Hang Ten Australian Cozy Mystery Boxed Set

by Stacey Alabaster

  “Thanks for showing me around,” I said to Curtis, making an excuse about needing to get back to the hotel to use the gym. “I will see you for the qualifying round tomorrow!”

  He nodded, telling me to look after myself and to be sure to get enough rest.

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t watching before I made my way to the group of fans positioned near the side entrance of the hotel.

  “Hey there,” I said with a wide grin. My plan was to pretend I was one of them. To fit right in. “So, seen any sight of Lola yet? I’ve been waiting around here for hours to get her autograph. I’m so excited to meet her. She’s my biggest idol.”

  One of them, a young guy in his early twenties with floppy hair and an eyebrow ring, looked me up and down. His eyes stopped on the surfboard under my arm and then he glanced at my wet hair. “Really? Because it looks like you’ve been surfing.”

  “Er, yeah, but only because it’s taking Lola so long to appear, am I right!” Gulp. They were not buying my story at all.

  “There is a line. We’ve been camped out here for a day and you can’t just jump it and stand with us.” He turned his back to me and stuck his nose in the air.

  Boy. People sure were less friendly in the city, weren’t they?

  His name was Zan. Well, I assumed it was because it was spelled out with diamantes on the back of his denim vest. I tapped on his shoulder and told him it was a public area and I would stand wherever I pleased.

  He glared down at me. “It might be a public area, but there are dibs when it comes to meeting Lola. I am first in line. I am her biggest fan.”

  “Well, I’m sure I can give you a run for your money there,” I said. It was only a way in. Even though I liked a few of Lola’s tracks, I was nothing close to a superfan.

  He asked me what her date of birth was, and for some reason, I actually knew the answer. But only because of a complete fluke. I knew that Lola’s birthday had been the week before, August first, because it was the same day as my niece’s birthday. It had come up on one of those “celebrities that share your birthday” things in the newspaper and J, my niece, had proudly pointed it out to me. Including the fact that Lola was exactly 15 years older than she was.

  “August first, ninety-four.”

  Zan looked at me in surprise, then relented his position a little. He must have figured that only a huge Lola fan could have possibly known her date of birth off the top of her head.

  “So what time did you get here?” I asked Zan.

  “About midday yesterday.”

  Before Lola had been murdered, then. Hmm.

  He showed me a book he was holding. “This is a gift I’m going to give her. Well, if she ever comes out of her hotel room,” he said, passing me the professionally-bound and printed book.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Zan smiled proudly. “It’s a collection of all the photographs I have had taken with her over the past three years. As well as some other photos of her with other fans. And there are some little stories and poems I wrote about her as well, just scattered throughout.”

  “Wow,” I said, flipping through the glossy pages. “You really made this?” He had gone to so much effort to design and print it, and to think that even if Lola had taken it off him, it probably would have only ended up tossed in her tour bus and then discarded to the trash at some point soon after.

  I felt sad for him. Lola Bloom was never coming out of that hotel room. At least, not alive.

  8

  Alyson

  Qualifying time.

  Or maybe not qualifying time, depending on how it went. But I had my board under my arm and I was ready to face the waves and whatever my fate may be.

  I saw a woman with a short blonde bob watching. And waving to me.

  Hmm. I hadn’t expected Claire to come down to the beach to watch me try to qualify. Thought she’d be too busy eating caviar with Bianca and throwing money into the fire. I started to get nervous now that I had an audience. For some reason, real life people I knew in the crowd were more intimidating than millions of strangers watching on TV. Or online.

  Zan was sitting a little further back, watching too. I’d fed him a story about how I was competing in the competition very begrudgingly and how annoyed I was that the surfing was getting in the way of me following Lola Bloom around every waking moment, but hey, I had to do what I had to do, you know? “With the money I could win at this competition, I can afford to travel overseas and go to every leg of Lola’s European tour,” I had told him.

  Zan had seemed very impressed. Maybe the two of us were friends now.

  He did have a crazy look in his eyes as he watched me, though.

  And an even crazier look in his eyes every time he talked about Lola. The only reason he was even down at the beach now was because Lola’s manager, Andre, had come outside the day before and told the gang that Lola had left out the back entrance and that she was checking into a different hotel. And that if they followed her, he would call the police. So for the time being, Zan had to give his stalking of Lola a little bit of a rest.

  But now I was the object of Zan’s attention.

  Focus on the surf, Alyson. That is all that matters right now.

  I heard my name get called and didn’t look back. Not at Claire, not at Zan, and not at any of the cameras. I just focused on catching the first wave and staying up on my surfboard. I didn’t do anything risky. Nothing impressive. I only caught a moderately-sized wave, but at least I didn’t fall off.

  I caught my breath and tried to look up at the scoreboard as I exited the water. A 6.5, a 6.6, and an 8.1 from the judges. Was that enough to qualify? If not, Claire and I would be out of The Onyx that evening because I would be out of the comp and sent home.

  No way.

  I thought I was hallucinating. I thought I had swallowed seawater. I’ve seen things on the beach before that weren’t really there, so I didn’t trust my eyes. I mean, I really thought I was hallucinating, that I must have had the surfboard hit me on the back of the head. Because that was the only explanation for me seeing my niece, J, on the beach there in Sydney.

  Oh, but she was there all right, flesh and blood, and she proudly showed me the train ticket that she had purchased on her own to travel from Eden Bay to Sydney.

  “You are eight years old, J!” I shouted. “You can’t travel on your own!”

  “I’m nine now!” she said. Yeah. It had been her birthday the week before and she was now a year older. And she had not shut up about the fact for one moment. She thought she deserved a later bedtime, a bigger allowance, and more freedom. I kept having to explain to her that the difference between being eight and nine years old was basically nothing.

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot that when a person turns nine, they are legally allowed to travel wherever they want. Including outer space.”

  J stuck her tongue out at me. I think my sarcasm was largely lost on her anyway. I was starting to panic, though. My brother must have been worried sick. “Where does Matt think you are?”

  She shrugged a little before she admitted the truth. “He thinks I am staying at my friend Mandy’s house.”

  “Well. I am going to have to ring him now and tell him what you have gotten up to. And you know that Matt will be down here within two hours and he will be far angrier at you than I am.”

  She pouted. “Awww, Alyson, don’t!”

  I supposed I should have counted myself lucky that J had managed to survive the multiple train trips all in one piece. She was a clever girl, I had to give her that. But I was still furious. Anything could have happened!

  “Matt will have to drive down here to pick you up,” I said, finding my phone in my bag. “And you are grounded for a month for this, J, okay?”

  She stomped her foot in the sand. “Oh, but it’s not fair that I have to miss out on seeing you in the competition!” She stuck her bottom lip out and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “I want to see you surf!” W
ell, maybe she was just buttering me up. But flattery would get her everywhere.

  I heaved a huge sigh. “Fine. You can stay here for the weekend. But that doesn’t mean that you aren’t going to be punished when we get home, missy! I’m still calling Matt and telling him you’re here.”

  She jumped up and down on the sand. Typical kid. Only thinking about the present moment and not a care in the world for the punishment that might come later.

  Curtis was running across the sand towards me. By the time he arrived, he was breathless with good news. I’d almost forgotten the reason I was even there.

  “Congratulations, Alyson! You qualified.”

  9

  Claire

  I loved J, don’t get me wrong, but having a nine-year-old in the luxury suite, running around and smashing glasses and getting sticky fingers everywhere, sort of messed with the ambiance. I wondered if I could ring reception and ask to switch rooms. Surely that would be understandable seeing as we had the murder room next door. Hmm. But then they’d only assume that Alyson would want to come with me and they’d ask questions and then they’d want to know why J and Alyson weren’t moving with me. And Alyson would wonder the same thing.

  I was just going to have to grin and bear it.

  J was jumping up and down behind me on the mattress. And I was starting to get a headache. “I might go and see if I can get a massage,” I said, grabbing my purse and backing towards the door.

  Alyson was busy updating every form of social media that she had about her surfing triumph, taking selfies and filming short videos just so that everyone on every platform knew. “Er, yeah, sure,” she said, calling out to me as I exited the room.

  Ah, peace and quiet.

  Well. Sort of.

  When I got into the hall there was a man—quite short, about 5’7, with mousy brown hair and wearing a faded leather jacket—skulking around outside Lola’s room.

  “Can I help you?” I asked in a shrill voice.

  He spun around. “Is this…where Emily Ryan is staying?” the man asked.

  How very peculiar.

  “You’re looking for a woman named Emily Ryan?” I asked, just to make sure I hadn’t been hearing things.

  The man nodded nervously, his eyes darting towards room 204. He was younger than I’d first thought, maybe mid-twenties, but he looked nervous and sweaty. He kept putting his hands in his pockets and pulling them out again. “I heard she was staying on this level.”

  I was starting to get a little nervous myself, maybe it was contagious, but I kept my cool. “Sorry I don’t know the names of any of the other guests.”

  I left him standing there and walked down the hall, eager for my appointment. But even a deep tissue massage couldn’t get rid of the knots in my back that afternoon.

  “I’m not sure that children are allowed in this restaurant,” I whispered to Alyson as J leapt up from the table and started to run towards the dessert bar, even though we hadn’t even ordered our main. I didn’t know what had made J so hyper, but she was running around like she was manic. No more raspberry soda, at the very least. “This is a five-star establishment. This is quite literally where the celebrities stay and dine.” I picked up the wine menu and looked over it. “We’ll have to make sure to order something by the bottle, just to be sure they won’t kick us out.”

  “Claire, do you have to be such a snob all the time?” Alyson asked with a heavy sigh. “They are not going to kick us out. There are no other customers anyway…”

  Yeah, and that was probably the only reason that they weren’t kicking us out. Because then they would have no customers at all and there would be zero profit for the night.

  I put the wine list down and gasped when I saw a man entering the restaurant from the side door. He walked up to a table and sat all alone.

  Oh my gosh. It was the guy from the hallway. The one who was asking me about Emily Ryan.

  “Psst, Alyson,” I said, pulling her closer to me. “See that guy over there?”

  “That sweaty one with the old jacket?” She turned back to me with a quizzical expression. “He doesn’t seem like your usual type, but okay…”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think he’s cute. I think he’s up to something.” I filled her in about the conversation in the hall.

  “I didn’t realize he was a guest at the hotel,” I said, trying to subtly watch what he was doing without being spotted. It was difficult when we were the only two occupied tables in the whole restaurant. But he was buried in his own thoughts, not even looking at the menu, just staring off into the distance.

  Alyson raised an eyebrow. “Duh, it should have been obvious. Only guests of the hotel can be on the top floors.”

  “Right.” I did feel kinda dumb, actually. I should have realized that was the only way he could be on our floor. So, he was staying here at The Onyx? But why was he asking about an Emily Ryan?

  “It doesn’t add up, Alyson.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “It rarely does. Until it does.” She gave me a knowing nod.

  “Yes, thanks for the cryptic advice,” I said, picking up the wine list again.

  She had to chase after J, who had knocked over a bowl of sprinkles while trying to put them on her ice cream and was now trying to pick them up one by one.

  I shook my head and tried to ignore them.

  I got a text from Bianca telling me to start dinner without her as she had been caught up in a meeting. Hmm, strange. What meeting? Alyson came over and apologized and told me she was going to take J back to the room to wash up because she was sticky and covered with sugary things. When the waiter came over, I nodded and ordered my own meal. “Might just be a meal for one tonight,” I said wryly.

  When the waiter left, it was just me and Sweaty Man left in the restaurant.

  He caught my eye and held contact with me a moment too long. I shivered and looked away.

  The parking situation in the city was a little dire. The hotel itself did offer free parking, but it only lasted one day each time, so at the end of each day, I had to go into the garage and move the Porsche, at least to the next parking spot to avoid a fine. I could have asked the valet to do it, but after I had found a millimeter-long scratch the first day, I didn’t trust them. If you want to move a Porsche right, you have to do it yourself.

  The parking lot was dark, concrete walls and concrete floors and I was suddenly regretting my decision not to just get a valet to do it for me. I could hear the clack of my heels echoing as I walked across the garage and tried to keep my head held high. I’m not scared, I told myself.

  I approached my Porsche and thought that would be a moment of relief. Reunited with my baby. Both of us survived to face another day.

  But it was not relief. It was pure torture and agony as I approached, my breath catching in my throat as I saw the state of my pride and joy, my own true love. The gold paint slashed. The tires let down. The windows smashed.

  I heard the scream coming from my throat, as loud and violent as though someone had just been murdered.

  Because in a way, someone had.

  My Porsche was the latest victim.

  10

  Alyson

  Claire shoved the note into my hands. She’d found it shoved underneath the window wipers. “Stay away,” it read.

  “Stay away from what?” I asked her, frowning. “Stay away from your Porsche?”

  She snatched it back in annoyance. “It is a warning to back off the case, duh.”

  I had to laugh at that. Knowing Claire, she would tear up that piece of paper and forget that she had ever read it. “Well, whoever wrote that is a coward. And they clearly have no idea who they are dealing with.”

  But Claire was very quiet when we were back in the hotel room and J had finally fallen asleep for the night.

  “Okay, where is Bianca’s notebook?” I said, looking around the suite. She had lent it to us so that we could work on the case while she was at a meeting. “Because we have a
new suspect to add to it. Mister McSweaty from the restaurant. You are right, that guy was super creepy… Too bad we don’t have an actual name for him…”

  Claire had still not said a word. I had made all the notes and was already thinking of a plan to find out more about this guy who knew an Emily Ryan. I tried to ask her about the conversation she had had with him in the hallway, but she just looked at me and said she was going to bed.

  “You can’t go to bed yet!” I chased after her. “We are working to a strict timeframe here. We need to go back to the restaurant, or maybe the gym, so that we bump into him again. Hmm. I have an even better idea actually…” An amazing plan was coming to me. “We should find out what room he is staying in and then one of us should figure out a way to sneak into it.”

  Claire told me that she was going to put her face mask on and then get some zees.

  “What is wrong with you?” I finally asked. She wasn’t listening to a word I was saying. Wasn’t engaging with me at all.

  She stood very still and held my gaze. “I can’t work this case any longer, Alyson.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Is this because of your Porsche?”

  She gulped. “Yes.”

  So that was it then, was it? Chickened out because she was worried her poor, precious Porsche was a target.

  Claire was already packing her bags. But not because she was going back to Eden Bay. No, she was going to change hotels. I did ask, still hopeful, or maybe in denial, “But how will you investigate this mystery if you are not even in the same hotel it happened in?”

  She just placed the last of her blazers on top of the stack of clothes and shut it. “I won’t.”

  I followed her to the door. “Okay, I know you love that car, but this is ridiculous, Claire.”

  She placed the strap of her bag over her shoulder and sighed. “I have a beautiful singing voice as well, you know.”