Murder at the Beach: Bouchercon 2014 Anthology

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Murder at the Beach: Bouchercon 2014 Anthology Page 1

by Patricia Abbott




  MURDER AT THE BEACH

  Bouchercon 2014 Anthology

  Edited by Dana Cameron

  Story Copyrights 2014 by Individual Authors

  First Edition: November 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Down & Out Books

  3959 Van Dyke Rd, Ste. 265

  Lutz, FL 33558

  http://downandoutbooks.com/

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Bill Cameron

  ISBN:

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Dana Cameron

  Murder Weapon

  Edward Marston

  Daisy and the Desperado

  Bill Cameron

  Life’s a Beach

  Judith Cutler

  Rounder Jon

  Eldon Hughes

  Tsunami Surprise

  Delaney Green

  Man in the Middle

  Ray Daniel

  Nightshade

  Tanis Mallow

  My Victim’s Killer

  Al Abramson

  Honeymoon Sweet

  Craig Faustus Buck

  On the Pacific Beach

  Patricia Abbott

  Marlowe’s Wake

  Phillip DePoy

  The Gumshoe Actor

  Krista Nave

  The Sand Fairies

  Sharon Fiffer

  The Haunted Room

  Gigi Pandian

  The Hit-Man

  Roger Angle

  The Writers’ Conference

  Jeffery Deaver

  Contributor Bios

  Other Titles by Down & Out Books

  To librarians, everywhere.

  Thanks!

  Introduction

  Dana Cameron

  For me, Bouchercon is homecoming for crime writers. Every fall, everyone returns from all over the world to celebrate crime fiction, both the writing and the reading of it. For established authors, it’s a chance to reunite with friends, trade ideas, and get recharged about the genre and the work. For new writers, it’s about jumping into the deep end of the pool, finding your footing, and becoming a part of the community. For readers—and remember, that’s all of us, writers and non-writers, alike—it’s an opportunity to go running down the smörgåsbord of crime fiction—from traditional mystery to noir to thriller to cross-genre blends—and sample a little bit of everything. B’con is a giddy long weekend of talking mystery and suspense and partying—and hopefully, no bonfires. And no arrests. Or murders.

  What’s wonderful about Bouchercon is also what I hope you’ll find is wonderful about this collection of stories. Murder at the Beach is the theme, and you know there’s plenty of scope for murder and various forms of mayhem when roughly half the world’s population lives within sixty kilometers of a coastline. Sure, the population density increases the possibilities for crime, but it’s more than just statistics. Piracy, smuggling, and the alluring notion of slipping into a boat and making a quick getaway by dark tell us that, throughout history, coastlines, oceans, rivers, and lakes have had their own special brand of lawlessness.

  The nifty thing is that the theme of this anthology is broad and no two stories take the same approach: They reflect the big tent that is crime fiction. In the contributions from several of our Bouchercon 2014 Guests of Honor, we have stories that turn their sights on the writing life, and sometimes, not coincidently, Bouchercon itself. Lifetime Achievement Honoree Jeffery Deaver describes the seamier side of conventions—and the amount of study that every student of crime and crime fiction must undertake—in “The Writer’s Conference.” International Guest of Honor Edward Marston gives us “Murder Weapon,” a tale of success, obsession, and an unexpected form of self-defense on the south coast of Devon. Our Fan Guest of Honor, Al Abramson, responds to the common question, “How can you do such terrible things to your characters?” with “My Victim’s Killer,” where he looks for motives the Long Beach honorees’ characters might have for doing away with their authors.

  The other stories are as varied as their watery settings. For example, it’s always bad news when crooks collide. “Honeymoon Sweet,” by Craig Faustus Buck, considers some of the complexities of newly-married life for a pair of honeymooning criminals who haven’t made it to the big leagues—yet. And in “Man in the Middle,” by Ray Daniel, a hacker/fisher reels in more trouble than he expects at Revere Beach in Massachusetts. Two of the stories that fall into this category feature professional hitmen. Roger Angle’s “The Hit-Man” is about a father—with some extraordinary skills—coming to the rescue of his shop-owner daughter in Venice, California. Tanis Mallow’s tale of two killers for hire combines danger and sexual obsession on the Florida coast in “Nightshade.”

  And then there are the ordinary folks, getting tangled up in nasty business. “Marlowe’s Wake” and “On Pacific Beach” describe some of the trials of parents living—and perhaps dying—on the fringes of society. Phillip Depoy takes us half a world—and four hundred fifty years—away to the troubled times and Elizabethan intrigues of 16th-century Canterbury, while Patricia Abbott’s story is of a woman worrying about her homeless mother while a serial killer stalks southern California. Judith Cutler’s “Life’s a Beach” is about a proposed beach party at an English country manor—more, it is a moral about getting everything you want in a high-flying lifestyle—and then wanting just a little more.

  Portland, Oregon is famous for its characters, and Bill Cameron demonstrates this in “Daisy and the Desperado,” where an aspiring police detective has to deal with feuding neighbors with a long history of exchanging accusations and various...projectiles.

  The unreliable nature of human observation—what you think you saw, what you could have sworn you saw—is a staple of crime fiction. In Sharon Fiffer’s “The Sand Fairies,” the elderly beach-goer/narrator believes she’s observing the ordinary drama of a fractured family—or is it something much, much darker? And “The Haunted Room” by Gigi Pandian features the battle between logic, magic, and mysterious happenings in a storied house in San Francisco.

  Two of our contributors address the complexities that arise when cultures come into conflict. The aftermath of a tsunami in Japan washes up evidence from a murder on a Washington state shore, more than complicating life for the police and the rest of the community in “Tsunami Surprise” by Delaney Green. Sacrifices, swamp traditions, and gangsters make for a bad combination in Hugh Wilson’s “Rounder Jon.”

  One traditional element of Bouchercon is the craft and research panels, designed to inspire and inform aspiring and experienced writers. This year, Bouchercon Long Beach, in addition to supporting the Long Beach Public Library Foundation, is also supporting WriteGirl. WriteGirl is a creative writing and mentoring non-profit for teen girls in Los Angeles dedicated to promoting creativity and self-expression. I am delighted to include WriteGirl Krista Nave in this collection, with her story about the complications of identity and the human heart in “The Gum Shoe Actor.”

  This project could not have occurred without the contributions of many people. Big thanks are due to Ingrid Wi
llis, the 2014 Bouchercon Convention Chair, Janet Reid of FinePrint Literary Management, and Eric Campbell of Down & Out Books. The anonymous first readers took on a most important job as did Janet Rogerson, who handled the incoming mail. And from me, a note of thanks to everyone who submitted a story as well as our final contributors (especially our busy Guests of Honor).

  So now, stretch out under the umbrella, dig your toes into the sand, or sit on the storm wall. Listen for the foghorns and buoys that warn of danger as you enjoy these stories.

  Back to TOC

  Murder Weapon

  Edward Marston

  She knew that he’d find her one day. He always did. It was only a question of time. On the last occasion when she’d made a run for it, he tracked her down within a week. The one person to whom Selina had given the new address was her literary agent, Melanie Fry, a woman with a reputation for protecting her clients at all costs. When Selina’s husband had failed to bully the information out of Melanie, he hired someone to break into the agent’s home to secure details of his wife’s whereabouts. Nothing could be proved, of course. But when Jake turned up unexpectedly on her doorstep with a complacent grin on his face, Selina guessed what must have happened.

  Once again, she’d been dragged back home.

  It was ironic. Selina Wyman had achieved fame as the author of a string of romantic novels featuring beleaguered heroines who were eventually liberated by the love of a good man. On the fly-leaf of each book was a photograph of Selena with her husband, projecting an image of marital bliss. To the naked eye, it appeared that she’d wed a handsome, wealthy, supportive man who revelled in her success and, during speaking engagements, Selina contributed to the myth by acknowledging the huge debt she owed to Jake for the way he’d encouraged her career.

  In fact, he’d taken pains to stifle her urge to write because it was something he couldn’t control. Jake Wyman was a leading property developer and his wife was just one more item in his portfolio. During their courtship, he’d been affectionate, obliging and utterly charming. Once they were married, however, he’d dictated her life in every way. Things Selina had desperately wanted—children, friends of her own choice, visits to theatre and opera, the chance to play tennis regularly—were denied her. In their place were endless meetings with potential business associates Jake was cultivating. Selina had nothing whatsoever in common with them, still less with their pampered, acquisitive, braying wives. Jake ruled the roost. He determined what they ate, what they wore, where they took their holidays, when and how they made love.

  His domination was complete. She was his.

  Writing had been her escape. Enraged to discover that she’d written a novel in secret, his anger cooled when it joined the best-seller list. A celebrity wife was an asset he could exploit. Because Selina gained him valuable publicity, he made sure they were always photographed together at public events. Since her husband handled their joint finances, however, fame brought her no independence. She was a woman with a substantial income she was unable to spend.

  Selina had to break free.

  ‘What did you find?’ he demanded.

  ‘Mrs Wyman spent three weeks living in Scarborough.’

  ‘What the hell was she doing up in Yorkshire?’

  ‘She rented a cottage in the name of Mary Winchcombe,’ said the man. ‘That’s what put me onto her, you see. Mary Winchcombe is the name of the heroine in her latest novel.’

  ‘Don’t mention those damn books to me!’ growled Jake Wyman. ‘They’re at the root of the trouble. I should never have let her write them.’

  ‘My wife enjoys them. Maggie says they’re very good.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your wife, Dowling. I just want you to find mine. Where did she go when she left Scarborough?’

  George Dowling shifted his feet uneasily. ‘I’m working on that, sir.’

  He was the third private detective hired to locate Selina and he’d seemed to be more alert and resourceful than his predecessors. Unlike them, he picked up a scent that took him to Yorkshire but the trail had ended there. Jake was disappointed. When his wife fled, he usually recaptured her within a relatively short time. It was annoying to think she’d now been at liberty for several months.

  ‘Her agent is behind this,’ he snarled. ‘My wife couldn’t possibly have done this by herself. She needed help. Melanie Fry planned everything.’ He made a graphic gesture with both hands. ‘I could strangle that interfering old bat.’

  ‘Have you tried bugging the agent’s phone?’

  ‘Yes—but it didn’t work. She’s too canny to give anything away. I had the place burgled again but there wasn’t a single reference to my wife in her files.’

  ‘Women can be clever devils,’ said Dowling.

  He was a short, slight, deferential man in his thirties with hair combed forward to disguise its dwindling presence on his head. Jake, by contrast, was a big, fleshy man in his fifties with a flowing white mane and an intimidating air of prosperity. Accustomed to get his own way, whatever it took, he was deeply frustrated by the situation he found himself in. His tone was peremptory.

  ‘Find her, Dowling. Get out there now and find her!’

  It had taken months to work out the details and Selina had relied heavily on the advice of her agent. Melanie had pointed out that it would be difficult for such a well-known author to fly the coop. Any one of her legion of fans would recognise her at once. A disguise was needed. Selina had therefore dyed her hair and changed the style dramatically. Carefully-applied cosmetics added another level of disguise and thick horn-rimmed eyeglasses transformed her appearance completely. A new wardrobe was also vital. Because he was fifteen years older than her, Jake had always made her wear clothes that aged her, turning her into a rather dowdy, matronly figure. Bright new dresses and smart casual wear took well over a decade off her. By adopting a different posture and a brisker gait, she was able to banish the familiar portrait of Selina Wyman altogether. She’d been reborn.

  Money—that was the key to it all. Hitherto, every penny she earned was sent to her husband. Because of his financial acumen, she’d been happy at first to let him take care of her income. Jake had insisted on seeing her contracts so he knew exactly how big her advances were. But he reckoned without the guile of a literary agent. Melanie Fry sent him duplicate contracts for a smaller amount than Selina was actually paid. The real contract was sent to the publisher. When the cheque went to Melanie, she simply subtracted the amount Jake was expecting and held back the rest for her client. The money was paid into a separate account created by Melanie and accessible to her client. For the first time in her life, Selina could spend the fruit of her labours as she chose. She was free, rich and very happy.

  But it couldn’t last indefinitely. She accepted that. No matter how long it took, Jake would find her in the end and she had to be ready for that eventuality. In the past, he’d browbeaten her into returning home. The last time, he’d resorted to physical violence and punished her even more brutally in the bedroom. It would never happen again. She’d promised herself. Living alone had toughened her to the point where she would do anything to avoid the tortured existence of being Mrs Wyman. If he came for her, she was prepared to fight back. The weaponry was all there. She had a revolver, a shotgun, an axe, a meat cleaver, an array of knives and a series of blunt instruments scattered throughout the cottage. Wherever she went, there was a means of defence. Best of all, she had Rex, a loyal, well-trained Alsatian who provided companionship and reassurance. Anyone who threatened her would have to cope with a dog that wouldn’t hesitate to attack.

  Selina had threatened him with divorce a number of times but had lacked the will to carry it through. Her husband had an unlikely ally in Melanie Fry. The agent had fostered the image of a contented author in a happy-ever-after marriage and she feared its destruction might affect book sales adversely. Some fans would be sympathetic but others might well feel Selina Wyman was a quintessential hypocrite, pretending for years to
be the Woman Who Had It All while, in reality, being under the thumb of a tyrannical husband. There was an even stronger reason why she could not press for divorce. Jake had warned her that, if she did so, he’d have her killed. His threats were never idle.

  Her absence was easily explained. Since they’d lived in a mansion set in an estate, they had no immediate neighbours. Nor did she have any real family. Her parents had both died and there were no siblings to whom Selina could turn. Anyone who enquired after her could be told she was on one of her extended book tours abroad or was resting at their holiday hideaway in Mustique. While she was being hunted by private detectives, Selina felt confident of keeping one step ahead of them. If news of her disappearance had been splashed across the national media, however, the whole country would be on the lookout for her and she’d be doomed. As it was, she could please herself for once. Confident in her disguise, she didn’t have to live in splendid isolation. She could watch a film, see a play, visit a museum, linger in the library or indulge herself with a shopping spree. Nobody would have the slightest clue that she was a famous author with guaranteed best-seller status.

  Selina was in paradise—for the time being.

  On his previous visit to the Wyman mansion, George Dowling had come back more or less empty-handed. He was in a buoyant mood now. There was a spring in his step and he had the smirk of a man expecting thanks and congratulation. Jake sensed the breakthrough had at last come. He showed the detective into the library, a large, well-proportioned room in which the great masters of literature took second place to the accumulated novels of Selina Wyman, Queen of Romance.

 

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