Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  "And the wedding ring," Curt added.

  Immediately Ernie stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I ain't married."

  "I know," Curt said. "Not anymore. Not after you killed your wife." He forcibly pulled Ernie's arm out of his pocket so I could see the braided tricolor gold wedding band. The match to the wedding band we'd seen in Annie's jewelry box. I wanted to tear it off his finger.

  "You killed Annie?" I stared at him. "But you're dead!"

  He actually laughed, a rusty gate kind of laugh that made my entire body hot with fury. "That's what she thought. I hear my service was very moving. A shame she didn't have anything to bury but some ashes."

  There might be something to bury very soon. I'd never seen such contempt in Curt's expression. "How did you do it?" he demanded. "Her post said you died in an explosion."

  Eddie shrugged. "Remember the gas explosion in Northeast Philly, leveled a house? Poor Eddie happened to be wrong place, wrong time. That was my brother's house."

  My jaw dropped. "You killed your own brother, too?"

  He rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't kill my brother. He's serving twenty to life in Graterford. He's not gonna be needin' the place."

  "Then why did you do it?" I asked.

  He pulled a duh face. "I needed to be dead. With nothing left of me, or it wasn't gonna work."

  "But why?" I repeated. "Why Annie?"

  He made a patronizing tsk, tsk sound. "Poor Annie Hollander, wanted so bad to be married. I had her pegged the minute I saw her at the Mummers parade. You know she paid for dinner that night? And every night after that. She was happy to do it. She'd got what she wanted. The man of her dreams." He waggled his fingers. The gold band gleamed in the light of the chandelier.

  My eyes fixed on it. "Why didn't you sell that, too?" I asked him. "It obviously didn't mean anything to you."

  "You're wrong there," he told me. "It meant respectability. It's just a tool. People are reassured when they see a wedding ring. Like they think it makes you a stand-up guy to have the wife, the kids, the picket fence." He snorted. "It still didn't get me no job or a roof over my head."

  Maybe that had something to do with the fact he smelled like a shrimp boat.

  "Well," he said, "I don't need respectability no more. And I'm not exactly the sentimental type, case you hadn't noticed."

  "Parasite." Curt practically spat the word. If I didn't stop him, it was entirely possible he'd rip Eddie's head right off his body. I didn't move a muscle.

  "You were stealing her jewelry," I said, figuring it out as I went. "She never lost anything. But she knew something was going on, and she put the valuable things in her safe deposit box."

  A shadow crossed his face. He hadn't known about the safe deposit box. I felt a little thrill of satisfaction and couldn't resist twisting the knife. "She had a lot of money in there, too. More than you'll ever see in your worthless life." And suddenly I knew. "Life insurance money," I said. "Your life insurance money. You wanted to steal your own policy proceeds?"

  "Well, I couldn't collect hers, seein' as how she was alive at the time," he said. "I ain't stupid. I know the cops look hard at the spouse in cases like this. But if I died first, the payoff would be the same—I'd be in the clear, and Annie'd have gotten herself a free education in trusting the wrong people."

  "How'd you pull it off?" Curt cut in.

  Eddie snorted. "Like I'm gonna spill my guts to you. Then what? You call the cops? They didn't believe you the first time. Why should they believe you now when there's still no body?"

  Annie was still missing. I couldn't think about that now.

  "I won't call the cops," Curt said. "It'll be just between us. We're alone here. Look, you're obviously a criminal mastermind, but did you really think the beach was the perfect place to bury her?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "You wearin' a wire?"

  Curt held his arms out to the side. "Where would I hide it?" He had a point. There was barely room in that T-shirt for his skin.

  Eddie looked him over and shrugged. "It wasn't perfect, but it was easy. Until youse screwed it up. I was gonna let some stupid fat housewife find her in broad daylight, and I wouldn't have had to deal with no dead body no more. Why you think it was a shallow grave?"

  "Because you're lazy?" I suggested.

  His eyes went black. "That's how my wife used to talk to me. Always wanting me to get a job, to do something with my life. Well, I did. I sold off her life in pieces, but it didn't amount to nothin'. The diamond from those fancy earrings. Her watch. The pearl earrings to a buddy."

  Randy O'Brien, who'd hit on Annie and hadn't even bothered to attend Eddie's funeral, and had pointed us straight toward Ernie for twenty bucks. Some buddy.

  "Why come up with the whole Sasquatch business?" Curt asked. "Why not just say you didn't see a thing on the beach that night?"

  Eddie shrugged. "Ain't my fault you two actually thought there was some dude out there called Sasquatch. Anyway, got you lookin' the other way, right?" That rusty laugh grated out of him again.

  "Did you steal her car, too?" I asked. It took all of my self-control not to launch myself at this animal. I kept waiting for Curt to do it, but he was just taking in the whole ugly story and letting Eddie continue to breathe. It was the first time I didn't admire his control.

  "Let's say I borrowed it, to give her a ride." Eddie did a sad little headshake. "Too bad she couldn't appreciate the scenery since she made the trip in the trunk. Chop shop didn't give me much for it, but what're you gonna do. Anyway, when I ran out of things to sell, I faked dyin' so she could collect the life insurance money. I mean, let her do the work, right? Responsible Annie, always with the insurance. Gotta get insurance, honey. You never know what's gonna happen, honey." He snorted. "She was right about that. I had the perfect plan. Cops can't look at the husband if the husband's already dead. Besides, I got a rap sheet and I ain't going back to prison. So when the money came in, I just had to go get it. I wasn't sharin' it with her. For what?"

  "Only the money wasn't at the house," Curt said. He was smiling a little. "She'd already put it in the safe deposit box. Where you couldn't get to it."

  "Old Annie was one step ahead of me there," he agreed. "But I was one step ahead of her. She never knew she married an ex-con. She was so trusting, it was sickening."

  I dug my nails into my palms to keep from smacking him.

  "Why did you sell us the locket?" I asked him. "Why not just take it to some pawn shop?"

  He shrugged. "I was hungry. Youse looked like you had money."

  "Such a sentimentalist," Curt said, his tone icy.

  A thought occurred to me. "That diet book at the house was yours, wasn't it?"

  "I was a dead man," he said. "I had to change my looks. Seventy pounds and a suntan later, my looks changed."

  He was right about that. He'd been a pasty doughboy in the few photographs I'd seen, and I had a feeling those photographs were the only ones Annie had ever had. I'd bet she hadn't put them away, like she'd told Carolyn. My guess was Eddie hadn't let her take many in the first place. He wouldn't want to allow too many chances to be recognized later on. And he'd isolated Annie to such an extent, groomed her for so long, that she hadn't questioned a thing. She'd just gone along with his program, right to her grave.

  But I still had to know. "Why did you move the body that night?" I asked him. "Why not just let the cops take her away like you planned?"

  Eddie shrugged again, unconcerned. "I was at the bar earlier watchin' some TV show where some forensic stiffs found evidence on a body. I figured it was time to move her to a better place."

  "And you're going to tell us where that better place is," Curt said. "She deserves a proper burial. Her family deserves it."

  Eddie scratched his chin. "I don't think so. I got a lot of livin' to do. I got no time for prison."

  "You just told us everything," I said. At least I hoped he had. I didn't think I could listen to much more.

  "Yeah, but at least
I didn't lie to the cops." He gave a nasty little grin. I didn't see a bit of the Eddie from Annie's Facebook page in that grin or in anything else about this monster in front of us.

  "Lucky you." Curt came to stand next to me. "Guess you got away with the perfect murder."

  "Guess I did." Eddie stuck out his hand. "And the story's got to be worth twenty bucks."

  I stared at him. "You expect us to pay you?"

  "I'll give you the twenty," Curt said, "if you tell us where Annie is buried. You've got to have one decent bone in that disgusting body."

  Eddie seemed to consider it. "No," he said finally, "I really don't. But it don't matter now—I washed off all the evidence anyway. She's in the Pine Barrens, near Batsto. Better find her quick, though. Lots of predators out this time of year."

  "Tell me about it." Curt tipped his chin toward the door. "Get out of here."

  I shot him a disbelieving look. "You're going to let him walk away?"

  "We're not the cops," Curt said.

  "You ain't as dumb as you look, mister." Eddie opened it casually, as if he was getting ready to take a leisurely walk in the moonlight.

  The Ocean Beach police were waiting on the porch.

  "They're the cops." Curt smiled at me as he took his cell phone from his pocket. "You guys hear everything?"

  "Every last word," one of them said. "And it's all on tape. Thanks for your help, Eddie."

  Eddie twisted around to glare at Curt. "You said you wasn't gonna call the cops!"

  Curt shrugged. "What can I tell you? I'm not as dumb as I look." And he closed the door.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THURSDAY

  "I can't believe you did this without me!" Maizy practically yelled. "Why didn't you call me? I was bored out of my mind this week. All Jasmine wanted to do was lie in the sun all day long and bake. And she had the hots for this lifeguard even though he was way too old for her. He was, like, thirty." She leaned forward between the seats. "Anyway, I thought we were partners," she accused me.

  "We are," I said, looking at Curt. He grinned back at me. We never had gotten around to the sort of vacation I'd had in mind, but as he'd pointed out, we did live in the same house, technically speaking. The logistics couldn't be better. And we couldn't have fit much more into the four days we'd had.

  "And you." Maizy glared at the back of Curt's head. "You used your cell phone to let the cops listen and record the whole thing?" Her face softened. "That was pretty smart, Uncle Curt."

  "It was your father who suggested it," Curt told her. Which made sense, since Maizy's father was a cop himself. "After he called the Ocean Beach police and convinced them I wasn't a nut case. And it got the job done."

  "You got my dad involved in this, and you didn't call me? God, this is so unfair." Maizy pouted for a few seconds before curiosity got the better of her. "So what happened? Did they find Annie's body?"

  I nodded. I'd spoken with Carolyn before we'd left and filled her in on Randy O'Brien's arrest for receiving stolen property, and even better, on Eddie's arrest for murder. The police had notified Annie's family and the family had called Carolyn immediately afterward. Eddie had been a waste of skin, but he'd told the truth about where he'd buried Annie. The authorities had found her in another shallow grave about a half mile from Batsto Mansion. Which was another sad irony, since I remembered our eighth-grade class trip had been to Batsto, and Annie had seemed especially fascinated with its history. If my memory served, she'd been animated and actually asked some questions of the docent that day. You just never knew what life was going to drag your way. That's why I'd spent the morning cleaning Howard's house, top to bottom, removing all traces of life, and restoring it to its sterile condition. I sort of hoped he'd lend me the keys for a weekend, maybe in the fall, when the crowds had disappeared and bathing suits were out of the question.

  "Her funeral is next Wednesday," I said. I would be there. And I hoped Carolyn would, too. I could learn some things from that woman. Then I could teach them to Maizy. As if she needed any help from me. "And," I added, "it turns out he left forensic evidence after all, under her fingernails. Which should mean Eddie will be looking at the rest of his life through bars."

  Which was the single bright spot in all of this.

  "It's all really sad," Maizy said after a while. "I mean, who's to say who's a dork and who's not? Annie sounded like she was probably pretty nice. I think I would've liked her."

  "I think you would have, too," I told her. I knew I would have.

  "And Eddie sounds like a maximus dork to me," she added.

  I couldn't improve on that assessment.

  "And another thing," she said, still hovering between the seats. "I should be driving. Why aren't I driving? I have to take a driving test in a couple of weeks, and here I am sitting in the back seat like a six-year-old. God!"

  Curt looked at me. "Haven't we seen this movie before?" He looked in the rear view mirror. "Give it a rest, Maiz."

  "Oh, I see how it is." She sounded insulted. "I'm only good enough to drive one way. What if I've forgotten how to do it? I might accidentally run over Brody Amherst while I'm taking the test, and then I'll never get my license! Hey, you think I can forge one if I don't pass? I've got to consider all the angles here. Just because I run over Brody Amherst doesn't mean I shouldn't get my license, right?"

  "Have I ever mentioned," Curt said to me, "that I don't want kids?"

  Maizy went still.

  "Good thinking," I said. "Kids grow up to be teenagers."

  We shuddered in unison.

  "Funny," she said sulkily, and sank back into the back seat, muttering to herself while she pulled out her cell phone, probably to hack into the DMV.

  "Of course," Curt added, "I'll probably die trying."

  "Here's to long life," I said.

  * * * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  From her first discovery of Nancy Drew, Kelly Rey has had a lifelong love for mystery and tales of things that go bump in the night, especially those with a twist of humor. Through many years of working in the court reporting and closed captioning fields, writing has remained a constant. If she's not in front of a keyboard, she can be found reading, working out, or avoiding housework. She's a member of Sisters in Crime and lives in the Northeast with her husband and a menagerie of very spoiled pets.

  To learn more about Kelly Rey, visit her online at:

  http://www.kellyreyauthor.com

  BOOKS BY KELLY REY

  Jamie Winters Mysteries:

  Motion for Murder

  Motion for Malice

  Motion for Mistletoe (holiday short story)

  MYSTIC MOJO

  (Mystic Isle Mysteries)

  by

  Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens

  * * * * *

  When the text came, I had finally put the finishing touches on a complicated multi-colored tattoo of a Chinese dragon for one of my repeat customers, Roderick Bukowski. A five-foot-four wannabe wizard from Sioux City, Iowa, Rod's convinced he was the reincarnation of Merlin the Magician. This wasn't the first work I'd done for ol' Rod, and this time we were on our second day with the humongous thing. I had allowed three days in case Rod wimped out from all the pain. Labor intensive, the tattoo crawled its way over half his entire back, and Rod was about to invest another twenty-two hundred dollars in his quest to awaken the wizard within. I do have to say the dragon was a thing of beauty. Green scales like flower petals, eyes like burning coals, flames spewed from its mouth and surrounded it.

  While I got Rod's bill ready, my client checked out my work (his pain) in front of the full-length mirror behind the privacy screen in (what I liked to call) my shop, Dragons and Deities Tattoo Parlor. In reality it's one of the company stores at The Mansion at Mystic Isle, in the Louisiana bayou, Jefferson Parish, across the Mighty Mississippi from New Orleans.

  He finally stepped out from behind the screen, buttoned his shirt, then handed me his room key and five hundred-dollar bills. />
  "Melanie," he said, "you've outdone yourself." He bowed, his voice resonating. "The fruit of thy labor wilt nurture the very legend of Merlin, my lady."

  I smiled and nodded, thinking that when it came to fruit, Mr. Bukowski probably knew more about it than most. I swiped his key to pay for the tattoo, lifted my work apron, and tucked the cash in the pocket of my costume—a slinky little black floor-length number with a high, stand-up collar that half-circled around the back of my neck. The dress itself was sexy and mysterious. Me? Cute maybe, but sexy and mysterious? Not so much. It's pretty hard to pull off a Morticia Addams vibe when you're only five feet three with strawberry-blonde hair, for crying out loud. My costume was pretty much irrelevant anyway seeing as how most of the time it was hidden behind my work apron.

  Rod's five hundred would go a long way at the construction salvage yard where the refurbishing materials were bought for St. Antoine's Parish. Restoration of the old church after its near total ruin during Katrina commandeered most of my tip money and spare time. The Holy Cross neighborhood of New Orleans was still struggling post-Katrina, and the well of FEMA support had pretty much run dry.

  My client went on bragging about his tat. "I'll be the absolute envy at the Wizards of the West Convention next month."

  I smiled and nodded. "Indubitably, Mistah Bukowski."

  He left, and I had a look at my text message: Melanie, please come to my office as soon as you're able. It was signed, Jack Stockton, General Manager, The Mansion at Mystic Isle, Jefferson Parish, Louisiana.

  As I slipped off my apron, I mentally amended his signature to Captain Jack, Cutie-Patootie, but he'd never know. I'd taken to calling him Cap'n Jack from the first day he arrived at The Mansion. After all, he was the boss, and he did look like a buccaneer, or at least the buccaneer of my fantasy.