Hurley Beach Mysteries

By Keith Sink

The Hurley Beach Mystery Series is a heartwarming clean cozy series about a family of detectives in a small North Carolina beach town. The matriarch of the family, Velma, runs a successful beauty salon, is active in her church, and occasionally asks too many questions. She's accompanied by her overfed pug, 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.

Spurred to Murder

In book one, we follow the discovery of a local girl, Abigail Childress, a much-liked member 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 Reluctant Promoter

In book two of The Hurley Beach Mystery Series, an energy drink promoter is implicated in a murder when a body is found in his burnt-out car. The stranger refuses to cooperate as gang tag signs appear around town. Is the promoter in on the escalating attacks or is he a naive pawn?

Is the town itself at war and who can the amateur detectives trust?

Poor Woman's Wealth 

In book three, we follow Velma and Sandy as they discover the body of a missing man buried in a shallow grave. Why was he killed and why is everyone in his life so calm about it?

Could the killer be a relative of the victim, the current wife, the ex-wife, or business acquaintances? Was he killed because of what he knew?

READ THE HURLEY BEACH MYSTERY SERIES COLLECTION TODAY!

• Language: English
• Publisher: PiddlePup, LLC
• Release date: Dec 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393005957

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

Hurley Beach Mysteries

Hurley Beach Mysteries

Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3

Keith Sink

Piddlepup, LLC

Hurley Beach Mysteries

Cozy Mystery Box Set

Copyright © 2019 Keith Sink

All rights reserved.

Cover and interior design copyright © 2019 Piddlepup, LLC

http://www.piddlepup.com

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Keith Sink.

Welcome!

This Hurley Beach Mystery Series boxed set includes the first three titles:

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Spurred to Murder

The Reluctant Promoter

A Poor Woman’s Wealth

Contents

Spurred To Murder

Velma’s Banana Pudding

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The Reluctant Promoter

Naomi’s Hush Puppies

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

A Poor Woman’s Wealth

Blond Brownies

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

About the Author

Also by Keith Sink

Looking for More Mysteries?

Errata

Spurred To Murder

A Hurley Beach Mystery

For my North Carolina Family

Velma’s Banana Pudding

1 lg. box vanilla instant pudding

3 c milk

1 can sweetened condensed milk

2 boxes vanilla wafers

8 bananas - sliced

16 oz. Cool Whip

Mix the pudding mix, milk and condensed milk until smooth with beater or wire whisk. Prepare large serving bowl with layer of pudding, vanilla wafers, and bananas. Repeat for next two layers. Cover with cool whip. Chill pudding in fridge for 2 hours.

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 time looking at one of the bright orange socks. This may be his best bet for Christmas.

As Bernie turned the corner, he saw him. Bernie’s eyes narrowed as he tried to verify it was really his nemesis, Lex Luster. People all around had no idea of the danger they were in. To the other townspeople, Lex was simply Frankie Bridge, mild mannered pre-teen with a wild imagination. Bernie knew the truth. This was Lex’s master plan. Blend in with the populace and take over the town of Hurley Beach—then the rest of the world. Perhaps Lex hadn’t noticed Bernie yet. Perhaps he could get closer and learn his plans. As Bernie approached the stall where he last saw Lex, he discovered he was too late. Lex disappeared into the crowd. Turning, Bernie felt something stick him in the back.

A bad Russian accent distorted the familiar voice. You thought you could defeat me Super Stan? You underestimate my intelligence.

Holding back a smile, Bernie turned. A small boy in denim shorts and a white T-shirt pointed a stick at him. I don’t know what you’re talking about stranger. I’m just a mild mannered vacuum salesman. I couldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t know anything about your plans of world domination.

Frankie lowered his eyes and grinned at his victim. Ha! I never said anything about world domination. You’ve given yourself away Super Stan.

Bernie raised his hands. You’ve blown my cover. I’m done for.

After a few more minutes of intense stares between Lex and his nemesis, Frankie finally broke character. You played a very good spy Mr. B. If you were able to sneak up on me I’m sure you would have gotten me. Bernie smiled and ruffled Frankie’s hair. You know you’re the better master spy in my book Frankie.

Did you get an elephant ear yet? I hear they’re pretty good, Bernie said.

2

Bernie saw the familiar hand-written sign on the side of the road: Fresh Shrimp. It was tradition, along the beach, to buy discounted shrimp from ball cap wearing strangers working on their farmer’s tan. Bernie was smart enough to pass on this discounted shellfish, but he understood the draw for out-of-towners looking for a deal. For Hurley Beach , the shrimp seller in residence was Thomas Lake.

As Bernie pulled up beside Tom’s truck, he realized Tom was taking his afternoon nap. This is how Bernie usually found Tom — sprawled out in a chair enjoying the afternoon sun.

Tom wore his favorite Save a deer, kill a vegetarian ball cap, a semi-clean white T-shirt, and farmer’s overalls. A farmer’s tan made Tom’s pale skin shine a dark bronze. He raised the hat from over his eyes to see who pulled up.

Bernie called out to him from the truck. Afternoon Tom

Oh. It’s just you. Tom pulled the hat back down over his eyes. Thought you might be a customer. Tom and Bernie met as children when Bernie’s parents brought him to this little beach community he now called home. Over the years and summers, they became good friends and spent their time together fishing and admiring the girls in their bikinis.

Most of them have gone home for the season, Bernie said. Only locals left.

Tom scratched his white T-shirt and straightened up in his chair. Locals like shrimp too. Reaching into a nearby cooler, he pulled out a small brown paper bag. He offered the bag to Bernie. Want some? he asked.

With a slight recoil, Bernie pulled back and shook his head.

It’s gummy bears, Jack Ass. Tom motioned to a cooler by the truck. Shrimps over there.

Tom began grabbed a hand full and put the bag back into the cooler.

This time Bernie shook his head and patted his stomach. Trying to cut back.

Bernie knew this lifestyle was good for Tom. It had the hours he enjoyed. A little bit of work in the morning and the rest of the day was his to enjoy any way he pleased. However, Bernie knew Tom wasn’t out at the corner every day especially during deer season. Tom was an avid deer hunter. If the hunting was good, he would disappear for a week at a time, just to get his quota for the season.

Tom got up from the nylon webbed lounge chair and walked over to Bernie’s truck. How goes it bait man? Tom said.

Does that mean I need to be calling you shrimp boy?

Tom waved his hands over the coolers nearby. Not unless you want me to cut you off.

Are you kidding? I wouldn’t eat that stuff if you gave it to me. It’s not fit for bait.

You’re probably right, but at least the tourists don’t know that. Besides shrimp boy sounds like some creepy super hero’s sidekick. This was the classic Tom humor that everyone grew to like and Bernie was no exception. Bernie knew they would be friends the first time he met him at the bait shop.

I thought the tourists were gone for the season, Bernie said.

Tom smiled. Most are, but a few still hanging around. I’m about to close up shop for the winter, but I thought I’d see if I can make a few more bucks.

Tom grabbed Bernie a cold beer from a nearby cooler. Bernie reached into the back of Tom’s dark blue Chevy pickup and pulled out a worn aluminum and nylon chair. The faint smell of fuel and rotten fish got stronger as he pulled the chair free. The bed of the truck contained coolers, empty shotgun shell box, a spare tire and some rusted tools. A gun rack in the rear window displayed a rifle and shotgun.

As they sat and chit chatted, Bernie pointed to the guns in the rear window of the blue truck. How’s the hunting last season? Get anything?

Bernie knew this was the proper way to start a conversation with Tom. Tom loved his hunting and nothing, not even this job, got in the way of hunting season. Much like a hunting dog waiting to get that freshly killed bird, Tom counted down the days and hours to the start of the season.

Tom smiled as he reminisced over the season. I got a six point. Big sucker too. Not enough, as far as I’m concerned. Getting harder and harder to find the big ones out here.

The next season starting up soon? Bernie said.

Not until March.

Bernie gave Tom a knowing smile. And you aren’t going to be doing any off season shooting are you? Because you know that’s illegal right?

Of course not. Mr. retired police man. I would never break the law. Tom winked.

Tom took a swig of his beer and let out a satisfying sigh. How’s your mom? Still running that church all by herself?

Of course. I think it helps to keep her young.

I stopped by and had some stew at the fair, Tom said. Good stuff. I wish she would tell everyone the recipe, but she keeps it a secret. Women and their recipe secrets. Tom stopped and pointed his beer can at Bernie. If she ever leaves this world behind, make sure she gives you that recipe before she kicks the bucket. Tom took a swig from his beer and stopped himself. Of course I hope she lives a long time.

Tom became quiet and looked down at the ground. "Do you know Ivy? Waitress over at Barnacle Bay?"

Ivy Bridge? Oh, you mean Frankie’s mom. Kinda. Bernie remembered Ivy stopping by the store and thanking him for spending time with her son. She comes around the store to check on Frankie and offers to pay for his sodas. He’s a good kid. I like having him around. Bernie smiled. Of course, she doesn’t believe me but it’s true. He kinda reminds me of myself at that age. Why do you ask?

"Well... I was wondering what my chances were of asking her out. I go by Barnacle Bay every so often and… well she seems so friendly."

He knew Tom had a good heart that showed through once you got to know him.

I guess you’ve got as good a shot as anyone else. When are you going to ask her? Bernie said.

I was thinking I might stop by later tonight.

I’ll put in a good word for you if it comes up, but of course we don’t want to scare her away, Bernie said. Just remember one thing. From my experience, single moms need a little more… consideration. What I mean to say is their kids always come first, so you have to be patient.

Tom took his hat off and swatted at a fly. Satisfied that the insect was gone, he placed the hat back on his balding scalp.

Already thought about that, Tom said. I can wait.

Are you even sure she’ll be there tonight? Doesn’t she usually have Monday’s off?

Got it covered my friend. Maurice says he’s got her on the schedule tonight.

After a few more beers and some small talk Bernie finally came to the point of his visit.

Do you know Edward Hill? Bernie said.

Edward? Sure. We go way back. We’re not the best of friends mind you but we talk from time to time.

I saw him at the fair the other day fighting with Abigail Childress. Are they dating?

Abigail and Edward? Doubt it. I don’t think she’s Edward’s type.

Then why would they be fighting?

Could be she owed him some money.

Is he a bookie? Bernie said.

Bookie. Loan shark. Whatever else they call em these days, Tom said. All I know is if you want to make a bet, he’s your guy. Tom shook his beer at Bernie. But don’t cross him. A few years back, some guy tried to run out on him. The guy ended up in a dumpster beat to a pulp with a lead pipe. Mayor told me the guy wasn’t pressing any charges.

Sounds like a guy you don’t want to cross.

The door chimed as Theresa Hargrave entered Sailor Jim’s Surf Shop. She shook her blond hair out of her eyes and looked around the store. There were racks of beachwear, swimsuits, shorts, shirts, and towels huddled in mounds in the store’s center.

A clerk stood behind a counter at the front of the store. He ran a T-shirt printing machine that could turn someone’s favorite saying into a memorable souvenir. On the wall above the machine, sample T-shirts advertised hip new slogans: Hang Ten, Life’s a Beach, What happens in Hurley Beach Stays in Hurley Beach.

The young clerk was about eighteen and probably making minimum wage. Lord knows Larry would never pay them more than he had to. The young man greeted her with a smile and a quick Hello as he continued folding shirts.

I was wondering if Mr. Shum was around, she said.

He’s in the back. I’ll go get him for you.

Don’t bother. I know the way. Theresa walked to the back wall of the store and went through a curtain made of little shells with edges that resembled teeth. Theresa thought they looked like little monsters out to nip at whoever went through them. Musty boxes sat piled to the ceiling in the hallway. She could hear the click, click of a computer keyboard and the slam of something hitting a desk. Larry must be banging his mouse around again. He never could get the hang of using one.

As Theresa poked her head into the little office, she saw a tall man with bushy eyebrows and a long droopy black mustache banging on a keyboard. He wore an orange and black Hawaiian shirt with a silhouette of girls hugging each other. In the background were volcanoes topped with hot lava. Trouble with your computer? Theresa said.

Not looking up, Larry said, I keep getting that blue screen thing. You would think this problem would be fixed by now. What do you want anyway?

I thought we were going to talk, Theresa said.

I’m busy doing my books. My accountant wants me to balance my books so he can finish my return. He slammed the keyboard down on the desk. Oh forget it; he’ll just have to wait.

What did yah want to talk about? Larry looked at her and waved his hand in the air. You said it was something personal.

Theresa sat down on the corner of the desk. Perhaps we should talk somewhere more private, Theresa said.

Larry swiveled his chair to face Theresa. He sat back into a slouch. I told you Theresa we’re through. We haven’t been together for years, and I like it that way. I would prefer we talk business in my office.

Theresa raised her eyebrows. Oh, don’t think you’re so lucky. I’ve been over you for a long time. I’ve noticed however, you appear to like your women a little younger, or so I’ve heard.

As if preparing for the exchange, Larry crossed his fingers and said, Is that why you go out and hire them out from under me?

I can’t help it if you don’t want to pay your people a decent wage. Theresa smiled at Larry. Tell me Larry. Is it harder to screw your help when they’re not under your roof?

Charming as usual, Theresa, said Larry.

Theresa removed books from a nearby chair and sat down. Anyway, I’m here for business. That Abigail of yours appears to have been a bad choice, I think

Well she was only good for one thing around here. Larry grinned. What’s the problem, and why do I care?

The problem is she’s uncovered some of our business dealings. And contrary to your opinion of her intellect, she may have figured out something about the Hillcrest property. This brought Larry up in his chair and Theresa knew she had his attention.

What about it? said Larry. What do you think she knows?

I’m not sure. It could just be a coincidence. I’ve noticed Abbey spending more time in the land sales records than usual. Caught her in there yesterday though I didn’t have anything for her to file. I was curious and noticed that the folder looked out of place. Pictures were in the wrong order, the paper clip was missing, that kind of thing. Theresa looked down at her nails. I overheard her talking to Lisa about Mrs. Hillcrest. She wanted to know about the land.

Theresa waited a minute for this to sink in with Larry.

Did you ever mention anything to Abigail when she worked here? she said.

Larry slammed his limbs on the arm of his chair. Sure. I spend my days talking with all my employees about land deals. It’s a big hobby of mine. I’m thinking of turning it into part of my orientation.

Theresa shrugged and continued to play with her cuticles. No need to be snippy about it. Had to ask. I don’t know how she found out about the deal — but if she has — we could both be in trouble.

I told you before. It’s not our fault the old woman killed herself, Larry said. So we bent some rules. They can’t pin it on us.

Theresa raised her hands. Oh of course not. Unless they were to talk to the people you bribed to cover up the value of the land.

Do you think she killed herself because of the deal? Larry said.

Theresa raised her voice and pointed at him. It doesn’t matter what I think. The only thing that matters is what the public thinks. If this gets out, and it gets to the press — we’re done for. People were very loyal to Mrs. Hillcrest. Her family helped build the church. Theresa pointed in what she thought was the direction of the church. "She was a founding member of the Southern Women's Circle for God’s sake. If they think she was swindled, and it had anything to do with her death, you can say goodbye to your business — and I can say goodbye to the mayor’s race."

Why do you want to be mayor anyway? Larry made a grimace. Seems like a crap job if you ask me.

Theresa hissed back at Larry. Don’t worry about why I want it—I just do. And stop changing the subject.

OK, OK. Larry raised his arms. I’ll find out if Abbey knows anything. She may still be willing to talk to me.

As mayors go, Ted Holmgren seemed to be a good one. At least that’s what Bernie thought. Ted would stop by the bait store from time to time to pick up an RC and a MoonPie before he headed home for the day.

Today Zeek—his Irish Setter—followed him into the store. Ted never forgot his friend when shopping for his a late afternoon snacks. Zeek received one treat when he visited the bait shop. Sometimes—if Zeek was good—he would get two. Bernie realized Zeek was his best customers, and he stocked new treats just for him.

Ted let go of Zeek’s leash. Zeek let his nose direct him. Ted and Bernie watched as the red Irish Setter gravitated to the worm fridge.

How’s it going mayor? Bernie said.

Afternoon Bernie. Zeek and I thought we’d see if you had any new treats for us.

Bernie reached into the box by the counter containing the familiar round pastries. Ted reached for an RC out of the nearby fridge.

Well, nothing new for you but I picked up some BBQ flavored pig’s ears. They smell awful. Bernie put his fingers over his nose and brought one out for Zeek to try. The dried red ear had felt like sand. Zeek attacked it with the zeal of a much younger dog.

Ted laughed at the exchange. You always seem to know what he likes. I’ll take a couple more and my usual.

Ted stroked the setters head as Zeek gnawed on the pig’s ear. Tomorrow’s Zeek’s birthday. He’ll be ten, Ted said.

Bernie looked down at Zeek. Well happy birthday buddy. Zeek ignored the well wishes. His full attention was on the pig’s ear.

I brought him home as a puppy. Wanted to teach him to flush birds so I could hunt pheasant, Ted said.

I didn’t know he’s a hunting dog, Bernie said. He looked down at Zeek with a new found respect.

He’s not. I tried to train him. He fought me the whole way. You should have seen me trying to get him to get into his crate for the trip. He only wanted to ride up front.

Ted shrugged. Anyway he had a mind of his own and turned out he wasn’t very good at chasing birds. Word got around town about the Irish Setter riding in my front seat and everyone would stop us to pet Zeek. Before I knew it, Zeek was as popular as I was. Ted leaned closer to Bernie and whispered. Maybe even more so.

My wife told me one day I should run for politics. The next thing I know people were saying I should have Zeek as my running mate. Best decision I ever made.

Bernie and Ted shared a smile as they both stared down at the mayors secret weapon.

Ted took out a bill to pay for the treats when he paused. He stared at the wall behind the counter. Bernie gave him the change and turned to see what Ted was looking at. Behind the counter, a large rack of cigarettes kept the brands separated into long rows of colored boxes.

Did you know I used to be a smoker? Ted said. He pointed to the cigarettes.

When did you give that up?

About eight years ago. Same time I ran for office. Mary said I was driving her crazy, and she convinced me to go cold turkey. Surprisingly it worked. The things a good wife can do for you sometimes, huh?

Yeah.

Ted picked up his bag of treats. Ever been married Bernie?

Bernie stretched out his arms and put them on the counter. Yeah. For a while. We made a go of it but being a police officer’s wife isn’t easy. High divorce rate. I guess it was inevitable.

All the worrying huh? said Ted.

That’s how it starts. Then worrying leads to anger. The anger eventually becomes an affair or divorce. I think I’m grateful it was a divorce. Bernie sighed.

Did you go to the fair on Saturday? Ted said.

The pig’s ear clicked as Zeek moved it across the aged wooden floor.

Mom would’ve had my hide if I missed it. Besides, she owed me an elephant ear, Bernie said.

Ted chuckled. Yeah, you can’t go wrong with anything deep fried. I hope we never have to deal with that trans-fat stuff they’re dealing with in New York.

Did you see the new fire truck? Ted pointed toward town hall. Took us three years of budgeting to get that one. Pretty hard sell to the city council, but I think everyone’s happy it’s here.

Nice and shiny. I met the new chief. Foster his name? Bernie knew his name already, but he liked to hear the local talk about someone besides himself. His police training taught him to leave open questions out there. People liked to talk about themselves or things they believed you should know. He couldn’t help himself.

Yeah. Foster Graham. Ted clinked the glass bottle on the counter. He’s a bit of a talker once you get him going. Everyone likes him. He’s from Denver. The North Carolina Denver not the Colorado one. Ted seemed lost in thought. I can’t believe how lucky we were to get him.

Maybe I should invite him to the Friday night poker game. You think he plays? Bernie said.

Don’t know. I’m sure he can learn.

3

Bernie heard the creaks of the weathered porch boards before he heard the familiar ding-dong of the door sensor. Looking up, he saw a twenty something girl with brown hair and a sunny yellow dress enter the shop. It was the same girl he saw at the fair arguing with Edward.

Afternoon, he said.

Abigail took in the shop as she walked around with her hands behind her back. She stopped to touch the stuffed fish and nets littered along the wall. Breaking her revelry, she turned her gaze to Bernie and smiled. Walking over to the counter where Bernie stood, she extended her hand. Hi. I’m Abigail Childress. I’m Cassandra’s niece.

Bernie shook her hand and smiled. Hi. I’m Bernie Mariscal. I’m Velma’s son.

Abigail snorted a small laugh. That’s what everyone around town says. She’s a very nice woman.

So they tell me, Bernie said.

Bernie offered her a chair by the black potbellied stove in the corner.

What brings you to my humble tackle shop today? Setting down and waiting for Bernie to join her, Abigail leaned toward him. In a whisper as if she were revealing a deep dark secret Abigail got to the point. I hear you were a detective.

He had no idea why she whispered. Bernie hadn’t been part of some secret organization. He searched the room with his eyes as if there were electronic bugs in the room.

Abigail looked perturbed. There’s no reason to mock me, she said.

Realizing he may have gone too far, Bernie leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips. Sorry I don’t know my limits some times. Clearing his throat, he continued, I assume that’s why you are here?

Abigail seemed a little more relaxed after revealing what she thought was Bernie’s secret. She leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together. From what Mrs. Mariscal told me, you were a pretty good.

I solved my share.

A pop came from the stove.

Abigail lowered her eyes and paused. She seemed to be getting her thoughts together.

The hum of the fry tank hummed and bubbled on the back porch.

She rustled her dress a little and adjusted herself in the chair.