Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries

by K L Montgomery

  I’d visited Evangeline’s office after lunch. She had been busy with a project and didn’t eat outside in the courtyard with me, Molly, and Jada, though I suspected it was more because of the hot, sunny weather than true busyness. Evangeline was averse to sun and warmth, preferring chilly overcast weather to any other variety. Why she was living in Bryce Beach instead of the Pacific Northwest was really a mystery, speaking of mysteries. Oh, right, it was to distance herself from her ex-husband, from whom she needed a three-thousand-mile buffer zone, apparently.

  That didn’t bode well for my question…but I was going to ask anyway. It was for the fish.

  “Hey, I have a question for you,” I’d asked, poking my head through her half-open door.

  “Shoot,” was all she said.

  I stepped inside and gathered my courage. Evangeline wasn’t the easiest person to ask for help. She put off very…intimidating vibes, in some ways. But I figured she owed me after I bailed her out of jail a month or so back.

  “So, I went to see Chief James today. I wanted to check on the results of the necropsies of the dead animals on the beach,” I prefaced my big ask.

  She shrugged. “Okay?” That was code for “Get to the point.”

  “He pretended like they don’t know anything, like the lab and DNR never got back with him,” I shared.

  “And you don’t believe him?” Her brows quirked as though she was suddenly interested in the conversation.

  “Not really.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think something is going on, and I need to figure out why those fish died. You said your ex does that sort of work…”

  “Hmmph,” was her response.

  “C’mon, Evangeline. Remember how I exonerated you? And I never believed you’re a witch.” I appealed to her sense of friendship and loyalty. “I just need your help getting to the bottom of this.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed on me. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

  I huffed out a breath and filled my lungs with fresh air. “Can you talk to your ex and see if he has any contacts at the state university lab? Maybe he can get some insights into the lab results?”

  She rolled her eyes, then looked down at her fingernails for a second. They were painted jet black. “Fine. But then we’re even, okay?”

  “It’s not exactly bailing me out of jail, but okay,” I agreed. “Let me know what he says, or if you want, I can talk to him myself. Just give him my number.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” she promised.

  I let her get back to work after that, but our conversation was still running on repeat through my mind. I knew she didn’t want to have anything to do with her ex-husband, but he could be a real asset, being a marine biologist. And since he used to live here, I suspected he had either worked at the state university, which was only an hour away, or he at least knew people there. I was going to leverage any contacts I had to get to the bottom of this.

  I reached The Candy Shoppe and delighted in the soft arpeggio of the chimes over the door as I made my way inside. Just sucking in the aroma of fresh candy had an immediate soothing effect. They had the most amazing peanut butter fudge here—that was tonight’s craving. I picked out a slab of that and one that was coffee-flavored and then paid. I couldn’t wait for that sugary goodness to melt on my tongue, but I would do the adult thing of having a reasonable dinner first.

  I headed to Angelo’s to see if they had a table for one. I didn’t like eating alone out in public, and I should have asked Molly or Jada to join me for dinner, but I hadn’t realized my stomach would be so rumbly so soon after work. Oh, well.

  The hostess smiled and led me back to a small two-person table not far from the kitchen. I would have preferred a quieter locale, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The restaurant was hopping for a Monday night.

  After the server took my drink order, and I decided what kind of carby deliciousness I was going to be indulging in tonight, I glanced around at my fellow diners. Imagine my surprise when my gaze fell right on Jada Booker and her companion, who must have been her new boyfriend, Carlton Boxbury III.

  She had her head thrown back in laughter, and Carlton was wearing a smirk as he continued speaking, causing another peal of giggles to erupt. I had to admit, they were pretty adorable together. She was stunning in a white halter-top dress that set off her topaz skin, and her tight spiral curls bounced against her forehead as she laughed. Carlton was wearing a crisp blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a pair of relaxed khaki shorts. They belonged on the cover of a magazine, these two. I wondered if wedding bells would be ringing from the steeple of Bryce Beach Community Church soon.

  Maybe I’ll get to be a bridesmaid, I thought as I turned my gaze to the water. The large windows overlooking the beach were clear on the other side of the restaurant, but I could still see the water. I didn’t want to interrupt Jada’s date, so I’d stay as stealthy as possible. I wonder what colors she would choose for our dresses, I furthered my bridesmaid fantasy. Would they get married in the church or on the beach? She’d only been to our church a handful of times…

  Before I could get carried away thinking of cakes and floral arrangements, I noticed another Coast Guard ship out in the cove. I couldn’t strip my eyes away from it, even when my server set my diet cola down on the table. “Be right back,” I told her, not wanting her to think I was skipping out on my meal. Fettuccini was on the way, and I was here for it. Both literally and figuratively.

  I snuck out the back door of the restaurant, which was near the kitchen entrance, down the same hallway as the restrooms. Anyone watching me leave the table probably assumed I was going to the ladies’ room, as a matter of fact. I pushed open the glass door and found myself in the alleyway between the restaurant and the shops behind it, the ones facing Dogwood Avenue. I walked around to the front of the building and climbed the three steps to the boardwalk.

  Now I had a better view of what was going on in the water. The sun was still hovering several feet above the horizon, washing the water with a golden glaze as the two boats bounced up and down on the rippling waves. The Coast Guard ship was much bigger than the fishing boat, and it was bigger than the one I’d seen in the water a couple of weeks ago. I wondered what kind of violations the fishing vessel was being written up for. Maybe they were overfishing? Or maybe they were fishing an illegal species. There were a few protected species of fish in our waters.

  I wished I had binoculars. I’d have to get a pair. If I was going to investigate this mystery, I’d probably be spending a lot of time looking out at the water…

  Five

  I tucked the new pair of binoculars I’d purchased at the sporting goods store inside my purse as I headed toward the marina. I hadn’t heard anything back from Evangeline yet about her ex-husband and the marine biology lab, but what I’d seen on the water when I was down at the boardwalk last night piqued my interest all over again. I decided to hang out here after work and see if I could find any clues.

  What kind of clues, I didn’t know. This case wasn’t as cut and dried as the Bryce Beach Bandit case. For that one, I knew what the crime was: a theft. I knew what had been stolen: the library funds and the Founders’ Bible. And I had suspects. Okay, maybe too many suspects, but still… I worked it out.

  This one…all I had to go on were dead animals and seeing more Coast Guard boats in our neck of the woods…er, I mean, water…than ever before.

  There was a bar inside the marina, not far from the main dock where the boats that went out daily were tethered. I wasn’t much of a bar-goer, but I figured I could set up shop with my laptop and pretend to be hard at work while I sipped diet cokes, or maybe even virgin daiquiris, as I spied on all the folks coming and going. And by folks, I meant men. I didn’t see any other females in the marina except for one female server and a female bartender. I shot them knowing glances of solidarity.

  The female server made her way over to me, and I figured I’d try out my cover. I needed a cover,
right? I was pretending to be a novelist working on a story about a fisherman. Cliché much? Perhaps. But at least it was less conspicuous than YA librarian turned amateur sleuth.

  “Afternoon,” she said in a low, raspy voice, setting a napkin rolled around a fork and knife down in front of me. “What can I get you?”

  “Oh, I’m just going to sit here and work on my Great American Novel,” I told her, and when she frowned, I added, “with a strawberry daiquiri, of course. Uh…hold the rum.”

  “You want a virgin daiquiri,” she repeated, her lips twisting up in disbelief.

  “That’s right.” Judgmental much? I wanted to add but refrained. Thank you for helping out with my self-control, Lord. You know how hard it is for me sometimes!

  She shook her head a little, muttering, “Alrighty then.”

  So it didn’t look like the server and I were going to become besties anytime soon. Your job is safe, Molls!

  I pulled out my laptop and opened the screen. Setting up a fresh Word document, I decided to take notes on a few of the characters I saw hanging around. It would pass the time, and I’d also have a record of whoever I encountered in case someone said something incriminating, or at least noteworthy.

  You never know, if I overhear anything really interesting, I could write an actual novel.

  I documented the older man with the snow-white hair and mustache sitting at the end of the bar. I called him Sam Elliott in my notes, but he was nowhere near as good-looking—or clean—as the actor. He was sitting with a balding man with a scruffy five o’clock shadow, both nursing beers and reminiscing about “the good old days,” which, as far as I could tell, was back when they won some surf fishing contest.

  In a corner table, two men in their forties were eating what looked like fish and chips. Their hands were stained, and their faces tanned and weathered, so my sleuthery (not a word but should be) instincts told me they worked out on the water. I couldn’t quite hear their conversation, not even when I pretended to need to use the restroom and walked right by their table.

  When the server finally brought my daiquiri, I was relieved. I smelled it first, to make sure there wasn’t any alcohol in it. Not that I was opposed to having the occasional drink, but I definitely didn’t need any mind-altering substances to cloud my thinking when I was trying to solve a mystery. I needed all my wits about me.

  A pair walking in the front door caught my eye. The bald man with the salt and pepper goatee was the one I’d seen outside Josie’s when I ate there with the girls—he was the one Mayor Steyer’s son had called Bob. The other man was taller and about the same age, but I didn’t recognize him. Bob was wearing a navy suit, and his companion’s suit was charcoal gray. They took a table not far from me, and I sucked in an excited breath. I would be able to overhear anything they said perfectly. Score!

  At first, their conversation was less than riveting.

  Bob opened his menu and scanned it, murmuring, “So what’s good here? You didn’t tell me it was such a seedy joint.”

  His companion chuckled. “I would have taken you to Josie’s, but the crowd there is… Well, our conversation might be a little unsavory for that crowd. No one here will bat an eye.”

  So apparently I was invisible. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  The server—the same one who’d waited on me—took their drink orders before sashaying to the bar, wagging her behind as she went. Maybe she was trying to attract her customers’ attention and garner a higher tip, but they didn’t seem to notice her efforts.

  I poised my hands on my laptop’s keys and began to type, but then I realized I couldn’t hear what they were saying if I was typing too fast. So I slowed down and focused on the sound of their voices. Bob’s voice was booming and easy to understand. The man in the gray suit had his back to me, and his voice was muffled.

  My ears really perked up when I heard Gray Suit say the words “Coast Guard.” I couldn’t hear the words surrounding “Coast Guard,” but I was sure it pertained to the beefed-up presence I’d seen in our cove as of late.

  Then Bob said, “If your guys hadn’t made a dump, then we wouldn’t have their noses so far up our…well, you know what I mean. But I know it’s not their fault. They did the best they could under the circumstances.”

  “There has to be something you can do,” the other man said, and that time I heard it clearly because he’d turned his head toward the bar, watching the waitress wiggle her hips back with their drinks on a tray. Maybe her efforts would pay off, after all?

  The waitress set their drinks down in front of them—looked like two beers—and asked if they were ready to order dinner. I hoped they’d get right back to their former conversation, because I had a feeling every word they spoke was gold. Now I wished I had gadgets—something to record their conversation. What if I needed to take the evidence to the police? I worried if I turned my phone’s video camera on that their voices wouldn’t be loud enough to register, but I figured I had to at least give it a shot.

  While the waitress jotted down their dinner order, as surreptitiously as possible, I took my phone out of my purse, turned on the video camera, pressed record and scooted it to the edge of the table. Too much? Yeah, probably, but they hadn’t even looked my way once. I doubted they would notice it.

  When the waitress slunk back to the kitchen to place their order, they began talking again. Lord, please let my phone pick up this conversation! I prayed.

  “Look,” Bob said, “I can only help out with state agencies. I can’t help you with the Feds.”

  Gray Suit’s voice was obscured behind his napkin as he wiped his mouth after taking a bite of what appeared to be a greasy burger. Still, my heart was pounding. State agencies? Feds? This sounded important!

  “I think you’re right that the crab traps will solve our problems,” Bob said. “I know that’s not my area, but I need to know we have a solid plan if I’m going to be involved.”

  Gray Suit said something else I couldn’t hear, and Bob’s lips spread wide into a wicked grin. “I’m glad we have an understanding.”

  The rest of their conversation was about golf and the trips they’d both taken to Hawaii. In other words, nothing helpful to my investigation. But I knew now that Bob could help with state issues—whatever that meant exactly—but he couldn’t help with federal ones. And something about crab traps solving their problems.

  Clearly, I needed to know who this Bob guy was.

  I pretended to work on my novel while the two finished up their dinner. Then the waitress brought them their check, and Bob paid with a credit card, while Gray Suit slipped him some cash to cover his portion. All I had to do was be patient, and I’d have my answer as to the man’s identity…

  Sure enough, Bob signed the receipt, and the two men ambled out of the bar. Stealthily as can be, I rose from my chair and tiptoed toward the table next to mine. I made sure no one was watching, then I snatched the receipt off the table where they’d sat. I committed the name to memory and then put it back before walking to the bathroom, my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

  When I returned, I expected the bartender, server, or maybe a manager to come out of the back to reprimand me for looking at the receipt, but nope. No one came. No one noticed. I was just a plus-sized, middle-aged woman, and I was all but invisible, even in a completely male-dominated space.

  The name on the receipt was Robert M. Summer.

  As soon as I was seated back at my laptop, I googled Robert M. Summer. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an uncommon name, so lots of hits came up. I went to the images tab and scoured all the photos, looking for the short, stocky bald man with the goatee. Bingo. I found him.

  I pulled up the link, and it was his staff page on the governor’s website. Apparently Robert M. Summer was Governor Stark’s deputy chief of staff.

  I felt like a professional private investigator as I then tracked down Robert Summer’s Facebook page and Twitter account. Most o
f the latter were political tweets in support of his boss; that came as no surprise. His Facebook page was fairly locked down, so I couldn’t see much except that he was married, and if his cover photo was any indication, he and his wife had three grown children, a son and two daughters. They appeared to live in Cherry Grove, which was a suburb of the capital, about an hour from here.

  So what was the governor’s deputy chief of staff doing in Bryce Beach late in the afternoon on a weekday, more than an hour away from his job?

  I couldn’t answer those questions now, but staring out at the water, I remembered I had the binoculars with me this time. Whipping them out in the bar would probably be a little conspicuous, so I packed up my laptop and ventured out onto the dock.

  A boat was returning to shore, so I grabbed the binoculars and held them up to my face, adjusting them to focus the image. It was a fishing vessel named The Mary Sue, white with a navy stripe, the name written in a navy script across one side of the bow. As they grew closer to shore, I could see empty wire crab traps stacked up on the deck. I remembered what Bob and his companion said about crab traps during their meal—Bob hoped they’d solve their problems, whatever those might be.

  “Can I help you?” a gruff voice came from behind me as I tried to read the tags on the traps. I could only tell they were blue and yellow but couldn’t make out the words; the boat was still too far away.

  I whipped around to find a tall, lanky man with no shirt and skin like a tanned leather hide staring at me, his lips thin and jaw clenched.

  “Oh, hi…” I said as pleasantly as possible. “No help needed.”

  “What are you doing down here, ma’am?” he pressed.

  I scrambled for an answer, then remembered my handy dandy cover story. “Oh, I’m a writer. Just working on my novel about a fishing community. Down here gathering some inspiration.”