Death on the Coast: Wellington Cozy Mystery Series, #1

By M. A. Comley

From M A Comley - NY Times bestselling author of the Carmel Cove Detective Series.

Angie Potter, had everything to live for, so why would someone deliberately set out to kill her?

With a violent storm on the horizon, threatening to disrupt the investigation, Lucy Diamond, an intrepid journalist with the Wellington Journal sets out to solve the murder.

However, the local sergeant, Brendon Colt, sees her snooping as a frustrating intrusion.

A stranger saunters into town who sets the local womenfolk's hearts fluttering. Who is he? Why is he defensive when Lucy questions him about his intentions?

Every day a new suspect is highlighted for Angie's murder. Can Lucy uncover who the perpetrator is while battling her own internal demons?

Book two - Death by Association

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeamel Publishing Limited
• Release date: Nov 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201919443

M. A. Comley

I am a British author. I moved to France around ten years ago, and that's when I turned my hobby into a career. I'm fortunate to be represented by New York agent Richard Curtis. I share my home with two crazy dogs that like nothing better than to drag their masterful leader (that's me) around the village. I hope you enjoy reading my books, especially the Justice series, Cruel Justice, Impeding Justice,Final Justice,Foul Justice and the newest addition, Guaranteed Justice. Ultimate Justice is due out in Feb 2013. If you'd like to keep up to date with new releases you can find me on facebook by following this link http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mel-Comley/264745836884860 If you fancy a lighter read, why not try one of my romances: A Time to Heal, and A Time for Change--Based on a TRUE story. I also have a selection of short stories and novelettes available which I know you'll enjoy. You can find out more about me at the following blogs. http://melcomley.blogspot.com http://melcomleyromances.blogspot.com  

Book preview

Prologue

Waves, pushing to run ahead of the incoming storm, broke over the rocks. The spray blew some sixty feet into the air, soaking the scenic coastal path. Another famous nor’easter was due to make landfall on the Maine coast in the coming forty-eight hours.

Angie lowered her head, pulling the cord of her hoodie tighter. She’d just touched up her hair earlier that morning. If she left it uncovered, the mist would make it frizz as badly as Patch’s gnarled coat. C’mon, boy. No pain, no gain, as they say. I need to walk off five pounds in a week, or that dress isn’t going to fit.

Patch gave her a side-eye look over his shoulder. She chuckled, aware he’d rather have been back in his bed of soft lamb’s wool, by the embers in the grate. That said, for Angie to venture out for such a brisk walk was rare, so he was eager to take advantage of her latest health kick. He barked his agreement, but the wind carried it along with the rain that had begun to fall. His snout snapped as he tried to capture a drink from the rain.

Let’s have just another fifteen and then get back to the cottage. Okay with you? She was just as miserable as she imagined him to be, but there were a half-dozen fudge swirl cupcakes from Sal’s Sweets, languishing on their kitchen counter, a gift from her daughter. Rather than hurting Christine’s feelings, she’d opted to retreat from temptation and go for a walk. She couldn’t eat what was waiting prettily on their paper doilies inside the cut-glass cake stand if she wasn’t in the house with them.

Mush! she called into the wind to Patch, laughing.

Although he was stout for a miniature schnauzer, she doubted he could pull a baby squirrel on a balsa dog sled, much less her generous body, especially considering the incoming gale.

Patch tugged on the leash, he stood on his hind legs in an effort to heave her closer to him. At that moment, something hit her hard from behind. Her arms shot out for balance, but the seagrass cliff edge gave way beneath her feet as she scrambled to keep her grip; and she finally let go of the leash.

Angie shrieked, Help! Her legs slid closer to the edge, and she attempted to grasp for a handhold with her freshly manicured gel nails. Then came the bite of gravel against her cheek as her face slammed to the path.

Patch was barking and intermittently licking her face. She sensed his hysteria. Something tugged at her from behind, but she was too terrified to do anything more than breaststroke in the gravel and seagrass.

Patch’s tone altered to attack mode, just like it had the day her neighbor’s Doberman jumped over their fence. The tone of his growl changed, indicating his teeth were sunk into something, although she was too occupied to look. That was when she felt it. The rough texture of material around her neck, chafing her skin. A slender loop then jerked tight. Suddenly, something strong pushed and then her feet were openly dangling, the momentum already taking its toll.

Noooo! she whimpered, as the rope crushed her windpipe and she realized her impending fate.

1

W hich one would you like with your coffee, Sergeant Colt? Sally asked over the glass cabinet, filled with donuts, that separated them.

He stared at the cabinet, his stomach rumbling with anticipation. I think I had the blueberry last time, Brendon mused.

Sally nodded, and with enthusiasm, waited for his approval. And…? she prompted him.

He was caught up in the many flavors before him. Absently, he glanced up. Oh, yes, excellent, as they always are. I think I’m in the mood for cinnamon this morning. Make it three, if you would?

Sally blushed with pleasure at his words and quickly scooped three into a bag, folding over the top as she handed it to him. Brendon handed over the bills and noticed her scowl. What’s wrong?

She nodded through the front window of Sal’s Sweets. That infernal dog. He won’t stop barking. Already had to throw him out once.

Brendon frowned. Isn’t that Patch? Angie Potter’s schnauzer?

Sally shrugged. One dog looks like another if you ask me. She handed him his change, which he promptly dropped in the cup marked Tips. I wish she’d come and get him. He’s frightening off my customers.

Brendon nodded, picking up his hat and settling it on his head before retrieving his coffee and donuts. He cleared his throat. Has anyone seen Angie in town? Patch really should be on a leash.

The scattering of diners looked up, and a few murmurs broke out, but most of them shook their heads.

Cecilia James pushed her chair back and threw her napkin to the table. I don’t know about the rest of you, but that poor little guy is obviously upset. If any of you would put down your Danish long enough to check him out, you just might find Angie at the same time!

There was an uncomfortable shifting of chairs as others realized she spoke the truth. Cecilia, a middle-aged, rounded woman, ran the town’s rescue, and her temper was legendary when a dog was abused.

Come along then, Cecilia. Let’s go out and see what Patch has to tell us, Brendon said, holding the door open for her.

Cecilia immediately bent to pet Patch, but he wouldn’t have it. Barking incessantly, he ran a few steps away and then came back to them, dropping his chest over his front paws to challenge them.

Patch, buddy, what’s going on? Brendon took a sip of his coffee and broke off a piece of donut to give to Patch, who ignored it; his frenzied barking grew louder. Brendon looked at Cecilia. What do you make of that? I’ve never known a dog to turn down one of Sally’s donuts.

Cecilia glared at him momentarily. You feed dogs donuts? Are you out of your…

Cecilia… he warned her. Save the donut lecture for now, eh? He walked to the nearby corner, searching for Angie who was nowhere to be seen.

With regret, he popped the donut chunk in his mouth, washing it down with coffee before tossing the rest into the nearby trash receptacle decorated with a Harley’s Hardware logo. He brushed his hands against his uniformed thighs, then pulled out his cell. Good thing Angie is in my contact list. He tapped the number and waited. And waited. Funny, no answer. Maybe she’s lost Patch and is out looking for him, and forgot her phone.

Cecilia nodded. I’ll take him home with me while you find her, she asserted in the take-charge voice she was famous for. Bending low, Cecilia held out her hand. Patch, c’mon, boy.

Patch crouched and growled and then neatly turned and ran. Cecilia took off, hot on his trail.

Cecilia! Brendon called after her. Hold on there. Let’s follow him a little and see what has him so upset. Brendon’s intuition had kicked in. Now that he set aside his aggravation with the uncooperative animal, he sensed there was trouble. He started after Patch.

The dog, realizing he had finally obtained their attention, galloped down the street toward the park that led to the Atlantic and its scenic coastal path. Cecilia, do as I say now. Go to Angie’s place and see if her car is there. Maybe Christine is home and won’t answer Angie’s phone. See what you can find out and keep in touch with me.

Cecilia’s mouth dropped open. She wasn’t accustomed to taking orders, but Brendon’s tone seemed to break through the growing red mist that highlighted her anger. Nodding, she said, I’ll call you when I get there.

Brendon was already gone, jogging after the excited dog. Patch, if we’re chasing a rabbit, I will cheerfully wring your neck!

Although he was in excellent condition, chasing Patch was a challenge. The little dog, far more sure-footed than Brendon, scooted over the rocks and seemed unaffected by the stiff wind coming in from the east. When Brendon paused for a few moments to catch his breath, Patch let out another annoying bark. Brendon’s mood grew dark. This escapade could easily have a capricious ending, although the fact that Patch was dragging his leash and seemed intent on running in one particular direction suggested otherwise. To be on the safer side, Brendon touched his shoulder mic and updated the precinct on his location.

In pursuit, he told them.

Please specify, came the response.

He winced and briefly added, The dog known as Patch, belonging to Angie Potter, who cannot be located.

Sir? Please verify.

You heard me, he shouted and renewed his chase, making a mental note that donuts were off of his daily menu for the time being.

Patch was ahead of him, but motionless. Brendon stumbled along the path until he came to where the animal was now turning circles, his incessant yapping more furious than before.

Okay, Patch, what’s so important?

The dog ducked its head and with a few leaps, headed into the brush of the forest line where he stopped and appeared to wait for Brendon.

I’ve come this far, Brendon muttered, and with a heaving chest, picked his way into the trees where the dog stood.

That was when he spotted the body. Brendon dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one. He tapped his mic, reported in, and asked for backup to the scene, along with medical personnel. Bending low, he peered into the folds of the victim’s jacket and hoodie to get a look at the face. As he feared, it was the missing Angie Potter…with a blue nylon rope wrapped around her neck.

2

Lucy spied a candidate for a walking stick and took a few minutes to break off the unwanted prickling branch nubs. Next time, don’t leave yours behind, she chastised herself and tapped the new support into the muddy path, getting a feel for its balance.

She tugged at the waist of the flowered skirt and frowned at the mud on her shoes. She used her new tool to scrape off the worst of it and then slid them across a tuft of damp seagrass. Then she admired the saddle shoes she’d discovered at the Second Time Around clothing resale shop. Easily the sturdiest shoes she owned, in her opinion. Satisfied, she hummed Where The Boys Are in her best imitation of Connie Francis and proceeded along the coastal path.

When Lucy took the turn in the path, she heard voices in the near distance. Abruptly interrupting her solo, she paused and pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears, hoping to hear better. Leaning from left to right, she peered between the trees and was instantly curious. Police stood in a cluster, she could sense the tension and stress of the group who were talking using a fair amount of hand gesturing. Invigorated by her natural sense of inquisitiveness, she leaned into her steps to get closer.

Hold it right there, came a command. A wall of male body stepped out of the tree line to block her path.

Geez, you scared me! She jerked backward in surprise. To her enormous dismay, she had to look almost straight upward from her diminutive five-feet-two to find the familiar face of Sergeant Brendon Colt.

You’ll have to turn around, Lucy. No place here for you.

Why? What’s going on?

Police business. He used the gruffest voice in his repertoire.

You don’t intimidate me, Colt. What’s all the hubbub?

There was a slight drop in his shoulders. He must have realized his bluster was being tested. Why does it have to be Lucy? he mentally moaned. If I could take back that one kiss…

Luce… he began, hating himself for using the nickname he kept private in his mind.

Luce? What are you hiding? She stuck her hand inside the zippered neckline and brought out the press card she kept secreted on a lanyard. You know the rules.

Brendon sighed. "It’s too early, Mrs. Diamond." He emphasized her proper name.

Early? For what? Don’t tell me you’ve found something worth investigating?

Just then, Patch ran up to her, his paws stretching upward to plant on her thighs. He whined.

Where’s Angie? Lucy challenged.

Without thinking, Brendon shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the gathering.

No! Lucy gasped.

Go home, Lucy. There will be more people coming, and we need clear passage.

Brendon, don’t brush me off here. Is there a body up there? Is it… Angie?

I cannot confirm the identity of the victim. He used his official voice.

Lucy crossed her arms and smiled at him, a challenge set deep in her eyes. "So, there is a body up there. Patch is here with me when he’s never away from Angie. Brendon, let me put it to you this way. Either you let me up there to get the details for the paper, or I’ll go back to town and drop a few comments at Sal’s Sweets, and before long, the whole village will be traipsing up here through the mud and all over your crime scene."

Lucy, that’s not fair. Don’t you want to know who killed Angie?

Murder? You think she’s been murdered? Lucy felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She and Angie had known one another for years and, while their friendship was confined to the occasion of getting her hair cut, Lucy still felt a part of Angie’s inner circle. Her mind spun through potential suspects like a slot machine. Who had Angie complained about the last time I saw her?

Brendon wanted to kick himself. Luce had always owned a soft place in his heart, although he refused to acknowledge it. After all, she was married to Mark, whether she was happy about it or not. Brendon secretly hoped she wasn’t so happy. Okay, but only if I have your promise that you won’t announce it, not in Sal’s or in that rag you call a newspaper, until the investigation here is concluded.

Word of honor, Lucy agreed, pushing him aside to ease forward for a closer look. Over her shoulder, she shouted, You’d better tie Patch up if you don’t want paw prints wiping out any footprints.

His mouth dropped open. She was right. He snatched up the schnauzer and secured his leash to a nearby tree.

Lucy, only a few minutes. The crews, including the coroner, are on their way.

Carefully stepping wide of the scene, she answered, I’ll give them directions on my way back down.

Surreptitiously, she pulled out her phone. She made quick verbal notes, recorded some of the mens’ conversations, and snapped pictures of the scene, not for publication but for her own memory. She prided herself on having a knack for solving crimes, and her friend’s murder would be no exception.

When she reached an angle to see the blue nylon rope tight around Angie’s neck, she wanted to gag. Her skin had turned a purplish-blue, her legs twisted awkwardly beneath her. Angie’s eyes were open. Lucy noted two things: terror and, unless she was mistaken, recognition.

3

Lucy had to leave the scene of Angie’s death. It was gruesome enough to observe for the casual bystander, but all the more hideously cruel if the victim was a friend. Shaking, she walked on wobbly legs back down the path, where she came upon the men Brendon had warned her of and pointed over her shoulder. You can’t miss them, she said and kept on.

She knew what would happen next and made up her mind to help lessen the blow. Briskly, she headed for home and burst through the front door to find her husband, Mark, on the sofa watching television. Without regard, she stepped between him and the set and grabbed the remote, tapping the screen black.

Hey! he objected and rose to a seated position. Give me that remote back.

Angie Potter is dead, she said it bluntly and purposefully. She’d long suspected a friendlier-than-average relationship between her stylist and her husband. She watched through narrowed eyes for his reaction.

Mark’s face paled, and his mouth dropped open. He blinked, as though the cold of what Lucy had announced hurt his eyes. Recovering, he blurted, Are you sure?

I saw her with my own eyes. She reached into her pocket to produce the phone and pictures, but something in her made her stop. She wanted to know how much he might know, if anything.

What happened? I didn’t even know she was sick.

Was that an admission? Has he been keeping up with her regularly, or is this a carefully constructed denial of involvement? She forced herself to reason that Mark was just upset about Angie, but that didn’t mean he was involved with her, not in any sense.

Lucy? Did you hear me? How did she die?

Not able to tell you the cause of death, she lied. "Sworn to secrecy for now. I’m going over to her house. I want to be there with Christine when