RADICAL REGATTA!
CORSARIO COVE COZY MYSTERY #4
Anna Celeste Burke
Radical Regatta! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery Series
Copyright © 2019 Anna Celeste Burke
https://desertcitiesmystery.com
Independently Published
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission of the publisher except brief quotations for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of the respective owners. The author derives no compensation or other benefits from the mention of any company or product.
Cover Design by Alchemy Book Covers & Design
Books by USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling
Author Anna Celeste Burke
A Dead Husband Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #1
A Dead Sister Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #2
A Dead Daughter Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery # 3
A Dead Mother Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #4
A Dead Cousin Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #5
A Dead Nephew Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #6 [2019]
Love A Foot Above the Ground Prequel to the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Series
Cowabunga Christmas! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #1
Gnarly New Year! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #2
Heinous Habits! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #3
Radical Regatta! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #4
Bogus Bones! Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #5 [2020]
Murder at Catmmando Mountain Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #1
Love Notes in the Key of Sea Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2
All Hallows’ Eve Heist Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #3
A Merry Christmas Wedding Mystery Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #4
Murder at Sea of Passenger X Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #5
Murder of the Maestro Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #6
A Tango Before Dying Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #7
A Canary in the Canal Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #8 [2019]
A Body on Fitzgerald’s Bluff Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery #1
The Murder of Shakespeare’s Ghost Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery #2
Grave Expectations on Dickens’ Dune Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery #3
A Fairway to Arms in Hemingway Hills Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery #4 [2019]
Lily’s Homecoming Under Fire Calla Lily Mystery #1
A Tangle in the Vines Calla Lily Mystery #2
Fall’s Killer Vintage Calla Lily Mystery #3
The Vintner’s Other Daughter Calla Lily Mystery #4 [2020]
Dedication
To radical adventures and smooth sailing for us all!
Table of Contents
1 It’s a Miracle!
2 A Dog with No Name
3 Sanctuary Grove Gossip
4 Do Not Disturb
5 Surprises!
6 Friendly News
7 Marina Missteps
8 Not a Crime Scene
9 A Break In
10 A Knotty Problem
11 Kid’s Play
12 The Missus
13 Second to Die
14 Under Wraps
15 An Invitation
16 Let the Party Begin
17 Boom and Bust!
Recipes
Radical Triple Fudge Brownies
Mushroom Spinach Frittata
Guacamole
Fish Tacos
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my beloved husband and best friend for his feedback and support every day—even the days when he’s not feeling well. His love and friendship is a gift I cherish.
Another big thank you to Peggy Hyndman for her editing of this book. She’s a rock in the midst of the fast and furious pace of events as the clock ticks down to release day.
I’m grateful to Ying Cooper, too, for her contributions as well. My books are always better after Ying has worked her way through them.
Last, but not least, I’d like to thank my readers who encourage and support me and make it all worthwhile. That’s especially true for my ARC Angels who read my books before the final edits are complete.
1 It’s a Miracle!
When the sun rose, we were already on the beach. Not surfing, yet, but meditating if you can believe it. My inner child is a cynical street kid and highly skeptical about anything otherworldly. I’m suspicious about plenty that goes on in the world around me, too. Nevertheless, here I was with my hunky, surfer dude husband, Brien, sitting silently in the sand with Bede Greco.
Father Bede Greco, a Jesuit priest with a unique skill set, sat on my left as still as a statue. Seated on my right, Brien was motionless, too. I knew that because I’d opened my eyes and glanced at both men. When I’d sneaked a peek once before, Brien was doing the same. Our eyes had met, and we’d stifled a giggle before looking away. Did Brien’s stillness now mean that he’d settled into a meditative state sometimes called quietus?
I got my answer. It came in the form of a loud snort. Not quietus. A deeper state of meditation at which Brien excels, otherwise known as sleep. Bede seemed not to notice as Brien shook himself awake and gazed at the surface of the Pacific Ocean cast in the golden glow of sunrise. Suddenly, he went on alert, staring intently at the horizon.
I tried without success to see what had caught his eye. The man I married a few months ago has eagle-eyes—better than twenty-twenty vision. I wasn’t sure what to do until an alarm went off. Bede had set it for thirty minutes to alert us that our meditation session was over.
In a flash, Brien was on his feet. Dressed in a wetsuit, he didn’t stop to put on his booties but ran, in his bare feet, for the water. Along the way, Brien grabbed his longboard and plunged into the surf. His muscular arms bulged as he propelled himself through the water.
“He’s in a hurry to catch that first wave, isn’t he? It must have been an inspired meditation.”
“Or a darn good dream,” I muttered in reply to Bede’s comment. In no time flat, Brien had pushed beyond the point at which the waves begin to swell. That’s where we surfers usually sit and wait in what we call a “line-up,” trying to determine the right moment to take off and ride a wave. With more skill than I possess, a ride like that can carry you all the way to shore.
When Brien kept going, plunging through the water as hard and fast as I’d ever seen him move, I finally spotted something. “What is that?” I asked, pointing in the direction in which Brien was heading, driven as if some devil of the deep was on his heels.
“I’m not sure,” Bede responded. “Something’s moving out there. It’s in the open water just beyond the point where the boats anchor before making their way into the marina.”
“Maybe someone fell off a boat,” I speculated.
“I don’t see a boat anywhere, do you?”
“No,” I replied anxiously watching Brien as he kept going. I ran into the water, as far as I could go before the waves lifted my feet from the ground. Then I gasped and shouted to Bede. “It’s a dog! There’s a dog in the water, swimming for its life!”
Bede had already grabbed his surfboard and took off, paddling after Brien. He was never going to catch up with Brien. I wasn’t even going to try. Instead, I made my way back onto the beach, and ran to the spot where my board stood pl
anted upright in the sand. I dug up the bag we’d buried nearby, aiming to hide our valuables during the surfing we planned to do after meditating. The bag contained our cellphones. I grabbed my phone and called resort security.
“Big Al,” I hollered into the phone. “It’s Kim.” I must have caught Big Al in a moment of deep meditation. He sounded groggy.
“Who? What do you want?”
“We’re on the beach, Big Al, and we’ve got an emergency.”
“Gidget, is that you?”
“Yes. Brien and Bede have gone into the water. Brien’s way, way out at the edge of the cove. He’s trying to rescue a dog that’s swimming for shore from the ocean. Bede’s trying to catch up so he can help.”
“A dog? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I replied. As I caught sight of the dog that was closer now, I spoke again. “I’m sure. Can you get medical help down here at the beach?”
“For the dog?”
“I hope the dog’s the only one who’s going to need it.” I took another look. My he-man, built like Chris Hemsworth in that Thor movie, was barely recognizable as he sliced through the glittering water. The dog was paddling toward him but moving more slowly now. Who knew how long the poor animal had been in the water since there wasn’t a boat anywhere near him?
“Got it. I’ll call the lifeguards on the boardwalk. Someone should already be there this morning. If not, I’ll go to their office and grab the rescue equipment myself.”
“Thanks,” I said as I hung up and then picked up a backpack that contained our wallets, keys, towels, water, and protein bars. Feeling useless, I pulled a couple of big towels from the bag and placed my phone in its watertight pouch before returning it to the backpack. I walked to the water’s edge and waited. Then my heart skipped a beat. The dog disappeared under the water.
Brien rolled off his board and plunged into the water. After a few anxious moments, a bolt of joy hit me. Brien hopped back up onto his board. When he turned around, pointing his surfboard toward the beach, I could see a dark splotch on his surfboard. It didn’t look much like a dog at this point. Bede was making his way toward them.
Not bad for an old guy, I thought as Bede passed the halfway point between Brien and the shore. I’d never say that aloud to him. Partly because Bede’s not that old. In my twenties, I have no reason to be smug. I’m in no shape to keep up with him.
Since marrying Brien, I’d turned over a new leaf and had started working out. Initially an act of marital devotion, I now look forward to improving my physical condition. To be honest, some of that’s about not thoroughly embarrassing myself. In addition to coaxing me into the gym, Moondoggie has taught me to surf.
As Brien got closer to the shore, I could see a large, furry dog lying motionless in front of him. I paced back and forth as Bede and Brien closed the distance between them. I strained to see if the dog moved as Bede reached them, but Bede’s body blocked my view.
Suddenly, there was plenty of motion around me. The lifeguards had arrived, running from the direction of the shops on the boardwalk a few steps from the beach. Behind me, more commotion sprang up as Big Al came to a noisy stop in his golf cart that also carried a couple of the Security Associates who, like Brien, work for him. I quickly explained what was going on to the circle of men surrounding me. Bede and Brien were steadily making their way toward shore. One of the lifeguards, Paul Abbott, dropped equipment into a small dinghy.
“Can I go with you?” I asked, still clutching the backpack and towels.
“Sure,” he said. I stepped into the dinghy that he and a fellow lifeguard launched. I didn’t recognize the other lifeguard, but I’m sure the resort had hired extra help with the Fourth of July Regatta scheduled to take place in a couple of days. When Paul started the small motor, we sped toward Brien and Bede, bouncing through the waves and reaching them quickly.
“Want a tow?” the lifeguard shouted as we drew close to Brien.
“Can you check this guy, first?” he asked. The wet, furry pooch on the front end of Brien’s board didn’t move or make a sound. Bede slid off his surfboard into the water which rose and fell with the gentle swells near the line-up.
“The dog hasn’t drowned, has it?” I asked dreading the answer as Bede ran his hands over the wet dog doing a quick exam. Then he leaned in to look closely at a collar around the dog’s neck. Bede looked at me and shook his head no.
“The poor boy must be cold and exhausted, but he’s breathing. He doesn’t seem to be injured or in pain.” Then Bede, Brien, and one of the lifeguards in the dinghy carefully transferred the dog. Once he was in the dinghy, I wrapped him in beach towels and began to rub him gently, trying to dry him off. “There’s no name or tag on the collar,” Bede added as I spotted it.
“His build is a lot like the standard poodle our friend adopted. Is he a poodle?” I asked, not sure to whom I was even speaking.
“I don’t think so,” Brien responded, resting his head on his board.
“Here, eat this!” I commanded as I dug out two protein bars and handed him one.
“A Portuguese Water Dog,” Bede said in response to my previous question. Bede hoisted himself onto his board. Without asking, I handed him a protein bar, too. A lifeguard in the dinghy with me was examining the dog. He just shook his head when the dog barely moved.
Is he dying? I wondered as I went back to drying the dog with towels. I rubbed him more briskly and spoke to him, hoping Bede was right that he was just exhausted.
“How are you doing, you good boy?” I gasped with happiness when he whined, opened his eyes for a second, and licked my hand.
“What a good dog,” I said as I leaned in and rubbed his ears. He nuzzled my hand with his cold, wet nose. I poured a little water into the palm of my hand, and he lapped it up.
“Fortunately, Portuguese Water Dogs are excellent swimmers,” Bede commented as we reoriented the dinghy toward the beach. The lifeguard nodded in agreement.
“Big Al called Bonnie Wilcox, the vet who’s on call to handle problems with guests’ pets at the resort. She’s on her way. Let’s get the dog back to shore so the vet can check him out. My guess is Bonnie’s going to want to take him to her clinic at The San Albinus Animal Hospital and give him a complete workup. He must have been a strong, healthy guy to swim as far as he did.”
“He’s lucky, too, that Brien spotted him during his morning meditation while his eyes were downcast,” Bede said smirking.
“It’s a miracle,” I said, smiling. I wasn’t being totally snarky, either, as I told my inner street kid to give it a rest. Miracles do happen—my marriage to Brien is a perfect example.
“Grab this, Brien. You’ve worked enough miracles for one day.” In one hand, Brien clasped the towline the lifeguard offered him and held onto his board with the other. Bede took off paddling to catch a wave back to the beach.
“Have you guys heard anything about a rescue operation by the Coast Guard?” I asked Paul as we made the short trip to shore.
“Not a word. Big Al asked me that question when he called. I told him we hadn’t received any alerts or calls for assistance. No reports of boats in trouble, lost cargo, passengers, or missing dogs. Maybe the dog has a microchip, and the vet can trace his owners.” As he said that, Dr. Bonnie Wilcox arrived. I’d seen her in the hotel lobby at the resort, but this was the first time I’d heard her name. Once we got to shore, we all climbed out and pulled the dinghy onto the beach. She slipped into it to examine the dog. In minutes, she sighed with relief.
“He appears to be okay. I’ll know that for certain once I get him to the hospital. Thank goodness, you were able to reach him in time. It would have been an awful shame to lose such a hardy fellow with so much determination to get to shore.”
“Brien wouldn’t have let that happen. I hope you can find his owners. He needs his family.” As Bonnie and the lifeguards lifted the dog from the dinghy to a stretcher, I wished we could go with the vet.
“I’ll do my best to lo
cate them; hopefully, he’s got a chip.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wilcox.”
“It’s Bonnie, please,” she said and stuck out her hand. I shook it and gave her my name. “Call me later, and I’ll give you an update. You can reassure me that Brien’s well, too.”
“Will do.” I smiled at Brien, who stood nearby, eating another protein bar and guzzling water. Then I knelt next to the dog and ruffled his wet fur.
“Don’t worry about a thing, okay, boy? We’ll find your family and get to the bottom of the mystery about how you ended up out in the middle of nowhere all alone.” The sweet pooch flopped his tail up and down.
2 A Dog with No Name
As soon as the vet left for the San Albinus Animal Hospital, Brien and I loaded our surfboards into the golf cart we use instead of a car. Then we drove to the tiny beach shack we’re renting. It isn’t far from the resort where we work, plus we have an ocean view from the backyard.
Our “love shack,” as Brien calls it, isn’t much to look at from the outside, but it’s much nicer inside. The salty ocean air takes a toll on everything that’s built along the coast. It didn’t cost much to furnish the small, cozy rooms, especially with help from our friends we’d left behind in the California desert near Palm Springs.
We’d been given a big break on the rent when Brien and I offered to fix up the exterior. Before Brien’s training in the security field, he’d worked with his dad doing odd jobs, lawn care, and pool maintenance. It’s a good thing he’d become such a hard worker. When Brien was only sixteen, his dad suddenly left the desert area, and my hubby not only kept the business going on his own, but also managed to earn his GED.
Brien had picked up all sorts of handyman skills along the way, and I’m a big believer in the value of research to do the job right. Using the Internet, and with advice from helpful members of the resort maintenance staff, we tackled our DIY projects while taking the climate into account. The yard, front and back, was already looking better. I’d researched what turf and plants could handle the salty sea breezes blown ashore.
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