Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  "Turn off at Rowe Street and we can park in the back," Emily said to Greg.

  Without a word, he flipped on his blinker and made the turn. It was clear he was functioning on autopilot by this point. As they came within sight of her parents' house, Emily was surprised to see several cars parked along the side street. "Mom must be having one of her crafting meetings," she told Greg. "Why don't you wait in Dad's workshop and I'll bring Mom out to talk to us?"

  The light was on in Ray Taylor's converted garage workshop behind the house, and with his head hanging low, Greg headed in that direction. Emily bounded up the back steps to the screened-in porch, but one of the cars on the street caught her eye before she could open the door. "Greg!" she called hoarsely.

  Greg turned, the lights coming from the workshop behind him making it impossible for Emily to see the expression on his face. She motioned him forward, and he hurried to her side. "Look!" she said, pointing to the black Corvette parked under a streetlamp. Dusk had settled in, but with the illumination from above, Emily was sure this was the same vehicle that she had seen leaving Gabby and Greg's property earlier.

  "Is that the same…?" Greg trailed off. When Emily nodded, he raced for the back door, not even bothering to knock before barging in. Emily was right on his heels.

  "There you are!" Susan Taylor beamed at both of them as if they'd just taken the top prize in the school spelling bee. "We wondered where you had gotten off to."

  Emily stood still and stared, unable to take in the scene around her. Pink and lavender balloons and streamers covered every inch of her parents' kitchen and dining room. A huge banner that said "Congratulations" fluttered in the breeze coming through the back door that Emily still held open.

  "What in the world?" Emily started to say, but before anyone could answer her, a strangled sound in the back of Greg's throat had her whipping around. In the space of a heartbeat, Greg crossed the floor and swept a very surprised-looking Gabby up into his arms.

  On a half-laugh, Gabby said, "Greg Spencer, what's gotten into you? Put me down. With all the weight I'm carrying, I'll break your back." But Greg ignored her, burying his face in her hair, his body wracked with sobs. Emily tried to move toward the couple, but her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, her own tears flowing freely.

  Gabby wriggled free of Greg's grasp and pulled back to look at him, an expression of concern marring her beautiful face. "What's happened? What's the matter?" she demanded of her husband and Emily.

  Susan dropped down by her daughter and gathered her into her arms. "What is it, baby girl?" she whispered into Emily's hair. But Emily just shook her head, too overcome by emotion to speak. Gabby was safe! Nothing awful had happened to her and the twins.

  Greg pulled Gabby's cell phone from his back pocket and held it out to his wife, as if this was explanation enough. "We found this," he said hoarsely.

  "Oh, my cell phone!" Gabby exclaimed, looking confused. "In all the commotion, I hadn't even noticed it was missing. But seriously, what took you guys so long to get here? Why are you crying?"

  "There's blood on it," Greg choked out, indicating the back of the phone.

  Emily finally found her voice and said, in a voice that wasn't quite steady yet, "You called me. You said you needed me. And then you were gone…"

  Gabby laughed. "Oh, you know me. Ever the klutz! I locked my keys in the car, but I went into the gift shop and got a wire hanger that I was using to try to break back into the minivan. I called you to see if you could go and get my spare keys, but I ended up stabbing myself with the end of the hanger and dropping the phone. Just then, a security officer saw me and came over to help, and I forgot all about my phone. I'm sorry. Pregnancy brain, I guess. You weren't worried about me, were you?"

  At this question, both Emily and Greg dissolved into hysterical laughter, the strain of the past few hours finally causing them to break. Greg recovered first when Gabby demanded, "What so funny? First you're crying and then you're laughing. Is something wrong? Is someone hurt?"

  "No, no one is hurt. Everyone is fine," Greg told her, still smiling. "But as for worried, you don't know the half of it. I thought…" Here he stopped smiling and his eyes filled again.

  Emily pushed up off the floor and said, "I went to the hospital after your call and ran into Greg. Your Lamaze class informed us that neither you nor your instructor Louise ever showed up. A nurse said she saw you two leaving and that you were crying. We thought…" Somehow, Emily felt ridiculous voicing what she and Greg had both assumed.

  "We thought," Greg said firmly, "that you had been kidnapped by Louise. We've been looking everywhere for you. I've been to the police station, to our house, to Emily's place, to Louise's home—"

  "Wait, what did you just say?" Gabby interrupted him, incredulous.

  "We thought you'd been kidnapped by Louise," Emily repeated for Greg.

  "Why would you think that?" Gabby asked them, her dark brown eyes wide in disbelief.

  "I think I can answer that," a slim, stern-looking woman spoke from behind Gabby.

  Emily looked at her in surprise. She had never seen this woman before in her life.

  "I'm Louise," the woman said, stepping forward to shake Emily's hand. "And I think I can clear up some of this confusion. But first, I have to ask, did you say that the Lamaze class was waiting on me to show up?"

  When Greg and Emily both nodded, Louise smacked her own forehead. "Oh no! I thought I had sent that e-mail before my blood sugar dropped."

  "What e-mail?" Greg asked.

  "I had gone up to the hospital to send an e-mail to the class saying it was canceled, since that is where I keep the class list of contact information. I was also supposed to call you and Emily," Louise nodded in Emily's direction, "to let you know about the baby shower."

  "Baby shower?" Greg repeated, clearly lost.

  "Yes, silly!" Gabby laughed and pointed at all of the streamers and balloons. "My family planned this surprise shower for us! They're all here. They recruited Louise to help get me here for the surprise. They were afraid that if they entrusted that job to you or Emily, you guys would spill the beans."

  Emily and Greg exchanged a nervous glance. What would Louise have to say about their assuming she had kidnapped Gabby and possibly meant her harm? But Louise's next question was, "I didn't make the call to either of you, did I? I'm so sorry that you were worried."

  Gabby stepped forward and put her arm around Louise. "It's not your fault! You see," she turned to a still-stunned Emily and Greg, "I got the car unlocked and went in to use the restroom. I ran into Louise and she was in bad shape."

  "My blood sugar had dropped way too low. I was pretty sick and I knew a seizure wasn't far off. I made it to the bathroom, but I left my purse in my office," Louise explained.

  "Thankfully, I had some candy in my purse," Gabby said, and Emily nodded, sure that Gabby carried everything but the kitchen sink in the giant bag she lugged around, calling it a "purse." But one thing was for sure—Gabby was always prepared for any situation, pregnancy brain or not.

  "I was so worried about her," Gabby said. "That's why I was crying when that nurse saw us. Louise kept telling me she needed me to drive her somewhere, but she was a little unclear as to where. She finally remembered the name Susan Taylor. I had no idea that Louise knew your mom," Gabby said to Emily, "but I brought her here anyway. That's when I was surprised by the shower! We've just been waiting for you two to show up. But I guess if Louise didn't call you…" Gabby frowned.

  "I'm so very sorry you were worried about me. I was so excited to see everyone, and I got to visiting, and I guess time just got away from me. I should have called you. I'm so sorry. But I still don't understand why you would have thought Louise had kidnapped me?"

  "Because," Louise said softly, and Emily and Greg tensed, "if they went to my home looking for us, they probably talked to Alice. Right?" When the nervous duo nodded, Louise gave a soft laugh. "I haven't exactly made life easy for Alice. That's my sister,"
she explained to Gabby. "I've been staying with her. My sister has twin boys, teenagers, and that has often been a source of angst between us."

  "Why?" Gabby asked, clueless to Louise's situation.

  "I could never have children. The strain ruined my marriage. Lately, I had been dating a really wonderful man named Henry, but when he had a falling out with his grown son, I butted in where I didn't belong and ruined that relationship too. Since then, I've been staying with my sister. She worried about me, and to be fair, I haven't given her much reason not to worry. But I love Alice, and I love my nephews," she told Greg and Emily.

  "Of course you do," Emily said, appalled at the awful things she had been willing to believe about this woman.

  Greg cleared his throat. "Please try to understand that I've been frantic with worry about my wife. I would have believed anything, I was so blinded by concern about Gabby and my girls," he pleaded with Louise.

  She waved off his apology. "I've certainly been a cranky, miserable mess lately. I can see why Alice was concerned."

  "Well," Greg hesitated, "I hate to admit this too, but we even talked with Henry."

  Louise gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "You did? What did he say?"

  "That he cares a great deal for you," Emily told her. "I think you should call him."

  Louise's eyes filled with tears, but she only nodded as the kitchen suddenly became very crowded as all of Gabby's siblings and her parents began to wander in to see what was going on. Susan took control of the situation and started snapping pictures and cutting the gorgeous cake. Emily stood to the side, silently thanking God that everything had worked out okay in the end. Greg still looked a little shell-shocked, and he never moved from Gabby's side, but he laughed along with the rest as Gabby told a funny story about how frustrated she would get at Lamaze class when Louise would have them practice their breathing. "I feel like such an idiot, puffing and huffing like the Big, Bad Wolf."

  Louise smiled, but said, "You'll be glad you know how when the time comes. I promise you." This comment led to a round of birthing stories that had Emily once again thanking God for her blessedly empty uterus.

  As they were all adjourning to the living room to open presents, Greg helped Gabby off of a kitchen stool, his arm firmly around her. Before she had taken a step though, Gabby doubled over with a grimace. "What is it?" Greg asked anxiously, and Emily was at her side in a moment.

  Louise looked back from the doorway and met Gabby's stricken eyes. "I think my water just broke," Gabby said faintly.

  Emily felt a little faint herself and wondered how Greg would deal with this on top of the awful few hours he had just experienced. But she needn't have worried. Just like the wonderful husband and father he had always proved himself to be, he smiled and wrapped Gabby in a warm hug. Susan offered to go tell the rest of the family and get them organized to come to the hospital. Louise and Emily helped Greg get Gabby through the back door and headed to Greg's car.

  "You're going to be a daddy tonight," Gabby said, smiling up into Greg's face.

  "And you're going to be a mommy," Greg smiled back. And that was when Gabby's face contorted, and her breathing grew shallow.

  Louise stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Gabby. "Just breathe," she told her calmly.

  * * * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tracy D. Comstock is a small-town girl from Missouri. She lives in a home where she is outnumbered 3:1 by the males in her life: her husband and their two extremely adorable but terrifyingly ornery sons. She has no pets as all living things, besides humans, of course, come to her house to die, including the victims in her books. All her life Tracy devoured books. Her parents' most effective punishment was grounding her from reading. Although she has a B.S. in Education and a Masters in Literature, she was nudged down the path to publication by encouraging (and sometimes threatening!) family, friends, professors, and students. When not working on Emily's adventures, Tracy is an adjunct instructor for several local colleges, where she gets to teach others about her greatest passion: writing.

  To learn more about Tracy D. Comstock, visit her online at: http://tcomstockmysteries.wix.com/tracycomstock

  BOOKS BY TRACY D. COMSTOCK

  Schooled in Murder Mysteries:

  Murder is Our Mascot

  School's Out for Murder

  ICE CREAM BOMBES & STOLEN THONGS

  (Poppy Peters Mysteries)

  by

  A. Gardner

  * * * * *

  THE CHASE

  Chasing a panty thief in the dead of night isn't my idea of fun.

  In fact, it's a lot like peeing in the woods. It freaks me out.

  "Evie," I shout in between breaths. "Evie, stop!" She slows down so I can catch up with her. I grab her shoulder, forcing her to halt and explain why we're running through the woods after a hooded stranger. This isn't worth the price of stolen underwear.

  "Are you crazy?" Evie says, catching her breath. Her ruby locks fly over her eyes. "We're letting him get away. Is that what you want?"

  "What happens if we catch him?"

  "Then…" Her eyes widen. I don't think she's thought this through. Since we were kids she has had the habit of acting first and asking questions later. Evie is always on the hunt and always after a good story to tell. In the third grade she started carrying a diary with her wherever she went. It was lime green with mushrooms and fairies drawn on the cover.

  "Exactly," I say. "My MMA skills are little rusty at the moment. How are yours?"

  Evie rolls her eyes.

  "Fine, so we're not exactly professionals here, but don't you want to know who broke into the beach house?" She grabs my hand and resumes running through the brush.

  I take a deep breath of night air, keeping a steadfast eye on the back of Evie's jacket as I run behind her. Through the dense foliage and lively cedars I can see moonlight peeking through the treetops. It lights our way, but only slightly. The rest of our journey is left up to the light from Evie's cell phone.

  My lungs start to burn as we run faster—following the distant noise of a crackling fire. A dull glow comes into view, and Evie finally slows down. The two of us tiptoe side by side. My chest starts pounding, and I wipe a layer of sweat from my forehead. I cover my mouth, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Evie glances at me and points to her left. I follow her instructions and carefully step through a patch of moist dirt.

  The fire crackles as the hooded figure feeds it with more wood. Evie and I come as close as we can without being seen. I grab the side of a tree trunk and use its base to hide myself. A hand squeezes my arm. I turn and see Evie wide-eyed and pale. The glow of the fire dances in her pupils. I take a closer look at the scene in front of me.

  The hooded figure is no longer hooded.

  Light from the fire reveals the truth behind the break-in, the brawl…the blood.

  My hand clutches my chest. It's the only way I can keep my heart from bursting free. It beats uncontrollably—its loud thuds ringing through my ears. My mind replays the events of today and yesterday.

  It was obvious from the start.

  Right in front of me.

  "No way," Evie whispers. The sound of her voice reminds me to take a breath.

  Evie has her answers now.

  But what good will they do if she's dead by morning?

  ONE WEEK EARLIER

  I seriously need to move out.

  Becoming a professional ballerina doesn't entail time for a day job or even a part-time job. It means I intern for free. I'm stuck either in dorms or at my parents' house until I finish my schooling and earn a full time spot with a Ballet Company. I'm almost there. One year left and I'll get my own place. Somewhere new. Finally. Hopefully.

  "You're looking well, darling." My mom studies me up and down, assessing my figure. "Well and thin. I'm glad you were able to come home for your summer break."

  "I guess if I'm hungry that means I'm doing something right," I tease.

  The te
asing is how I cope at the moment, because the sound of a summer berry tart with a flaky crust and lemony custard beneath a heap of sugar-glazed berries makes my mouth water. I only indulge in things like that once in a blue moon.

  "See," my dad mutters. "You put too much pressure on her."

  "I just want her to succeed, and being slender comes with the territory," she argues. Mom places a serving platter of turkey meatloaf in front of me along with cauliflower mash. I let her serve me, thinking about the coffee shop I walk pass on my way to class every morning. The smells from that place light a fire in my belly—morning donuts and bagels. I imagine I'm biting into a salted caramel cupcake as I chew my dinner. The turkey isn't as satisfying.

  I swear I was a chef in another life.

  Or maybe the King of England's taste tester?

  Maybe that's how I died?

  "How are classes, dear?" My mom interrupts the silence with small talk.

  "The usual." I glance out the window and into the garden out back. Leafy green trees block the view of the neighbor's house, and a patch of wildflowers is thriving against the wooden fence. My childhood home in Portland sits at the top of a steep hill. From the street it looks like a picturesque Oregonian home with dozens of potted plants and a spacious porch. There's a rocking chair near the front door with a cushion that is permanently marked with the imprint of Dad's behind.