A Flair For Flip-Flops (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 5)

by Deborah Garner

  With coffee finally brewing, Sadie returned to the sitting area where she found Coco sitting up straight, waiting. A sandy twig of driftwood lay on a section of tile floor in front of the dog.

  “What have you fetched this time?” Coco tilted her head to the side as Sadie picked up the driftwood by one end and took a closer look. She shook the piece of wood lightly, and a metallic clinking sound followed. Reaching back down to the floor, she retrieved a chain with a small, round pendant attached. Somewhat worn and encrusted with sand, Sadie still knew immediately what it was.

  “You found a St. Christopher medal, Coco.” She held the pendant in the air and let the necklace swing back and forth. Coco’s fuzzy head swayed side to side as it followed the motion. “St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. We used to wear these back in school,” Sadie explained. “I’m not sure if we really thought it would keep us safe while traveling or if we just thought it made us look cool. But they were very popular.” Coco sat up even straighter, certain this was one of her finer catches.

  Sadie carried the pendant to the bathroom sink, rinsed it off, and inspected both sides. The back of the medal appeared to have been engraved at some point, but the inscription was too worn to read.

  “We’ll check with the front desk to see if anyone lost this,” Sadie said. She set the necklace aside and wrapped her hand around the handle of a now-ready cup of coffee. Grateful that the caffeine infusion could begin, she carried the steaming mug to the patio and sent a text to Myrtle.

  Good morning!

  It only took a minute to get a reply. The same to you. Coffee?

  Having some now in the room but can meet up. It didn’t matter that she had mastered the coffee maker and already held a cup. Meeting for coffee was just an excuse to get together in the same way someone might say “Let’s do lunch.” Besides, she’d spotted some delicious-looking scones in the display case of the hotel’s coffee bar the day before.

  The lobby in fifteen, Myrtle suggested via another quick text.

  Sounds good. Sadie sent the reply, set her phone aside, and took a generous gulp of coffee. She moved to the closet and perused her clothing options for the morning, which only served to remind her of the need to check out additional shops along the boardwalk. What would a vacation be without a few new purchases to take home? She had the necklaces from Bertie’s, but that was hardly enough. While she was shopping, she could stop in at the surf shop. Perhaps they might know if one of the regular surfers had lost a pendant—a St. Christopher pendant, to be precise.

  Sadie clicked hanger after hanger together, debating an outfit for the morning. Finally choosing navy slacks and a nautical-themed top, she frowned at the blasé image in the mirror. It looked frumpy in spite of the silver-sequined anchor applique on the front of the blouse. She shrugged her shoulders and headed for the lobby, terrier-laden tote in tow. All the more reason to go shopping.

  Myrtle was easy to spot, having dressed more to Sadie’s usual standards. Her bright neon-orange tunic stood out among the more typical attire at other tables in the coffee bar area. A flowery hat that would live up to Kentucky Derby standards hung on the back of her chair.

  “You must have read my mind!” Sadie exclaimed as she joined Myrtle. Two raspberry scones waited on crisp wax paper doilies alongside beverages that matched their individual choices the morning before. She slid into a seat, eyeing the scones with eager anticipation.

  “Well, dig in then,” Myrtle said, reaching for one of the freshly baked scones herself, “so that I can do the same. Calories love company, I always say.”

  Sadie nodded with approval. “I like that philosophy.”

  “Works for pizza too,” Myrtle quipped.

  “Anything new this morning?” Sadie looked around the lobby as if that might give her an answer. Seeing nothing but normal hotel activity, she turned back to Myrtle, who shook her head.

  “Same old, same old,” Myrtle said. “Nothing new on the morning news either. Perhaps that’s all there is, what we already know.”

  Sadie looked at Myrtle, both eyebrows raised. “Really? A celebrity washes up on the beach and that’s the end of the story? I don’t think so. Even the lack of additional news is news to me.”

  “I bet GQ’s manager is just keeping things quiet,” Myrtle suggested. “Out of respect.”

  “Because Hollywood is so well known for respect and privacy?” Sadie couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious.

  “Good point,” Myrtle said.

  “I’m sure it was difficult for Mr. Chalinder—that’s his name, right? GQ’s personal manager?” Myrtle nodded in response to Sadie’s question. “Difficult for Mr. Chalinder to identify the body.” Sadie continued. “He might not be ready to make any other statements at this time. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t buy that,” Sadie said. “It’s his job to handle the press. I don’t think his personal feelings would get in the way. And the police could issue statements without his permission. I suspect we’ll hear something else later today.”

  “Or even now,” Myrtle said. She nodded toward a newspaper stand in the front lobby where a hotel worker was restocking copies of the morning’s publication.

  “Good eye,” Sadie said. “I tried to grab a copy on the way down from my room, but the rack was empty.” She took another bite of raspberry scone while standing up, causing a few crumbs to flutter down. Brushing them off the tabletop, she crossed the lobby and grabbed a copy of the paper, then returned to her chair.

  “Already not front-page news?” Myrtle quirked an eyebrow as she glanced at the paper Sadie set down. “I doubt GQ would like being upstaged by politics. He never liked being upstaged by anything.”

  “No, it’s still front page,” Sadie said, having unfolded the newspaper. “See?” She pointed to an article on the lower half of the paper. The headline, though not as large as the one for the newest Washington, DC, scandal above it, still boldly proclaimed “Quinlan Death Investigation Ongoing.”

  “Anything new?” Myrtle leaned forward as Sadie skimmed the article.

  “Nothing, really,” Sadie said. “It says that no conclusions have been drawn about how he ended up in the ocean.” She tapped her fingers on the table while reading on. “And… wait, there is something.” She turned the paper toward Myrtle and pointed to one line.

  Interviews at the Casa Playa hotel have led to a possible person of interest, but the police have not released any specific information, and no arrests have been made.

  “What do you make of that?” Myrtle said. “Those officers didn’t spend much time with people here in the lobby yesterday morning.”

  “No,” Sadie agreed. “But they were milling around casually at the appetizer hour. Or, I imagine, not as casually as they appeared to be. They must have found something out. Or at least something that struck them as suspicious.”

  “Any other information?” Myrtle took a sip of coffee while Sadie continued to scan the page.

  “Only some contradictory details,” Sadie said. “The technical cause of death is listed as drowning.”

  “So then it was an accident?” Myrtle said. “That’s what it sounds like to me.”

  “Then why would they have a person of interest?” Sadie pointed out. “And it also mentions blunt force trauma, possibly with something heavy but not sharp. You see how this sounds contradictory?”

  Myrtle shrugged her shoulders. “Not really. I don’t think ‘person of interest’ implies a suspect necessarily. It’s just someone they think might have more information. Like how GQ ended up in the ocean to begin with.”

  “Which is in itself a good question,” Sadie said. “How did he end up in the ocean?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sadie ran her finger along a rack of brightly patterned clothing, selecting some new pieces of beachwear while ruminating on the variety of ways a body might end up in the Pacific Ocean. She pulled out a yellow sundress with a colorful starfish design and tossed
it over one arm while questioning whether GQ might have simply gone out for a swim and drowned. However, that didn’t explain the blunt force trauma mentioned in the paper. Had he been hit by an object floating in the water?

  While adding a tent-shaped cover-up with horizontal stripes, Sadie debated whether he might have gotten caught in a riptide. As she plucked a wraparound sarong with a palm tree print from another rack, she also considered the possibility that the much-loved celebrity might have attempted surfing without adequate experience. Perhaps the surfboard hit him and knocked him out. Yet no wayward surfboard had been found. If so, surely that would have been in the news already.

  “Would you like me to put those in a dressing room for you?”

  The voice jolted Sadie out of her thoughts, and she turned toward a young sales clerk dressed in ripped cutoff jeans, a white T-shirt, and sandals. The outfit struck Sadie as oddly bland for a shop filled with rich colors and unique designs.

  “I’ll be happy to hold those for you.” The salesgirl reached out for Sadie’s selections. Her smile hovered above a name tag that said Maya.

  Realizing she had yet to reply, Sadie thanked the girl and simply asked where the dressing room was located. Following Maya’s extended arm, Sadie strolled to the back of the shop, hung her choices on a wall peg, and pulled the dressing room curtain closed. She set down her tote bag and lifted Coco out, letting the Yorkie sit on a built-in bench.

  “This way you can give me your opinion, Coco,” Sadie said. She patted the petite canine on the head and proceeded to change into the yellow sundress. That is, she attempted to. “When did clothing get this small?” she asked Coco, who had the good sense not to respond at all. “Oh well.” She replaced the dress on a hanger and tried on the tent-shaped cover-up. But the loose cut of the style combined with the horizontal stripes was anything but slimming. Sighing, she replaced that one on the hanger as well and added it to the go-back pile.

  Unsure at this point that anything would please her—some shopping days were just like that, after all—she tried on the sarong. Her eyes lit up. The casual wraparound style was forgiving enough to accept her hips’ curves, and the longer-than-knee-length hemline allowed her to feel she wasn’t trying to dress thirty years younger than she actually was.

  “Aha, Coco!” she exclaimed. “I think we have a winner. What do you think?” Coco tilted her head to one side, then the other, and offered a yip of approval, earning herself a pat on the head.

  Sadie changed back into her own clothing, helped Coco settle back into the tote bag, and draped the sarong over her arm. As she pulled back the curtain to exit, she noticed a small advertisement on the dressing room wall.

  The words Cappy’s Coastal Cruises ran across the top of the ad, followed by a photograph of a sightseeing boat on the water. Several passengers relaxed by the rails of the small vessel. A new theory began to form in Sadie’s head. She could hardly wait to discuss it with Myrtle as well as with Broussard.

  “Are those boat tours popular?” Sadie asked Maya as the salesgirl rang up the sarong.

  “Boat tours?”

  “Like the ad on the dressing room wall,” Sadie explained, realizing her question had come out of nowhere. She’d never been good about making sure to include a frame of reference when excited.

  “Oh, those,” Maya said. “I guess they are. I hear a lot of people talk about them.” She wrapped the sarong in tissue and slipped it into a handled paper bag with a store logo sticker on it.

  “Is their office near here?” Sadie asked.

  “Whose office?” Maya handed over the bag, obviously confused.

  “Cappy’s,” Sadie said. “I think that’s what your ad says in the dressing room.”

  “Now I understand,” Maya said. “I didn’t know what you meant by Cappy’s. We don’t handle those ads, so I don’t pay attention to them. It’s just a company that comes around and changes them every month. I guess businesses can sign up for paid promotion.”

  Sadie nodded. “Got it. How about another office nearby? Maybe a different company that offers boat trips for tourists?”

  “Not really,” Maya said, shaking her head. “Most of those tours come out of Long Beach or San Pedro. Not locally.”

  “I see,” Sadie said, considering the geography of the California coast. “So, north of here.”

  Maya nodded.

  “Thank you,” Sadie said, smiling. “You’ve been very helpful. And I love the sarong! I may just come back for another one in a different color.”

  Sadie continued along the boardwalk, reluctantly passing other beachwear shops that tempted her inside. Noting the names of those most appealing so she could return, she headed directly to the surf shop where she found the same young surfer working the last time she’d stopped by. He recognized her right away, which saved the effort of introducing herself all over again.

  “Back to sign up for surf lessons this time?” A not-unkind snicker accompanied the remark.

  “I’m thinking about it,” Sadie said, knowing he wouldn’t take her answer any more seriously than his own question had been. “I really just came by to let you know a St. Christopher medal washed up on the beach near the hotel. I thought one of your regular customers might mention losing one. There were a couple of surfers out there last night. Maybe it belonged to one of them?”

  A shrug was the response. “Who knows? Stuff washes up on the beach all the time.”

  “That’s pretty much what I figured,” Sadie said. It hadn’t hurt to ask. She moved on to a more important question. “I also wanted to check something you told me last time I was here, about the direction of the currents.”

  The surfer nodded. “North to south. Here, I’ll give you a map of the currents.” He retreated into the surf shack and emerged with a single piece of paper. “This shows the patterns along the coast here, plus some farther out to sea.”

  Sadie took the paper, impressed with the swirling lines and arrows. “Yes, I see it’s pretty clear. I’m sure I learned about this in school but just didn’t remember.” Coco, hearing paper crinkling, stuck her head out of the tote bag and inspected the paper as well.

  “You’d remember if you were out there riding the waves. There’s more to surfing than just jumping in the ocean and having fun.” The young man held one hand over his forehead and looked out toward the water. “The ocean currents, weather patterns, wind—all of that makes a difference. Safety, you know?” He dropped his hand and gave Coco a pat on the head.

  Sadie thanked him for the map, which she slid inside her tote. She started back to the hotel but then retraced her steps to hit a couple of the beach shops she’d noted earlier. Three hours, two souvenir T-shirts, one flowing skirt with a seashell print, one floppy beach hat, three enameled mermaid brooches, and four surfboard key chains later, she returned to her suite.

  “An impressive haul, if I do say so myself,” she clucked as she surveyed the spread of purchases. The skirt was an especially exciting find. The beige, mocha and sienna tones of the seashells against a swirling blue and aqua background would match several blouses she had back in San Francisco. And her favorite pair of gold metallic flats would complete the outfit. She sighed, wishing she’d brought those with her on this trip. They’d be perfect to wear to the evening appetizer hour.

  Thinking of the mini-taquitos from the night before, Sadie checked the room clock, delighted to find it was already time to head to the lobby. Her excursion along the boardwalk had served to build up her appetite. Excited to see what treats would be at the buffet this time, she changed from the drab nautical outfit she’d been wearing to leopard-print leggings and a brown rayon blouse with a silver-studded collar. Not to leave Coco out of the fashion show, she switched the Yorkie’s usual rhinestone collar for one that matched her leggings. The leopard print looked exotic against Coco’s fur. She could almost imagine Coco as a wild jungle animal. Well, almost.

  When Sadie reached the lobby, Myrtle already had a table staked out with a plate
of the hotel’s appetizers for the evening.

  “I had a feeling you’d show up here,” Myrtle said, indicating the chair beside her.

  Sadie sat down and grabbed a miniature quiche. Secretively—even if only for dramatic effect—she leaned in close and pulled the map of ocean currents out of her tote, which took a few pulls and word of reprimand, as Coco held on to it like the ferocious wild animal she must have now thought she was.

  “Wait until you hear my theory,” Sadie whispered.

  Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “Theory?”

  Sadie spread the map out on the table and pointed to the arrows along the California coast.

  “I don’t understand.” Myrtle popped a quiche into her mouth and waited for an explanation.

  “These are the ocean currents,” Sadie said. “The guy at the surf shop gave me the map.”

  “You went back to that surf shop?” Myrtle looked worried. “You aren’t going to take up surfing, are you? I have a cousin who tried to do that in her late fifties. Now the pins in her leg always set off the security system when she flies.”

  “Of course not,” Sadie said, somewhat dismayed that everyone seemed to think she was too old to take up an active sport. Granted, surfing might be a bit extreme, but she wasn’t ready to limit herself to bridge games and checkers.

  “So the ocean currents have given you a theory? No offense, Sadie,” Myrtle said, taking a close look at the map. “But we already know the body came out of the ocean. And everyone knows the currents flow north to south.”

  Everyone except me, apparently. Sadie frowned and then spoke up. “That’s only part of it. It’s an ad on a dressing room wall that gave me the idea.”

  “What kind of ad? And… what dressing room?” Myrtle’s eyes brightened. “What did you buy?”

  “A sarong, but that’s beside the point. The ad was for boat tours.”

  “Boat tours,” Myrtle repeated. “And you think…”