the deck, but couldn’t spot her husband anywhere. She radioed for help, but his body still hasn’t been found. Sounds like she doesn’t know how he ended up falling in the water.”
“I feel terrible for her,” I said.
“It’s sad, that’s for sure. Hopefully he’ll turn up soon. When I heard a body was found yesterday, I thought it had to be him until someone told me it wasn’t.”
“I thought it was him at first too.”
Charlie shook his head. “Crazy. Two unrelated drownings in less than twenty-four hours. That’s a first around here.”
I didn’t correct him about how Yvonne had died. It probably wouldn’t be long before everyone knew she was murdered, but I wasn’t going to be the one to leak that information.
A man who looked to be in his fifties called out to Charlie from a nearby boat, so we quickly thanked him for the information and headed back up the ramp.
When we were on the sidewalk, Brett took my hand and we headed in the direction of the ice cream shop.
“It doesn’t sound like Easton Miller was murdered,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t. I guess it’s just a coincidence that his accident happened so close to Yvonne’s death.”
“Do you have any theories about who killed her?”
“Not really.”
Brett grinned and gave my hand an affectionate squeeze. “I’m sure you will soon.”
His gentle teasing brought a smile to my face.
“Maybe,” I said, “but not before we’ve had our ice cream.”
Chapter Eight
According to the event schedule for the Golden Oldies Games, there would be tennis matches all week long, including on Monday afternoon and evening. Since Brett and I both had Mondays off, we decided we’d head for the tennis courts later in the day to take in a match or two. I was also planning to head into town in the morning since I knew from the schedule and from talking to Marjorie that her race was starting at nine o’clock.
After a leisurely breakfast with Brett, I set off on foot toward Main Street, where the race walk would start and finish. Brett decided to stay at home for the first part of the day. He was building an arbor for the wedding and wanted to give that project some attention. The plan was to deck the arbor with flowers and have it lead from the yard down to the beach on our wedding day. I could picture what the final product would look like, flowers and all, and couldn’t wait to see that vision take shape in reality.
Thinking about the arbor reminded me that I needed to order all of the flowers for the wedding. I decided not to worry about it that morning. Since Brett and I would be returning to town later in the day, I could stop by the flower shop then. For the time being, I was going to focus on Marjorie’s race.
I walked along Wildwood Road rather than taking the beach route into town. Before I even reached Main Street, I was glad I’d left my car behind. Traffic was always heavier during the tourist season and, thanks to the road closures for the upcoming races, the streets that were open were clogged with slow-moving cars. Walking into town was probably the faster option.
West of Main Street, Wildwood Road had been closed for the event. As I drew closer, I noticed that several athletes were already gathered near the starting line, many of them stretching or getting last-minute pep talks from their coaches. I spotted Marjorie among them and waved when I caught her eye. She grinned and returned my wave before moving closer to the starting line.
The events at the Golden Oldies Games were divided up not only by sport but also by age group. One of the speakers at the opening ceremonies had mentioned that the oldest athlete registered this year was ninety-six and would be taking part in the horseshoes competition. Even though that wasn’t the most physically demanding event, I was still impressed that someone of that age was active enough to be able to participate. I was even more impressed that a ninety-two-year-old would be competing in track and field. Her name was Beryl Madgwick, and she’d been featured in a video at the opening ceremonies. It seemed the Golden Oldies Games gave rise to plenty of inspiring stories.
At age sixty-eight, Marjorie was competing in the third-youngest age group. Several of her competitors had gray hair like she did, but they all looked fit and athletic. Some were smiling, and others looked extremely focused. One or two appeared quite grim as they waited for the race to start.
I hoped Marjorie would do well. I knew she was mostly in it for fun and wasn’t expecting to capture one of the coveted top four spots that would result in berths to the national games, but she was still hoping to finish in the top ten.
I found a spot near the curb where I could watch the beginning of the race, and after a few minutes one of the event officials called the racers to the starting line. Seconds later, he fired off the starting pistol and the racers charged off in a big pack. I raised myself up on tiptoes to keep Marjorie in sight as long as possible. As the racers speed-walked around a corner, she was still in the middle of the pack.
With the racers out of sight, some of the spectators dispersed, while others stayed in place. The race route would bring the competitors back down Main Street to the finish line, which was just a stone’s throw from where the race had started. I knew I had time to kill before the first racers approached the finish line. The fastest competitors would complete the course in about half an hour. It wasn’t even midmorning yet, but the day was already warm, the sun beating down from a cloudless sky, so I wandered off along the sidewalk toward Johnny’s Juice Hut, wanting something to quench my growing thirst.
I bought myself an iced green tea and window-shopped for a while before returning my attention to the race. The spectators were looking up the road expectantly, so I found myself a good spot by the curb and sipped at my drink while I waited for the racers to reappear. I didn’t have to wait long. Sooner than I expected, the first racer rounded the corner at the end of the street, heading northward.
