Beaches, Blogging, and Bodies

by Stacey Alabaster

  “Yes. A bit grumpy of course. When I walked in, he had no interest in talking to me at all.”

  A little flush of relief crossed her face. “Oh, that’s no good,” she said, returning to her risotto on the stove. “Yes, he can be a bit like that. Not real talkative with people he doesn’t know.” She stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon. “Ah well, maybe next time he might warm up, if you get a chance to go in again, which you may not.” She picked up a pepper grinder and cracked it over the frying pan before adding a large pinch of sea salt as well.

  Hmm.

  I leaned back on the table, my hands out behind me. “But after I walked in, Jasper followed me. He made a huge mess of the shop,” I said, watching carefully for her reaction.

  Agatha started stirring a little more slowly. She was listening to my story intently.

  “And it turns out that Bill is a big fan of dogs,” I said. “He loved Jasper. After that little incident, he kind of warmed up to me. Became a lot more chatty.”

  Agatha dropped her wooden spoon and wiped her hands on her apron. “What did he say?” she asked quietly.

  I just stared at her. “He told me that you and Matilda were friends. In fact, I think the phrase he used was ‘best friend’.”

  She turned away and stared at the risotto, which was now burning on the bottom of the pan. But she didn’t say anything, or make any move to remove it from the stovetop.

  “Why did you lie to me, Agatha?” I asked.

  She turned back to me with slightly watery eyes.

  “I-I’m sorry, George. The whole thing was just a shock. And I didn’t want you to think…”

  I shook my head. “Think what?”

  But she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. We were both thinking the same thing.

  “I understand if you want to go back to Pottsville,” Agatha commented. “This has been a tough time for me, as you can understand, and your company has certainly been welcome, George. I’m just saying, I would understand.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted me to leave because she wanted me out of the way. Maybe she didn’t want me talking to any other people or uncovering any other secrets.

  If that was the case, I had no intention of leaving any time soon.

  I smiled at her and grabbed a spoon, dishing myself up a serving of risotto. “It’s fine. I think I’ll stick around for a while after all.”

  The evening was growing a little chilly. If we had been further inland, the temperature probably wouldn’t have dropped, but the sea air was like air conditioning over the entire town when the sun started to set.

  Things had been slightly tense between Agatha and I, so I had taken Jasper out for a walk on the sand. No complaints from him. No complaints from Agatha either, she was glad for us to get out of the house.

  I told myself, Her best friend has just been killed. Of course she is acting strangely. It would be strange if she WASN’T acting strangely.

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was far more to it.

  “Jasper! Come here!” I called, waving the stick at him, waving him back to me. “Jasper!”

  I didn’t want him running off toward the other end of the beach where Matilda’s body had been discovered. So I only threw the stick a short distance and tried not to let him wander further than that.

  But of course, Jasper had other ideas. He wasn’t the kind of dog that liked to be caged in. He had his nose in the air like he had caught a whiff of something. I thought it might just be Agatha’s cooking—she was making a meatloaf for dinner after the risotto had been so burned it couldn’t be salvaged—so I figured it was time to go back to the cottage and face the music. At least if she was still cooking for me, she was still talking to me.

  “Jasper!” I called him back. “Get away from there, boy!”

  When he wouldn’t listen to my long-distance demands, I had to sprint over to him. I didn’t want to be anywhere near there, didn’t want to be reminded of the sight of Matilda, but I didn’t want Jasper wandering into the water in the dark.

  He was digging wildly in the sand and looking up at me, like he was trying to tell me something, his head pointing to the sand. Look here.

  “What is this that you’ve found?”

  It was silver and heavy to pick up. I squinted at it in the fading light. It looked like a small silver bear.

  I brushed the sand off it and placed it in my pocket before stalking off again. “Come on, Jasper, it’s time to go inside for dinner.”

  Chapter 4

  I woke to the sounds of cars honking and people yelling at each other from someplace a short distance away, and wondered for a second if I was still dreaming. What could possibly have happened to disturb the peace in Sandy Point? It sounded like I was waking up to the sounds of a busy city, not a secluded beach town.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, drowsily looking out the window. I was speaking to myself, really, even though Jasper was laying on a rug near the end of my bed. He had no answers for me. I was going to have to ask Agatha, if she was still talking to me. Dinner had been brief and tense. There looked like there was an actual traffic jam taking place up in the town, past the walkway, and the usually-empty small parking lot up the edge of the cliff was now full.

  I stumbled into the kitchen, my pajamas still on, and asked Agatha what all the fuss was about. “Why is the town so full this morning?”

  She had a pot of coffee in her hand and shook her head. “I can’t believe the literary festival is still going ahead,” Agatha commented as she fetched the sugar from the pantry. “You take two, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Literary Festival?” I asked, settling down in my seat.

  “Yes. It runs every year. I just assumed it was going to be canceled after what happened to Matilda, so I hadn’t even thought about it for the past couple of days.” She added two sugars to my coffee, stirred it, then passed it to me.

  I didn’t want to be insensitive so I didn’t comment, but I didn’t think it was that strange not to cancel over the death of one woman, seeing that authors from all over the state had traveled to attend the festival. I looked over the itinerary that Agatha passed me. All the authors speaking on the panel had apparently been local to the area at same stage—that was the common bond between them, but many had relocated to the city now.

  “Well, I think we should wander into town and check it out,” I said, finishing my coffee in a few gulps and rinsing the empty cup out in the sink. “I think it would be good for us.”

  Agatha looked up at me in shock. “Are you being quite serious now, George?”

  “Deadly. Jasper will be all right if we leave him here in the yard for a few hours, won’t he?”

  The town would be full of travelers and tourists for the weekend, so hopefully I would no longer stick out like a sore thumb. It felt good to not feel like such a stranger and an outcast. I would just be one of many interlopers. And as a new writer myself, I was keen to check out the festival. Maybe I would even pick up a few tips.

  I sighed as we walked up the hill to town, taking the walkway, where a banner announcing the name and dates of the festival had been hung overhead at some time of the early morning or late night.

  It had been sunny but suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a violent downpour of rain that came in fierce slants and attacked everyone caught in its crossfires.

  The icy rain fell down in quick shards that hurt my cheeks and actually made me cry out in pain as I sprinted for cover. Other people made mad dashes for shelter as well, until we were all crammed into the same small shop like sardines.

  I looked around at the throng of people. Everyone looked just as confused about what had just happened as we did. But could one of these people be the person who killed Matilda?

  “This is where the majority of today’s events are being held,” Agatha said, nodding toward the town hall a little further down the street as we waited for the storm to clear. “There will be individual authors speakin
g and giving interviews and then Q&A sessions. There are also some panels in the afternoon.”

  I nodded as an organizer wearing a fluorescent green vest handed me an itinerary. Agatha was right, there were a bunch of different events going on. In the afternoon, the panels were divided into different genres and themes. There was a panel of literary writers, a panel of journalists, a romance writers’ panel, and even one for bloggers and digital writers. No wonder there were so many people around.

  The purple clouds started to clear away and people sighed with relief as they put their umbrellas down and took ginger steps back out onto the street.

  “I was supposed to be one of the speakers at the digital media panel,” Agatha commented as we made our way toward the hall. We would have to hurry or we wouldn’t be able to get a seat. It was already filling up. “If you can believe it.”

  I wasn’t at all surprised, actually. Her blog was very popular and she was a wonderful writer. I had sought her advice myself, so it wasn’t surprising that other aspiring writers would want to hear her speak about what she did.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to cancel?” I asked her. “You’re really not going to speak?” I felt a little disappointed in her.

  She looked at me in surprise as we followed behind the rest of the crowd. She was wearing a long purple sundress and the bottom of the hem caught the wet road below. “Of course I am. You can’t expect me to give a talk about blogging, under the circumstances, George!”

  There were a few stares as we entered the room. People caught Agatha’s eye and then quickly looked away again. People who I thought were supposed to be her friends turned their backs on her.

  “Come on!” I said with a bright smile. “Let’s make the best of it! We’ll sit together and just ignore everyone else. Look, there’s even a free book giveaway at the end of the talk.” We chose two seats in the second to the back row. Agatha wanted to hide out. I didn’t mind staying a little hidden as well. Besides, from the back, we had a better view of everyone else. I could keep my eye on all these potential suspects.

  “Matilda was supposed to be a speaker today too,” Agatha commented as the first author, a mystery writer named Dorothy Perkins, took to the stage.

  I was surprised to hear this. “Really?” I asked. “Is she a writer?”

  “Was,” Agatha replied sharply.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Agatha was quiet for a while as we watched Dorothy settle in and get her slide show in order. “Matilda wrote a column for the local paper. Mostly about arts and crafts, but she touched on other events in the community as well. Occasionally serious topics. She had a lot of talent.”

  We sat and listened to Dorothy talk about her process. She told the audience that she woke up at 5:00 a.m. every day, without fail, and wrote for three hours, and never missed a day. Not even holidays, not even Christmas, not even when she was sick. Agatha nodded at me. “See, that’s the kind of commitment you need too.”

  She was acting a little Brenda-Esque with that advice. Brenda updated Never Drop a Stitch every single day.

  After Dorothy’s talk, it was time for a quick break, then it was time for the panels. The first one was the literary writers, which was very serious and involved a lot of the writers talking about things like muses and inspiration. Agatha was distracted and left several times to use the bathroom and to ‘get some fresh air,’ but she returned before it ended and the next one started, anxiously bouncing her leg up and down.

  When the next panel switched over, I noticed the empty seat in the middle of the stage. We all did. It was the journalism panel.

  “At least they kept it that way as a show of respect to Matilda,” Agatha said, brightening just the slightest bit as she stared at the empty chair, second from the left on the stage. “That is something.”

  But then, a man with glasses and a blue plaid shirt came along and sat in it.

  Agatha was still fuming an hour later when the panel finished and everyone dispersed for a lunch break.

  “Come on, why don’t we duck out of the hall and get lunch?” I suggested.

  “They provide lunch here!” she said, pointing angrily at the plates of ham sandwiches and sliced fruit.

  “Yes, but wouldn’t some fresh air be a good idea?”

  Agatha ignored my question and shook her head. “I cannot believe that they replaced Matilda…with that…that man!”

  The man’s name had been Jason and he was relatively young, about thirty or so, with curly black hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He wore a blazer over his plaid shirt now that the panel was over. He had been introduced as the new “Arts and Culture columnist” for the Sandy Point Weekly.

  “He’d been trying to steal Matilda’s column from her for months,” Agatha hissed. She was trying her best not to cause a scene, I thought, but she was still attracting a lot of stares as she paced and muttered wildly. Leaving for lunch seemed like a more appealing prospect by the second. I managed to get her out the door. The icy rain had cleared and there were blue skies again. I asked her to show me the best cafe in town.

  The cafe was busy-ish, but most people had decided to stay behind for the free lunch, so we managed to grab a pair of comfy brown leather seats that faced the window. There was no sign of the sudden storm that had briefly tormented us that morning, so it was a nice warm spot on the other side of the glass.

  “Is it all day breakfast?” I asked as the waitress approached. I’d only had a cup off coffee at the cottage and my stomach was crying out for breakfast food.

  The waitress nodded.

  “Great. Then I’ll take the scrambled eggs and a side of mushrooms,” I said, handing the menu back to her.

  “We don’t have to go back to the festival if you don’t want to,” I said to Agatha. “Let’s see how we feel after we’ve got something in our stomachs.”

  But she was still stewing on the matter when the food arrived and after she had taken a few bites of her vegetable stack. “That Jason kid was never any good.”

  I took a sip of water. “I think you might be a little biased against him.”

  She shook her head and stared at me with a frightening look in her eyes. “If you knew what I knew, George, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  I took a deep breath and smiled back at her. “Let’s just try and enjoy our lunch, okay?” I returned to my mushrooms, which had been cooked perfectly, with just the right amount of garlic and butter and seasoning.

  Agatha ate a little of her vegetable stack, but she grew more and more forlorn as the lunch wore on. “They should have just canceled the whole thing,” she finally said, throwing her fork down.

  I gently tried to reason with her. “This is a large, annual event, Agatha. They couldn’t just cancel it last minute. If we stay and talk to some people, we might actually learn something about what happened to Matilda. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “I’m going to head home,” Agatha said as she stood up. “But you stay here if you like. Enjoy yourself. I’ll feed Jasper and refill his water. I’ll even walk him for you if you like.”

  I re-entered the town hall on my own, feeling a little exposed walking all by myself. Everyone seemed to know each other, like they had all bonded during the free lunch and I was now on the outside.

  Jason was a little on the outside as well. He was by himself at the lunch tables, picking over the scraps, piling his plate high with the sandwiches that no one wanted—pickles, by the looks of them—and slices of watermelon. No one approached or said hello to him. I almost felt a little bad for him.

  “Hi there,” I said with a bright smile, like I was just a fan coming up to say hello. “I thought that was a great talk you gave this morning. I’ll have to check out your column when I get a chance.”

  He looked a little embarrassed as he reached out to shake my hand, wiping watermelon on his pants before he did so.

  “I haven’t actually submitted my first column for publication yet,” he explained. “I only got offe
red the job yesterday.”

  “Oh?” I asked, feigning naiveté. “And you were already asked to sit on a panel? That’s a mighty impressive achievement.”

  “Yes, well, there have been some developments in town the past couple of days,” he said, looking a little uneasy.

  “But you’ve been working at the newspaper for longer than just a day, I’m assuming?” I asked casually, Agatha had certainly known of him, and I would wager that Matilda had as well.

  “Yes, eh, as an intern when I was younger, and I just moved back to town a few months ago,” Jason said, a little anxiously. I could tell he wasn’t loving being interrogated, even if I was dressing all my questions up with a smile. “I’ve been doing some freelance work for them since. Just waiting for my chance for something full-time, I guess. ”

  “Well, sounds like your luck just came in,” I said. “Just washed up, I guess. So to speak.”

  I was sitting alone, waiting for the panel of mystery writers to take to the stage, when a man approached me and I sat up with a start, getting a few butterflies in my stomach. He was good-looking, with a thick head of salt and pepper hair and a little bit of stubble on his face. He had a lanyard around his neck that read “VIP.” Underneath it read that he was one of the organizers.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked with a smile, nodding at the empty seat beside me where Agatha would have been if she hadn’t run off home.

  I recognized him from the earlier journalism panel. He’d been sitting a few seats down from Jason. I think he was the editor of the paper. It had been hard to concentrate on a lot of what the panelists had been saying with Agatha stewing away beside me the entire time.

  I shook my head and smiled. “No, it’s not! My friend decided to high-tail it out of here, I’m afraid, so I’m all on my own!” I tilted my head to the side and offered him a little pout. Maybe even fluttered my eyelashes a little. I tried not to be too obvious, though.

  “That’s a shame,” he replied, reaching out to shake my hand before he sat down. “I’m Mathew.”