Sun, Sand and Murder: Suzette Bishop Mysteries, #3

By Kristine Frost

Betrayal

Revenge

Death

Insurance investigator Suzette Bishop has been hired by Jeremy Stewart, to investigate a fire at his aunt's home in Florida. She imagines that a simple arson case, in the Florida sun in February, will be just what she needs.

As the case progresses, Suzette unravels a tangled web of family relationships, lies, hostility and murder. But even worse, what she has yet to discover is that the murder she is investigating will be her own. Her husband has meticulously arranged her murder and is slowly, but carefully inching her closer to the day of her death. 

As everything she's ever known is suddenly turned upside down and friends turn against her, Suzette must somehow outsmart a callous and calculating killer whose only desire is to see her dead. 

Sun, Sand and Murder is the third book in the Suzette Bishop0 mystery series. If you crave tense situations, complex plots and a heroine you can root for, you'll love Kristine Frost's latest book in the series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristine Frost
• Release date: Apr 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386204121

Kristine Frost

Kristine Frost has always loved reading and writing. She started reading at age 4 and writing at age 5. By age seven, she had finished her first mystery novel. It was called ‘The Mystery of My Best Friend’s Bracelet’ and was based on a true story. (The brother did it.) It was 3 pages long. Kristine graduated with a degree in English from Utah State University. She taught for four years until she got a virus in her vocal cords that forced her to quit teaching. She has worked as a disability counselor and advocate for disabled children. The low point in her career was working in a factory where she made chips for computers. It was the job from hell and many of her co-workers figure in her novels. (The names have been changed to protect the guilty.) She currently works as an administrative assistant to a dean at a university in Utah. One of her assignments was to launch an alumni magazine. The first edition won platinum from the Marcom Awards and her writing won gold.  

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jeannette Stewart tossed and turned, getting tangled in the silk sheets, trying to sleep, trying to blot out the memory of Dorothea’s smug, red face sneering at her over the dinner table. The acid in her stomach surged into her throat. I hate them. I hate them all! She began to count her grievances. Halle for making such a scene over those stupid turtles. Cordelia for allowing Dorothea to humiliate her in that sneering sympathetic tone of voice. Steven for spending all her money then killing himself when she found out. Jeremy for refusing to let her have some of her girls’ trust money. It wasn’t fair that she was the one who had to suffer for her husband’s stupidity. It wasn’t fair that she had to live on her sister’s charity when her children were rolling in trust fund money. It wasn’t fair that she had to beg, borrow or steal to live the way she should live, the way she was meant to live.

Then her resolve hardened. They would pay. Pay for her humiliation. Pay for her pain. All of them, Hallie, Jeremy, Cordelia and Dorothea, especially Dorothea would pay. She thought for a few minutes, then grinned, an evil, cruel grin. If Dorothea knew what her dear, sweet, rotten son was up to, she wouldn’t think he was so wonderful.

Angrily, Jeanette swung her legs out of bed. Slipping her feet into her fluffy white high heeled slippers, she paced the floor then walked out onto the balcony that overlooked the surging ocean. She stood there watching the fidgety waves rolling up against the beach. The air was warm on her face and bare arms, warmer than normal for February. She could smell the pungent, stifling smell of raw seaweed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of white. Raising her plucked almost non-existent eyebrows, she slipped over to the side of the balcony–the peach of her silk and lace nightgown blending in with the peach paint on the house.

She could see two figures walking down the brick path toward the gazebo. The moonlight was so bright that she could see that the girl was wearing a black string bikini outlined in white. The man with her looked a little like Derek–the same paunch, the same bow legs, the same cocky strut–wearing what looked like a man’s bikini, what Halle called a Speedo.

I’ll bet something interesting will be happening tonight. Silently, she reached for her night camera. Silently, she tiptoed down the balcony stairs. Silently, she chuckled to herself when she realized that the couple were climbing the brick steps up to the flower enclosed gazebo.

This would be a good chance to show Cordelia that her beloved summerhouse was being used for immoral trysts. I’ve told her what’s going on but she refuses to believe me. I’ll show her, too. I’ll have all of them eating out of my hand. They won’t be able to refuse me anything.

When she got close to the gazebo, she noticed a flash of light on the beach.

I wonder— She hesitated for a minute, then she flitted across the lawn to stand by the boardwalk. She could hear that the tide had turned and was coming in, rolling across the sand, drowning out the voices so that only bits and pieces came through."

Pull it....

Careful.... 

Quiet...don’t want...hear.

Drawn by curiosity and bitterness, Jeanette quietly climbed the wooden steps. She paused to listen, then soundlessly she hitched her nightgown up around her waist, so she could crawl across the damp, splintery boardwalk.   

She could feel the no-see-ums buzzing around her bare legs but she didn’t dare swat at them for fear she would be heard. After what felt like eons of crawling, she came to the end of the boardwalk. Lying flat on her stomach, she watched three men for a few seconds, then she hastily pulled her camera into position and started taking pictures. When the men headed north toward the Canaveral National Seashore she followed.

Suddenly, one of the men turned. She stepped back into the scrub but he had seen her. He pulled a gun from his waistband, taking aim. One of the other men pulled the gun down. Their brief, hurried conversation gave her time to run back the way she had come. She had just reached the boardwalk when one of the men caught her nightgown. Twisting and turning, the camera flew from her grip as she fought to pull away. Then she was face to face with her attacker.

Her heart pounding, the blood rushing in her ears, she whispered, Who are you?

Nemesis. He sneered. The long thin knife blade slid into her heart.

Chapter 2

The hotel was a dump in the worst part of town. Hookers and pimps walked the streets. Drug dealers and their prey hung out in dirty bars or roach infested restaurants.

The man that pushed open the cracked glass door into the squalid hotel foyer didn’t match the surroundings. The clothes were expensive, the shoes were shined, the hands were manicured. Every hair was in place. The figure shouted money but anyone who looked in that direction, didn’t look back. There was something slightly strange, something a little twisted about the man that made the hairs rise on the back of a normal person’s neck.

Later–the phone rang, sounding tinny in the dingy room. The figure on the bed stubbed out an expensive cigarette in a gold holder before picking up the receiver.

Yes.  The voice carried no inflection. It was a dead voice.

It’s me. It’s done. He hired her this morning. I’ll call you as soon I find out when she flies out.

That’s cutting it too close.

Nothing’s been decided.

The voice was menacing, Don’t fail me. You know what I do to people who fail me.

The voice on the other end rasped. I’m doing the best I can. I won’t fail.

I’ll hang around Cockroach Haven until you call tomorrow. Remember I want to know every detail as soon as you know it. 

The line went dead. The figure picked up the gold holder. His grin was not quite sane. You won’t fail me. You know what will happen if you do. You won’t fail twice.  The laughter wasn’t pleasant.

********

The phone rang as the figure stepped out of the shower. Avoiding the bath mat that was grey with age and dirt, the figure picked up the phone.

She’s flying out tomorrow–Delta 331. There is an hour layover in Dallas-Fort Worth. They should arrive there at 11:30 then she flies on to Orlando.

The line went dead.

Chapter 3

Insurance Investigations, Suzette Bishop speaking. Suzette smiled cheerfully, knowing the smile on her face would show in her voice.

She looked around the shabby office. Her office was not second hand, probably fourth or fifth or maybe even sixth hand. Her chair listed to the side. When she wasn’t careful, the wheel came off, throwing her into her computer.

Ms. Bishop, my name is Jeremy Stewart of Stewart, Stewart, and Montgomery. I’d like to hire you to investigate a fire at my great-aunt’s home. Would you be available? His voice was strained like he couldn’t quite push the words over his vocal cords.

Suzette pushed her over-long dark hair out of her eyes. We’re quite busy right now, Mr. Stewart. I’d have to meet with you to discuss the particulars before I could say if I could take the case. My partner might be available, if I’m not.

No. I want you. His voice hinted at a tightly suppressed tension.

Unless you’ve got a good reason, either one of us could take the case. Suzette smiled at the thought of another big retainer.

I’m sure that Mr. Watts is a very good investigator. It’s just that my great aunt has never been married. I think she’d be more comfortable with a woman investigator, Stewart’s voice was ice cream smooth.

Too smooth? Suzette wondered. Perhaps you could come to my office this afternoon. I have an opening at two o’clock.

I’m due in court this morning. I’m afraid this is one trial that is going to last all day, or more likely, several days. Would it be possible for you to meet me at Beni’s Restaurant about 12:15? I don’t think the judge will go much past noon to break for lunch.

Suzette looked at her calendar. I have a client at 11:30 but I think I could be there by 12:15 or shortly thereafter.

I’ll call and reserve a table. He hung up—pleasantries forgotten.

Suzette made a couple of urgent calls, then hurried into Randy’s office. Jeremy Stewart of Stewart, Stewart, and Montgomery just called me. He wants us to investigate a fire at his great-aunt’s house. He asked for me because his aunt hasn’t married. He thinks she’ll be more comfortable with a woman.

Stewart, Stewart, and Montgomery is one of the biggest and best legal firms in San Francisco. This could be a huge break for us. When do you meet with him? Randy ran his fingers through his longish red hair. Something he did when he was excited.

12:15 at Beni’s on Pier 7. He’s in court all day.

Beni’s, man, you’re going big time.

I know. I’d better take the company credit card since I don’t know who’s paying for this.

We can afford it. He looked at the spreadsheet on his computer.  Who’d have guessed that we’d rake in so many fat rewards from the Stalker case. (Stalked to Death)

Suzette looked at her phone. If this case turns out to be one we want, can you take the Hunter inquiry and the Taylor case? She pulled the elastic out of her pony tail, pulled back all the loose hairs and remade the pony tail.

Randy nodded. I was going to volunteer for the Taylor case, anyway. I know you don’t like doing accounting cases.

Suzette laughed, You have CPA. I barely passed basic Algebra. I’d love it if you’d take the Taylor case.

Anything else, we need to talk about? Randy flipped through a stack of folders.

Suzette moved some folders and sat on the corner of his desk. Do you remember the Hunter accident? 

Wasn’t that a Price-Hartley case? Randy tapped his pencil against his desk blotter.

It was—James sold it. He liked to sell the big, expensive, high profile policies. They paid more commission, Suzette said with a sour grin. That’s why so many of them have problems getting settled.

Your ex-husband, James?

She grimaced. The one and only. After my problems with him over the Martin case, I’d really rather you handled it. James already thinks I’m out to get him. He’d really come unglued if I challenged another of his cases.

Randy frowned. I thought Price-Hartley fired him. If he isn’t working for the company then he shouldn’t be bothering you.

She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms down her jeans. Bob Rawlins said he fired him. She swallowed the dead taste in her mouth. Bob has an obscene habit of lying. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about this one. Suzette shuddered.

Okay. I’ll handle it. But just out of curiosity, did the cops in Las Vegas ever catch your ex? Randy watched Suzette’s face closely. It looked like a porcelain mask. She definitely had issues with her ex-husband.

He dropped out of sight after he made the mistake of attacking me in front of Lieutenant Marshall. I haven’t heard anything about him since.

So you don’t know where he is? Randy prodded

No. She rubbed her temples. I really don’t want to.

What does he look like? It would be helpful to know what our adversary looks like before he sticks a knife in my back.

Suzette pulled a laminated picture out of the back pocket of her jeans. It was a head shot that showed a very handsome, dark haired man, about thirty-five years of age. He looked very well groomed but there was something about him that set Randy’s teeth on edge.

You keep a picture of him in your wallet? Randy’s eyebrows nearly reached his hair.

She laughed. When I get to the point where I don’t think I can keep going, I pull out that picture. Everything falls into perspective. I’m able to cope with any crisis.

Interesting way of keeping things in perspective. Randy had to chuckle. Sometimes Suzette’s way of looking at thinks tickled his funny bone.

Randy pulled a letter from under a pile of files. I’m changing the subject. Do you remember when we discussed the accident that killed both your parents?

You said I might be able to find my parents by accessing the missing person reports for Illinois. I was going to but we got the Stalker case. I forgot about it. I’ve been an orphan for a good 30 years so it isn’t that big a deal. Her tone was light, but her eyes had tears in them.

I did have a contact check the missing person reports for the state of Illinois for the time period immediately after the crash. I just got the results back.

They must not have had any matches. She sighed. Years ago, finding out who her parents were had been a big priority—now, not so much.

There weren’t any matches from the state of Illinois. I even had them check for missing families since we know they had at least one child with them. I even had them check for a single parent with a missing child or children but nothing came up.

So we have a pretty good idea that I’m not from Illinois. I only have 49 other states and all English-speaking nations to rule out.  She smiled. Odds are that I will never find my parents or family. Thank heavens, I have my adopted family.

Randy grinned. I would think that eight brothers and sisters and four half-sisters would be enough family for anyone. I realize that it’s not quite the same as knowing your blood relatives.

Thanks for trying, Randy. I really do appreciate it.

Suddenly she shivered violently, then rubbed her arms. Someone must be walking over my grave.

His voice was sharp. Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.

Chapter 4

At 12:15, Suzette, dressed in a navy blue pin striped pantsuit, a red blouse and heels, pulled open the door to Beni’s. As soon as she mentioned Mr. Stewart’s name, the tiny hostess led her to a small table in the far corner of the room. The table was screened from the other dinners by several large, potted plants, giving the illusion of privacy. As Suzette approached, Stewart stood and pulled out her chair.

Ms. Bishop, thank you for meeting me here. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. His movements when he pulled out her chair were tight and jerky. He bumped the table when he sat down, the stemmed water glasses nearly meeting their doom.

Suzette put her hand in his. I wonder if he’s having a bad day in court or if something else is bothering him. He has all the symptoms of a man under some sort of terrible stress. If he isn’t careful he’ll crack.

As they sat down, the server handed each of them a menu. While Stewart was considering his order, Suzette looked him over. He was tall, 6 foot 2 inches and well built. He’d probably played college football, but he’d stayed in shape. His blond hair was carefully windblown. His eyes were a deep blue.

After they had placed their orders, Suzette said, Mr. Stewart, why don’t you tell me about this case.

His smile was constricted although his teeth were perfectly shaped and obviously whitened. My great aunt Cordelia Campbell lives in Florida on a big estate just to the north of Cocoa Beach. I love my aunt very much. When my father lost all his money then killed himself, she opened her home for my mother, my sisters and myself. I was ten when he died, Julie was eight, Halle was seven.

I’m sorry. That must have been very hard on you.

Ignoring her comment, more because he was so concentrated on what he was saying, than any other reason, he continued, "My mother was consumed with bitterness, not so much because of the way my father died, but because he left her penniless. He was wealthy when she married him. She had quite a large inheritance from her parents. He thought he was a wheeler-dealer, but he was a rather stupid, arrogant egotist. He lost all the money he had as well as all the money my mother had inherited.

My grandfather, my mother’s father, had left Halle, Julie, and myself money tied up in a trust fund with Aunt Cordelia as the trustee. No one but Aunt Cordelia knew about the money because my grandfather didn’t trust either my father or my mother with money. It’s just too bad he didn’t tie up mother’s money in a trust fund." He took a drink of water, his hand rigid on the stem of the glass. Suzette looked at the thin glass, waiting for it to shatter.

"Aunt Cordelia encouraged Julie, Halle and me to put ourselves through school. We got jobs after school and during the summer. She pushed us to work hard. Aunt made us feel like we were worthwhile citizens. She helped us understand the value of money. She built us up when we got down. She listened when we talked. She taught us right from wrong.

He took another sip of water, his voice abrasive. She was more of a mother than my own mother who never had time for us. We each put ourselves through college. When I had worked my way through law school and graduated, Cordelia gave me control of my trust fund after swearing me to secrecy. I wasn’t allowed to tell my sisters or my mother so the trust fund would come as a surprise to my sisters when they got theirs. With the amount of money in the trust fund, I could have been a rich playboy, but Cordelia had raised me too well. My two sisters got their money when they graduated from college.

He cleared his throat, then took a sip of water. My mother was extremely bitter when she found out about all this money. So much so, that I decided to take the bar exam here in California rather than in Florida. I felt the need to put the entire continent between me and her.

He stopped talking while the server placed his Teriyaki steak in front of him. Suzette had ordered Orange Chicken with shrimp fried rice.

Halle stayed in Florida to finish her doctorate even though my mother succeeded in making life difficult for her. Aunt Cordelia acted as a buffer. Then last week, there was a fire in the Gazebo that overlooks the ocean. My mother’s body was found in the fire. Since the police haven’t released the body, I suspect that they are thinking foul play. I can’t get the Fire Marshal to tell me if the fire was set or not.

His voice was bitter. He is always out when I call. He doesn’t return my calls. I’m getting the same tactics from the Chief of Police, like I was a suspect, even though I was a continent away.

He smiled mirthlessly, "I also have an alibi for that night. I won’t say an unbreakable alibi, or you’ll immediately suspect me.

Aunt Cordelia’s home owner’s insurance company is being cagy as are the insurance companies that have the policies on my mother’s life. He took a couple bites of food and a sip of water before he continued.

I think that my mother was murdered. There were several large life insurance policies on her, policies that had been taken out by my grandfather when she married. They were paid-up policies with my sister, myself, and my aunts as beneficiaries.

I want to hire you to investigate the fire and my mother’s death. I know that you and your company are licensed in all fifty states, so that won’t be a problem. I want you to find out who set the fire, if it was set. I want to know if my mother was murdered, and if so, by whom.

You don’t think that the police and insurance companies will find out who did it? Suzette brushed her over-long bangs out of her face.

No. I know the Chief of Police for Brevard County. He is a pompous ass. I don’t know the Fire Marshal but it irritates me that he won’t return my calls. I have a right to know what is going on.

I agree that you do have some rights. You have the right to bury your mother. Your Aunt Cordelia has the right to know if the Gazebo fire was arson but you don’t have the right to know what is going on in a police investigation.

I know that. I’m an attorney, his eyes blazed and his voice was loud. He set his fork down, leaned back, closed his eyes, and began breathing deeply and slowly. A few minutes later, he said, Sorry. I’m not really in control of myself right now. I have several tough cases coming up in court besides all these family problems. 

He shook his head. "To