Table of Contents
Murder is no day at the beach...
Why are you calling him a victim?
Olivia frowned. Was this cop some recent hire looking to impress the chief? He was as fresh of face and as awkward of body as a preadolescent boy, but his speech was clipped and laced with arrogance. I chose that term because unless that man buried himself up to the neck and then somehow found a way to cover his head with a bucket, someone else performed those actions for him.
Reddening, the eager policeman tried to regain his composure. He studied the sheet on the clipboard again...
As Olivia walked around the rear of her vehicle, the medical examiners female assistant came scampering over the dunes.
You wont believe this, Bobby! She pulled on the officers sleeve in a familiar gesture. The MEs assistant used her free hand to brush a lock of dark from her heart-shaped face while giving Bobbys shirt another excited tug. The vic was buried holding a little plastic sand shovel. A green one, just like the bucket that covered his head. Hes got nothing else on him, and I mean nothing!
No wallet? No ID?
Dont you get what Im saying? Thered be no place to hide personal effects! she exclaimed and waved for him to follow her. The guy was buried buck ass naked!
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Ellery Adams
A KILLER PLOT A DEADLY CLICH
To the Cozy Chicks, my sisters in crime:
Deb Baker
Lorraine Bartlett
Kate Collins
Maggie Sefton
Leann Sweeney
Heather Webber
(Love) is easily the most empty clich, the most useless word, and at the same time the most powerful human emotionbecause hatred is involved in it, too.
TONI MORRISON
Chapter 1
There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.
WILLA CATHER
Storms comin, the fisherman said, stroking the pewter whiskers of his beard. He glanced at the small television mounted above the espresso machine, squinting at the green radar image of circulating clouds.
Olivia Limoges followed his gaze. She looked at the irregular shape of the low-pressure system forming in the Caribbean, listening closely as the meteorologist showed the storms projected path should it gather strength and become more than a tropical disturbance. The slick-haired weatherman assured his viewing audience that although the storm was likely to organize and grow in force, it would remain out at sea, allowing for a perfect Labor Day weekend for those heading to the beach.
Jackass, the fishermans voice rumbled like distant thunder. He rubbed a calloused, leathery hand over his lined face as though he could wipe away the other mans erroneous words. Dont matter how much fancy equipment these boys get. They dont understand a damned thingbout balance. Were due for a big one and were witnessin her beginnin right here and now on that TV screen. I feel it in my bones. Its a comin.
Olivia nodded in agreement, for she and the man beside her shared an understanding. The ocean lived inside them. Like the merfolk of legend, their blood seemed to be mixed with salt water and their hearts filled with cresting waves. There was a rhythm, like the pull of a tide, within their souls. Since birth, theyd been schooled to respect the currents and the shallows and the cold depths where no light penetrated. As adults, they were still awed by each powerful swell and surge.
In return for their reverence, the sea offered them gifts. The fisherman, whose name was Fergusson, had been granted three decades of nets brimming over with brown, white, and pink shrimp. With every haul, the captain counted his blessings. The ocean fed his family and gave him purpose. He was a man satisfied with his lot in life. Olivia had been given trinkets, pushed onto shore by frothy wavelets, and a fresh start, white and gleaming as a strip of sand in the moonlight.
She and the taciturn shrimp boat captain had been the first customers in the casual eatery. At six thirty in the morning, theyd taken black coffees and bagels with cream cheese to a caf table to talk business over breakfast. Olivia had met Captain Fergusson over the summer, and after serving his shrimp to the patrons of her five-star restaurant, The Boot Top Bistro, she would order from no other shrimper. Not only did his catches taste as fresh as the moment theyd been lifted from the ocean, but the captain was also a sharp businessman who treated both his crew and his customers with equal fairness.
The grizzly fisherman and the tall, elegant restaurateur launched into a round of pleasant haggling. Olivias standard poodle, Captain Haviland, slept at their feet, his belly replete with a breakfast of eggs and bacon made especially for him by the doting coffeehouse proprietor.
An hour later, their business complete, the two residents of Oyster Bay, North Carolina, sat together in comfortable silence. Slowly, other residents of the small coastal town trickled in, followed by a few bleary-eyed tourists whod just discovered that the kitchen in their costly vacation rental home lacked a working coffeemaker.
A man sporting a Yankees cap and a fresh sunburn complained to Wheeler, the octogenarian owner of Bagelsn Beans, as he ordered several complicated espresso creations. Im shelling out five grand a week for that freaking house! Do they expect me to drink that instant crap they left in the pantry?
Wheeler issued a noncommittal grunt, scowling slightly as he skimmed the foam from the surface of the pitcher of steamed milk. Olivia knew the old man resented having to make what he referred to as girly drinks for his customers, but he knew enough about profit margins to realize he couldnt have turned the slab of concrete behind the store into a cozy eating area without the revenue generated by tourists such as this one.
I know better than to order bagels this far away from New York, so I hope youve got something else I like. The man scrutinized the selection of baked goods and then pointed at his hat. You guys just dont have the right water. Thats the real difference. Adopting a splayed-leg stance, he pointed at the pastry display. Ill take those caramel apple turnovers off your hands. They dont look too bad. His eyes gleamed as he watched Wheeler slip the sweets into a brown bag. Unconsciously rubbing his formidable paunch, he told Wheeler to add a few chocolate chip cookies as well.
He aint gonna live to see seventy, Captain Fergusson muttered as the tourist stuffed one of the cookies in his mouth. While the vacationer chewed greedily, he stirred six sugar packets into his mocha latte.
Might not see tomorrow, Olivia agreed. If he comes to The Boot Top tonight, it will seal the deal. Michels specials for this evening include lobster-stuffed ravioli in a vodka cream sauce and an almond and Parmesan crusted salmon steak in a lemon-thyme sauce. Most of my patrons will need to be rolled out the door on dollies.
The pair smiled at one another, picturing bloated tourists being wheeled down the restaurants handicapped ramp.
As they cleared the dishes from their table and brought them to the counter, the tourist turned to them. You were brave enough to eat the bagels, huh?
Fergusson barely held his sneer in check. Everythin Wheeler sells is good.
