Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  There weren't many posts in 2014. Annie hadn't been very conscientious about keeping her page current beyond 2013. One of the last pictures, posted in December of 2013, was from her wedding day, Annie in a cream-colored knee-length dress, clutching a drooping bouquet of daisies, smiling up at Eddie. His weight gain was evident in khakis and a blue button-down shirt with sweat stains at the armpits.

  There were no guests visible. No flower-decked altar. Instead of a priest, Elvis stood behind them in a white jumpsuit, Bible in hand. Annie had gotten married in Vegas.

  Annie had gotten married in Vegas?

  I shook my head. "None of this fits with anything I knew about her."

  "Like I said, people change."

  I studied Wedding Day Eddie. There was something about him that seemed almost sweet, a shyness in his eyes or an endearing uncertainty in his smile. I'd love to have thought of Annie being happily married to the man of her dreams. And maybe she had been; we had no way of knowing, especially since she hadn't exactly peppered her Facebook page with pictures of the two of them.

  Of course, none of that mattered anymore. I blew out a breath. "So what do we do now?"

  "Now," Curt said, "we head to Atlantic City to meet the mystery girl."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Did you know," Curt said, "the world's largest musical instrument is in Boardwalk Hall?"

  We were standing on the Boardwalk outside the Hall, waiting for Annie's friend to arrive. It was five minutes to noon. The sun was scorching. There was no breeze. Even the seagulls had taken a break. I didn't come to the Atlantic City Boardwalk very often. I guess I didn't fully appreciate its history. It had opened before 1900 and had been home to venerated attractions like the Steel Pier and Convention Hall, now Boardwalk Hall. Today it was home to oddballs and cut-rate souvenir stores and saltwater taffy shops. At night I found it a little scary since a lot of people seemed to call it home. Because of that, I was never completely comfortable there.

  "It's the pipe organ," Curt was saying. "It's got thirty-three thousand pipes. You ever heard a pipe organ with thirty-three thousand pipes?" He shook his head. "Incredible."

  "Um-hum." She had said she'd be in white. White what? Bathing suit? Business suit? Cocktail waitress uniform? I hoped it wouldn't be a cocktail waitress uniform. I couldn't compete with that much cuteness.

  "The Beatles played here." Curt looked at the doors with reverence. "On their first U.S. tour. And the Stones. And the Boss. And—"

  A redhead in a white bikini came off the beach, wrapping a sheer scarf around her hips in the casual way models do. I held my breath as she floated past in a cloud of coconut suntan oil. What a relief.

  "And the fights. All the greats have come through here." Curt shook his head. "You know, we ought to come see a show or a game here sometime."

  There. That had to be her, making a beeline for us past the street people and the tourists. She had a no-nonsense look in a tailored white pantsuit and very high heels that somehow didn't get caught in the cracks of the Boardwalk as she moved. I thought I saw a flash of red sole. I'd never owned a pair of shoes with red soles. I couldn't carry them off, anyway. I was more of a New Balance kind of girl.

  The woman marched right up to us, propped her sunglasses on top of her head, stuck out her hand, and said, "I'm Carolyn Taney. You're Jamie." She looked at Curt. Her eyes were a pale winter blue. Her hair was shampoo-commercial blonde. She was really gorgeous.

  "This is my friend Curt," I told her. "He knows what I know." Next to nothing.

  She shook his hand.

  "How did you know Annie?" I asked her.

  "We were roommates in college. We stayed friends." She nodded once—satisfied that she'd given us enough information for the moment. "Let's go somewhere and talk," she added. She pivoted sharply and headed off the way she'd come, still managing to avoid the cracks, sure-footed as a mountain goat in four-inch heels. She didn't look back to see if we were following her. She just assumed we were, and she was right.

  If I wanted to, I was pretty sure I could dislike this woman.

  She led us to a little restaurant on a side street just off the Boardwalk, far enough away from the noise of tourists and the hustle of those casinos that were still operating. There were many more closed or canceled while in the planning stage as were still open, and the economic condition of Atlantic City reflected that reality. It wasn't the destination it used to be, back in the days of the diving horses.

  "Where did you find the locket?" she asked me as soon as we'd found a table. There weren't many other people in the place yet, but Carolyn Taney still picked a table in the rear. She sat facing the front window, her back to the wall. "It meant a lot to her. Her grandmother gave it to her."

  "She was wearing it," I said. "When she…um…" I swallowed hard. "I went to school with Annie. So I recognized her when…" I glanced at Curt.

  "When we found her on the beach," he said, his tone gentle.

  "Wearing the locket," I added. "I'll return it to her family."

  "On the beach," she repeated. She sounded angry but not a white-knuckled, uncontrolled kind of anger. More a tightly restrained, don't-turn-your-back kind. The dangerous kind. I was impressed by her composure. I'm not sure I would have reacted with such calmness after receiving that kind of news.

  "She was buried," I said. "Mostly." I left it there. That much was bad enough.

  "How?" The single word was like a gunshot

  "We think she was strangled," Curt said. He didn't mention the ligature marks.

  "So it was personal."

  We didn't say anything.

  Carolyn's mouth set in a grim line. "I always knew I'd get that call someday. I just hoped I'd get it from her, when she needed my help. That was the plan, you know. That's why we got a dedicated cell phone. She was the only one with the number, so when it rang, I just knew…" She trailed off and stared beyond us, out the window onto the Boardwalk.

  A waitress came to the table. We ordered three iced teas, unsweetened for Carolyn.

  "Sounds like Annie expected trouble," Curt said when the waitress was gone.

  Carolyn nodded. She was looking out the window again.

  "From who? What was going on?"

  She dragged her attention back to us. "I'm sorry to say I don't really know. Of course I asked her, but she would only say she felt like she was being watched all the time. I think her exact words were she felt like she was in one of those old Movies of the Week, where the woman in jeopardy isn't sure whether or not she's imagining things."

  "Was she afraid?" I asked. I hated to think Annie had been afraid. For some reason, I seemed to be feeling protective of her, as if she were a newborn puppy instead of a grown woman.

  "Not exactly." Carolyn considered. "More like resigned, as strange as that might sound."

  It didn't sound that strange to me. Resigned was how Annie had moved through adolescence. Resigned that she would be targeted for derision or just cruel exclusion.

  Curt's voice got my attention. "Who would be watching her?" he was asking.

  Carolyn shook her head. "That's just it. I have no idea. When Annie met Eddie, she became kind of…secretive. She was crazy in love—don't get me wrong. But it's like they were living in their own little bubble, and I was out of the loop. That happens sometimes, doesn't it?" She closed her eyes briefly, remembering. "She just came to my condo one day with the phone and asked me to keep it with me. In case anything happened, she said. And then something happened." She shook her head and looked at me. "So you met Annie at Rutgers?"

  I could feel myself flush. "No, we went to high school together. We were in the same graduating class." I hesitated. "She hadn't changed much since then. I mean, she got prettier. And slimmer."

  "And dead," Carolyn said flatly.

  There was that.

  "I should get ahold of her family," she said, talking more or less to herself. "They'll have questions for the police."

  Uh-oh. Curt and I exchanged a loo
k. He was actually beginning to look a little uncomfortable.

  "There's something you should know," he said when it became obvious that I wasn't going to say it. "The police aren't involved. We called them, but—"

  "What?" The single word lashed out at us like the crack of a whip. Carolyn did not look pleased. Well, that couldn't be helped; there was no way to make this a fairy tale. We'd found a body and lost a body, and that was the end and the beginning of it. Still, I'd been the one to fall over Annie's knee. The least I could do was come across with a sensitive explanation respectful of Carolyn's close relationship with Annie.

  "Someone took the body," I blurted out. "While we were back at the house calling the police. By the time they got there…" I snapped my fingers. "Gone."

  "Gone," Curt agreed. We nodded at each other.

  "The police think it was all a bad joke," I said.

  "Gone," Carolyn repeated. "Are you saying someone stole Annie's body?"

  "That's it," I said. "Stole."

  "Stole," Curt agreed. We nodded at each other.

  "His name is Sasquatch," I added.

  The waitress brought our iced teas. Carolyn ignored hers. "Whose name?"

  We told her about the visit from Ernie and the sale of Annie's locket. "He wouldn't tell us anything other than the name Sasquatch," I said. "I think he was afraid to. Did Annie know anyone with that nickname?"

  "Sasquatch." She didn't react to the name in any way, just leaned forward on her elbows, staring into her iced tea as she thought. "No, that doesn't seem like anyone she would know. Of course, like I said, she had become much more private since meeting Eddie, so I won't pretend to know everything about her."

  Curt glanced at me. I could see disappointment in his eyes. Tracking down Sasquatch would be much more difficult if he'd been a total stranger to Annie.

  "We'll keep looking," I assured her. "Someone has to know of him."

  "Keep looking?" For the first time her self-assurance seemed to falter. "What do you mean? Are you two detectives or something?"

  "Or something," Curt said with a self-deprecating smile.

  "We've had some experience with this sort of thing," I told her. "I'm sorry to say," I added quickly.

  She bounced right back. "I want to help," she said. No "what kind of experience?" or "my, you must be a couple of geniuses!" Carolyn Taney could not be derailed. She was a woman used to getting her way. Maybe she'd give me lessons. "I have the keys to Annie's house," she was saying. "I think we should start there."

  It was like she read my mind. What better place to start learning about Annie than from her personal belongings. Still, it would have been more polite of her to wait for us to suggest it. After all, we were the non-detectives here.

  She pulled a tablet and pen from her Fendi handbag, jotted down an address, and slid it across the table to us. "Meet me here at five o'clock." She stood up abruptly. "I don't know who you two are, but I trust you. Do not let me down." And she was gone.

  "Wow." Curt took a gulp of iced tea. "I think she scares me."

  "Strong woman," I agreed. "Annie could do worse for a friend."

  "Seems to me I could say the same about you." He planted a kiss on my hair.

  Sure. If Annie wasn't dead, she'd be a lucky woman.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In any other place but along the Jersey Shore, Annie's New Home Sweet Home would have been considered a baby McMansion. In Ocean Beach, it was probably considered an eyesore. Not enough decks or glass or European luxury cars in the driveway.

  Carolyn Taney was already waiting for us when we got there at 4:55, sitting in a red BMW convertible at the curb. "Annie's car is gone." She seemed insulted, as if the car had driven off on its own when it heard we were coming.

  I pulled a scrap of paper from my handbag, before she could beat me to it. It turned out to be an old Walmart receipt for a box of Trix cereal. "What did she drive?"

  "A blue Prius," Carolyn said. "She was so proud of that car."

  I nodded and stood there just holding the notepad, because I had no pen. Until Carolyn handed me a gleaming little silver number that weighed more than my car keys. I jotted down blue Prius and get free pens at bank and gave it back.

  Carolyn paused to collect the mail from the box before unlocking the front door and entering the security code into the keypad so we could follow. She dropped the advertising circulars in the trash and set the envelopes on Annie's counter next to a stack of opened mail. So Annie hadn't been gone long. I looked over the mail. There was an electric bill, a water bill, a current mortgage statement, and a diet book, along with a postcard from a local gym. High school Annie had never been svelte, but she hadn't been overweight, either. Sort of middle of the road. Average. She must have been making a concerted attempt to become healthier.

  Carolyn knew her way around Annie's house and gave us a quick tour. It was pretty standard issue as far as homes go. Two smallish bedrooms, one larger master bedroom, a living room, and eat-in kitchen. All of it done in neutral, airy shades of creamy beige and tan. Annie's décor was sparse, with no crystal or china or even ceramic here and there. I spotted a few framed photos of who I took to be her parents—she looked more like her father—and a few more of a white poodle who I took to be the dearly departed Thor.

  The walk-in closet held a woman's basic professional wardrobe: sensible suits, skirts, and blouses, most of it in dark colors. Only two pairs of modest heels and two handbags. I remembered high-school Annie wearing only one pair of shoes, and never carrying a handbag, so that wasn't out of character. On the dresser, a simple small jewelry box that didn't hold much beyond a tricolored gold ring in a braided design, a pearl necklace, which probably wasn't genuine given its absence of luster, and some earrings—one single gold hoop and the rest all simple studs with posts, some mismatched and a few missing their mate, more fake pearls, a cubic zirconium, a pink stone that must have been Annie's birthstone.

  She'd been a makeup minimalist as well. On the counter in the master bath, I noticed a tube of mascara, one of lip-gloss, and one of a very safe berry shade of lipstick. A dandruff shampoo in the shower. No conditioner. No boxes of hair color or bottles of hair mousse or styling gel, or anything to indicate that a human being with an X chromosome had lived there.

  Maybe Curt had been wrong. Maybe people didn't change so much.

  "Where do you want to start?" Carolyn asked after we'd finished the tour back on the ground floor.

  We already had, and I couldn't say I'd learned anything useful yet. Then it struck me. "I didn't see any pictures of her husband."

  Carolyn nodded. "There were never very many. And after he died, she put the few she had away. She said it only made her sad to look at them."

  "What was he like?" Curt asked her.

  "Does that matter?" she asked.

  "We'd just like to get an idea of what Annie's life was like," I said. "It might help us figure out who'd want to harm her."

  She nodded again as if that made perfect sense to her. It had sounded pretty good to me, like I knew what I was doing. "Eddie was nice enough, I guess. I always thought he was a little beneath Annie, but she seemed happy enough with him, as far as I could tell. They met at the Mummers parade, of all places. And like I said, they lived in their own little world. She always said she'd never marry again after he died." Her face clouded a little. "I guess he was her soul mate. If you believe in that sort of thing."

  I glanced at Curt. I was no romantic, but I definitely believed in that sort of thing.

  "He was good for her in a practical sense," Carolyn added. "After she met him, she paid off her credit card debt and started paying cash for everything."

  "Had she been in financial trouble of some sort?" I asked.

  "Her credit card debt was $400," Carolyn said. "So I wouldn't say trouble. Annie was pretty good with her money, so she just got better. She told me once she started a retirement account right out of college."

  Geez. I was thirty something, and I
still didn't have a retirement account. Which worked out fine, because I'd never be able to retire anyway. I loved my job much too much to ever leave it. And I didn't know where Howard kept the key to the shackles.

  "I don't know this for sure," Carolyn said, "but I got the impression Eddie didn't trust banks."

  "Not an unreasonable way to think," Curt said.

  She gave him a small grin. Even at half strength, it gave Curt's grin a run for its money. If the two of them got together for a full-on smile, my legs might give out.

  "Did you ever meet any of their friends?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "They didn't entertain, and honestly, I don't know if they got invited to many functions." She hesitated. "But there is something that might help you. I'm sure Annie kept the funeral register from Eddie's service. It's got to be around here somewhere." She kicked off her heels and got up. "I'll check the master. Jamie, why don't you try the smaller bedrooms? Curt, look around down here."

  We spread out accordingly. For the next ten minutes, there was no sound except drawers opening and closing before Carolyn yelled "Found it!" and we reconvened in the living room. When we'd settled in, Curt to her left, me to her right, she opened the hardbound register in her lap. I was struck with another wave of sadness at the sight of the first and only page, only half full with signatures. It didn't look like Annie had had much support after losing her husband. Carolyn's name was on the first line.

  "Do you know any of these people?" Curt asked.

  Carolyn looked over the list. "That's her boss. I remember he was at the memorial service. And of course, Annie's parents." She shook her head. "I'm not sure about the others. Wait, Larry Dougherty was a friend of Eddie's."

  "Does he live locally?" I asked.

  "I don't know for sure, but I think so." Carolyn sighed. "I wish I'd pressed Annie a little more, but I tried to respect her privacy." She frowned. "I do know that Larry wasn't big and hairy. You'd never call him Sasquatch, unless you were joking."