Death by the Sea

by Kathleen Bridge

  “As far as I know, Regina sounds pretty confident she’ll be moving into her new mansion in five months’ time.”

  “Oh my gosh. She’ll be staying here for that long?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Her father and mine were the cofounders of the historical society. They say she bumped off her father, Percival Harrington II.”

  It was the second time today Liz had heard the rumors, and now that the Worths were staying at the Indialantic, she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

  Francie leaned in closer to Liz. “I know her father must have had a clause somewhere in his will that would keep Regina from demolishing Castlemara. When I was in the office a couple of weeks ago, Regina burst in furious after finding out that after her own death, Castlemara would go to the Barrier Island Historical Society. I won’t let her tear down Castlemara. It’s a travesty. You should have Fenton look into it.” Francie had a pleading tone, tears pooling in her huge brown eyes.

  “Another thing I’d better not get involved in. Why don’t you stop by my dad’s office later, though, and talk to him?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  As they talked, the young woman called Beth came toward them, holding what Liz, who wasn’t a knitter, could only describe by using Aunt Amelia’s term, a “rat’s nest” of tangled, variegated yarn. “Oops,” the woman said to Francie.

  Francie stepped toward her and took the hot mess out of her hands, patting her student on the back. “No worries, there’s more yarn where that came from.” Prodding the woman back to the table, she turned back to face Liz and mouthed, “We’ll talk later.”

  She thought about what Francie had said. If Regina’s father had put Castlemara in a trust for the Barrier Island Historical Society, how was Regina going to be able to tear it down? It wasn’t Liz’s problem, but she could tell by meeting Regina only once that the woman would move heaven and earth to get what she wanted. She took a right at the end of the aisle and passed Deli-casies by the Sea. When she saw the back of Ryan’s head, she started to scurry toward Books & Browsery by the Sea, but not before Pops spotted her and called out, “No French roast today, Liz?”

  She called back, “Not today, Pops. But thanks.” She was dying for another coffee, but having to interact with his annoying grandson was too high a price to pay.

  Chapter 9

  Nailed to the four-foot wall at the entrance to Books & Browsery by the Sea was a worn, rustic sign that read Beware—Pickpockets & Loose Women. Kitschy, but no doubt original. Kate’s shop was set up a bit differently than the rest of the emporium. It had the same short perimeter walls, but inside, Kate had created a mazelike obstacle course from a slew of seven-foot-tall barrister bookcases she’d bought at a retired judge’s estate sale. The backs of the bookcases were used to hang vintage shelves, pictures, and mirrors. Scattered randomly around the shop were chairs, a couple of overstuffed sofas, tables, dressers, and crates, along with some items that Liz had no clue as to what they were.

  “Yo, Kate. You in there?”

  From somewhere in the back, she heard, “Right with you. I’m up here. See?”

  Liz craned her neck and looked at the top of a bookcase near the middle of the shop. Kate was sitting on top, her legs dangling over the side.

  “What are doing up there? Barnacle Bob is right about you.”

  Kate called out, “Pshaw, I’ll eat that bird for dinner.”

  Liz knew Kate loved the crusty old parrot as much as she did. Kate placed a lamp on top of a teetering stack of books.

  “Aren’t you scared that the lamp might fall on a customer?” Liz asked. “Unless you’re planning on busing in an NBA basketball team, how the hell can anyone read the book titles if they’re up in the nosebleed section?”

  “It’s not about selling books,” Kate replied. “It’s about thinking outside the box and giving customers ideas on how to display their own vintage items.” Kate leaned into the stack of books and mumbled something into their pages. Then she said, “Do you mind spotting me on the ladder? I’ll be right down.”

  Liz made her way toward Kate, stubbing her big toe on a wooden pineapple crate filled with broken violins. She glanced at the price tag—you couldn’t buy just one, you had to buy the whole kit and caboodle. When she reached Kate, she said, “What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up to spot you on the ladder?”

  “Oh, I’d be fine. I’m doing it for your peace of mind, not mine.” Then she climbed down with the agility of Spider-Man. Kate wiped her hands on the back of her jeans, then gave Liz an air-kiss. “Did you check out Pop’s grandson on your way in?”

  “No, I met him in my dad’s office earlier. Rude. Insolent. Need I go on?”

  “Whoa Nelly. I think thou doth protest too much, my dear. He helped me bring in some of my recent finds this morning. It’s time to dip your pinkie toe in the man pool again.”

  Liz’s hand went to the right side of her face.

  “I’m so sorry, darlin’. That was insensitive. But really, he seems to be such a nice guy.”

  “To you, maybe. You wouldn’t happen to know what his business with my father might be, would you?”

  “Not a clue,” Kate said. “Come. Follow me, or you might get lost.”

  Kate wasn’t kidding. Liz side-winded past piles of crates overflowing with stacks of books. Every shelf within the towering barrister bookcases they passed was packed with books and vintage/antique knickknacks that coordinated with the subject matter on each shelf. Nineteen-sixties tin globe banks were bookending nonfiction geography books. Victorian Gothic romances were next to Queen Victoria memorabilia, Staffordshire figurines, and floral-chintz English tea sets. Kate didn’t “buy” used books from estate and garage sales; she adopted them. She also wouldn’t let anyone buy a book unless she knew it was going to a good home.

  When they reached the back of the shop, they both sank into an overstuffed, down-cushioned sofa. The sofa had huge magnolia blossoms printed on soft fabric. It wasn’t for sale, because if it was, Liz would have already put it in her beach house.

  Liz reached over and swiped a paper cup with a lid that sat next to the antique cash register. She almost swooned when she felt the cup was still warm. Please be coffee, please be coffee, she chanted in her head. She put the cup to her lips and took a long swallow. “Blech! Kate Fields! What is this stuff?” She gagged, wanting to spew the grainy, bitter liquid onto the floor or into the nearest brass spittoon, but she forced herself to swallow.

  Kate said, “Chicory. Better than coffee. Who needs caffeine when you have a beach to walk each morning and sea air to clear your lungs? Haven’t you ever heard of drinking chicory? They still mix it with coffee in New Orleans.”

  “I’ve heard of it. But the key words are ‘mixed with coffee.’”

  “Chicory is made from the roots of a rather beautiful flower. In France, during Napoleon’s time, there was an embargo on coffee. The French mixed what little coffee they had with chicory to make the coffee last longer. The same was true in New Orleans during the Civil War when the Union Navy blocked coffee shipments from coming into the ports. Skylar got me into it.”

  Liz hadn’t seen Kate’s brother, Skylar, since returning to Melbourne Beach. The three of them had practically grown up together. Skylar was a big-time environmentalist and was currently in Washington, DC, trying to raise funding for the Barrier Island Sanctuary Education Center, a few miles down the road.

  “Well, you can give me all the history lessons you want. I still think it tastes like crap.”

  Kate laughed. “All you have to do is walk next door and get a cup of java from Pops. What’s the matter, scaredy-cat?”

  As if on cue, Liz heard a rustling coming from a basket with double handles that butted up to the arm of the sofa. She scooched closer to Kate and saw two small ears surface from the basket.

  “Wow,” Kate said. “Bron
te doesn’t come out for strangers. Ever. She must know you’re an animal person.”

  A gray-and-white striped tiger kitten hopped out of the basket and landed on Liz’s bare leg, digging all eighteen claws into her flesh. Liz said, “Oww.” Then she kissed Bronte on her pink nose. “She’s adorable. Whom does she belong to? Not you, I’m sure.”

  Kate sneezed.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thanks. She’s everyone’s—well, actually, she lives in the emporium. Someone left a box of kittens by the front door. We were able to find homes for them all, including Bronte, but she keeps hiding when it’s time to hand her over to her new owner. Everyone but Brittany agreed she would be the emporium’s mascot. Even though I’m allergic, I figure this might be the only way I can ever have a cat. She’s worth a sneeze or two, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. How’d she get her name? Let me guess. Your favorite author?”

  “Not exactly, but the Brontë sisters are at the top of my list. For some reason, the section of classic books with Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is where Bronte loves to hang out.”

  “She doesn’t seem unsociable to me,” Liz said. The kitten was already sound asleep on her lap.

  “Aww. She likes you. Hey, did you catch this in Florida Today?” Kate handed Liz a folded newspaper topped with a photo of Regina wearing the Queen Maria Louisa of Spain’s gold-and-emerald necklace and matching pendant earrings. Liz realized it was the first time she’d ever seen the woman smile. Underneath the photo, it read:

  Mrs. Regina Harrington-Worth will be the guest of honor tomorrow evening at the Carlisle Beach Ballroom for the Treasure Coast Spring Ball in Vero Beach, benefiting the American Heart Association. Mrs. Harrington-Worth will be giving a short presentation about her famous father, Percival Harrington II, and his contribution to the Melbourne Beach and Orchid Island area. Tickets will be $250.00 a plate. Please contact Gayle Kramer at carlislebeach.com/reservations.

  “Ick. Her necklace and earrings are too gaudy,” Kate said. “Aunt Amelia must be happy she has a celebrity guest, although I don’t think Francie is too thrilled, especially with the proposed demolition of Castlemara. You didn’t hear it from me, but I think they might even have protesters tomorrow at the Spring Fling by the Sea.”

  “I don’t think there’s any need to worry,” Liz said. “Regina wouldn’t dare show up at the Spring Fling, too lowbrow for her taste.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The door to the emporium slammed shut, the sound reverberating off the thirty-foot ceiling. Then they heard a female voice screech, “Who parked their damn golf cart in my parking spot?”

  Hurricane Brittany had just blown into town.

  “I have to go talk to Edward,” Liz said. “He had quite the Grinch-face last night at dinner.”

  “When doesn’t he?”

  Liz stood and put a snoozing Bronte on the cushion behind her.

  “Wow, she’s staying on the sofa. You must have a magic touch,” Kate said.

  Liz smiled. Words she hadn’t heard in a long time.

  She left Kate to mind the shop and went over to Gold Coast by the Sea. Edward hadn’t spent a lot of time trying to fix up his shop. It was bare boned, with locked display cases and a small desk with a lighted magnifying glass, desk lamp, and a laptop to look up current coin and estate jewelry values. He not only appraised gold items, he also sold some items that he would stack on velvet trays inside the two lighted show cases on either side of the shop. There was a scale for weighing the gold, and behind him, a vintage bank safe that Kate had sold him, in which he put his valuables at night after he closed the shop, ever complaining about the four-foot walls and the lack of security. Aunt Amelia had told him he could set up his own security camera for the interior of the shop. There was already one camera facing the parking lot that went to a feed on Liz’s father’s laptop, as well as to their security company in Melbourne. Another camera was stationed outside the front entrance to the hotel.

  “You still going on with this Spring Fling idea?” Edward whined. “It sounds like a sophomoric high school dance. Who came up with the name?” With his peaked eyebrows and thin mustache, he looked the spitting image of Vincent Price.

  The title, Spring Fling by the Sea, had been Aunt Amelia’s, but Liz defended it to bristly Edward. “I like the name. It’s fresh and perky.”

  “Have you seen Nick? I don’t like him hanging around with that Brittany woman. He didn’t come home last night.”

  Liz would love to chat with Edward, but not about his son and Brittany. They were both adults. She just wanted Saturday’s festivities to go off as planned. “I know Brittany just came in. I’m sure you heard her. Why don’t you ask her? I hope we can still count on you to do some free coin appraisals tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, yeah. If anyone had told me six months ago I’d be sitting behind a desk all day on my rear end, instead of out on the open sea, at the bow of Mermaids Bounty, I would have told them to kiss my keister.”

  “Why did you give up the business?” Liz asked.

  “Too damn expensive, and I couldn’t find a competent salvaging team, case in point, my deadbeat son. Plus, I needed the money from the sale.”

  Liz wanted to ask why, but figured it wasn’t any of her business. She assumed Mermaids Bounty was the treasure salvager ship he’d sold before renting the space for Gold Coast by the Sea. “Well, if you need anything, let me or Aunt Amelia know.”

  He didn’t answer, just put a jeweler’s loupe on his right eye and began looking at a small gold coin.

  The less contact she had with Edward and his son, the better, she thought as she exited the shop. Her next job was to seek out Brittany and make sure she’d chosen what clothing her models would wear tomorrow.

  Liz sought but didn’t find. The lights were on in Sirens by the Sea, and the mannequins were clothed, but Brittany was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 10

  Liz had borrowed a straw hat from Kate’s shop and decided to take a stroll around the grounds to see if everything looked in order for tomorrow. She was a little concerned about the weather. What had started out as a perfect day was now beginning to cloud up, and she hoped that the forecasted mega-storm for Monday didn’t arrive a few days early.

  She followed a path along the south side of the hotel. Up ahead, she spied Minna’s golf cart parked next to the gazebo steps. Most everyone on the barrier island, especially on this deserted stretch of land, got around on golf carts.

  Minna looked toward her and waved. Liz waved back.

  When she reached the gazebo, Minna said, “Love your hat.”

  “Thanks. I borrowed it from Kate.”

  “Come. Have a seat. I’m taking a creative early lunch before I have to relieve Francie.”

  The white wrought-iron gazebo had been built in the 1970s and fashioned after the one in The Sound of Music. After the first hurricane season, most of the small panes of glass had been blown out by the hundred-mile-an-hour wind gusts. Now only the frame remained, making it much cooler inside—after all, this was Florida, not Austria. As Liz knew, it still made for a fun stage to re-create the scene from the movie with the song “Sixteen Going on Seventeen.” As a teenager, Liz would dance in the gazebo with an imaginary partner under a star-filled sky, the sea air smelling of gardenias and the promise of future love.

  Minna sat on a stool that faced an easel with a large stretched canvas. In front of her was a panoramic view of the ocean. A large toolbox rested on top of a small folding table. Next to the toolbox was a coffee can filled with brushes and other strange-looking utensils, reminding Liz of dentists’ tools.

  Liz sat on the bench that followed the perimeter of the gazebo. “What are you creating today? I bet you’re low on stock because your pieces sold so quickly at your last gallery showing.”

&
nbsp; “Thanks to all the support everyone at the Indialantic gave me.”

  “I loved that showing. I wanted to buy a piece for my beach house, but as soon as I turned my back, someone else bought it.”

  “It was probably Brittany. She still owes the gallery for one of my pieces. On the first day of my show, she bought Tempest in a Teapot with a check. Sonja, the gallery manager, usually requires a credit card or money order. Brittany told Sonja she was the proprietress of the Indialantic by the Sea Emporium and Sonja took her check. It bounced the next day, but I still had to pay Sonja her commission. Then, when I presented Brittany with the bounced check, she said she’d pay the balance and bank fee.”

  “I’m not surprised. I hope you got your money.”

  Minna ran her fingers through her short, spiky brown hair, highlighted on the edges in auburn. Last week, the highlights had been green, and the week before pink. “It’s been two weeks. So far all I’ve received is a lot of heartache. I even offered her a discount. I wouldn’t mind if she was grateful at all. But every time I ask her about it, she has this snotty attitude, like I should feel lucky anyone bought one of my works.”

  Liz said, “You are one of the most popular artists in Florida. Why didn’t you just go take it back from her?”

  Minna opened the toolbox and took out a large jar marked Thick White Gesso and placed it on the folding table. “I’m not that desperate. I’ll wait awhile and then send one of my Italian nephews.” She laughed. “That will get her motivated.” Minna commenced with ripping white tissue paper into small pieces, then placed them in a bucket at her feet.

  Liz hadn’t ever seen one of Minna’s works in progress, only her amazing finished pieces on the walls of Home Arts by the Sea or at Sun Gallery in nearby Vero Beach. “Will this piece be completed in time for tomorrow’s Spring Fling?”