Murder's a Beach

by Agatha Ball

  I heard metal crashing outside and it made me jump. I shoved my phone in my pocket and ran to the door. I peered out the window in time to see a raccoon rummaging through Georgia's garbage cans.

  I placed my hand on my pounding heart and realized I had come to the limit of my courage that day. I walked out the front door, being careful to lock it behind, and headed towards my bike, giving the raccoon a wide berth.

  But as I walked by, a napkin from the trashcan blew across my path. It was stained the electric red of cherry pie syrup.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As I rode back, I couldn't help but wonder about the red stains that were showing up everywhere. We were the only official bakery in town, but I wasn't making cherry pie. There was Yvette's café. She served pie. She also had a run-in with Byron last month shortly before he died. It turned out her husband had tried to cheat Byron out of a whole lot of money. Could she have something to do with it?

  And that still didn't answer who hated Georgia enough to kill her? I mean, no one liked her. But to actually kill her? That was a whole new level of animosity. Who was that other woman in the pictures? And what had gone on between Georgia and Doyle? Why did her vision board involved dropping anvils on his head?

  I felt like I was leaving with more questions than I started with. I patted the book in my jacket pocket. Hopefully, it would give me some real answers soon.

  But first, I needed to check in on Granny. I rode over to the clinic, parked my bike, and went inside.

  The nurse seemed surprised to see me. "Paige! We've been trying to reach you!"

  "Oh?" I asked. My stomach dropped into my shoes.

  The nurse must have seen the look on my face because she swiftly reassured me. "Your grandmother is fine."

  "Oh thank goodness," I said, resting my hand on my heart.

  "The doctor recommended a series of stress tests and a little more observation of her heart rhythms to make sure she's okay, but we just don't have the equipment or the bed space."

  "Oh," I said. The clinic was really only meant for stabilization, scrapes and bruises, and the occasional antibiotic dispensary.

  "We transferred her to the mainland," the nurse told me.

  "Wait," I replied. "You transferred her? Without asking me?"

  "We tried to reach you," she said.

  Suddenly my phone chirped and I looked down as four missed calls and twelve texts from Wanda came in at once. I held up my phone. "Just got them all."

  The nurse smiled apologetically. "We knew that the cell reception around your cottage is terrible and you weren't picking up your landline. We couldn't wait. The medivac needed to get going. She was alert enough to consent and Wanda went with her."

  I took a deep breath and tried to swallow the guilt. My snooping through Georgia's things meant I hadn't been around when Granny needed me. "Of course. Thank you for taking care of her."

  "I expect they'll keep her overnight and she'll be back on the ferry tomorrow. Again, everything looks great, it's just that women's heart issues can mask themselves and the doctor wanted to make sure that nothing was missed."

  "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Do you have a number I can reach her?"

  "Of course," said the nurse, writing down the number on a piece of paper. "The biggest thing is just to not cause her stress or worry. Keep things light. Handle the things here for her so she can focus on feeling better. This will all be over before you know it."

  I smiled grimly and nodded. I walked out to my bike. There was nothing to be done. It was going to be another half-hour before the helicopter even landed, at least an hour before I could call her, but Wanda was with her, so at least she was in good hands.

  As I rode back towards Bitter Beans, I saw that Johnny was working his surf shack. Just the sight of him was like a center of peace and familiarity in this mess. I realized I could really use a friend. I mean, you can't rely on Johnny for too much, but I'd known him for as long as I'd been coming to the island and he understood how important Granny was.

  I rode my bike over and waited as he finished with a customer.

  He gave me a wave. "Yo! Paige!" He then began frantically waving at me as if I somehow had not seen him.

  "Hey!" I called back, giving him the return wave of acknowledgement he seemed so desperate for.

  He closed the cash register drawer and walked over to me. "I feel, like, I haven't seen you at all. Is Linda coming between us? Because, for serious, Paige. You're always my best friend. Bros before hos. Always."

  I smiled for, I think, the first time since all this horribleness began. "I swear she isn't coming between us."

  He wiped his forehead. "Awesome. Because, like, she can really dominate a conversation and I didn't want you to ever feel like you weren't being heard. Because your voice is very important to me and to the world and I don't want anyone to make you feel less than you. And stuff."

  This time I laughed. "I swear, Johnny, I think it's great you and Linda found each other. As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

  He looked towards the ticket booth and wrinkled his nose. "Yeah. I'm going to have to reflect on that."

  "Trouble in paradise? Already?"

  Johnny leaned against the counter. "She's kind of weird, Paige. She, like, REALLY likes her job. Which I would, like, totally support if she was, like, baking cakes like you or raising baby orphaned elephants or backpacking across Nepal or something. But she, like... she's really into sitting in a glass box and selling tickets. Like, really."

  "What are you going to do about it?" I asked.

  He stared off into the horizon and his voice softened with the deep thoughts coursing their way through his mind. "I hate to break her heart, but sometimes you gotta admit maybe you're not soulmates. You have to empty the cup so that it can be filled. Love is like a piece of driftwood. Throw it out into the ocean and if it returns in the surf, you know it was meant to be. And if they don't come back, they like... aren't the one meant for you... or something." His eyes widened as his thoughts progressed. "Unless they get eaten by a shark. Because sometimes sharks think you're, like, a seal." He looked at me. "If I set her free, she won't get eaten by a shark, will she?"

  "I'm pretty sure she's safe," I replied. "She works in a glass box."

  "I don't mean like a real one," he clarified. "I mean, like a metaphysical one and stuff. Like, symbolic and junk."

  "I got you," I assured him. "No, I think you're right." I placed a hand softly on his arm. "Do you want me to go with you?"

  He thought about it for awhile and then nodded. "Yeah. That'd be super cool, Paige."

  So, my bike in tow, we walked over towards the ticket booth. There were a few families walking around, but no one in line. I stood off to the side to give Johnny the room he needed, but I still remained close enough to eavesdrop on what he had to say. Sometimes other people's misery is a good way to keep your brain from spinning around on your own, and Johnny's drama was better than a soap opera.

  Johnny looked back at me for reassurance. I gave him a thumbs up, encouraging him to be brave. Johnny leaned forward and craned his head down so that he was speaking through the opening in the ticket booth which most people use to exchange money, not words. "Um, Linda?" he asked.

  She rolled her eyes and put down her book. "What?"

  "Um... I was just wondering if we could like... talk."

  "Sure," she said. She paused to pop a piece of gum into her mouth.

  Johnny took a deep breath. I could see him trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say as gently as possible. It was all lost on Linda.

  "So, I was thinking, maybe things are getting too serious between us and maybe we should see other people."

  "Cool," she replied, her face completely deadpan. She picked up her book and went back to where she left off.

  It was like the gigantic tension Johnny had been carrying dissipated like a soap bubble bursting. Johnny backed away in relief, giving a massive exhale. He motioned for me to fall in
step beside him, and we walked up the street towards Bitter Beans. He didn't glance back.

  "That was intense," he confessed.

  "You handled it like a champ," I replied, putting my hand on his shoulder to let him know how proud I was of him.

  "I'm gonna need a second," he stated. He stopped. Put his hands on his waist. Breathed in and out. Then, he turned to me. "I'm good."

  "Can I buy you a churro or something?" I asked.

  His eyes lit up. "Yeah, that would be stellar!" he said, and then gave a little skip.

  I laughed. "Go close up your shop. I'll meet you back here."

  Johnny tore off down the street in a full sprint and I aimed my bike towards Bitter Beans. Unfortunately, Stan and Fred were still loading out boxes, which meant I couldn't have reopened the shop even if I had wanted to. It was a sign. Like a thunderstorm canceling a game, I was calling the day on account of epic stupidity. I'd try again tomorrow. I parked my bike behind the shop, headed back to the intersection to wait for Johnny, and we marched off towards the bright lights and rocking music of the Founders' Festival.

  "You sure you're okay?" I asked.

  "About what?" he replied.

  And I knew he was totally good.

  The Founders' Festival was in full swing. There were lots of artisans from the mainland who had set up booths. There was a whole row for authors hosted by our little library. Most of them were selling recipe books and volumes of local history. I couldn't help but note there was a space where Georgia should have been sitting.

  "I wonder what was in that book of hers..." I mused.

  "Whose book?" asked Johnny.

  I pulled the book out of my pocket. "Georgia. She was going to sell this here."

  He grabbed it and started flipping through the pages. "I bet it's full of all sorts of secrets. You see and hear everything in that ticket booth."

  I grabbed it out of his hands and looked around nervously. If someone had been willing to kill for this book, I didn't want them to see that I had another copy. "The weird thing is that Granny had a copy of this book, but after she had her fall, it disappeared."

  "Maybe she took it to the hospital with her?" he offered.

  "No, I was there the whole time. There was no bag packing that happened."

  "Weird," remarked Johnny.

  "Yep," I agreed.

  "Is the shop haunted?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Well, then, it wouldn't have been moved by a ghost..." Johnny squinted and looked up at the sky. "I feel like I've seen that book before."

  "Yeah?" I asked. The thing about Johnny is that him saying he might have seen something before might be referring to something he saw five seconds ago or years ago or just in his imagination.

  "Yeah!" he said, snapping his fingers. "My dad was reading it!"

  "Really...?" I confirmed.

  "Yeah," he said. "Or maybe he wasn't reading it. But he had it. It was on his nightstand when I got him up this morning."

  "Huh," I replied, wondering what that meant. Had Georgia dropped off a copy to blackmail him, too? There were all those pictures of Johnny's dad dying horrible deaths on her wall. It was obvious that she wasn't that crazy about the guy. I didn't want to freak Johnny out, but I hoped that whoever had targeted Granny wouldn't come after his dad. Still, forewarned is forearmed. "So..." I gave him the rundown on the horse tranquilizers, and finding Granny in the storage room and everything.

  His eyes got huge. "What—-?" he said.

  "Yeah," I replied. "I mean, who even has tranquilizers?" I said, hooking my thumb towards the pony rides. "I mean, aside from those guys. Or the vets looking after those guys. Do you think they even have vets looking out after those guys?"

  Johnny shrugged. "Tough to tell."

  We both stared at the pony ride, trying to figure out if any of them looked lame or sleepy, aside from their normal, bored manner.

  "Yeah, tough to tell," Johnny repeated.

  We wandered up one of the rows towards the food trucks. There were a couple of tables selling homemade treats: jellies and jams, baked goods, and cobbler in mason jars. It made me think about the red handprints I found everywhere. I didn't want to freak Johnny out, but if there was something going on and his dad got hurt and I could have prevented it, I would feel awful.

  "Just something else to look out for... There was this red syrup handprint on the wall," I blurted out, "but Granny didn't leave it. And it looked like someone left a handprint on her shirt. And then Trevor was lifting a box and he left red on my shirt."

  "Oooo... do you think he tried to kill your Granny?" asked Johnny.

  I dismissed the thought. "No, Trevor's a nice guy."

  "Jake seemed like a nice guy until he tried to kill you."

  Johnny had a point. "Maybe I should go say hello to Trevor and see how his bar is coming together," I said.

  "I think that might be a really good idea," said Johnny.

  And when Johnny starts seeing the logic in your reasoning, you know there is something that you should pay attention to.

  But not tonight. There were trucks lined up and down the field, though, offering pretty much every food a person might want: fish tacos, Thai noodles, grilled macaroni and cheese sandwiches, ice cream, cupcakes, BBQ, and what we were looking for, the fried everything truck. The place you go to get a funnel cake or a churro or donuts or whatever.

  I bought one for each of us and we strolled through the lights of the midway, chowing down on the cinnamon sugar fried goodness. There was a two-story slide and kids were coming down it on burlap bags. There was a bouncy castle. There was a small scale Zipper and a Tilt-a-whirl ride run by some rough-looking folks.

  "My dad used to run a Ferris wheel," Johnny remarked.

  "Really?" I asked, surprised to hear this for the first time.

  He shrugged. "Yeah. He ran away from home in high school to join the carnival." He took a huge bite of his churro. "Still keeps in touch and sometimes picks up an odd job or two."

  "I didn't know that about him. He didn't get along too well with your grandma and grandpa or something?" I asked.

  "No idea. He grew up in an orphanage," said Johnny.

  "Really?" I said. It's weird. Johnny and I had known each other since we were little kids and my mom hauled me off to the island for the summer. But as kids, you just spend your days having a great time. And as we got older, it just felt like we knew everything about each other because we had grown up together. I realized that his dad was such a jerk and his mom was such a drifter, we just didn't talk much about their lives aside from coming up with excuses to get him out of the house. "That must've been rough."

  Johnny just shrugged. "Yeah. I figure they must not've been the nicest people."

  I bit back the words that Doyle's parenting style sort of made sense now. Just leave Johnny to fend for himself and trust the kid was smart enough to survive.

  "What about your mom?" I asked.

  Johnny shrugged. "Yeah. He doesn't talk about her, either. She just shows up every now and then with money and then disappears again."

  I wondered how much Johnny's dad relied on Johnny to provide his cash now. "How's it going working with your dad at the surf shack?" I asked.

  Johnny shrugged. "I'll be glad when the season slows down and he goes back to drinking beer on the couch."

  "Totally get it," I replied. I grew thoughtful, thinking about how he had been lurking around. "He was acting kind of weird the other day."

  "He was?"

  "Yeah, when Georgia was discovered in the ticket booth, he followed me back to the shop."

  "He gets bored," Johnny offered.

  "Sure." There's wasn't really anything else to say, so instead, we sat there in silence finishing up our snacks, which is one of the things I liked about Johnny. Even if the world goes crashing around one's ears, he makes you feel okay about watching the people go by.

  Johnny pointed to the large Ferris wheel with the cabins that spun 360. "Want to se
e who pukes first?"

  "Always," I said, giving him a grin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Well, it turned out I was the first to puke. Johnny was so used to getting pounded by the ocean, I think his stomach valve had welded itself shut.

  "RIGHTEOUS!" he said, high-fiving me after I finished heaving my guts into a trash can.

  "Oh man, Johnny," I said, wiping my mouth with a handful of napkins. "That did not taste as good coming up as it did going down."

  "We're gonna get you so conditioned, you'll be able to go up to space with NASA and not even go through their gyroscopic twirly thing."

  "Everybody's gotta have a goal," I said, not mentioning that was something more along the lines of Johnny's goals than mine.

  Johnny handed me a water bottle. I swished some around in my mouth and spat it out.

  "Well, if you're feeling better, maybe I'll let you get back to work. I forgot to lock up the surf shack," he said.

  I looked at him strangely. "But you went back to close it up...?"

  "I forgot why I was going over there and turned around, thinking maybe it would help me to remember why I was going to the shack, but then I thought about churros, and I forgot to remember that I was trying to remember something." He gazed off in the direction of the ocean. "Hopefully folks found the stuff they needed to borrow and will remember to bring it back."

  That's my Johnny.

  "Catch you later!" he said, walking away. He then stopped and turned around, walking backward as he spoke. "Oh! And bring Nate sometime for a surf lesson or something, would you? The man looks tense."

  "I'll do that!" I replied, giving him a wave.

  When my stomach finally calmed itself down, I decided to make my way back to Bitter Beans in case there was a late crowd looking for an afternoon cuppa. I'd feel awful if Granny came back to an empty till because I was too busy having fun at the Founders' Festival. But I decided to take the scenic route through the handcrafted section. I paused to look at some gorgeous jewelry, made by wrapping silver wire around mother-of-pearl shells. It reminded me of something a mermaid would wear. As I picked up a piece to admire in the mirror, a voice called out to me.