Spurred to Murder: A Hurley Beach Mystery, #1

By Keith Sink

Book #1 in The Hurley Beach Mystery Series

How could anyone be spurred to murder?

Spurred to Murder is a heartwarming cozy mystery about a family of detectives who uncover the truth about a murder in a small North Carolina vacation town.

Velma is adjusting to life without her dear departed husband. She runs a successful beauty salon, is active in her church, and occasionally asks too many questions. She's accompanied by her reluctant sidekick–a pug named Henry.

Her son Bernie is a retired police detective who now runs his father's bait and tackle store. As much as he tries to stay out of his past, he keeps being pulled back in.

Sandy, Velma's niece, is a newly appointed Sheriff's Deputy who is trying to make her mark in the department while fighting some very old-fashioned norms in her new role.

In book one, we follow the discovery of a local girl, Abigail Childress, a much-liked pillar of the community who is found dead at the surf's edge. What first appears to be a suicide, soon leads the investigators to a different conclusion. Murder.

Could the killer be a relative of the victim, a resident of the sunny vacation destination, or an out of towner?

The Hurley Beach Mystery Series is an entertaining cozy mystery series with quirky characters throughout.

Read Spurred to Murder and solve the mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PiddlePup, LLC
• Release date: Jun 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393178149

Keith Sink

A native of North Carolina, author Keith Sink grew up reading Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Stratemeyer Syndicate books. He is the author of the Hurley Beach mystery series. He earned a Bachelor of Science Degree in Criminal Justice and worked in the Computer Industry as a consultant. Through his early years in the Carolinas and his later life in the Pacific Northwest, Keith has gathered a treasure trove of tales he’s woven into his novels. A cozy mystery writer, Keith also enjoys writing Science Fiction and Fantasy. He lives in Seattle, WA with his wife and enjoys creating stories with his black lab Jessie snoring nearby.

Book preview

1

The cool air greeted Velma as she left the warmth of the First Covenant Episcopal Church sanctuary and walked outside. The effect made her cheeks numb. It also carried the sweet smells of the sea. The reverend’s message was a little light for her and she found, as she got older it was harder to pay attention sometimes. As she passed the preacher, extending his hand as people passed, she took it warmly into both of hers. Pumping the clasped hands up and down she said, Wonderful sermon reverend. I have a lot to think about tonight. This was her standard response. He lost her midway into the sermon. This did not happen when Tom was alive. Tom made sure she paid attention by giving her a gentle nudge just as her legs twitched. When she whispered a rebuke, he would smile at her and she couldn’t help but smile back.

Glad you enjoyed it Mrs. Mariscal. Thank you for taking the lead on the food committee for the Fall Fair. I’m looking forward to your Brunswick stew again this year. Velma gave the reverend a warm smile at the mention of her legendary stew and released him from her grasp.

As she stood rummaging through her purse for her keys, Velma could hear two people shouting in muffled tones a few cars down. It was Abigail Childress and her aunt Cassandra. Cassandra’s dark blue dress and a small white hat were visible beside her old car. Her pudgy figure distorted the dress. Cassandra patted the top hood of the car with her hand. She appeared tense and trying to control herself. Abigail was another matter. Her light green dress swished as she raised and lowered her hands.

Cassandra said, Didn’t the reverend’s message mean anything to you? If you continue down this path, you’ll end up alone in this world. Don’t make enemies of everyone around you and you won’t be alone.

Abigail shook her head. Why don’t you mind your own business and let me do things the way I want. You’re not my mother and I’m a grown woman. I can do as I please.

She pushed Cassandra out of the way and walked towards Main Street. Cassandra lowered her head. She got into her car and drove away.

I wonder what that was all about, Velma thought.

The tiny bell jingled as Velma unlocked the door to the beauty shop she owned for the past 10 years. The smell of perfumed chemicals escaped the shop as she closed the door. Turning on the lights, she reached for the radio and turned it on. The voice of a news reporter came from the single speaker. Beside the radio, a sign warned, Change this station at your own peril. She walked around the shop turning on lights, heating curling irons, and beeswax pots, and organizing her towels for the day’s customers. Her first customer wasn’t due for an hour. Velma liked this private time. It gave her an opportunity to read a good mystery, or listen to the local news without interruption.

Sometimes she would even check the paper to learn if any of her customers died the night before. That was the problem with having clients that were in their golden years. A stroke here, a heart attack there and before you know it, your morning’s canceled. However, these women were more than customers to Velma. They were her family and friends. Bless their hearts, she whispered before looking through the columns of names. She knew all their lives and many of their secrets. Their children, their husbands, and their grandchildren were all family. Some ladies taught her son and knew Tom.

She missed Tom. He was her rock and love for over thirty years. Velma was not the type to cry at a memory, but the thought of Tom always made her pause.

Stopping to look at herself in the mirror Velma checked her light brown hair and made a few adjustments.

She smiled to herself. You’re still a pretty good looking woman.

The radio DJ came on with a local events program. He read the tide table for the day and the weather. Then he went on to the hottest topic in town, the upcoming Fall Fair. Many vendors were coming. Crafts, food. Even a juggler. There was a singing contest in the evening and a few events for the kids.

That reminded Velma, she needed to find coloring books for the kids. She opened her appointment book and made a note to go pick up supplies. It was a church tradition for years and she wasn’t about to forget it this year.

The shop door opened and Janie Bryant greeted Velma with her youthful smile. Janie was a slim oval faced girl with highlighted blond hair. She had a nice figure she liked to show off in tight denim shorts when she wasn’t at work. Velma did not approve. Jan was a lovely woman and didn’t need to flash around like that. After some thought Velma remembered, she was young once too. Janie was the shops nail technician and did Velma’s nails for the last ten years — ever since she came out of her nail course, she took back in Wilmington. Velma was happy Janie found a career that satisfied her and brought her personality back to the forefront. She thought Janie and Bernie would hit it off. Velma introduced her son to Janie soon after he moved here and they got along fine. Recently there was a falling out, and neither person wanted to talk about it. Velma knew she would find out, eventually. She just had to bide her time.

Janie was a regular part of Velma’s morning. They would sit and talk about the news and share a pot of coffee as they both got ready for the morning. Before entering the shop, Janie looked outside and peered in both directions locking the door behind her. Velma imagined it was a habit she grew into.

Janie’s little room contained two padded chairs. In one corner, a small stand held nail colors from all over the rainbow. Towels were stacked inside a red milk crate under a counter near the door. A small rolling cart held emery boards, rollers, and sponges. Posters of beautiful women with exotic hairstyles covered one of the walls. Some women also showed off their glowing nail colors for the camera. Velma thought, with some 3D glasses, the hands would probably look like they were about to poke your eyes out.

Morning Janie, Velma said.

Janie took off her shoes and banged them against the door jamb. A small sprinkling of sand floated to the floor. I hate the sand here. Gets in everything.

Velma pointed to the sunrise, coming through the east window. You have to admit the summers are nice.

Janie laughed. Oh if you’re into sun, sea breezes and overall perfect weather. I guess it’s not so bad.

Putting her bag on the wall peg, Janie asked, Is the coffee ready? It’s still a little cold out for me.

Pot’s still brewing. Should be ready in a few more minutes.

How was church last night? Able to stay awake this time? Janie said with a sly smile.

Velma responded with a sharp look. "It was fine, and I did. Velma accented the last word. In fact I even took notes." Velma remembered doodling on the program cover.

Janie dragged a white plastic chair next to the larger barber’s chair in Velma’s room. How are the plans for the fair coming along? asked Janie.

Not bad. I just remembered I have to get the coloring books… Oh and crayons. She grabbed her day planner and made some additional notes. Oh and I have to put together the ingredients for the stew. Closing the book, she set it on the counter and looked back at Janie. Can I ask you something?

Janie touched the side of the beeswax pot and organized her towels.

Velma said, Do you know Abigail? Cassandra’s niece?

A small plastic jar fell from Janie’s table and hit the floor. Wooden stir sticks bounced around and settled beside the container.

Janie cleared her throat and picked up the sticks. Sure. Why do you ask?

I overheard her and Cassandra getting into a big fight after church. I was wondering what it was all about. Something about planning for her future.

Janie smiled. Probably just arguing over what she’s going to do with her life. I believe she’s in her twenties by now. Did you listen to your mother’s advice when you were that age?

Velma thought about this for a second and placed a finger to her lips. But Cassandra isn’t her mother, she said.

Janie shrugged. "Maybe not, but she is the girl’s aunt. And since her mother’s dead, she’s the next best thing." Janie returned the jar to the table.

I mean…, Janie said, … does Bernie always follow your advice?

The coffee pot gurgled as it expelled the last of the brown liquid.

Velma waved her hands dismissively. I know, I know. I shouldn’t have tried to get you two together. But I still think I was right.

Janie poured two cups of coffee and placed them on the counter. Well, right or wrong we can still be friends. He’s a nice guy and someday he’ll make someone very happy.

The smell of the Brunswick stew and fried foods filled the air around Bernie as he approached the huge white carnival tent. A large circle of grass lay trampled around a large black pot in the tent’s center. Church volunteers stirred enough stew to feed a small army. This was the traditional fundraiser for the Southern Women's Circle. Every year at the Fall Harvest Festival all the women of the church and some of their husbands–at least the ones who behaved as Bernie’s mother put it–would gather to chop, stir and simmer the large pot of southern comfort food. Rumor was that people from as far away as Savannah would make the pilgrimage on this October weekend to sample the ladies legendary stew.

Along the way, Bernie stopped to admire the other vendors. There were Miss Clara’s Dance School students entertaining the small crowd. The fire department brought their new truck and fire safety coloring books for the kids. Small trailers advertised carnival foods with large banners. Local artists showed off Christmas decorations, brightly painted mailboxes, beach photos, paintings, blown glass, porch kites and wooden toys.

Bernie thought about how to pace himself so he could try all the great food that was available—including the Brunswick stew. A smile and a brief pat on his pudgy belly were the only signs he was happy to be here. He enjoyed wearing his blue Hawaiian shirt with khaki shorts. He shuffled along in his worn brown sandals. The smell of tomatoes, chicken, and BBQ caught a hold of him and drew him in. Surrounding the pot, older women busied themselves with cutting and adding items to the pot.

Glad you finally showed up, Mary Beth Pritchard blurted as she thrust a large oar into Bernie’s hands. Bernie knew what to do. He moved to the cauldron in the center of the open-air tent and plunged the oar into the thickening stew.

Where’s Velma? asked one woman.

She should be along any minute, he said. She’s promised to buy me an Elephant Ear.

Aren’t you a little old to have your mother buying you treats? asked another.

Bernie gave them a broad smile. A boy never tires of getting treats from his first love.

The comment generated a unified Awe from those within earshot.

As Bernie’s arm tired, he saw the woman who everyone asked about coming from the parking lot. A petite woman with gray hair, Velma wore brown slacks and a cream-colored shirt. In one hand, she carried a clipboard and a red apron. In the other, she carried a clear plastic bag full of her secret spice mix. Her shoulders were straight back like a drill sergeant instructing his men. After putting down her items, she hugged her compatriots as they informed her what had been accomplished. Younger women deferred to her as soon as she arrived. Velma began to issue orders and direct efforts always accompanied by a polite, dear, so she didn’t appear so gruff.

Bernie watched this dance. Dad may have ruled our roost, but mom was certainly in charge when it comes to the Southern Women’s Circle, he thought.

Bernie and Velma lost Tom to a heart attack over a decade ago. Velma dealt with her grief by helping others who were less fortunate. Bernie wasn’t sure exactly how he dealt with it.

Velma looked over at Bernie and smiled. I guess I have to go take care of one of my boys, Velma said.

The other boy, a four-legged creature named Henry, spent his days sunning himself in Velma’s bay window. Bernie handed his paddle to one of the men and followed Velma out into the festival.

Not missing an opportunity, Bernie shouted back to the tent, Guess I got me a date. Velma tapped him on the head with her clipboard.

Their first stop was the Elephant Ear trailer. Velma went through the motions of trying to pay, but Bernie was too quick for her. She gave him a look but put her money away and thanked him. Powder sugar and cinnamon covered the large flat pastry. Bernie knew the white powder would end up in his mustache but he didn’t care.

I wish you’d shave that thing off, she said.

Tasting the sugar that embedded itself in between the hairs Bernie licked off his upper lip. I kinda like it.

Mother and son walked around the fair commenting on the prices of things. Some new items caught Velma’s interest. Bernie knew his mother would find another angel ornament to put on her tree this year. It was now tradition, and she rarely deviated from tradition. This was his opportunity to find her a Christmas present. He would ask a few probing questions and she would give vague answers. I never had this much trouble with any witness, he thought, she was very hard to shop for and rarely gave him a hint.

Throwing away his napkin, Bernie bumped into a large man in a white T-shirt. Hanging from a series of straps on the man’s chest, a pudgy baby snored loudly. Bernie thought the baby looked like one of those stunt guys falling backwards out of a building. Its arms and legs should be flailing. A small blond woman held the man’s hand. Bernie smiled at the pair. Wow opposites do attract after all, he thought.

Walking back to join Velma he took in some more characters. There were the little kids counting their change in front of the ice cream stand. Behind him parents and toddlers clapped as the clown finished creating another balloon giraffe.

While stopping to look at a wind chime, Bernie could hear an argument erupting in the parking lot. Taking a quick look over Velma’s shoulder, Bernie recognized the couple. Edward’s loud Hawaiian shirts were easily identifiable from far away. It was almost as outlandish as Bernie’s own. Abigail was as easy to pick out as Edward. A lovely young girl, Abigail had the typical beach tan and long blond hair. Velma noticed that Bernie wasn’t looking at the wind chimes anymore and looked toward the noise.

I don’t know why Abbey would be hanging around Edward, she said. He’s a bad influence for a young girl.

Edward held Abbey’s wrist and pointed a finger in her face.

After a few more exchanges, Abigail cut the shouting match short and pulled away. In the distance, Bernie could hear Edward yelling after her, Don’t forget what you owe me sunshine. Edward shook his head and stormed off in the opposite direction.

I wonder what that was about, Bernie said.

You don’t know? Velma stopped walking and looked up at him. Aren’t you a detective?

Bernie corrected her. "I was a detective."

Velma sniffed and continued walking. It’s a small town. I guess everyone gets in everyone else’s business.

Velma moved toward another isle of little white tents. Let’s go see the new fire truck.

At the western end of the fair, they found the monstrous red truck with its bright dials and connectors. The hoses were stacked in the rear and a tall thin man walked around the vehicle occasionally lifting a child so they could get a better look at the top. Velma told Bernie the man in the light blue uniform was Foster Graham.

Bernie pointed over toward the truck. Where did you say Foster came from?

I think the mayor said Wilmington. Janie tells me he was station chief there until Ted talked him into coming to work for us. Velma pointed to a small group of women who tried to act nonchalant as they giggled and tried to catch glances of Foster when he wasn’t looking.

Bernie said, He sure gets the attention of the ladies. Bernie wondered how much longer Foster would be the toast of the town.

Velma waved at Foster as they passed. He returned the wave with a smile full of pearly white teeth. Bernie noticed that even his mother was susceptible to the fire chief’s charms. As she caught her son grinning at her, she changed her expression to a scowl. He smiled to himself and walked her back to the Southern Women's Circle still stirring their cauldron like witches in a coven. Velma had work to do, so Bernie said his good byes and headed off to do some shopping.

Bernie headed back to the windsock tent. Velma spent a little extra