Body on the Beach

by Maria Quick

  ‘Man, talk about relatable.’

  ‘What should we do with it?’ I asked, instantly regretting it.

  ‘You know what you should do,’ he said, his halo radiating light.

  ‘Give it to charity?’ I groaned. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have asked.

  ‘No, I doubt that thought would even cross your mind. I meant give it to George’s family.’

  Yeah, like that’d go down well.

  ‘Oh, sure. “Hey, here’s what your husband was practically killed over. Enjoy!” Even I find that abhorrent.’

  And that’s saying something.

  ‘But you heard Castro. They were already struggling financially. Without his wage, they’ll be even worse off. Money’s not the be-all and end-all, but it’d certainly help them.’

  He was a good salesman, and I was almost tempted. Except for obvious reasons. No bank in the world would accept a briefcase full of freshly-minted cash without a thorough police investigation. She was married to a cop, she wouldn’t want illegal money. And even if - and that’s a big if - the cops allowed her to keep it, she’d be taxed to high heaven. I doubted she wanted all that in her time of mourning.

  ‘Yeah, no. I think I’ll keep it.’

  His jaw dropped as I closed the lid and vaguely swept my foot over the gaping hole, making an attempt to hide it.

  ‘Well, yeah, you are basically bankrupt,’ he snorted, shaking his head.

  ‘A million dollars cash,’ I reminded him. ‘No law-abiding person would take that without questioning it.’

  He knew I was right. I could see it in his eyes. He was still grumbling, though. Facts don’t tend to win in these kinda arguments.

  ‘Maybe don’t give it in cash.’

  ‘Doubloons?’

  Re-bury the briefcase and post an anonymous tip through their letterbox? Of course, that would rely on me knowing where they lived, which I did not. Cops’ houses aren’t usually public domain either. Believe me, I’ve checked. I tried to find out Tommy Perez’ address after... the incident, but no dice. That’s my only real regret.

  ‘No! You could set up a trust fund for the kids.’

  ‘Huh, interesting. How does one go about doing that?’ I enquired.

  ‘I don’t know! But you can find out. Maybe your lawyer could help?’

  That was a convincing argument. Not.

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Or you could...’ he trailed off as he thought harder than he’d ever thought before. I could see he wasn’t about to drop it any time soon. He really wanted me to do the right thing. Interestingly, that did not involve giving the evidence to the police. “The right thing” wasn’t the same thing to all, it seemed.

  ‘Give them a check?’

  ‘In my name? That they’ll tell Castro about, since he’s a family friend?’

  ‘Okay! There must be something,’ he spluttered.

  We were getting dangerously close to humanity again, so I stopped to “tie my shoelace.” I placed the case next to me and paused. Hmm. I don’t usually carry a suitcase. That will look mighty suspicious if I bring that back to the hotel room. Luckily, the bundles of notes were banded together and my jeans and hoody were pretty baggy.

  George coughed and looked away as I took my belt off and opened the briefcase.

  ‘What the hell-?’

  ‘Chill, I’m not going skinny-dipping.’

  ‘Then, what- oh, I see,’ he understood as he dared to look back.

  I shuffled about, majorly uncomfortable. Some of it shifted in ways I’d rather it didn’t. It felt like I’d have to burn about three thousand bucks. Well, I’d probably already done that on this sojourn anyway.

  ‘How do I look?’ I grimaced.

  ‘Constipated. Troll-like. So, no difference.’

  I thanked him by throwing the empty case through his torso and into the ocean. We walked away a bit and looked back. It looked like your average sea trash. The tide was slowly coming to claim it and then if Castro ever saw it, his presumption would be correct. Everybody wins.

  ‘You’re really going to keep the money, aren’t you?’ he asked softly, as we stared into the water like a pair of weirdos.

  ‘Realistically, there’s nothing else I can do with it.’

  ‘Yeah, you made that abundantly clear,’ he scoffed, so far up on the high ground he was but a speck.

  ‘Meaning?’ I retorted.

  ‘You never wanted to give the money away. Admit it.’

  ‘I did from the start, if you listened. You’re the one with a rosy-eyed view of the world, if you recall. I’m a realist. Besides, the money will be handy for me.’

  He was about to climb a little higher so I quickly shot him down.

  ‘My dad’s furious, remember? I’m not rich, he is. You need to remember that. He’s threatened to cut me off a million times, and one day he will actually do it. How am I supposed to help you guys then?’

  ‘So, in a weird, roundabout way, it’s to help people?’ he mumbled, not to be beaten.

  He was insane. He simply refused to see me as selfish. And I was selfish, I fully own up to that. But I had every right to be. The second I give an inch, every worm will crawl out of the woodwork scrambling for the cash. It’s happened so many times I can’t count. Which is why I’m now “evil” and “self-centered.” Yeah, call me what you want, you still ain’t getting my money.

  ‘Sure, George. I’m doing it for the good of mankind,’ I smiled at him.

  He brightened up, bless his little do-gooder heart. He was probably still cut up about Leah, or whatever George’s wife’s name was, but he’d get over it. I’d given him a reason to. You believe whatever you want, buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Or whatever lucies do.

  ‘I’m sick of Florida. Come on, George. Let’s go back home,’ I sighed.

  ‘Home,’ he repeated, smiling softly.

  And with that, he’d forgotten all about it.

  31

  The flight and car trip home were largely uneventful. George had ventured back to the cockpit and stayed there, and my dad hadn’t wanted to talk. Fine by me, I was totally exhausted. I happily napped the whole way and didn’t wake up until we pulled into our drive.

  George was right about the money: I had looked constipated. Passersby had avoided me as I’d strolled back to the hotel, so I’d decided to play it up. I’d told my dad I’d eaten a bad hotdog, which he’d immediately believed. I’d stuffed the money in between all my clothes, and amazingly, the scanners hadn’t picked them up. I was officially a million dollars richer. I could think of absolutely nothing to do with the money.

  First world problems.

  My dad parked in our carport and rested his hands on the steering wheel, steering himself. George took the hint and scarpered. I waited for the inevitable vague reprimand.

  ‘You can’t keep doing this, Bree,’ he went with.

  ‘I know, Dad.’

  ‘No, please. I don’t think you understand. I have given everything for you,’ he lamented.

  Um, you have an amazing job, tons of friends and a three-floored house. Convincing argument.

  ‘I know, Dad,’ I said. Safest option.

  ‘Don’t keep saying that, because you don’t. You never will know what I’ve done, unless-’ he halted, perking up. ‘Oh my God. Why didn’t I see it before? That’s why you’re doing this. Is there something you want to talk about, Bree?’

  Uh...

  ‘Nope?’

  ‘You’re sure? Nothing at all? There’s nothing bothering you? Nothing at the back of your mind?’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles, Dad. What the hell are you talking about?’

  He’d looked so relieved, I’d almost wanted to agree with him. He only ever looked confused and upset around me. It’d been a nice change.

  But I hadn’t the single faintest clue what he’d been talking about.

  He realized that soon enough. His anxiety and sadness came back and he tapped his head ge
ntly on the wheel.

  ‘Nothing. Never mind. But if you ever need to talk, about anything at all, you can trust me, okay? Anything.’

  Boys and periods? What was he getting at? He hadn’t wanted to hear my countless stories of lucies. Why would he suddenly want to listen to what I had to say?

  ‘Thanks, Dad. Appreciate it. I’ll bear it in mind,’ I grinned.

  We finally got out the car, both of us perturbed and uncomfortable. I caught sight of Mr. Randle shuffling past and I gave him a friendly wave. He nodded blankly in return.

  My dad glared at me, furious.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he hissed.

  I jumped, surprised at his tone.

  ‘Acknowledging a neighbor? Am I not allowed to do that now?’

  ‘He’s lost his child,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘And wouldn’t it be nice to know that we’re here for him?’

  He only stared at me.

  ‘Let’s go inside, Bree,’ he ordered.

  I shrugged carelessly and followed the big man.

  I found George eyeing up my bookshelf again, no doubt critiquing in his mind. I heard country music coming from the lounge, so we could talk freely. Still, I closed my door over for more privacy.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said thoughtfully, eyes still roving the books.

  ‘About?’ I prodded.

  Whilst he gathered his thoughts, I rooted under my bed for an empty cardboard box and a marker. I scrawled “tampons” on it in horrifically large red letters, ensuring my father would never peek in it. Then, I dug around in the suitcase until I found all bundles of money. Time to start counting.

  ‘Ronnie just vanished,’ he finally said.

  ‘Yup,’ I confirmed.

  ‘Will he come back?’

  ‘No, no reason to. At least, nobody who’s vanished has ever come back. That’s it for Ronnie, now. Fifty-four years of life, and now he’ll be forgotten. Life goes on.’

  ‘One,’ he said. I looked up from my counting.

  ‘He was fifty-one.’

  ‘Fifty-one, then,’ I shrugged. He turned back to the books.

  Ten thousand in each bundle, one hundred bundles over all.

  ‘One million dollars,’ I announced, packing it in my new box. I shoved it back under the bed and searched through my library for a movie to watch.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s sad?’ George asked, tearing himself away from my books.

  ‘I guess. Poor guy never even got to spend it.’

  ‘Not that. I mean, you were right. Ronnie had a life. He had a wife and a career, and now he’s dead. And he will be forgotten. It really makes you think,’ he mused.

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ I groaned.

  ‘Have you got any sympathy? Any at all?’ he snapped, disgusted.

  ‘Sure, I do. But people die every minute of every day. Would you like me to mourn him, George? Would that make you feel better? I barely knew him. It’s not like we were friends. I was a means to an end, that’s all. Don’t get too attached, buddy,’ I advised him. ‘They all go away in the end.’

  ‘Even me,’ he whispered.

  I looked up.

  ‘You ready to talk about it? Say the word and you’ll be with your best friend forever.’

  He narrowed his eyes, annoyed.

  ‘Or not, whatever,’ I sighed.

  ‘I’m not ready to go yet,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I gathered as much.’

  ‘But I will be. I have to be,’ he said, conflicted.

  ‘What’s the issue?’

  He frowned, anxiety cutting deep.

  ‘I don’t want to end up like you and Ronnie.’

  ‘Oh my God. Are you implying that Ronald Higgins and I are similar?’ I cried, offended. I dropped the movies I was holding, I was so shocked.

  ‘Yes. You’re both bitter and angry and cynical. I don’t want to end up like that,’ he whimpered. Aww. ‘I try to see the good in people. Even my killer. Especially my killer. I’m hoping there was some reason for my death, but right now I can’t see it. So, I can’t understand. It’s nothing but a sick joke.’

  ‘And karma doesn’t exist, and the bad guys win, and everything sucks,’ I summed up happily.

  ‘I refuse to believe that. My death happened for a reason, and I’m going to find out what. In the meantime, I will prove to you that not everyone’s like Ronnie.’

  ‘Hey, take all the time you need,’ I yawned. Travelling always took it out of me.

  I checked my calendar. It was a Monday. School would be over in a couple of days. My dad had thankfully not mentioned anything about me going back, so that was awesome. I had plenty of free time to do whatever I wanted. Whatever that was.

  I shrugged and put a movie on.

  ‘I mean it,’ he stressed.

  I sighed.

  ‘What if you weren’t killed for a reason?’ I suggested softly, feeling like the worst human being on the planet.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said sharply, rounding on me.

  ‘George, you were hit a week ago. There were no witnesses, and you yourself didn’t recognize the driver. There were no cameras, and we have no way of ever finding out who it was. What if you never find out?’

  ‘I will find out. I will. And you know what? I don’t actually care about the who,’ he chuckled. ‘I care about the why.’

  ‘What if there isn’t a why?’ I pressed. ‘What if you were just random?’

  ‘Then, I’ll do so some good on this side,’ he said stiffly, resolute.

  I was arguing with a brick wall. He was dead, for no reason, and he couldn’t acknowledge either fact. And as he parked himself on my armchair and settled in, waiting for the movie to start, I realized something myself.

  He wasn’t going away.

  He was here for the long haul; unless I found his killer, or he turned me into one of those selfish do-gooders I hated so much. He was going to be my conscience, and I could never get rid of him.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  Also by Maria Quick

  Dolph Malone

  The Dead Don't Sleep

  Lucies

  Body on the Beach

  The Forgotten Family

  Paying the Price

  Nothing, Nowheresville

  Standalone

  Coral Ridge