Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  "I'm afraid not," Lance said. "I'm not looking for a drink."

  "What are you looking for?" I asked.

  He leveled his gaze at me, the sigh escaping his lips sounding genuine. "I'm looking for you."

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Lance, Donna, and I were sitting around a tall table with three icy glasses of water in front of us.

  "You're an FBI Agent?" I asked. "Posing as a principal?"

  "That's hot," Donna said, leaning on her elbow towards the middle of the table. "I'm taken by my own sexy fireman, but this one's not."

  Donna pointed at me, and I rolled my eyes. "Don't listen to her."

  "What did you say you wanted with Misty, if not her digits?" Donna asked. "I have her phone number memorized from middle school if you'd like it."

  "I'm afraid not," he said. "Er—no offense, ma'am. All I meant is that I'm here on business."

  I was pleased that my narrowed eyes had unnerved him into backpedaling after his first comment. "What sort of business?" I asked.

  "I need to ask you a few questions," he said. "Where were you after the race today?"

  "What are you saying?" Donna asked, her voice rising in anger. "What are you implying of my friend here?"

  "I'm just asking questions," he said. "If she cooperates, it'll make things much easier."

  "What are you getting at?" I asked.

  "I can't get into the details," he said. "But I need to know where you were after the race."

  "Well, I finished running, then I chatted with Donna—after that, I grabbed a hot dog and came here," I said after a moment of thought.

  "Why'd you come here?" he asked.

  "Er," I began. I'd started to say I was thirsty, but that wouldn't work out. He'd either think I was thirsty for alcohol at nine a.m. or that I was lying. I was definitely lying, but I couldn't tell him that. "To say hi. We were worried about Mr. Olsen. He wasn't feeling great last night."

  "He was supposed to be our starter," Donna budged in. "We stopped by to check on him."

  "Stop lying," he said, looking at both of us.

  "We're not," Donna and I said at once. There was a cackle of nervous laughter immediately after, which faded quickly.

  "I have enough information to bring you in for questioning," Lance said. "I was hoping it wouldn't have to get to that."

  "What do you mean?" I asked. "What do you have on me at all?"

  Lance leaned forward. "I saw the racing number you were wearing on your chest. I was looking for three bib numbers. Yours was one of them."

  "It wasn't her bib!" Donna jumped in.

  "Right," Lance said. "What did I say about—"

  "We're not lying," Donna said. "The man who was supposed to wear it backed out late last night because he was sick. We were sold out before the event, so Misty was only able to run because I had a last minute extra. I had to actually force Misty to wear it. If she'd had it her way, she'd still be lying in bed sleeping."

  "Well, I might be awake by now," I said. "But I would be enjoying a hot dog and not being questioned by a member of the FBI."

  Lance paused before asking his next question. When he did, his voice was a bit lighter. "Who was the bib initially registered to?"

  "I ran for Chad something-or-other today," I said. "I don't know who he is, never heard of him, don't know his last name."

  "Chad Glasser," Donna filled in. "Does she look like a Chad Glasser to you?"

  "And I'm just supposed to believe you're not making this up?" Lance asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Well, yes," I said. A part of me wanted to tell him everything, but the warning from the starter about getting the police involved weighed heavy on my mind.

  "I can tell you she's not a Chad Glasser," Donna said, reaching into her purse and pulling out several folded slips of paper. "Here's the roster. You can see the time stamp—I printed it out yesterday afternoon, just before dinner. I manually crossed Chad out because he called last night after I printed it. We had a full race, as you can see."

  Lance pored over the list Donna smacked on the table before him. "Hot Dog Days is popular."

  "Of course it's popular," Donna said with an offended expression. "Not to mention, I organized the race, and I only organize fun events."

  It was my turn to shoot her a disbelieving expression.

  "Today was the exception," Donna said.

  "You only had one cancellation?" Lance asked.

  "Of course," Donna said, leaning over and pointing out the scratched entry. "People don't cancel when they sign up to my events."

  "Sorry," Lance said. "I get the feeling I've offended you."

  "You have," Donna said. "Stop insulting my events."

  "I'm not—"

  "Let's just figure this out," I jumped in. "I don't feel like being brought to jail today."

  "Of course we'll need to verify this," Lance said, tapping the list with his fingers. "But for now, my gut tells me to believe you."

  "Good," I said. "You should."

  "But more importantly, whether or not I believe you, I need to get a move on," Lance said, pushing back the chair and standing up.

  "So you don't think I've done anything wrong?" I asked, following Lance as he walked towards the door.

  "It doesn't matter what I think," Lance said. "I'll find the truth. But if you're lying to me—well, at least I know your name. I can find you."

  I frowned.

  "Let us help you," Donna said.

  "You're not coming with me," Lance said, one hand on the door as he turned to face us.

  "Then how will you know Chad Glasser's address?" Donna tucked the paper into her purse.

  "I was just going to ask you to kindly volunteer that information," Lance said.

  "Chad Glasser's probably not his real name, and it's probably not his real address," Donna said. "But it could give you a clue to who he really is if you enter the details into your computer thingies."

  "My computer thingies?" Lance said with a smirk. But he seemed to hesitate. "Like I said, I can legally—"

  "Do you have the time?" Donna asked. "All I'm saying is let us drive behind you. We'll wait outside. Come on."

  "I suppose I can't stop you from driving behind me and waiting outside," Lance said, extending a hand. "Do you read me?"

  Donna and I looked at each other and smiled. He hadn't given us permission, but he also hadn't said no.

  Which worked just fine for us.

  * * *

  We pulled up behind Lance's Ford F-150—which, now that I thought about it, was probably rented. Of course he'd gone with the big truck—he was trying to fit in here. But his truck was too shiny and his wheels too new and his demeanor all wrong for the side street we parked on in Little Plain, a town thirty minutes away from Froggy's.

  We'd locked up the bar and made our way across town via the one-lane freeway surrounded by cornfields and cows, before taking an exit to yet another farming community. I glanced around the old city center. We were parked just off Main Street, surrounded by a single gas station with signs specifying Cash Only, a corner market, and a hardware store. The residential neighborhood was still a mile or two away.

  "Why did he stop?" I asked.

  Donna's phone buzzed before she could respond to me.

  "Hello," she said, answering using the Bluetooth feature on her van. "How did you get my number?"

  "I'm the FBI, remember?" Lance said. I could see him scanning the town from his perch high in the truck. "I also heard back about Chad Glasser. According to my information, there's nobody living at the address he lists by that name."

  "But we're already here," Donna said. "Doesn't it make sense to just check? What if the house is in a friend's name and Chad is crashing on his couch? It's not like we verify addresses when we take registrations."

  "True. I don't expect anyone will be there," Lance said. "But I plan to check it out. Alone."

  "Can't we come with…please?" I asked.

  "No," he said.
>
  "But—" I started to argue, but a dial tone cut me off. "Fine."

  "You think a two letter word is gonna stop us?" Donna asked, looking across her van's center console. "Come on. It takes four letters to even get me thinking about backing off."

  I smiled at my friend as we pulled away from the curb and followed Lance's truck. "I like your style."

  We'd barely fallen silent when Lance pulled over for a second time, parking in a semi-hidden turnoff from the main road. He climbed out of the car, and we did the same, strolling up to him as if we'd planned on meeting him here the entire time.

  "I can't get rid of you ladies, can I?" he asked, his voice resigned.

  "What do you mean?" Donna shrugged, her eyes wide. "This is public property. We're just going for a walk. You're in our way."

  "Right," Lance said. "But Chad's address isn't public property, so you'll have to stay off that."

  "Great," Donna said. "We'll be on the sidewalk in case you need backup."

  "I don't need backup," Lance said, fishing in his glove compartment. I pretended not to see the gun as he adjusted his jacket over his jeans. "Even if I did, I wouldn't ask you two."

  "Watch what you wish for," Donna said, her eyes twinkling. "We got you here, didn't we?"

  Lance opened his mouth, then snapped it shut as he started walking towards the house. "Wait outside. Don't go past the sidewalk."

  Like loyal puppies, Donna and I meandered over to the sidewalk in front of the mysterious Chad Glasser's house, but we didn't put one hair past onto the lawn. In fact, we did an excellent job of pretending to be two ladies out for an afternoon stroll, walking halfway up the block and back and only glancing at Lance every few steps.

  Yeah right. We were completely obvious in our staking out of Chad's house. Hopefully, people driving by would assume we were just checking out Lance. After all, he did have a cute butt.

  "Lance went inside," Donna whispered. "Should we follow him?"

  I paused and glanced up and down the street. I was pretending to be in thought, but more so I was gauging the number of people in the area. The road was a small one with houses spread out far apart. The chances of someone walking by were slim—Chad's address was a farmhouse tucked back from the road. He didn't have oodles of land and fields, but he did have a yard, which was something I envied. My "yard" in Los Angeles wasn't large enough to hold a stalk of bamboo.

  "Let's go to the door and see if he needs help," I said, partially joking. Mostly, I wanted to be nosy and find an excuse to see if Lance had turned up anything.

  If someone were to drive by they wouldn't see us unless they were paying serious attention. The house was set back far enough from the road, and a handful of trees guarded the walkway to the front door.

  "Yeah, I like that idea," Donna said, walking towards the house. "If someone sees us, we can always pretend to be selling Girl Scout cookies for my kids."

  "Oooh, good idea to you," I said as we reached the front steps. "You would make an excellent spy."

  Donna grinned at me. "Takes two of us, girlfriend. You should consider coming back here to stay. Imagine the sorts of trouble we could get into."

  "I don't have to imagine," I said, raising an arm to knock on the door. "We've done it already. But—I'm considering it."

  "Really?" Donna squealed, turning to face me. "As in—serious thought?"

  "What are you ladies doing here?" Lance asked, his face turning red as he met us at the door. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood in the entryway to the place.

  "I just found out she might move home," Donna said, pointing in my direction. "It's worth a squeal."

  "I thought I told you two to wait at the sidewalk," he said.

  "We, uh, thought we heard something and came to rescue you," I said.

  "Is that someone's foot?" Donna asked, pushing past Lance. My friend had always been inquisitive, but she'd become bolder since she'd had children. Maybe it was a mom thing—I had yet to find out.

  "Whoa, that is definitely a foot," I said, following Donna through the front door. She'd pushed a space open between Lance's arm and the doorframe, and I squeezed through quickly before he could block me out.

  "Did you do this?" Donna asked.

  "Is he dead?" I gasped.

  Lance sighed. "No, he's not dead. He's breathing, but he's unconscious. My guess is chloroform. And of course I didn't do it. I found him when I came in."

  "When you broke in?" Donna asked, wiggling her eyebrows. She glanced around the small farmhouse. From the entryway we could see a sparsely furnished kitchen, a semi-cluttered living room, and a staircase that presumably led to a second level. "Don't worry, we won't tell. Let us just stay and help while you look through the rest of the house."

  "I've looked already. At first glance, it appears nobody else is here," Lance said. He kneeled next to the body of a man with reddish hair and a ruddy face. He wasn't much to look at while he was sleeping, and I couldn't imagine he became a looker when he woke up.

  "Is that Chad Glasser?" I asked.

  "I'm guessing that's not his real name," Lance said. "I'd venture a guess that this is the man going by the name of Chad, but I can't be sure."

  "Who do you think did this to him?" I asked. "Tim, the starter?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Lance said. "But he's a strong possibility."

  "Can we take a look around?" I asked.

  "I already did. I'm going to call the local police and have them pick up this guy. He's stable now, but he'll need some medical attention eventually," Lance said.

  "Hang on," Donna said. "Something's off. I feel it."

  "Could it be the unconscious man lying on the floor?" Lance asked, his head tilted towards Chad.

  "No," Donna said, strolling in a slow circle around the room. "Look at Chad. He's a single guy, right?"

  "I wouldn't know," Lance said. "I need to look into who this guy really is, Chad or no Chad."

  "No, I mean look around the place," Donna said. "There's electrical outlets everywhere. There's no gate on the staircase. Not a single toy in the living room. I bet there's no baby bottles in the cupboards."

  "Plenty of people don't have children," Lance said. "Myself included. I don't understand what you're implying."

  "Oh, you don't?" Donna asked, her face brightening. I knew what she was going to ask, but I was powerless to stop her as she barged on ahead. "So you're single? So is Misty. In fact, Misty's thinking of moving back from Los Angeles very soon. Maybe you should exchange some digits. This is your second chance."

  Lance cleared his throat while I glared at my friend.

  "Don't listen to her," I said.

  "I want to know what she's implying by the fact I don't have children," Lance said curtly.

  "If there are no children in the home, then why is this here?" Donna asked, marching into the kitchen. We could see most of the kitchen from the entryway, including a small foldout table and a microwave splattered with the remnants of a quick dinner.

  I followed Donna into the kitchen, looking to see what she could possibly be referring to. She was right in the fact that this was no place for a kid.

  But when she bent over one of the metal folding chairs haphazardly pushed into the table, I saw her point.

  She lifted a tiny Hot Wheels car just as she'd found it on the ground. It'd been upside down on its back, like a beetle stuck with its legs in the air.

  "Hm? Any thoughts?" she asked, holding up the miniature car.

  Lance and I glanced at each other, confused expressions crossing both of our faces.

  "Do you think—" Lance started, but before he could finish his sentence, he fell writhing to the floor, screaming as if someone were ripping his heart from his chest.

  "Lance," I yelled, running forward to see what had caused him such pain. I reached out, but when another figure appeared behind him, I stopped, rooted in place by fear.

  Lance's spasms calmed as a woman stepped around the corner of an adjoining hallway.
She held something that looked similar to a gun in her hand, which was pointed in Lance's direction. She wore a small backpack over her shoulders, rings on every one of her fingers and an expression that dared us to talk.

  "Hello, ladies," she said, casting a quick glance down at Lance as she lowered her gun hand. The FBI agent lay still, a low groan escaping as the woman bent over him. She swung the backpack from her shoulders and set it on the ground, quickly pulling a balled sock and what appeared to be a child's jump rope from the pack.

  I watched as she inserted the sock into Lance's mouth, then tied his hands behind his back with the rope, the rings on her fingers flashing in the light. At least Lance was alive and bullet-free, which meant he'd probably been hit with a Taser.

  As the woman pressed the sock further into Lance's mouth, the man tried to spit it out. She pointed the Taser at him and depressed the button again. Lance screamed once more, the sound muffled by the sock.

  "Shut up, or I'll keep it up," Tina said. "I heard you can't knock someone unconscious with these Tasers, but I'm certainly willing to try."

  Turning back to us, she nodded at Donna. "You're pretty observant yourself, finding that hot wheels car. Toddy and I were playing out here right before you showed up and ruined it."

  "Who's Toddy?" I asked, trying to keep her talking. The lady seemed jumpy with her trigger finger, and anything I could do to keep her mouth moving and her trigger finger still was a good thing.

  "Toddy's my son," she said, lazily smiling at us. It seemed she might be the chatty type, as she continued on without a prompt. "You know, it's a bummer you showed up now. And it's a real shame that you brought the cops with you. I thought my husband warned you to keep the cops out of this."

  "Your husband?" I asked, glancing towards Donna. "Who's your husband?"

  "He's Timmy Drotz. I'm Tina, but those are fake names, so don't worry about remembering them," the woman said, flicking long black hair over her shoulder. She wore bright red lipstick and a lime green top a few sizes too small for her. Huge, gaudy rings sparkled on every one of her fingers, as I'd noticed earlier. "I believe you met Timmy at the race. He volunteered to start it this morning."