Cowabunga
Christmas
Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #1
Anna Celeste Burke
Copyright © 2015 Anna Celeste Burke
http://www.desertcitiesmystery.com
Published by Create Space
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission of the publisher except brief quotations for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Anna Celeste Burke
Photo by Nadezdha1906 Dreamstime.com
ISBN-13: 978-1517347789
ISBN-10: 1517347785
Books by Anna Celeste Burke
Cowabunga Christmas, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #1
Gnarly New Year, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery # 2 [Out Soon]
A Dead Husband Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #1
A Dead Sister Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #2
A Dead Daughter Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery # 3
A Dead Mother Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #4 [Out Soon]
~~~~~
Love A Foot Above the Ground Prequel to the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Series
DEDICATION
To all of us, out there every day, just trying to catch a good wave!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1 Surf’s Up!
2 Honeymoon Posse
3 A Dead Santa
4 The Sanctuary
5 A Herd of Santas
6 Bad Santa
7 Boardertown Or Bust!
8 Crafty Santa
9 Leave It Alone
10 Cowabunga Time, Baby!
11 Gun Guy
12 Willow’s Place
13 A Cowabunga Christmas
14 The Day After
15 That’s A Wrap
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my husband, surfing life’s tides beside me for decades.
Cowabunga, Baby!
To friends and family in deep water with us on the wild ride to who knows where?
Hang on!
To my sister, gratitude, for another furious round of editing! I don’t know how she finds the time and energy to take this on with all she has to do!
A special thanks to friends who suggested we meet for dinner at a restaurant, in an out of the way cove, on California’s glorious coast.
1 Surf’s Up!
The sound of pounding surf woke me at the crack of dawn. Why not? We had left the doors to the veranda open. We felt safe in our suite up on the sixth floor and the sound of the waves was pleasant at night. That wasn’t all that was pleasant, I thought as I slipped out of the oversized bed. That bed was a dream, decked out in soft, silky sheets and a plush comforter in creamy colors mirroring the sea, sand and sun. I grabbed a waffle weave spa robe I had tossed casually on a chair near the bed when we returned from a midnight dip in the hotel pool.
Resort staff locked the gated area at 10:00 p.m., but no matter. Brien climbed over the fence and then opened the gate from the inside, bowing gallantly as I entered carrying champagne and crystal flutes. The gesture was sweet—a side of Brien that made it almost impossible not to love the guy. He had just violated several resort rules, however, and probably a law or two. He ought to know, given he’s licensed in security and has his ‘guard card’ as the State of California calls it.
As I slipped the robe on, I padded in bare feet out onto the lavish balcony that spanned the length of our two-room suite. The sunrise was glorious; molten colors spilling over the rolling waves. The sea air felt brisk, normal for mornings this time of year on California’s Central Coast. Despite the chill, warmth crept over me as I tightened the belt on my robe and sank down on a comfy chaise.
My robe had not been tossed casually, but frantically as Brien and I lunged at each other the moment we returned to our room after sneaking that swim. We were giggling and out of breath when we burst into our suite and shut the door behind us. Our leisurely moonlit soak had come to an abrupt end as we ran for it before hotel security could catch us. The entire evening had been like that—bouncing wildly between deliriously romantic and breathlessly sexy; moonlight and surf vying to set the mood.
Not that unusual for a honeymoon, I suppose. I looked at the rings on my left hand, almost in disbelief. What had I—what had we—done? Me, Kim Reed, a married woman! Kim Reed-Williams if I went along with Brien’s idea to add the hyphen. A little over a year ago, if asked, I would have described myself as a loner, down-and-out. Worse, I had been swimming for my life in murky, shark-infested waters. That all changed when murder and mayhem put the celebrated music producer I worked for in prison. When he had found me on the street years before, I was grateful—that was before I knew what it meant to be ‘discovered’ by the Mr. P.
What I’m grateful for now is the chance for a do-over. I’m getting a fresh start, thanks to my new bff Jessica Huntington. Brien owed her a lot, too. That included this deluxe honeymoon. Neither of us could have afforded anything close to a real honeymoon after paying for our small, Christmastime wedding. Jessica Huntington—as in the Huntington Beach Huntingtons—would gladly have paid for the wedding too. One thing I got back, though, when freed from indentured servitude to a scum bucket, was my pride. So, I set limits on Jessica’s largesse. That’s not always easy to do. She’s sneaky generous and her lawyer skills give her great persuasive power.
“Yo, Kim!” my sleepy guy called out from the bed. “Where are you?” His voice grew louder as he got up and walked closer. “Oh, wow, there you are!”
I looked up to see the buff, blond beach-boy I had married standing there wearing a grin and a towel. The man is built, that’s for sure. To be honest, physical attraction accounted for a lot of my initial interest in him. That attraction wasn’t strong enough to overcome what I considered to be immaturity and a lack of smarts—at first. Lots of people see Brien that way. Perhaps it’s all that unbridled brawn. Like I said, he’s built! Or it could be the surfer-dude-what-me-worry persona he often hides behind. I was wrong and so are they.
The real Brien, the man I married, is a sweet, guileless guy. A little immature, true, but what 25-year-old man isn’t? It could be my California dude is too laid back for most people. It’s also possible there’s something odd going on in the frontal lobe—a missing filter or switch that should keep him tuned in better to the world. Who knows? Who cares? Turns out, dumb he is not, and he’s a hard worker when he makes a commitment. Like working out the disciplined way he does to keep that body of his in such ‘righteous’ shape, as he would say. There is a kind of simplicity about him I find appealing. I’m sure he’d be content to live in a shack on the beach, workout, surf, listen to music, take in the sunset with a ‘brewski,’ and eat, of course. My surfer boy can put it away.
Now I’d have to add ‘hanging with me’ to that list of the things that make the light shine in Brien’s eyes. Still, a lot comes out of his mouth he should think about first, or keep to himself altogether. I like him that way—I never have to worry about what he’s thinking. I always know where I stand. At least after I sort out what he means. He’s prone to malapropisms and uses tons of surfer lingo.
Me, I’m not so verbose and can go for long stretches without saying a word. Talk about yin and yang. I’m darkly moody. He’s pathologically optimistic and upbeat. I trust no one, he trusts everyone. He’s blond and has brown eyes with specks of gold in them. In contrast, my hair is black and my eyes are dark as coal. H
e’s big—not all that tall at about 5’8”, but muscled. Me, I’m petite. The differences go on and on. Opposites attract, so they say.
“Morning, Dude.”
“Surf’s up,” he said, holding onto the smile, but dropping the towel. Sometimes our moods match, I thought, as I let him pull me up out of the lounge chair and into his arms. I laughed as he swept me off the floor and carried me back to bed.
2 Honeymoon Posse
Pounding woke me up again. This time it wasn’t the surf, but the sound of banging on the door to our room. Brien, I had already learned, could fall asleep anywhere and sleep through just about anything. I shook him as I yelled at the jerks making all that noise this early on Christmas Eve.
“Just a minute! I’ll be right there.” Shaking Brien again, more urgently this time, I also spoke to him. “Brien, wake up. Someone’s at the door.” Just then the phone in our room rang. The pounding on the door continued. All the commotion finally got Brien up on his elbows.
“Uh, I’ll get the phone. Go see who’s at the door. Don’t open it until I get there, okay?”
“Sure,” I said, hustling into my robe and hollering once more at whoever was hammering away at the door. “Hang on, hang on! I’m on my way.”
I glanced at a clock on the gorgeous mantle in the sitting room of our suite. It was a few minutes past nine a.m. on Christmas Eve. Not as early as I thought, but who could be calling on us at any hour? This was day three of our honeymoon. We’d hardly ventured out of our room, so it wasn’t likely we were being invited to a party. The knocking didn’t sound friendly, either.
“So much for ho-ho-ho,” I muttered as I reached the door. “Who is it?” I shouted, hoping to be heard through the closed door.
“It’s hotel security and the police,” Brien said, as he rushed to join me. “That phone call was from the front desk. Let me check first, though, okay?”
“Be my guest.” I backed away from the door. He unlocked the dead bolt, but did not remove the security chain. A sinking feeling took hold. Hotel security and the police, shoot! We must have been nabbed at the pool for trespassing.
“Badge, please.” Brien opened the door just a crack. A black wallet was passed through that opening and Brien looked it over. Then, without giving it back, he shut the door, took the chain off, and opened the door wide. We both stood there in our bathrobes and bare feet, bleary-eyed; needing a shower, coffee, and food.
“And a hairbrush, too,” I added under my breath, catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror hanging above the side table near the door. I self-consciously reached up and used my fingers as a comb, trying to make my bob give up the fright-wig look.
A parade of people marched into our room, looking around as they filed in. A couple guys wearing disposable gloves, one with a camera, made a beeline for the bedroom. I followed them and cringed when I spotted a pair of underwear on the ground. Mine. A sexy pair, too. I gave them a little kick and nudged them under the bed.
The whole room was unsightly. The bed was in disarray. All the exquisite, high thread-count linens were more off the bed than on it. Two empty champagne bottles that had been filled with the really good stuff lay on the floor. That champagne was only one of the many surprises doled out by the hotel, courtesy of our benefactor Jessica Huntington. Like I said, Jessica is sneaky generous. I spotted one crystal champagne flute, but couldn’t quite remember where the other one could be.
One of the guys, Camera Guy, snapped a couple photos of the disheveled room, focusing on those champagne bottles. The shorter, older, balder of the two men picked up one of the bottles and bagged it. Then, he put the champagne flute in another bag and marked them both. He stopped for a moment on the other side of our super-sized bed. Baggy Guy leaned over and with the pen he had been using to mark the bags, picked up a lacy white teddy I had worn for about two minutes the day before.
“This yours?” he asked.
“Of course, it is,” I snapped, stretching across the bed to snatch it from him. “Brien couldn’t fit into that!” Down girl, I told myself. Regardless of what this was about, it wouldn’t help to go into smartass mode. I felt like smacking the grin right off Baggy Guy’s face. Meanwhile, Camera Guy moved on out to the lanai and snapped a photo or two out there.
“You need a souvenir?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t anything out there besides a million-dollar view of the ocean and comfy lounge furniture to sit in and gaze at it. The sunset had been spectacularly romantic.
Camera Guy ignored me, came back inside and strolled into the marble-clad bathroom. The tub surround was lined with burnt candles in votives and strewn with rose petals. Wet towels were on the ground where we had tried to sop up the mess left behind by our exuberant couples’ bubble bath in the large Jacuzzi that occupied the middle of the room—a shrine to extravagance. He snapped a photo or two in there and tsk-tsked as he stepped over a pile of towels and out of the bathroom. I could not believe it!
“Hey, if you guys had told me you were going to crash our honeymoon I would have called the maids in sooner.”
“That’s what we were afraid of, Ms...uh, uh... ” a guy in a suit stuttered, joining us in the bedroom. The huge room began to feel crowded.
“Ms. Reed—Reed-Williams soon, I hope,” Brien interjected. Brien and Suit Guy must have been drawn into the room by the tone of distress in my voice as I chewed out Camera Guy. The volume had risen too.
“What is going on, uh, uh, Mr. Suit? Why is Camera Guy taking pictures and his sidekick, Baggy Guy, fondling my lingerie?” I waved the lace teddy at Mr. Suit as I spoke.
“This is Detective Mitchum, Kim. He’s a real detective. Not one of the hotel dicks. Uh, sorry,” Brien said in a loud voice, responding to a harrumph from one of the men milling about in the sitting room of our suite. “No offense, I’m a security dude myself.”
As Brien spoke, he did one of the things that always buckled my knees. He slung his head back so the shock of blond hair that had fallen into his eyes fell back into place. The blazing smile that went with that gesture drove all the bad girl right out of me. Okay, all of the in-your-face, on-your-guard nasty bad girl anyway. I gave Brien a ‘come hither’ look with a smile of my own that, as I had already learned, rattled him.
“Just why are these men here, Brien? Will they be going soon?” I gave the teddy I was still holding a little twirl as I asked that question. Brien gulped and a flush rose in his face.
“How about it guys? You ready to give us a little privacy? You’ve had a look around. It’s a little messy in here, but it’s no crime scene.” I snapped to attention at those words, so fast I heard my neck crack.
“Crime scene, what does that mean?”
“We found a champagne bottle just like that one down at the hot tub,” Detective Mitchum said, pointing at the one Baggy Guy held. “If I’m not mistaken, the mate to that lovely crystal flute, too.”
“So? We went for a midnight, moonlight swim. It’s our HON-EY-MOON.” I emphasized each syllable of the word since it seemed to be a foreign concept to these guys. “We’re sorry. We trespassed and weren’t tidy in our hurry to get out of there, but I don’t think that warrants bringing a posse after us.”
“Why the hurry?” Detective Mitchum asked, as he meandered around the bedroom. He walked over to a corner of our bedroom where two surfboards leaned against the wall. Brien was planning on surfing, and giving me another lesson or two.
“I already told them... ” The detective held up a hand and interrupted before Brien could finish his sentence.
“I want to hear her version of events. Do you mind?” Brien looked puzzled.
“Well, I mind and I don’t mind... ”
“Stuff it, Mr. Williams. That was a rhetorical question,” Detective Mitchum barked, shaking his head as he planted himself back in front of me. The puzzled look on Brien’s face grew deeper.
“Uh, I’m sorry, but you’re not going to get very far if you ask questions
you don’t want answered. ‘Stuff it’ is bogus, too, Detective. It’s just plain rude, Man. I mean... ”
“Will you please shut up? Does he always go on, running his mouth like this? Don’t answer that,” the detective said, before I could say a word. It was a good thing, too. If I had answered that question I might have unleashed a few choice words of my own about it being none of his frigging business.
Brien muttered under his breath, “There he goes again, answer this, don’t answer that... ” The detective’s hand went up again. Right in Brien’s face! I felt like going dark and silent, but I wanted to get this over. I decided to move things along. Besides, I was curious.
“Detective, we were in a hurry to get out of there because we knew we were breaking the rules. When we heard someone coming, we presumed it was security making a routine check or following up on a report that people were in the pool after hours. This has all gotten way out of hand. Isn’t it a bit over the top to be checking out our room as a crime scene because of something so minor?”
“Hardly Ms. Reed, or is it Reed-Williams? Not unless you regard a dead body floating in a pool as minor.” My mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. No problem, Brien was at the ready, never at a loss for words.
“I know. Weird, huh, Kim? Jessica isn’t even here! She’s our really good friend, Detective. We call her a calamity magnet. Jessica’s usually the one who gets mixed up with the dead bodies. She gave us this great honeymoon, but she’s not even around here, so it can’t be her magnetism. Wow, unless it’s like long distance magnetism... ” The detective’s mouth was hanging open now, as he tried to make sense of the torrent of words streaming from Brien.
“Stop! Just stop, okay? Are you telling me, Ms. Reed, you didn’t hear or see anything last night that might explain how it happens you were swimming with a dead guy?”
Cowabunga Christmas Page 1