When a Lover Calls: A Romantic Suspense Novella (A TURQUOISE BEACH MYSTERY Book 1)

by Jane Preston

  So far during her leisurely stroll, she’d passed only a heavily-wrinkled, older woman in a straw hat and a young, twenty-something man in flowered jammies, typical island wear, whistling to himself; nodding to both of them, she was not certain if they were visitors or long-time neighbors on this stretch of coastline.

  No worries. She’d get to know them in plenty of time if they were destined to become new acquaintances of hers.

  Life is simply not hurried here, she thought delightfully. The promise of a restful night lay before her, beckoning to her from the freshened, soothing, mint-colored sheets on an endless bed that looked like it belonged in an island home.

  My island home, Maureen told herself, and, arriving at the well-lit back porch and dusting the sand off her feet, she contentedly wandered into the Polynesian-themed kitchen to pour yet another cup of delicious Kona coffee, compliments of the house.

  ***

  Their argument, which had moved from the living room to his bedroom suite at the back of the house, was getting heated. Lucy, feeling playful and amorous, wanted to stay late and Sterling was eager for her to leave.

  Somewhere in the midst of their raised voices, Sterling confessed to his frequent visitor that he’d never cared for her, that his real affections were for Maureen Beckley. Not a good move on his part, he realized, much too late.

  The veins on Lucy's neck became prominent as she began calling him every vile and accusatory name she could think of.

  Sterling could practically feel his hands wrapped around her neck, choking the very life out of her. How he loathed her smirking face and her wide, angry, overly-made-up eyes! I’m amazed I was ever attracted to her, he thought with disgust. There was a ton of Lucy Troppe’s in the world.

  But only one Maureen Beckley.

  And he had absolutely no intention of letting his idiotic involvement with this arrogant, aggressive woman get in the way of his pursuit of the one woman he really wanted.

  “What do you see in Maureen Beckley anyway?! She’s not even sexy.” Lucy spat out the mocking words, her white pearly teeth gnashing like the predatory cobra he suddenly realized she resembled.

  Sexier than you will ever be, he thought lividly, but refrained from saying. His hands couldn’t keep from opening and closing in tight fists at his side. The dying fire snapped loudly and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  He had to get Lucy out of here, come what may. She’d repeatedly threatened to expose him for having sexual relations with a client, which would probably ruin his practice. I may have to live with that, he told himself, momentarily comforted by the fact that he’d still have plenty of money.

  But he’d be damned if he was going to let her ruin his life.

  “Besides, Lover Boy, Maureen’s gone to Hawaii,” the vociferous Lucy continued, with malice in her snapping eyes. “One of her neighbors, Becca, told me she left today. And no one knows when she’s coming back.” Lucy looked levelly at Sterling, propping a sassy hand on her hip as if daring him to challenge her.

  “Left today. No one knows when –“The startled host repeated her words before stopping himself. Lucy Troppe mustn’t know the full extent of his feelings for the elusive Maureen Beckley. Why Maureen was in Hawaii – and with whom – he’d have to work out later in his own time.

  For now, all he could think of was getting Lucy out the door of his home. Once and for all. Unexpectedly, Lucy took a step towards him and slapped him hard, connecting her swing with his gorgeous face. Sterling had never been slapped before in his entire life. The sharp noise surprised him almost as much as the stinging pain.

  Blinded by fury, Sterling grabbed hold of her slender wrist and, through clenched teeth, violently whispered to her, “If you ever do that again, I’ll kill you.”

  Elsa June, one of the maids on staff, had been standing in the hallway outside the master bedroom, her ear pressed to the door as the voices raged on. Should I knock? she repeatedly asked herself, nervously, wishing to be of assistance but, at the same time, not wanting to get involved in the escalating fight.

  Her silent vacillations ended, however, when Elsa heard Sterling’s whispered threat to kill; she instantly backed off, as if scorched by a flash fire.

  Sterling’s the man of the house and he can handle his own affairs were the thoughts running through Elsa’s mind, as she quickly made her way down the hallway, quiet as a mouse, and into the main part of the house.

  ***

  It was deep into her dreams that night, about 2 a.m., when Maureen Beckley shot up in bed, her throat tight, her breathing labored. Switching on the lamp on the bamboo night stand, visions of the too-vivid nightmare flooded her mind, startling images of a woman being strangled to death.

  With a concerted effort to calm the wild lurching of her heart, Maureen desperately tried to reassure herself with comforting thoughts.

  It’s only my imagination. I’m in a strange new place. That alone can cause a person to have a nightmare.

  But not like this one.

  And, the mystery man in the dream, who was he? She couldn't quite recall his face. Still, he was a shadowy, but unforgettable, presence. Suddenly, Maureen was reminded of the most unforgettable man she ever knew: Sterling Matthews. She gasped.

  Tonight, the darkness in Paradise was blinking back at her, a velvety blackness which swam menacingly in front of her eyes for what seemed like forever.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Her body was discovered the next morning, floating in the undulating, vigorous surf. One of the long-time residents of the area, Daniel Stone, a dentist, was out for his routine early stroll on the beach, just outside of Sterling Matthews' stately home, when he spotted the stiff form. At first, from a distance of 50 feet, he thought it might be a seal that had died at sea, only to be washed ashore, its lifeless shape tangled in a mass of nauseatingly olive-colored seaweed.

  But as the stroller drew near, he had to force himself to smother a shout.

  My God, it was a woman, a young woman, at that. Her large, open, liquid brown eyes stared unseeingly into space, as if she’d been completely surprised by a deadly attack. Her long neck appeared to be bruised and swollen, but because a slimy strand of seaweed had become wrapped around the base of her throat, Daniel Stone couldn’t tell if she’d been strangled. Or not.

  Whatever it was, it didn’t look good.

  Grabbing his cell from a pocket in his sweat shirt, his hands instantly breaking out in a bad case of nerves, Stone dialed 9-1-1 and reported the incident. Yes, he told the answering party, he’d stay here for the police officers, who should be arriving on the scene at any moment. After warning him not to touch the body, the 9-1-1 dispatcher then asked if he preferred to remain on the phone while he waited, but he solemnly declined.

  Once off the phone, Stone couldn’t help but stare into the blank expression of the unidentified dead woman, whose youthful, fully-clothed body was being repeatedly assaulted by wave after wave.

  Did she accidentally drown? He silently queried.

  And, if she didn’t, who could have done this to her?

  Tilting his head to get a better look, Daniel Stone thought, with a stab of sadness in his heart: Whoever she is, she’s still pretty, although her face had been ravished by the brutality of an uncaring ocean.

  ***

  By the time Maureen was gently awakened by the bright morning’s soothing, rhythmic sounds of the sea, its peaceful waves lapping the shoreline of Kailua Beach, the middle-of-the-night excitement had died down. Stretching luxuriously in her expansive bed, the silky sheets draped loosely around her deeply-rested body, she was eager to put all the nightmares behind her and enter with vigor into to a sunny, beautiful day, which is what today showed every sign of becoming.

  How could anyone tire of these cerulean skies with their high wisps of clouds?

  Just like yesterday, Maureen was not sure she ever wanted to return to her home in California. Not that she didn’t love her life there.

  It’s
just that she’d never been captivated by the magical essence of Hawaii before – and its untold, waiting-to-be-discovered treasures.

  After all, Maureen was a writer. And writers could live anywhere.

  It was lovely thoughts like these which started her day, first in the refreshing, natural light of her morning shower, its stall illuminated by sunbeams pouring through the overhead sky lights and several translucent windows. Reflections of the great outdoors, newly-cut orchids and gardenias had been brought in from the garden to adorn long, slender vases and large, circular bowls of fresh water in every room, including the bathroom.

  The owners of the house had thought of everything.

  Invigorated and soul-nourished, Maureen felt completely clean when she emerged from the shower stall and grabbed an over-sized white towel from the rack, burying her face in its soft warmth. In fact, she felt cleaner than she’d ever felt before in her entire life. Hawaii seemed to be acting as a gentle solvent, washing her pure of all the dirt and grime of her past, the failed, heart-breaking relationships and disappointing, go-nowhere dates.

  Especially the ones with Sterling Matthews.

  Just the thought of him gave her a start. Immediately, she turned her mind to the infinity of brilliant, robin-blue skies and the plethora of nature’s miracles awaiting her.

  It was time to begin her first full day on the exhilarating island of Oahu.

  ***

  The piercing squeal of the police sirens penetrated his morning quietude, sending chilling shivers down his spine. In the mornings, Sterling was usually content to sit alone at his glass-topped breakfast table and read the newspaper, giving himself plenty of time to gradually awaken while taking small sips of his fresh-squeezed orange juice.

  But this morning was starting with a whole lot of commotion outside. As far as Sterling could tell, the dissonant voices originated from the beach behind his home. Putting down his paper, he padded over to a nearby first-floor window to look out. Seeing the gathering of several neighbors, obviously curious, animated and disturbed, as well as two police cars, his suspicions were confirmed.

  Oh, God, he thought.

  Turning from the window, he rushed upstairs to hurry into a pair of black slacks and a light blue dress shirt. He always looked good in blue. Or so he’d been told countless times throughout his life.

  Sterling was just running a quick comb through his light brown hair when the expected knock came at his bedroom door. It was Missy Long, one of the newly-hired maids.

  “Yes, Missy?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you as I know you don’t like being bothered in the mornings, but –“

  “Yes, Missy,” he sighed loudly. “What is it?”

  “Well, sir, the police are here. I showed them into the living room. They want to talk to you, sir.”

  Although Sterling assumed that the cops would be coming to his home, his heart leapt with fear. I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with Lucy and our noisy argument last night, he thought anxiously. Perhaps the neighbors were simply fed up and had complained to the police.

  Buttoning his sleeves as he headed for the elaborate staircase, Sterling couldn’t quite shake the uncanny feeling that someone had just walked over his grave.

  ***

  Maureen’s morning Kona mocha blend, rich and piping hot, only added to the airy and sumptuous atmosphere of her oceanfront vacation home. Dressed in her favorite chinos, t-shirt and flip-flops, she unlocked the doors of the lanai, which bordered on the porch, a partially-sheltered space connected to the white sands of the beach.

  Hawaii simply sparkles, the novelist thought, as she stirred the depths of her coffee and settled into one of the cushioned, fan-backed wicker chairs which she’d read had been a favorite of Polynesian royalty eons ago.

  Maureen certainly felt like a queen here in this heady environment, with her ring-side seat at the time-honored grand attraction known as Mother Nature, featuring the musical calls of luminous birds overhead and the swaying of a variety of mature trees that graced the backyard with their ancient, and seemingly wise, presence.

  I’ll have to take advantage of those banana trees, Maureen promised herself. Before coming to Hawaii, she’d looked up popular native recipes on the internet, like creamy banana, pineapple and papaya pudding, cooked slowly for hours on top of the stove, then chilled in the refrigerator to be served with shredded coconut and a generous dollop of whipped cream.

  It sounded positively divine to Maureen Beckley.

  Taking a deep breath, she reflected on the two goals she’d made prior to boarding the plane in California.

  One was to visit the local tourist spots to flesh out the details, atmosphere and feel of the exotic settings in her novel.

  The other was to put herself on a “news diet.” She would read, watch or listen to absolutely no news, whether it was in newspapers, on television, radio or the internet. After all, the writer reasoned, she was here to get in touch with herself and her fictional characters in this one-of-a-kind exotic environment, not stay tied to the unending demands of the outer world. Besides, she would be returning to all that once she went back home.

  Having been on staff at the local hospital, Maureen found that she could easily get depressed by what she saw. Serving a stint in the emergency room as an X-ray tech, she'd developed an enormous appreciation for the amazing courage of police officers, and the untold angst they suffered, being regularly exposed to the darkest side of human nature, something most people never experience even once in their entire lifetime. In addition, the police carried the burden of finding, and helping to convict, the perpetrators of humankind’s worst errors.

  No, Maureen thought, firmly shaking her head. She needed a refreshing break from the headlines. And her own private emotional hurricanes.

  For now, it was just her, Amber and Jared in breath-taking Hawaii.

  Now that’s an action plan I can accomplish with ease. The author smiled as she anticipated the halcyon days and nights which lay ahead. It was time for another cup of Kona mocha coffee.

  Or, why not cool things down a bit and make a tall glass of iced coffee with plenty of sweet cream?

  Decisions, decisions, she thought. Laughing softly, Maureen got up and went into the breezy kitchen to make a luscious beverage for yet another luscious day in what was, for her, a strange, new – but happy - land.

  ***

  Sterling knew he was a “person of interest,” although at this point, the police had no evidence on him. While he’d kept a cool head during the one-hour interview the two officers, Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Billings, had spontaneously conducted in his living room, his heart had been pounding like a frantic drum.

  Especially when the cops asked him if he knew Lucy Troppe.

  Billings, with Lewis looking on intently, revealed that her dead body had been found early this morning washed up on the beach directly behind his home. Under their steady gaze, Sterling couldn’t have acted as though he’d never heard of her. Instead of going into detail, however, he’d simply explained that he had met her a few times at the monthly events of the Amateur Proud Poet Society.

  What they didn’t know was how very, very well he knew her.

  From what Sterling could gather from the line of questioning, part of it based on statements the neighbors had already made, apparently no one had heard the intense argument late last night. In fact, the neighbors seemed completely unaware that Lucy Troppe had ever visited him at all, so well hidden were his driveway and the heavily-treed private road which led to his exclusive home.

  And from what he had gathered during his times with Lucy, she’d never shared the fact of their clandestine relationship with any of her friends, if she’d had any. In fact, Lucy had always given him the strong impression that she went to great lengths to keep herself at a distance from everyone.

  Except for him, of course, a reality he hadn’t appreciated.

  Only his assistant was aware of how often Lucy showed up for h
er twice-weekly “appointments.” But Sterling felt confident he could persuade Candy to conveniently forget that she’d ever seen Lucy Troppe sashaying into his office like a queen.

  Especially when he approached his capable assistant about reigniting their once-torrid affair.

  All of these thoughts were racing through his mind as he walked stiffly to the wet bar to pour himself a life-saving scotch; if he’d ever needed a drink, today was the day.

  Even though the police had left his home this morning without incident, Sterling Matthews knew it would be only a matter of time before they were back, ringing his door bell again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next day, Capt. Ted Lewis, head of Homicide, sat at his desk, absentmindedly sipping his lukewarm black coffee, smoking his third cigarette of the morning and staring out the window in his office. He’d been on the Liberty City Police force for nearly 25 years. In all those years, he’d learn to trust his gut instincts; rarely had those instincts been wrong.