When a Lover Calls: A Romantic Suspense Novella (A TURQUOISE BEACH MYSTERY Book 1)

by Jane Preston

  Indigenous dishes that were tasty. And enchanting.

  Her thoughts immediately turned to the long, lanky and easy-going Jim Coleman. She wanted to impress him. Enchantment would certainly be in the air at her pool party, if she had anything to do with it.

  Reviewing the details in her mind once again, Maureen still intended to fire up the back porch electric barbeque to serve home-made hamburgers, with a side of marinated pineapple, for those guests with less sophisticated palates. Bob Bly had kindly offered to do the outdoor cooking.

  I can use all the help I can get, she thought now, shaking her head in total amazement that she had even conceived of hosting a social event.

  Parties are just not my thing, she told herself firmly. But, somehow, Hawaii had brought out a completely different side to her personality.

  Next thing I know, I’ll be dancing on the table tops.

  She spontaneously laughed out loud and a luminously-colored bird screeched, causing Maureen to jump a bit. Boy, I'm sure a Nervous Nellie today, aren’t I?

  Still, something in the pit of her stomach insisted that her persistent edginess had a lot more to it than simply the pressures of an approaching pool party.

  But Maureen Beckley had no time to listen to her gut. Not now.

  Shrugging, she turned on her sandaled heel to grab yet another cup of energizing coffee before getting back to the task of being a gracious hostess and all it entailed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Mother Nature was definitely cooperating with Maureen’s pool party tonight, as the scintillating stars showed up for a smash performance in the midnight-blue skies, twinkling around a large golden full moon. With equal luster, the surface of the backyard swimming pool sparkled, vibrating tiny wavelets of intense turquoise blue. The night was alive with gaiety as the invited guests arrived, Mary and Bob Bly first, followed closely by four 30-something couples, all beachfront neighbors.

  And, of course, Jim Coleman, a man of great interest to the esteemed, but harried, hostess of the event.

  Maureen Beckley was experiencing a combination of high anxiety and tremendous relief. At last, the party was in full swing. There was no turning back now.

  I am in great need of a long, cool Mai Tai, she decided, and walked over to the bartender standing behind the wet bar to lean heavily against the bamboo stand. The look on her face said it all.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Miz Beckley. Everyone’s enjoying themselves.” This from the young Hawaiian man whose very presence practically guaranteed a great party: he was affable, expert and quick at pouring perfect drinks – and loads of fun. Lonai Kai had come highly recommended from the catering company.

  Maureen thought he should have been a D.J. with his rich, mellifluous voice. The kind of voice Sterling Matthews had, she thought, frowning. She took a swig of the perfectly-made Mai Tai.

  “Guaranteed to make you feel a whole lot better, Miz Beckley.” Kai nodded, gifting her with an impossibly big, toothy smile. What a nice guy, she thought, a bit sadly.

  Speaking of nice guys, where was Jim Coleman? Glancing towards the pool, Maureen spotted him in short order; he was animatedly talking with a couple of the men guests, probably about wind surfing or scuba diving, she guessed.

  Her time with Jim would come soon enough.

  Meanwhile, she needed to play hostess and play it well.

  Thank God for the caterers, Maureen sighed, as she, drink in hand, made her way slowly around the sparkling, jewel-like pool. A couple of the women caterers, dressed in sleek, black pants and crisp, white shirts with formal black ties, circulated effortlessly, weaving between the small groupings, taking drink orders and delivering small plates of delicacies and puu-puus.

  With them at the helm of the ship, she could spend her time making everyone feel right at home. In fact, she was new to three of the couples and chatted with them about where they lived on the mainland and their respective careers; two couples actually owned their neighborhood beachfront homes, having done very well in the stock market.

  These were interesting, accomplished people – two in real estate; one a stockbroker; and two small business owners - and she was glad to make their acquaintance at the first pool party she had ever hosted.

  In Hawaii, no less.

  So far, so good, Maureen thought, her spirits lifting. Kai was right, she chuckled to herself. His Mai Tai was making her feel a whole lot better.

  Still, something tugged at her gut.

  Something wasn’t quite right. But she didn’t know what.

  The thought didn't hit her until after dinner had been served, happily devoured and raved about. The guests had gotten up from the tables to mill about the pool, talking animatedly, while awaiting dessert – a luscious pineapple, papaya and raspberry cheese cake.

  The hostess found herself suddenly reminded of another momentous occasion. This pool party, she thought, looks a lot like the one where I first met Sterling Matthews.

  She shivered, although the night was pleasantly warm.

  Suddenly unnerved, her eyes surveying the backyard and all of the guests, Maureen half-expected her tall, gorgeous mystery man to show up here at her Kailua Beach vacation home. Oh, but that’s silly, she scolded herself, shaking her head imperceptibly.

  Struggling to banish the ridiculous notion, Maureen forcibly turned her thoughts to the serving of the scrumptious final course, content to be here with these wonderful people, enjoying a lively pool party.

  My pool party, Maureen Beckley confidently reminded herself, as, shaking off the last of her nerves, she sailed happily through the open, breezy lanai into her lovely vacation home to see what more needed to be done in the kitchen.

  ***

  But Sterling Matthews had shown up.

  Positioning himself behind the heavy foliage of Hibiscus bushes, tall bunches of grasses and swaying palm trees at various times throughout the evening, he’d seen the pool party from afar, including the love of his life making her merry way from guest to guest, laughing joyously with animated gestures, while sipping on a tall Mai Tai.

  Was this the reclusive, timid Maureen Beckley he knew and loved?

  Watching as she took another lingering sip from the intoxicating, fruity cocktail, with her dancing eyes taking in the guests and their exuberant conversations, Sterling tried not to feel enraged. He’d come all the way here tonight, to Kailua Beach, to surprise her: to gentlemanly escort her out for a quiet, lovely dinner at a five-star, exclusive restaurant.

  Just the two of them.

  Instead, he found a loud and boisterous group of party animals in full swing. He’d only be half-surprised if the guests started climbing the trunks of the palm trees, half-naked. And, if that wasn’t enough, Maureen was leading the way.

  After all, it was her pool party!

  Besides the hurtful realization that Maureen was hosting an event as extroverted, and, well, as obnoxious as this one - with its blaring Hawaiian CDs, active wet bar, lei-strewn tables and inebriated guests - Sterling felt the undeniable sting of knowing he hadn’t even been invited.

  So what if she thought he was still in California? He would have jumped at the chance to make up for his past thoughtless behavior and fly to Hawaii to see her.

  But not like this.

  Still, it wasn’t until a few hours later, when the party had quieted down and most of the guests had left, that Sterling experienced his greatest shock. And his greatest sting.

  As an attractive, tall, lanky man took the lovely hostess of the party into his arms and began to kiss her passionately on the lips, Sterling literally rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly.

  He realized he was when he heard Maureen whisper rapturously, “Jim, Jim.”

  She’d never talked to him that way. Or, kissed him that way, either.

  Blood rushed to Sterling’s face, his temples pounding like the crashing of the ocean in his ears. Keenly pierced by intense feelings of betrayal and jealousy, the stunned observer was helplessly ro
oted to the spot unable to tear himself away, the heinous act commencing right in front of him.

  Maureen Beckley was his. His and no one else’s.

  Who was this guy anyway?!

  Sterling’s disbelieving eyes stayed glued to the unsuspecting couple and their affectionate cooing and intermittent kissing, even after the remaining guests had left, along with the bartender and catering company.

  Now an inconsolable and angry man, for whom women had never been a problem, Sterling Matthews remained hidden behind the bushes, right up until Jim Coleman made his gentlemanly exit and Maureen closed the doors of the lanai, turning off the house lights on her way up to bed.

  Twenty minutes later, Sterling saw the lights go out in her second-story bedroom.

  Things don’t look good for you, Maureen, he thought lividly.

  Not good at all.

  ***

  The cool, easy night air and the long, gauzy white curtains at the windows of her bedroom, undulating in the unseen, native breezes, created the perfect environment for Maureen to sleep deeply and well.

  But that was not happening.

  Entranced but restless, Maureen’s unconscious mind moved swiftly from image to image as disjointed dreams tried to alert her that something was not right. Subtle but undeniable noises from downstairs, which her sleeping brain accurately registered as the back door slowly opening, wove themselves into her dream state.

  At one point, the slumbering Maureen rolled over on her stomach, completely unaware of her surroundings, making only a quiet, plaintive sigh into the night air.

  Her body continued to sleep fitfully, while her dreaming mind raced.

  ***

  He knew Maureen Beckley had to die. He just knew it.

  He’d had enough of her sashaying. Her behavior at tonight’s party was disgusting. No matter that her abundant, luxurious auburn hair was on fire as it reflected the lights of Tiki lanterns glittering around the pool.

  She was still a beauty.

  But, now, she was going to be a dead beauty.

  His black-gloved hand quietly turned the knob of the back door. Noiselessly, he stepped onto the straw mat on the cool, tile floor of the lanai.

  She had to die. Just like the others.

  He fairly chuckled to himself as he relished seeing the look on her lovely, sweet face when she awakened, frozen with fear, as his deadly hands circled her throat, closing in for the kill.

  In the darkness of Maureen Beckley’s lovely vacation home, the intruder laughed low and softly. It was the kind of laughter women loved.

  The kind that drove them crazy.

  ***

  Maureen was fully engaged in a nightmare about a prowler making his silent, stealthy way up the stairs to her room, step by step, when she suddenly sat straight up in bed. Her hand flew to her throat, which was tight, frozen with fear.

  Had she really heard something? Or was she just dreaming?

  A sudden movement near the entrance to her bedroom startled her. Acting purely on instinct, Maureen flipped on the lamp next to her bed.

  Standing at the top of the stairs, right outside her bedroom door, was Jim Coleman.

  “Jim?! Oh my God, you scared me!”

  Pale as a sheet and wraithlike, Jim raised a cautionary finger to his lips. “Shh-h,” He hissed. “There’s someone in your house.”

  “What?!” She whispered back, much too loudly, her heart flipping over in her chest.

  “Shh-h,” He cautioned her again, inching silently towards her bed.

  Close to her ear now, he put a long, slender hand around her neck and gently pulled her to him. “I got up in the middle of the night and, from my window, I saw a man sneaking around your house. He’s in here now.”

  At the look of sheer panic in her eyes, he knew it was best to stay composed. “Don’t worry. I’m with you.” Then, reading the question in her terrified eyes, he went on, “The back door’s been broken into. It was left hanging open. That’s how I know he’s here.”

  “Let’s call the police. Now.”

  “No, not yet. First, I want to go downstairs and confront him.” His eyes suddenly took on a distant look that Maureen didn’t like.

  “What? Are you crazy?!”

  “Look, I’ve got a gun. I brought it from my home. I can take care of myself. And you.”

  Men, she thought, exasperated.

  “Well, then,” she blurted out impatiently and still more than a little scared, “We’re going down together. You’re not leaving me up here alone.”

  They’d been whispering loudly enough so that anyone in the house, even downstairs, would have heard them. By the time Maureen rushed into a robe, stuffed her feet into a pair of slippers, and the two of them had cautiously descended the staircase together, there were no sounds in the house except for the constant soft roar of the ocean.

  Great, she thought. Then she saw the back door, standing open like a gaping mouth. Someone had obviously used a crow bar to break in.

  What a wonderful way to spend my vacation in Hawaii! Maureen grimaced, her throat became suddenly dry. Somehow, she still managed to squeak out a half-hearted offer to Jim of a steaming hot cup of Kona coffee. But only after she first put an emergency call into the police.

  It was an hour later that the police left after installing a temporary but strong lock on the back door.

  And, at her absolute insistence, Jim Coleman went too.

  Somehow, someway, Maureen knew she would sleep for the rest of the night. What remained of it anyway.

  Leave the worrying for tomorrow, she yawned, as she left on a couple of bright lights in the living room and wearily padded upstairs for some much-needed rest after a very long night.

  ***

  Seconds before he slipped between the cool, crisp sheets, just a few hours before the Hawaiian sun was due to rise, he knew Maureen Beckley still had to die.

  I may have changed my mind tonight, he acknowledged to himself. But I swear to you, Maureen, I won’t change my mind again. Not ever again.

  And, with that thought, he was deep in sleep.

  Just like a baby.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A growing tension in the pit of her stomach preceded the arrival of two police cars at Candace Smith’s one-bedroom apartment on the west side of Liberty City early the next morning. Startled but not shocked when she heard the insistent banging at her door, Candace wrapped her white terrycloth robe tighter around her small waist as she hurried to respond.

  Scared for her own safety since the homicide of Lucy Troppe and Sterling’s possible involvement, Candace had confided in her closest friend, Stacy Marshall.

  Apparently Stacy didn't know how to keep her mouth shut.

  Now the police were closing in and Sterling Matthews’ days as a free man were numbered.

  Candace realized that she didn’t feel particularly bad about this new turn of events. Sterling struck her as the kind of man who always had to have his way, especially with women. In fact, she’d been so completely smitten, she had uncharacteristically given in to virtually all of his demands, even his insistence that she stop seeing other men, although, obviously, he never returned the favor.

  Besides, with his admission about his feelings for Maureen Beckley, Candace had gone cold inside. Her attitude had instantly transformed: If you want Maureen, I’m outta here. Momentarily, she was reminded of Shania Twain’s gutsy hit song.

  What goes around comes around, Candace Smith thought, as she opened the door to two tough-looking officers standing outside her apartment door. But, being Candace, even in the worst of circumstances, she privately noted that the cop on the left looked kind of cute.

  Standing aside, she invited them into her modest home.

  ***

  Capt. Lewis walked briskly into his office and sat down at his desk. Already the information was flooding in and, within minutes, the unsuspecting Sterling Matthews would be taken into custody at his hotel-resort in Waikiki Beach.

  Ca
ndace Smith had spilled her guts to police near the crack of dawn, detailing how Matthews, a couple of days before leaving for the islands, had made her promise to keep quiet about the fact that Lucy Troppe had been one of his so-called patients and a regular visitor to his office. And his home.

  According to Candace, Sterling had also mentioned that he planned to “look in” on Maureen Beckley while he was on Oahu. Apparently, Sterling was crushing on the shy, modest and unforthcoming woman.

  An unlikely match no matter how you looked at it, thought Lewis, leaning back for a moment in his squeaking chair.