A Beach House to Die For

by K C Ames

  “I guess you can tell us more about the soul mates after snow cones,” Courtney said, exiting the truck. Dana followed suit.

  It was hot and humid, another day in the tropics. The granizado vendor was making his way towards a park where Benny sat on the bench.

  “It’s like an oven here,” Courtney complained.

  “I thought you Californians would be used to this weather,” Benny teased.

  “I was born and raised in Michigan and I’ve lived in foggy-cool San Francisco for ten years. I’m not used to this heat,” Courtney said, using her hand like a fan.

  Dana laughed. She sat on the bench. It was hot. She looked down at her flip-flops, convinced even her toes were on fire.

  The old man pushing the cart finally reached them and asked them if they wanted granizados.

  “Ah, just what the doctor ordered,” Benny said, rubbing his hands.

  “What are graw-nee-saw-dos,” Courtney asked, butchering the Spanish.

  “Basically, it’s delicious sugary syrup poured on top of shaved ice,” Benny explained.

  “You had me at sugar and ice,” Dana said from the bench.

  Benny ordered three granizados. Dana watched the old man with his wide smile. He was missing a few teeth. He seemed happy to make the sale. He opened what looked like an ice cream cart as a cool mist from the ice inside billowed outward. Dana got up from the bench to look inside. There were huge blocks of ice in the cart. Courtney stood next to her, peeking inside too.

  “Oh, that feels nice. It’s like opening up the freezer on a hot day,” she said.

  The old man said with a laugh, “Muy frío,” very cold in Spanish.

  “Se siente rico,” feels good, Dana said to the old man.

  He grabbed what looked like an ice scraper with a scoop attached to it and he began to grate it over a huge block of ice as he scooped the shaved ice into a white cone cup.

  “Qué sabor se les ofrece?” What flavor would you like, the old man asked, pointing at several bottles on his cart.

  “That’s the syrup?” Courtney asked.

  “Yes. Which flavor do you want?” Benny asked.

  “What are the flavors?”

  “Red, blue, green, orange, and purple,” Benny said, smiling.

  “Can’t go wrong with purple, I guess.”

  “Red for me,” Dana said.

  Benny relayed that to the old man, who grabbed a large bottle and began to drizzle the syrup onto the ice like a hot dog vendor pouring mustard on a dog. He then picked up a can of condensed milk and drizzled it on the cone. He handed the cone to Courtney and repeated the process on the second cone, which he handed over to Benny.

  Dana tasted it and smiled. The old man smiled back, knowing from her look that he had a happy customer.

  Benny paid the old man, who thanked him and then went back on his way pushing his cart down towards the beach to provide the icy treats to the sun-kissed tourists.

  “He’s adorable,” Dana said as the old man continued on his way, shouting out “granizados” every few steps.

  “And these are delicious snow cones,” Courtney added.

  “Some vendors get really elaborate in their granizado making, pouring not just syrup and condensed milk but also powdered milk and topping it off with pineapple chunks. There is also the Churchill. I’ll have to take you guys to get a Churchill,” Benny said, sounding excited.

  “What’s a Churchill?”

  “It’s the granddaddy of all granizados in Costa Rica.”

  Suddenly, Benny said, “Oh, great.” He was being facetious as he looked at a white car parked across the park.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Dana asked.

  “It’s Detective Picado,” Benny replied.

  “He hasn’t seen us.”

  Picado stayed in the car as Detective Gabriela Rojas exited it and went inside the building. A couple minutes later, she came back downstairs and went back inside the car.

  “He must have found out about the yoga teacher and is now looking to interview her.”

  A couple minutes later, Marisol Arias was walking back to the yoga studio.

  Picado and Rojas exited the car, waiting for her, when he looked over towards the park, and Dana and Picado locked eyes.

  If looks could kill, she would be dead.

  He crossed the street and walked towards them.

  “Ms. Kirkpatrick, what are you doing with Ms. Arias?” Picado demanded to know.

  “I just met her today. We had tea and coffee.”

  “Unbelievable. Everyone is here. A nice little party you are all having,” Picado said, glaring at the three of them and then at Marisol Arias, whom Detective Rojas had brought over to join the powwow.

  “What are we doing wrong?” Dana asked.

  “You’re interfering with my investigation,” Picado barked loudly.

  Benny and Courtney arrived and stood next to Dana so they were all facing the detectives.

  “You’re all interfering with my investigation. I should arrest all of you for obstruction of justice,” Picado said, eyeballing everyone.

  “What obstruction?” Dana asked, trying hard to contain her anger.

  Benny gently put his hand on her arm and he stepped in front of Dana and Picado.

  “My client just wanted to meet Ms. Arias, that’s all, we had no idea we couldn’t talk to people in town.”

  “How was I supposed to know about your investigation? It’s not like you’re sending me updates. I found out about Marisol and Roy and I wanted to meet her. We had a lovely chat, and that’s it,” Dana said.

  Benny once again gently touched her right arm. Courtney pinched her and whispered, “Preventive detention.”

  Dana got the hints, so she stayed quiet as Picado chastised them more for getting in the way of his investigation. After more jail threats and warnings to stop interfering, Picado was done beating his chest. He ordered Rojas to take Marisol back up to the yoga studio and wait for him there so he could conduct his interview.

  Marisol looked terrified.

  Dana nodded at her and mouthed sorry.

  “If you find out about anyone else that might have information about this case, you call me and tell me about them, you don’t go to them directly unless I say it's okay, is that clear?” Picado said. He had removed his jacket. Perhaps it was getting too hot—it was the tropics after all—but Dana thought it was more about showing them his pistol, handcuffs, and badge, all clipped to his belt.

  “Okay,” Dana said.

  “No problem, Detective, thank you,” Benny said, trying to be more contrite, then he quickly turned to Dana and Courtney and said, “Let’s go, now.”

  They crossed the street and piled into the Land Cruiser as Benny drove away.

  “That was intense,” he said as he drove back towards Mariposa Beach.

  Dana noticed he wasn’t being as careful about missing the potholes as he had been on the way up, in a rush to get out of dodge and away from Picado.

  “He couldn’t really hold us in jail, could he?” Dana said.

  “Preventive detention, Dana,” Courtney yelped from the backseat.

  “He’s a cop. He can do anything he wants. Now, it might not stick, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have thrown us into the system for a few hours just to teach us a lesson. I wouldn’t want to spend a minute locked up in their holding cells,” Benny said.

  “Well, he’s a jerk,” Dana said.

  “I doubt even his own mother would argue that he isn’t, but try to see it from his perspective: he’s investigating a murder, and just at about every turn he runs into you, who, I remind you, might very well still be at the top of his suspect list.”

  Dana then told Courtney and Benny all about Roy and his soul mate yogi and how there was no way Marisol was the killer.

  “It had to be Skylar,” Dana said.

  “So you think Skylar killed Roy because he was cheating on her? Those two have been splitting up and divorcing for years, w
hy would she snap now?” Courtney asked.

  “It’s one thing to say I want a divorce because we’ve grown apart or all we do is fight, or something like that, but to tell Skylar he wants a divorce so he can be with his much younger, prettier, yoga teacher with that fit little body of hers…well, that’s a bit different of a pill to swallow, and I’m talking from my own divorce experience,” Dana said.

  “And Barca kicks her out of the resort to live in a ho-hum apartment in town, adding insult to injury.”

  “Toss in the life insurance and Casa Verde with a buyer all lined up who is also supporting them financially in Costa Rica. If Roy divorces Skylar, that makes that deal a lot more complicated with Skylar left standing alone in a round of musical chairs,” Benny said.

  “I was thinking. Barca is a ruthless businessman. Roy and Skylar splitting up and Roy dropping his lawsuit against me, well, that would throw a monkey wrench into Barca’s plans just as bad as to Skylar’s dreams for a big payday and free lodging. He has a lot of money invested into Roy and Skylar waiting for the payoff, which seems to be slipping from his grasp. Maybe he got tired of dealing with the Roy and Skylar drama and now he has a love triangle to contend with, so he figures he’s better off dealing with Skylar alone instead of lovesick Roy and his new girlfriend,” Dana said.

  “You really think a rich guy like that would kill someone?” Courtney asked, not sounding convinced.

  “How difficult would it be for a powerful man like Gustavo Barca to have someone killed?” Dana asked.

  “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be too difficult,” Benny replied.

  That shook Dana up. “And if he then uses that power to point the finger at me for the murder, he gets two birds with one stone. It’s all over. It’s Yahtzee for me.”

  Twenty-Six

  There was an odd feeling in the air, and it wasn’t from the sweltering heat and humidity. Dana felt like she had been charged, tried, and convicted of the crime of murder but had been allowed to remain free for a few days to get her affairs in order. At least that’s the urgency she felt about finding out if Skylar or Gustavo Barca had killed Roy.

  She felt like a pariah in town and she had barely been there for a week. Some fresh start, she thought.

  Dana could feel eyes on her from the community and even from the tourists who would have a little something extra to talk about with their trip to Costa Rica when they got back home.

  Mindy was the exception. Her coffee shop and bagel joint had become part of Dana’s daily routine.

  Mindy’s husband, Leo, had become more standoffish when Dana came to the coffee shop. He was pleasant and polite and he greeted her with a smile, but it was a worrisome smile that couldn’t hide him not wanting Dana coming around every day and becoming friends with his wife when she might be a cold-blooded killer. Dana didn’t blame him for having those thoughts. He didn't know her from Adam, and he worried about his wife's well-being.

  Mindy had told her that she remembered what it was like being the latest foreign expat living in a new country and moving down to a small, tight-knit community like Mariposa Beach, making things even tougher for a new expat.

  The locals and the longtime expats both look down on the new arrivals with suspicion and derision, and that was just from moving into town. Toss in being a single, newly divorced woman, and that tipped the scale even more against an expat lasting too long. Add to that the property dispute and chatter about Dana selfishly keeping Casa Verde instead of letting the son of Blake Kirkpatrick get the property—even if doing that was going against the beloved former resident’s final will and testament.

  And to add to the pile of manure that had stacked high against Dana, there was the gossip that Picado was looking into her as a suspect in the murder of her own cousin.

  “How are you holding up, kid?” Mindy asked. Even though she was just three years older than Dana, she had referred to her as “kid,” since Dana was the new kid on the block.

  “I feel like the elephant man around here, I’m this close to shouting, ‘I am not an animal,’” Dana said, holding her index finger and thumb close together to illustrate to Mindy how close she was from losing it.

  “Hang in there, kid. This is nothing but a rough start. You will be fine and you will thrive here once this murder business is concluded and the gossip brigade moves on to something new to gossip about,” Mindy said, handing Dana a latte and sesame bagel with mango cream cheese. The bagel and cream cheese were both made in-house.

  Dana joined Courtney on the beach. Despite having brought two beach chairs down from the house, Courtney was lying on a large blue and gold Golden State Warriors beach towel she had carefully laid out on the sand.

  “How are you doing, sweetie?” Courtney asked.

  Dana laughed. “Mindy asked me the same question,” she said.

  “Well, we’re worried about you. This has been a stressful few days,” Courtney said.

  “I know. Thanks. That’s why I need for today to be just a normal, hanging out on the beach, relax, have fun, normal day,” Dana said.

  “You got it,” Courtney winked.

  Dana and Courtney had been lying out on the beach for about an hour when they heard that Kansas surfer in his California surfer accent shout out at them, “Pura vida, ladies.”

  Dana and Courtney looked up and saw Big Mike waving as he clopped like a Clydesdale on the beach.

  He was in his typical uniform, blue and red board shorts with white stars on the blue section of the shorts and a white tank top shirt.

  “Ladies? Moi?” Courtney said as she and Dana broke out laughing.

  “Hi, Big Mike. How are you?” Dana said. She appreciated that Big Mike, along with Mindy, was one of the few persons in the community that did not treat Dana like she was radioactive.

  “I’m doing gnarly…another day in paradise,” he said, looking out into the water.

  “All right, go dubs,” Big Mike said, pointing at Courtney’s Golden State Warriors beach towel. He squatted down so he could talk at eye level with them. “What’s cooking?” he asked.

  Dana and Courtney both laughed out loud.

  Big Mike smiled wide. “What did I miss?” he said, joining them in laughter.

  “You’re the third person in the last hour to ask me how I’m doing,” Dana explained their outburst.

  “It’s a good thing to have people that care about you,” Big Mike said, sounding the most serious Dana had ever heard him talk.

  “It is. Thank you for asking. I’m doing just fine,” Dana said.

  “How about some surfing lessons? Get your mind off the bad stuff. On the house,” Big Mike said.

  “We couldn’t accept that,” Dana said.

  “Nonsense. I have Julio watching the shop; I was already going to go surfing, so just tag along. I can use the practice teaching for the tourists,” Big Mike said.

  “Aren’t we tourists?” Dana asked.

  “No way, dude, you have moved down here full time, you’re no tourist,” Big Mike said, standing back up.

  “Where do you surf?”

  “It’s about a ten-minute drive from here. Best breaks in the province for beginners. Nice and smooth,” Big Mike said.

  Dana and Courtney looked at each other and shrugged.

  It was the type of impulsive thing that Dana would have never done in her life without research, planning, and overthinking it to death.

  “Let’s go,” Dana said, getting to her feet and wiping sand from her body.

  Dana had surfed as a teenager growing up in the Bay Area, but the waters of the Pacific in Northern California were too cold for her taste and she hated wearing a wetsuit. It had been over fifteen years since she last surfed. Michigan born and raised Courtney had never surfed, even though they would see surfers at Ocean Beach in San Francisco or off of Highway One between San Francisco and Half Moon Bay. She kept telling Dana for the last decade that someday she would try surfing.

  “Today is that day,” Dana told her.
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  Big Mike had an old, beat-up Toyota pickup truck, crammed with surfboards and boogie boards in its bed. Dana climbed in first. It was a tight fit in the pickup’s cab with Big Mike behind the wheel, Dana in the middle, and Courtney hanging out the window, since Big Mike had informed them once on the road that the air conditioner on the truck stopped working ten years ago.

  “What happened there?” Dana asked, pointing at the empty slot where the radio should be.

  “After they stole it a third time, I got the hint,” Big Mike said. He didn’t sound upset, but amused. “Such is life in the tropics.”

  Dana and Courtney spent two hours surfing with Big Mike. It was a blast. It surprised Dana what a good teacher Big Mike was. He appeared to be a flakey, unreliable goof-off who probably smoked too much of the funny stuff, but he turned very professional when it came to the surfing lesson. “You have to respect her,” Big Mike kept saying—“her” being the ocean.

  After surfing, they stopped at a beach shack, where Dana ate one of the most delicious fish tacos she had ever eaten.

  Big Mike shared how much he liked Uncle Blake.

  “An old hippie, that one,” he had said, laughing.

  “Did he ever say that he wanted to sell Casa Verde?” Dana asked.

  “Oh, no way, man. He loved Casa Verde. Built that house from scratch. Not that he didn’t get offers all the time,” Big Mike said.

  “Really? From whom?” Dana asked.

  “Well, multiple offers from the same man,” Big Mike said.

  “Let me guess, Gustavo Barca?” Dana asked.

  “Barca indeed. He’s been after your property for a long, long time. Shady stuff. Especially once your uncle fell ill and moved back to the States. He was like a shark having picked up the scent of blood,” Big Mike said, sounding sad.

  “It’s a beautiful country with beautiful people, but like any place, there are some bad apples rotting the lot. Gustavo Barca is rot,” Big Mike continued.

  After their late lunch of fish tacos, gallo pinto, and pineapple juice, they headed back to Mariposa Beach.

  “Thanks, Big Mike, it was nice to just have fun today,” Dana said as he dropped them off at Casa Verde.