Murder Beach

by Rena Leith

  “Now we have our sample. We can work up some ideas specific to Dreams and Dust and then get together to compare notes,” Ricardo stood. “We want to add a bio on you and an FAQ. Things like where did you get the name for your store. Other things you want your customers to know.”

  “I can have a penultimate demo in a week. If you like the basics, we can embellish and continually update.” Mia stood. “I have to get back.”

  I shook Brendan’s hand. “Great to meet you.”

  Ricardo and I left by the back door.

  “If you can’t get me on my cell, come by the Comic Shack. I also work there, and Bobbo knows my schedule. I often have my phone on vibrate when I’m working or gaming. If I’m in character, I won’t answer.”

  “Anachronistic?”

  “Got it in one.”

  ****

  Even though all three of us wanted to spend the rest of the day reading through Alan’s manuscript and Doris’ diary, we rented a U-Haul again and headed back to Pleasanton to get the rest of my things and close out my storage unit. For me, it would be like saying goodbye to my old life.

  Once Phil and I had announced to our friends and families that we were getting divorced, I discovered just how many—or should I say few—friends I really had. Many women I considered friends had apologetically told me that they were really friends with me because I was married to Phil and he was a friend of their husband’s. Some were women I’d laughed and cried with, commiserated with over their own problems, and to whom I had revealed my own issues and problems with Phil. Now I wondered how much of what I’d told them had gotten back to Phil through their husbands. Any issue California law would let him fight, he fought. I suspected that he’d hidden money away long before we filed papers. Nothing I could do about it now.

  “It’ll feel good to have all my stuff in one place again.”

  Gillian said, “It’ll be good to get this taken care of. Then you can really start over without feeling pulled.”

  “Do you plan to come back over here for any organizations? Meetings? Friends?” Jack asked.

  “Nope. I don’t have any of those any more. I’m starting completely fresh. Now’s the time for me to change myself because no one really knows me in Las Lunas.”

  “Don’t change too much, Sis.”

  “Pay attention to the road, Jack. Don’t worry. I’ll probably be more like the real me now that I’m not constrained by a husband and my concern for his good name.”

  “Wild times on the coast.” Jack pulled into the U-Haul parking lot.

  As he got out, Gillian said, “I know it hurts, but you will be happier ultimately. You know that.”

  I nodded. “I know. I’m just not there yet.” It was hard realizing that so much of my life here had been built on air, but I was going to miss that illusion of a happy life.

  ****

  By late afternoon, we were back on the Coast with take out from my favorite Valley restaurant to sooth my tortured soul or at least to provide a little comfort.

  Jack backed the U-Haul up to my porch, and we carried the food in to eat and restore our strength before unloading the truck.

  While Jack and Gillian got plates and silverware out, I went into the back bedroom to make sure that we could carry all the boxes in there now that I’d relocated my bedroom to the loft and stack them up without blocking anything I would need in the near future. When I’d finished making a few adjustments and carrying out some clothes I thought I might need, I sat down at the trestle table and helped myself to Changsha chicken.

  I’d been fairly quiet all day and now felt a bit guilty. “I very much appreciate all your help. It would have been really hard to do this without you.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t have missed this trip for anything.”

  Gillian added some brown rice to her plate. “We’ve had more fun than Disneyland.”

  “I’m serious, guys.”

  “So are we,” Jack said. “Who knew? A murderous vampire, an escapee from Aladdin, a neighborhood ghost lady, and a surfer dude.”

  “Don’t forget Doris,” Gillian added.

  “Wow, when you put it like that… Did I just make a terrible mistake?” A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach.

  “No, no, no. I think you just did what a lot of us would love to do,” Gillian said. “You’re free. You can do whatever you want. No ties. No real obligations. You can recreate yourself if you want. Or better yet, be true to yourself. Personally, I think it’s a great opportunity. My advice would be to be fearless. I think you’re meeting the people you’re meeting and having the experiences you’re having because you’re open to it. Maybe for the first time.”

  Jack patted my hand. “Relax. Enjoy.”

  “We’ll come back and visit you.”

  “For sure,” he said. “And you’re welcome at our place any time…with a little notice.”

  I wiped the remains of the delicious chicken from my mouth, feeling stronger. “Okay then. Let’s unload and finish up the old chapter of my life.”

  ****

  After returning the U-Haul truck, we were too tired to do anything physical. At least, that’s what we told ourselves, and it gave us the perfect excuse to do what we really wanted to do.

  We spread the manuscript and photographs out on the coffee table.

  Doris materialized in trousers, looking a bit like a young Katherine Hepburn with a dark bob. “You can read my diary.”

  “Thanks, Doris. Join us. We could use some help with this.” I started to move over but caught myself, realizing my folly. She could fit in anywhere at any size.

  Gillian picked up a picture of Doris’ car and placed it on a page of Alan’s manuscript that contained a description of the car. “I don’t think Howland knew where the car was, so I’m guessing this description is off the Internet. He must have had access to some of Doris’ family’s old photographs, though, because that picture was taken here.” She turned the page and photo around so that I could see it more clearly. “Look at how lovely your bungalow was.”

  She was right. Although the picture was brownish black-and-white, it looked as though the house paint was crisp and clean. The bushes were trimmed, and flowers bloomed in the beds. “Beautiful.”

  Gillian continued. “These pages are largely notes, some more developed than others. It looks as though he was finding photos that matched important points in his proposed book. I wonder what got him started on the idea of writing a book about Doris’ murder?”

  “I’m not sure that it was specifically about Doris; it was about a local unsolved mystery. We don’t have enough here that I can see yet that tells us what direction he was pursuing,” Jack said.

  I leaned back. “I think we need to find out the thesis of his book. Personal interest? History? Local mystery?”

  “Maybe an ancestor of his committed the crime,” Jack said.

  “Maybe,” Gillian said, very slowly as she sorted through the pages. “There’s stuff on rum runners here. Some sort of missing treasure or jewelry.” She shuffled through more pages.

  I fanned out some of the pictures. “This looks like a party. I wish this one were in color. These gowns must have been gorgeous.”

  “That’s me,” Doris pointed.

  “I know that dress,” I said.

  “The sea foam green gown,” Gillian said.

  “The very one.”

  “I loved that dress.” The trousers vanished and were replaced by the gown.

  “That is a neat trick,” Gillian said.

  “That would really save on my clothing budget.” I laughed.

  Doris flickered.

  “I’m not making fun of you.” I was beginning to read her moods through her reactions. It made me realize how vulnerable she was. Funny how I’d started caring about her feelings as though she were a friend. “There have to be people in town who know more about your story or at least events or people from the same time, and those stories could shed light on yours
.”

  Jack yawned. “If I don’t go to bed soon, I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

  “Go ahead. I’m going to do a bit more sorting and try to figure out next steps, but I want to enjoy the rest of your time here.”

  Gillian stood. “We’re not leaving just yet. Jack’s still got some work to do for you.” She patted his shoulder.

  He groaned.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, I woke up with the strong feeling that much of the mystery surrounding Doris’ murder revolved around the people in Alan’s pictures. He or someone else had jotted down some nicknames and first names on the backs of the photos, but names like One Eye and Big Al weren’t helpful unless I could find anecdotes that revealed who they really were or how they fit into the story. I dressed, thinking of the errands I needed to run.

  As I climbed down the stairs, I called out, “Doris? Are you around?”

  “Always.” She materialized in a loose white blouse and wide-legged trousers.

  “Are the pictures we were looking at last night the bootleggers your father dealt with? I’m thinking there must be a local historical society that might have some information.”

  “Yes, but there were others.”

  I made coffee and put an English muffin in the toaster. “I’m guessing you can’t go through the papers and pictures yourself.”

  “Not without blowing them all over.”

  “Please don’t do that.”

  Jack and Gillian came out, and Doris faded away.

  “You don’t have to leave, Doris.”

  But she didn’t return.

  I buttered my muffin, wrapped it in a napkin, and poured my coffee into a travel mug. “I’m going to run some errands. Do you two have enough to do to keep you occupied?”

  Jack opened his mouth, but Gillian cut him off. “We’re fine. Jack will have plenty to do when you get back with the supplies.”

  Jack grumbled, but it sounded half-hearted.

  On my way to pick up shelving supplies for Jack, I thought I’d stop by Crystalline to see if I could find earrings like the pair Samantha had been wearing when she stopped by.

  Looking for parking, I drove around a couple of blocks and found a spot in front of the Comic Shack. I wondered if Ricardo was there today.

  When I walked in, I saw a thin aging California hippie with a long, gray ponytail and a receding hairline who’d clearly grown old without managing to grow up, shelving comics.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Ricardo.”

  He straightened, grimaced, put his hands on his hips, and stretched backward. “Oh, man, I need a break anyway. Getting old. Ricardo’s helping Samantha out at Crystalline over on Main Street.” He held out a hand, “I’m Bobbo, the owner of the Comic Shack.”

  “I’m Cass. I just moved here.” I shook his hand and looked around at all the toys among the comics and graphic novels. He obviously still read his own comics and played with the toys.

  “I know. Ricardo told me.”

  When Ricardo told me he worked at the Comic Shack, he related the story of Bobbo going to Comic-Con as a paunchy Deadman. The story went that he’d bought the wrong kind of latex for his mask before the Con and at the last moment in an effort to salvage his costume, he’d raced into a drugstore and asked for white pantyhose. When the clerk asked what size, he’d famously said, “Doesn’t matter. Just something that will fit over my head.” He apparently had no clue how the clerk would take his remark. I smiled. Meeting Bobbo, I could picture it all too clearly and understood why Ricardo had told me the story.

  “Thanks. I know where Crystalline is. Ricardo has a lot of jobs.”

  “College kid. He needs the money, and the odd hours suit him. Don’t know when he sleeps. Solid worker, though.”

  “Thanks.” I headed for the door, paused, and turned. “Have you lived here long?”

  He shrugged. “Since I graduated Santa Cruz. I really didn’t want to go back to Iowa. Really bad weather. Sure you don’t want a comic?” Bobbo held up an Avengers.

  “Some other time.” I waved as I pulled the door shut behind me.

  A good walk can really warm a person up, and by the time I arrived at Crystalline, I was toasty. I pulled my green leather gloves off as I entered the shop and stuffed them in my pocket. The shop smelled of scented candles and incense. The walls were hung with Celtic tapestries and eyelet material from which hundreds of pierced earrings were suspended. Crystals dangled from racks, sparkled off the countertops, and shone from the lighted display cases throughout the store. The net effect was a kaleidoscope of shifting colors and shadows as I moved among the rows.

  Ricardo had his back to me as he crouched down, stocking shelves, his thick dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and black Doc Martens. A plain gold cross hung from one ear.

  “Hi, Ricardo.” I rested my elbows on the counter next to the ‘Do Not Lean on the Counter’ sign.

  Ricardo took the last crystal from the teakwood box, placed it in the glass display case, and stood. “Samantha mentioned she came by last night.”

  “She had gorgeous earrings on. I had to come by to see her inventory.”

  “Glad you came by. Samantha’s shop is more classically mystical. We need to think about the essence of each business we do a site for.”

  “You’re the artist,” I said.

  He smiled, clearly pleased. “Thanks. I’ll send you some links so you can get an idea of the range. For example, there are two relatively new gamers who’ve been hanging around. You might see them on your beach although not with us. They’re a bit more cybergoth. They highlight their clothes and accessories with neon. Looks cool under black light.”

  “Okay. Really feeling old now.”

  Ricardo laughed. “Relax. It’s all about subcultures, not age. They’re always morphing. You’ll never catch up, but you need to be aware of the range. If you’re rich and like craft beer, there’s always hipster.”

  I frowned. “Hipster? Cab Calloway? Bebop?”

  Ricardo’s look was purely pity. “That’s hepster to you. I mean modern urban hipster subculture morphed from alternate and boho. How old are you?”

  “Thanks, kid. My grandparents had a great record collection. Record cabinet with beautiful inlaid doors. 78s.”

  “Now I’m jealous. I don’t suppose you still have the cabinet and the records?”

  “Sorry. Long gone but fondly remembered.”

  “Pity. Vinyl’s the way to go. How do you like Samantha’s shop?”

  I looked around, nodding and happy to no longer be displaying my ignorance. “Nice. Very New Age.”

  “She’s a subculture all her own and always having visions. She says if she dreams about her father, then we’re gonna have the Big One.”

  “The big one?”

  “You know, the Mother of all Earthquakes that splits California off from the coast. Nevada beach front.”

  “You do know that won’t happen, don’t you?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I know. Geological time frames and plate tectonics. I did study in school.”

  My turn to smile. “Glad to hear it. Do you still game regularly?”

  “Yeah. I was online last night. There was no game on the beach last night that I know of, but Samantha mentioned seeing vampire gamers or at least she thought they were. By the way, do you know why the beach is such a popular place for the game? There’s an optical illusion out by the point. Ever wonder why it’s called La Bahia de Las Lunas, the Bay of the Moons, not the Bay of the Moon?”

  At that moment, Samantha, Ricardo’s boss and the owner of Crystalline, made an entrance. Her sun and moon robes draped off her large body, and her movement shimmered with the metallic thread of the embroidery that made the heavenly bodies appear to be orbiting. Coppery red hair cascaded in fuzzy waves halfway down her back, and she carried a gnarled wooden cane with a large crystal set into the top.

  “Cass! How are you? Get to work, Ricardo. No dust. Not a
speck on any of my crystals. It blocks their power.”

  Ricardo sighed. “You do know that crystals are inanimate, don’t you?”

  Samantha glared at him.

  Ricardo turned back to me, a real smile playing across his lips now. “Later?”

  “Absolutely.” I watched his retreating back for a moment, realizing that their relationship was more mother and son than boss and employee. He had true affection for her, and it was clearly returned. I smiled.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Samantha straightened some small pewter fantasy figurines on the countertop. A tiny wizard held a staff with a crystal in the end. Surely the smallest crystal in the shop.

  “I wanted to see your shop.”

  She waved an expansive arm to take in her stock. “Feel free to browse. You may want to pick up a few protective crystals and charms for your new place.” She leaned close. “Oh, my dear, I dreamt about Alan’s murder! I know who did it, but the police won’t listen to me.”

  Samantha’s sincerity was overwhelming as she leaned toward me as if to convince me with her sheer presence.

  “Oh?” My pulse quickened.

  Samantha walked behind the counter, pulled a stool over, and arranged herself on it. “Vampires,” she said conspiratorially.

  “Vampires?”

  “He was drained of blood. There were two holes in his neck.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have a friend in low places.” Satisfaction colored her smile.

  “You know somebody who works for the police?”

  She nodded.

  “What else do you know?” Now I was curious.

  “I know that the vampires were on that beach earlier in the evening. Ricardo couldn’t work for me that night. They needed a sacrifice so that Mia could go through her rite of passage and become one of them.”

  “Wait a minute. One of whom? She’s a gamer. I didn’t know gamers had rites of passage.”

  She snorted derisively. “Not gamers. Vampires. Blood suckers. The undead.”

  Okay. “Admittedly, I don’t know a lot about vampires, but I thought you became a vampire by being bitten by a vampire. At least that’s the way it’s done in old movies. You die and rise from your coffin during the funeral and scare the heck out of everybody.”