by Paula Lester
“We just love seeing people react to that,” Mrs. Hawke said.
Mr. Hawke nodded, glancing at his wife. “It’s more than half the reason I married you.” He grinned, and she slapped him playfully on the arm.
Paige chuckled. Pat and Pat Hawke were kind of fun. “So, you’re not actors, then?”
Mr. Hawke guffawed. “Not even close. We travel the world looking for geocache prizes. We use GPS, clues, a metal detector, and our wits to find modern-day treasure. Like this Oz Wilder thing.”
Mrs. Hawke spoke up. “We’re going to keep the money and then auction off the part in the slasher film to some actor for even more money.”
“You don’t want to be in the film?” Paige questioned.
“We don’t have time for something like that. After we find this treasure, we’re off to find another. Besides, the movie might tank. A bird in the hand is worth . . . well, we’re hoping someone will pay us ten grand or more for the part in the movie.”
Paige had seen enough actors and actor-wannabes come through in the past day, eagerness flowing off them in waves, to believe that someone would pay that much for the chance to be in Wilder’s movie.
Mr. Hawke swept his hat off, setting it on the counter and running his hand through jet-black, curly hair. His wife reached over and pushed a wayward spiral behind his ear, smiling gently at him.
Paige thought it was pretty cool that this couple had made treasure hunting their job. They were cute, in an Indiana Jones kind of way. And there were worse ways to spend your life than traveling to exotic locations all over the world, following clues and finding riches.
It made her think of Captain McDougall.
Of course, Comfort Cove wasn’t exotic. It was actually almost humdrum. But hey, if the Hawkes found the treasure fast, they could be on their way to somewhere better in no time.
Mr. Hawke put his hat back on, took several pictures of pages in the plat book, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill to pay for the two history books.
The couple left with Paige’s good luck wishes trailing after them.
The rest of the afternoon went by fast. The bells on the door rang almost continuously, and Paige settled in and had fun, even though she wasn’t bringing in as much money as she’d like. She asked everyone where they were from, and the general excitement about Oz Wilder’s treasure was contagious.
When her brother, Scott, came in just before closing, Paige was taking a minute to stretch her back, Casper rubbing on her calves to make sure she remembered it was almost his dinnertime. “Hey,” she greeted Scott. “Were you as busy as I was today?”
“It’s nuts out there,” he confirmed. “That’s why I came by—to check on you. Remind you to lock the doors after hours and everything. Actually, why don’t you just come stay with us until this craziness blows out of town? Sarah would love to have you.”
But she was already shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the beach was absolutely packed all day today, and I don’t expect it to let up tonight. Casper might get scared by all the noise if I leave him, and I can’t bring him to your house.” She didn’t want Sarah to suffer an allergy attack like the last time Paige sneaked Casper into their home.
“Mayor Krupp put a curfew in place for now. It’s one a.m. Everybody has to be off the beach by then, so you should at least be able to get some decent sleep after that. Hey, have you talked to Marco?”
Paige shook her head, surprised at the sudden change in topic. She hadn’t seen her Italian friend lately. Maybe she should go to Maretti’s and get some lasagna. Her stomach grumbled at the thought. “He must be busy fixing up Aunt Nora’s old house so his Uncle Frank can sell it,” she guessed.
“During my lunch break, I was scrolling through my phone and I saw a picture of him on Net News. They’re really covering Comfort Cove hard right now. Anyway, they labeled him as an actor who’s starred mostly in foreign films. Apparently, their reporting is designed for speed, not accuracy.”
They both chuckled over the idea that Marco was some kind of a star. Scott gave her one last reminder to lock up behind him, told her he’d stop by the next day, and left.
When Paige and Casper got upstairs, the noise from the beach was so loud it felt almost like they were down in it. She looked out the window over her tiny sink. The beach was absolutely crawling with people. Dueling speakers made it sound like a running bass note, pounding until her eardrums wanted to burst. People with shovels were digging holes all over the place. Some folks played Frisbee, and Paige could tell it was only a matter of time before someone broke an ankle falling in a hole or tripping over a shovel. There were lots of metal detectors in use, and she thought she caught a glimpse of one of the Hawkes’ hats. The laughter and raucous shouting made it clear people were drinking. It was more of a party than an actual treasure hunt.
It was evening, but the sun was still bright. As this treasure thing extended into the coming days, Paige didn’t have to be able to tell the future like Sarah to know there was going to be trouble. Hot sun, alcohol, tons of people, and sky-high emotions could only mix for just so long before something gave way.
She hoped it wouldn’t be anything too serious.
Chapter 5
Her subconscious tried to incorporate the noise into the dream at first. For five seconds, she was in the peaceful, green Italian countryside when suddenly the air raid sirens went off. Then she woke up and realized there must be a police car outside the building. She could see the flashing red and blue lights shining through the window in her kitchenette, making interesting patterns on the ceiling and walls. She glanced around, but Casper wasn’t curled up on the bed like he usually was. The clock on her nightstand told her it was five in the morning.
Her pulse raced as she leaped out of bed, grabbed the clothes she’d had on the day before, and dragged them on while heading toward the door. She caught a glimpse of a white tail peeking out from under her bed.
She tore down the steps, across the shop’s main floor, and into the storeroom. Someone pounded on the door, making her skid to a stop and wonder if it was safe to open it. She decided the sirens meant police were around and unlocked the door, pulling it open to find herself face to face with Scott. His gaze was hard, but it relaxed when he saw her. “You’re okay. Thank goodness.”
“I’m fine. What’s happening?”
“Lucy called 9-1-1 this morning.” He looked over his shoulder toward the back of the parking lot facing the beach, and Paige could see the baker out there talking to some other cops.
“Is she okay? What happened?” Paige pushed past her brother and took off across the asphalt where her Oldsmobile and Lucy’s old minivan both sat parked.
Scott caught up to her easily. “She seems fine,” he said.
Paige went straight to Lucy’s side. “What happened? What’s going on?” She studied Lucy’s face. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her nose was running a little. A thin line of mascara trickled down her right cheek. Paige put an arm around the older lady’s shoulders.
“Lucy, can you tell us what happened?” A small lined notebook with a spiral binding across the top had appeared in Scott’s hands, along with a blue ink pen, which he held poised over a blank page.
Lucy wiped her nose with a sleeve. “I got here a while ago to start baking. When I got out of my car, I saw Old Pops hurrying through the parking lot past me in that direction.” She gestured away from the beach.
Scott nodded encouragingly. Paige knew Old Pops was a local homeless man who often slept on the beach. Lucy had a habit of giving him day-old bread and other treats from time to time. He was usually a bit confused but totally harmless.
“He was mumbling something about seeing a zombie on the beach. Said he needed to get away before it caught him. I was curious, so I grabbed the small flashlight and a canister of pepper spray I keep in my glove compartment and went out to the beach in the direction Old Pops had come from. I went right over there.” She pointed and her finger shook. “I s
aw someone lying there face up with an axe next to his head.” Tears fell down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with her sleeve. “I thought it was one of those treasure hunters, maybe. Someone who’d had too much to drink and passed out. I was going to shake his shoulders and see if I could wake him up and bring him in for some coffee. But then I saw the blood . . . and the axe.” Her words choked off and she covered her mouth with her hand.
Paige squeezed Lucy’s shoulders and murmured softly to her. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Keep going.”
“I . . . I ran back to my shop and locked the door behind me. I called 9-1-1. And that’s it.”
Paige’s eyes scanned the area Lucy had gestured toward. There were uniformed people everywhere about twenty feet away. Someone had driven four stakes into the beach surrounding a rocky area there, and yellow caution tape hung between each of them. She could see a black flip-flop but nothing else.
“Can you think of any other details that might help us? Did you see anyone else on the beach?” Scott asked Lucy, who shook her head in response.
Paige’s brother looked at her. “Did you see or hear anything from your apartment?”
“There was a lot of partying going on out here when I went to bed last night,” she said. “I put my headphones on and worked on my book until the curfew went into effect. The noise died down fast then, and I went to sleep. I woke up when I heard the sirens.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I guess I only got about four hours of sleep.”
Someone brushed past the three of them, moving purposefully toward the crime scene. Scott quickly followed, and Paige looked questioningly at Lucy. “I don’t need to see it again, dear.” Lucy’s black curls bounced as she wiped at her face again. “I’m fine. You go ahead.”
Paige nodded and jogged to catch up with her brother. When they reached the caution tape and the civilian Scott had followed, Paige recognized her. It was Jane from Net News, and she was snapping pictures of the scene, the cops, and even the body. She crouched down to get a shot of the poor dead guy’s face.
“You know you can’t publish pictures of the body,” Scott grumbled.
Jane nodded. “I know.” She lowered her camera, pulled out the small recorder she’d shoved at Jordan the day before, and faced Scott. “I’m Jane from Net News. Are you the officer in charge?”
“I am. Detective Scott Murphy.”
“Can I get a statement for the record, Detective?” She blew at a piece of red hair that fell over her forehead. Jane looked like she’d rolled out of bed and ran straight there, just like Paige.
Scott shook his head. “No comment at this time.”
Jane nodded. “So, you don’t know how a hot young actor ended up dead on your beach during curfew, huh? It was curfew time, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t you have had officers patrolling the beach?” She pushed the recorder closer to Scott.
His jaw muscles tensed, and Paige knew he was clenching his teeth. She made a note to give him a lecture about that later. He’d end up with cracked molars. Then his eyes narrowed. “You said he was a hot young actor? Do you know who this is?”
Jane cocked her head slightly. “Of course. Don’t you?”
Scott and Paige both shrugged and shook their heads.
Jane sighed and mumbled something that sounded like “small-town buffoons.” She stuck her recorder back in her pocket and straightened her spine, making eye contact with first Scott and then Paige. “That”—she tipped her head toward the poor victim in the sand—“was an up-and-coming actor who’s been in a series of extremely popular car chase movies over the past few years.” She looked at Paige and made air quotes with her hands. “He’s friends with your ‘employee,’ Jordan Rake. His name is Cash Conway.”
Chapter 6
It took hours for the police and coroner to finish their work on the beach. Lucy pulled herself together and got to work on her daily baking, and Paige sat with her for a while, drinking coffee and chatting.
“Cash Conway,” Paige mused. “Where have I heard that name?”
“From the movies? Or maybe from television. He used to be on one of the soaps,” Lucy said as she set a timer on the oven.
Paige looked at her friend with surprise. “Since when do you have time to watch soaps?”
Betsy, Lucy’s assistant, scooted past Lucy with a bowl of chocolate sauce. The way they moved around each other in the kitchen was like an exotic dance. “They replay them at night,” Betsy said. “Don’t you watch?”
Paige shook her head. “No, and that’s not it.” Then she snapped her fingers. “Got it. The girl who stopped in and invited Jordan to the bar last night mentioned a guy named Cash.”
All three of the women froze as if in a paused movie.
Paige was the first to speak. “A coincidence. Has to be a coincidence.” The other two women exchanged glances and went back to their food preparation.
Feeling a little uncomfortable, Paige headed out the back of the bakery to Beachside Books. It was about an hour before opening time. Scott was there and told the officers it was okay for her to go through the parking lot to the shop’s back door since the area was still blocked off.
Casper met her in the storeroom, hollering and yowling. “Oh, you came out from under the bed, huh?” Paige ruffled the fur around his ears and poured cat food into his bowl.
After a shower, a change of clothes, and some cereal, Paige went down and opened the store. Jordan came in through the front door shortly afterward. “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Paige was pretty sure he wore the same khaki shorts and flip-flops as the day before, although the shirt was different. His eyes were red and puffy. He stifled a yawn with his hand. “Do you know what’s happening on the beach? The cops have the road blocked off for several blocks in all directions. I had to park at the grocery store and walk over.”
Paige was surprised he hadn’t already heard about Cash’s death. She didn’t want to blurt out the news, but there really wasn’t any other way to deliver it. “There was a body found on the beach this morning. It looks like a murder. The police and coroner have been working on getting the scene secured.” She paused, remembering how the glamorous model-type woman had come into the shop and urged Jordan to go meet her and Cash at the beach bar the day before. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I think you know the deceased. Cash Conway.”
Jordan’s face lost color right before Paige’s eyes. His own eyes widened to the point they appeared to be ready to outgrow their sockets. Quick as a flash, he took off at a jog for the storeroom, and she heard him slam the bathroom door.
Paige started to follow, but when she got to the storeroom’s doorway, she could hear that Jordan was getting sick. She turned on her heel and returned to the front of the store. The bells rang, and a steady stream of people similar to the one the store had seen the day before started up again.
When Jordan reappeared, his face had a bit more color, but he still looked shocked and shaky. Paige gestured for him to join her behind the checkout counter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head and waved a hand in the air as though pushing her concern aside. “My stomach was upset. Must have been all that apple pie. I had some for breakfast this morning.”
He was close enough that, when he spoke, Paige got a whiff of stale alcohol. She pressed her lips together. She thought it was more likely the shock from the news of Cash’s death combined with a hangover had made Jordan sick.
She rummaged in a drawer under the checkout counter, pulled out a pack of mints, and handed them to him. He got the hint and popped one into his mouth. “Do you need to go home?” She was reluctant to ask the question as she glanced around the shop. It was shaping up to be another super busy day, and Paige didn’t really want to work alone again.
She was relieved when Jordan shook his head again. “Nah, I’ll be okay.” With that, he rounded the end of the counter, approached a customer who looked confused, and smiled radiantly, turning on the charm.
As the first hour of the morning went by in a rush of tiny sales and more in-and-out customers not buying anything, Paige slowly became aware that many of those who came in cast sidelong glances at Jordan and whispered furiously with each other. At first, she assumed it was just due to his celebrity status. After all, so many people had come into Beachside Books the day before just trying to get a glimpse of him that, now that he was there, she thought maybe the visitors were starstruck. But she began to realize that the energy surrounding the whispers was off. It actually felt more suspicious . . . almost salacious . . . than the googly-eyed celebrity-watching she expected.
She didn’t have much time to pay better attention and try to figure out what was going on before Jane, the ever-present reporter, swept into the shop like a burst of wind was blowing her forward. The woman made a beeline for Jordan, who was in the sitting area with a customer.
When Jane got to Jordan, she didn’t bother to wait until he was finished with his current conversation before starting to blurt out questions, one after the other like gunshots, holding her recorder in front of her as though it were a sword. “Jordan Rake, where were you last night?”
He glanced at Jane and then murmured to the person he’d been talking to, a thirty-something woman in dark sunglasses who nodded at him and faded back into the crowd. Squaring up with Jane, Jordan asked, “What’s this about?”
“I just want to know if you have an alibi for the time period this morning during which the Comfort Cove Police Department believes Cash Conway was killed on the beach just fifty feet from where we’re standing.”
Jordan maintained eye contact with the reporter but shifted his feet and crossed his arms in front of himself. He didn’t answer her.
“Is it true that you’re in love with Vanessa Flowers, the model Cash Conway was seen around town with yesterday?” Jane leaned forward a few inches, as though she might possibly miss Jordan’s answer even though she was only an arm’s length away from him.
