Murder by the Seaside
Read Murder by the Seaside Online
Authors: Julie Anne Lindsey
Murder by the Seaside
By Julie Anne Lindsey
Armed with a new counseling degree, Patience Price is eager to move back home to Chincoteague Island to help folks with their problems. But she finds the streets awash in more than East Coast charm. There’s been a murder, and Adrian Davis, the town golden boy who once stomped her heart into a zillion pieces, is the main suspect. Now he’s on the run, claiming he’s innocent. Patience finds this...poetic. Not that she holds a grudge.
Adrian’s mom is sure that with her FBI background Patience can find the truth. Yes, she was at the FBI—in human resources. Still, she looks into it, but not everyone is happy with her snooping. Either that, or the welcome wagon has some bold new policies involving drive-by shootings.
Things really heat up when a hunky former coworker, an
actual
FBI agent, arrives to help. But he may be too late; the quaint island harbors deadly secrets—and Patience is running out of time.
82,000 words
Dear Reader,
It’s possible I say this every year, but I love October. To me, this is the month that signals the start of a season of hot apple cider, evenings by the fire, and curling up on the sofa with a good book, dressed warmly in sweatpants and a comfy shirt and snuggled under my favorite fuzzy blanket. We at Carina Press can’t provide most of those things, but we can provide the good books, and this month we have more than a few good books!
In
Running Back
, the highly anticipated sequel to Allison Parr’s new-adult contemporary romance
Rush Me
, Natalie Sullivan is on the verge of a breakthrough most archaeology grad students only dream of: discovering a lost city. Her research points to a farm in Ireland, but to excavate she needs permission from the new owner:
the
Michael O’Connor, popular NFL running back.
If you’re like me, there are certain tropes in romance that you fall for every time. One of mine is the main theme of Christi Barth’s newest book,
Friends to Lovers.
(Gee, can you guess what it is?) Daphne struggles with revealing her longtime lust for Gib, sparking it all off with a midnight kiss on New Year’s Eve—only Gib doesn’t know it’s Daphne he’s kissed! Also in the contemporary romance category is
First and Again
by Jana Richards, which has a special place in my heart because this emotional story takes place in my home state of North Dakota.
For months, this Red Cross head nurse has been aiding Allied soldiers caught behind enemy lines, helping them flee into the neutral Netherlands. It’s only a matter of time until she’s caught in
Aiding the Enemy
, a historical romance by Julie Rowe. If you’re a fan of
Downton Abbey
, be sure to check out the rest of Julie’s historical romances.
We have two mysteries for readers to solve this month. British crime author Shirley Wells returns to the sleepy northern town of Dawson’s Clough with her popular Dylan Scott Mystery series in the next book,
Deadly Shadows.
And in Julie Anne Lindsey’s
Murder by the Seaside
, counseling is murder, but it’s never been this much fun.
Erotic romance author Christine d’Abo brings us the story of Alice’s obsession with a brooding lawyer at her firm, which takes Alice on a journey of self-discovery through the rabbit hole and into the world of BDSM in
Club Wonderland.
Also this month, the
Love Letters
ladies, Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher, Emily Cale and Maggie Wells, round up five sizzling-hot stories to finish off their sexy stampede through the alphabet with
Love Letters Volume 6:
Cowboy’s Command.
Edgar Mason is losing Agamemnon Frost despite everything they’ve been through—the passion, the torture, the heat. Frost’s fiancée Theodora is back, and Mason can feel his lover gravitating toward her. Every day he sees them together, it tears at his heart. Don’t miss
Agamemnon Frost and the Crown of Towers
, the conclusion to Kim Knox’s male/male historical science fiction trilogy.
Because October is the perfect month for the paranormal, we have a wide selection of fantasy, urban fantasy and paranormal to share with you. In Jeffe Kennedy’s fantasy romance,
Rogue’s Possession
, neuroscientist Gwynn’s adventures in Faerie continue in the long-awaited sequel to
Rogue’s Pawn.
And in the sequel to
Soul Sucker
, a powerful magic user is stealing people’s faces in San Francisco, and empath Ella Walsh and shifter Vadim Morosov have been called in to investigate in
Death Bringer
by Kate Pearce. Also returning with another book in her Blood of the Pride series is Sheryl Nantus, with her paranormal romance
Battle Scars.
Combining futuristic fiction, fantasy and urban fantasy,
Trancehack
by Sonya Clark is a compelling cross-genre romance. In a dystopian future where magic is out in the open and witches are segregated, a high-profile murder case brings together a police detective and a witch with unusual powers that combine magic and technology. But dangerous secrets, a political cover-up, and the law itself stand between them. Don’t miss this exciting new world of witchpunk!
Carina Press is pleased to introduce three debut authors this October. Science fiction erotic romance author Renae Jones gives us a
Taste of Passion
when lust strikes hard for Fedni, an empath who can taste emotion, but her off-worlder neighbor is horrified by the caste system that the former courtesan holds dear.
Two urban fantasy authors debut with us this month. In Kathleen Collins’s
Realm Walker
, a realm walker hunts a demon intent on destroying both her and the mate who left her seven years ago. Also debuting in urban fantasy is Joshua Roots with his book
Undead Chaos.
When warlock Marcus Shifter performs a simple zombie beheading, he soon finds that the accidental framing of an innocent necromancer, falling in lust, and burning down a bar are just the beginning of his troubles.
Regardless of whether you’re discovering these books in
October or in the middle of summer, any time is the perfect time for reading, and I hope you enjoy all these titles as much as we’ve enjoyed working on them.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
To Kimberly, my inspiration, and Janie, my guide.
Contents
Chapter One
“Tell me there weren’t any first floor apartments available on this island.” Claire leaned against the gray siding of my new home, her cheeks pink from exertion and the hot summer sun. She reached out to test the weathered wooden stair railing leading to my door. It wiggled, and she inhaled deeply.
“None I could afford.” I squinted up the steps to the landing. A stray lock of hair teased my cheek, and I jumped. Islands and bugs went hand in hand. I giggled at the mistake and shrugged. Time to get serious. There was plenty left to do.
“Besides, upstairs apartments are safer,” I reminded Claire. “Didn’t you pay attention to anything the FBI taught you?”
“Not really. I still can’t believe they let you go.”
“Hey, I was downsized, not let go.”
Claire shifted a box marked Kitchen against her hip, trying to see the steps. Her petite five-foot-two frame was deceptive. She easily maneuvered boxes I struggled with. The fact she did it in four-inch heels said it all. She was small and mighty despite the southern belle upbringing, of which her smooth southern drawl served as a reminder. While Virginia was considered a southern state, Claire was a few borders north of her home state of Georgia. She called it Jawja. I called her cute.
“How will I get through those horrendous meetings without you?” she asked.
“Chincoteague is only a couple hours from you. We can meet on the mainland for lunch.” My first trip up the steps and I already wished it was my last. “Or shopping,” I huffed. I’d gained a pound a year since I left the island ten years ago. Three of those I didn’t mind keeping, if they stayed in the right places. The other seven should be gone by the time I finished carrying everything up these steps.
See? Moving home had bonuses. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.
Claire puffed air into long, side-swept bangs and waited while I opened the door. She gazed admiringly at the historic two-story next door. Pale blue with cream trim and plenty of detail, it reminded me of a gingerbread house. My new place reminded me of the dough, the kind that had been kneaded thoroughly and hit with a roller. Victorian was a local theme, especially among the homes in the center of the island, away from the pounding waves during storm season. On Main Street, the shops blended easily with the houses. Chincoteague was the picture of peaceful living.
Homes were in demand this time of year. Tourists rented every available space between June and August. I thanked my lucky stars to have been able to get this place—the one house I knew would be available on zero notice. A decade-old rumor labeled the house haunted. On an island rooted in superstition and watered with ghost stories, my new place was the equivalent of swearing in church—i.e., to-be-avoided. Luckily, I didn’t believe in ghosts. I did, however, believe in low-cost rent and proving a point. Moving home was a real kick in the teeth after the big show I made of landing an FBI job on the mainland. Sure, I was working in human resources, but still...making a life for myself on the mainland had been a big deal. While it lasted.
“Wow. This place better come at a discount.” Claire’s nose scrunched up as she turned in a small circle.
The interior was layered in dust and dead bugs. I sighed in defeat. This was what came with the too-good-to-be-true price they charged me. Linoleum, paneling and shag. But it was nothing some Comet, a few throw rugs and framed pictures couldn’t help. I could afford those things, although not much more. My dwindling savings had bigger purposes. Where I slept had to be secondary for a while. Besides, any place could be homey with enough TLC. I hoped.
Wiping a circle onto the window with my fist, I remembered why I loved the island. Water everywhere. I smiled at Claire. “Can you see the ocean from
your
apartment?”
She joined me at the window. Her latte-colored skin lit up with the twinkling of sunlight through very dirty glass. My new porthole-style window boasted a tiny stained-glass schooner in shades of green and blue. Stained glass was a staple on the island, right beside clapboard, shutters and anything in keeping with a marina theme.
“Alright. I’ll give you that.” She blew against the window and a storm of dust kicked up.
I coughed against my forearm and ran for the door. “Lunch.”
Claire sneezed her way through the dust cloud behind me.
“Gah!” Sunlight blinded me the moment my eyes were free of the dark wood-paneled walls. I shaded my eyes with one hand and stumbled down the steps toward my car. “Let me grab my purse.”
“I think I had lunch upstairs. I ate a pound of dirt getting out of there.”
“I’ll borrow a hand vac from my mom.”
“What about the rest of these?”
I looked at the pile of boxes sitting near the stairs. Carrying them up the steps one-by-one in the afternoon heat was like asking for a stroke.
A whistle slipped through Claire’s glossy red lips, and I followed her gaze. A man made of abs and handsomeness jogged across the street. Hoodie up, he looked our way. I smiled. He didn’t. Despite the short distance and a decade between us, I knew him. There would never be another set of eyes that shade of gray. None that made me drop my keys at the sight of them.
“Oops.” I dipped down to scoop the keys into my palm. When I stood, he was gone, but the strange look he’d given me seared into my brain. Not how I’d imagined our reunion. In my version, the ten years since high school would melt away and he’d be mine.
If I wasn’t still mad. Which I was.
“I’d move here just for that,” Claire said. “Do you think he jogs by at this time every day?”
“I hope not. That was Adrian.”
Eyes wide, Claire turned her head in the direction where Adrian had jogged away. “Well, he can’t go far around here. According to the brochure, this island is smaller than my closet.”
“Your closet is ridiculous. It’s the second bedroom at your apartment. For your information, Chincoteague is a full seven miles long and three miles wide.”
“Excellent.”
Across the street, laughter bubbled out of the Tasty Cream. A group of teens stumbled from the crowded ice cream parlor. Smiles on lips. Not a care in the world. Couples moving hand-in-hand. Nostalgia hit me like a sack of bricks. The giant neon twisty cone sign transported me back to track meets and prom scandals.
“No one will bother the boxes,” I told Claire. “How about I buy you some ice cream for being wonderful?”
“Honey, if that was Adrian, I’m thinking you could use the ice cream more than me.” Claire raised an eyebrow. “Show me the way.”
Wide brown eyes followed my finger toward the Tasty Cream, their curved lashes nearly brushing her brows. Before we met, Claire had a stint playing a princess at Disneyland. She didn’t like to talk about it, but I bet she fooled her share of kids. I enjoyed reminding her she was immortalized in ten thousand family scrapbooks around the world.
“Adrian didn’t look happy to see me.” I said as we walked. Of course he wouldn’t be. “The last time we talked, I smashed a giant twist cone into his face. And shirt. And car.” I used to have a temper. Plus Adrian made me crazy.
The fact that he didn’t seem glad to see me bothered me and it shouldn’t have. My jaw tightened. He shouldn’t get under my skin anymore—I’d had a decade to detox.
Claire pushed huge, white sunglasses over her eyes and stepped off the curb. “He deserved—”
The bark of a siren cut her off. She jumped back into me and we toppled, knocking heads and dropping purses.
What on earth?
The sheriff’s cruiser tore past, lights blazing, siren screaming. Two dozen locals appeared from thin air before the car was out of sight.
“What the hell?” Claire hoisted herself up, dusting her backside and gawking at the flash mob gathered on the corner. “I thought you said nothing ever happens around here.” She collected her shiny yellow clutch and offered me a hand.
“Nothing does. Why do you think everyone’s outside staring?” I picked stray hairs out of my lip gloss. The wind blew dust over the pavement. A storm was coming. On an island the size of Chincoteague, even the small storms could be dangerous. I blinked into the sky. Still blue. A few lazy white puffballs lingered overhead, refusing to leave their post.
“I almost got mowed down by a sheriff.” Claire examined her manicure. “There’s grass under my nails. I’m going to need some fries to go with that ice cream.”
“Deal.”
We hobbled across the street and pressed our bodies through the crowd on the sidewalk.
The Tasty Cream was empty, but familiar red-and-white checkers smiled back at me from curtains and tablecloths. Black-and-white speckled flooring led me to the counter, past white iron chairs, their backs twisted into hearts, their tiny red cushions empty. The old soda fountain sparkled behind the glass counter, edged in shiny metal. Abandoned tables carried half-eaten burgers and melting ice cream. Purses lay on the floor under chairs. Everyone had relocated, pacing out front on cell phones, no doubt hoping they’d be first to score the daily scoop. For Claire and me, it was a winning situation.
“Patience Price!” Mrs. Tucker rolled around the glass showcase and caught me in a hug. “Your mother said you were coming home. If she wasn’t psychic, I never would’ve believed it.” She stretched my arms out at my sides like an airplane and looked me over. “You’re too thin. Let me get you something.” Mrs. Tucker had run the Tasty Cream for as long as I could remember, and witnessed things I wish she hadn’t—dates, soda sharing, teenage flirting, cone smashing...to name a few.
Claire’s brows arched, crowding into her hairline. I ignored them. This was the first she’d heard of my mom’s amazing psychic abilities. My parents were a package one had to experience for oneself.
“I’m renting the apartment across the street,” I told Mrs. Tucker. “Above the old art studio. You’ll be seeing plenty of me.”
“Oh, sweetie. You’ve got your work cut out for you. They haven’t rented that place in years.”
Claire snorted. “When was the last time anyone lived there?”
“Decades.” Mrs. Tucker shook her head. “This is on the house.” She pushed a paper basket of fries and two milkshakes our way. “Come by for breakfast. I make a mean cappuccino now.” Her round cheeks kicked up in a smile. Sweet as ever, she wiped her hands onto her apron and gave me an approving nod. “Welcome home.”
“It’s good to be here.” Clouds of fresh baked waffle cones rimmed in chocolate and the scent of greasy burgers loomed over me. The perfect mixture of sweet and salty. A taffy machine twisted and pulled pink strips of heaven nearby. I was ten years younger standing there. All good things came from the Tasty Cream. I took a long pull on the best milkshake ever made. It took effort to get Tasty Cream shakes up the straw, but they never disappointed. “What was Sheriff Murray in such a hurry for?”
“Hard to say. He’s been something lately.” She leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “Being sheriff isn’t easy when your deputy’s a doofus.”
I snickered. Deputy Doofus. Not long ago, Sheriff Murray owned that title.
Mrs. Tucker lifted a rag onto the countertop and made large wet circles over the glass countertop. Her heavily freckled skin reflected in the glass. The freckles almost made her seem tan, though the woman never made it outside before sunset. She always said she preferred people to nature anyway. “I imagine we’ll all know as soon as someone figures it out.” She tilted her head toward the knots of patrons outside.
Claire anchored her clutch under one folded arm and hefted the fries into her hand. She never let go of her shake.
I snagged a fry from Claire’s basket and groaned. Mrs. Tucker’s fries were delicious. The seasoning made my mouth water. I thanked Mrs. Tucker, and then Claire and I moved through the door onto the sidewalk as the crowd shoved its way back inside. From the looks on their faces, no one knew anything. Yet.
“I can’t believe I’m home again. Trapped on an island with my parents.” I started down Main Street on autopilot. “We should say hi.”
“Listen, you got your master’s degree for a reason. You’ve got a plan. Put that plan to work for you.
Patience Price
,
Family Counselor
. The only counselor on this little piece of heaven. You can’t beat that for cornering a market.” She shoved a fry into her mouth and moaned. Mrs. Tucker could season a fry with the best of them.
“I made flyers.”
“I know. What I don’t know is how you’re going to make up with that hunky ex of yours. Excuse me, but you never mentioned that Adrian was smoking hot. My high school heartbreak was lanky with braces, some serious acne issues and Bobby Brown hair.”
“I have no intention of making up with Adrian. Besides, this island is big enough for the both of us. No need to complicate things. I told you he abandoned me to play football, right? He can’t be trusted. Adrian Davis has always looked like that, and he knows it.”
By the harbor, we passed the bronze pony statue. A tiny picket fence kept tourists at bay these days. Island kids had hundreds of pictures of the pony, near the pony, on the pony, under the pony. My friends and I spent senior year coming up with the most ridiculous pony possibilities. The varsity volleyball team got a hundred thousand hits on YouTube after an interview with the pony. They dressed it in a photo-shopped gown and a few of the dimmer lightbulbs performed some raunchy dance moves in the background.
Claire looked at the statue without comment. She was too focused on Adrian. “Mmm-mmm-mmm.” She sucked on her milkshake. “At least tell me you left an opening to slide back in with him.”
Let’s see...what did I remember from the incident? Vanilla ice cream melting against his face and slipping across his lips as a crowd of catty high schoolers laughed and pointed. A combination of humiliation and fire had prompted me to jam the cone into his chest after I pried it from his face. After that, my broken heart caused me to crush it against the new leather seats of his convertible. Not my proudest memory.
“No. No room for sliding.”
We continued walking. Tugboats bleated on the shimmery blue water that reflected a perfect sky. Seagulls squawked at fisherman, demanding their share of the day’s haul, and a comforting layer of brine tinged the otherwise clean and flower-scented air. All these things spelled h-o-m-e. Houses on the harbor and along the causeway were newer than the rest. The few original homes were weathered to almost black. Along the inner roads, most homes dated back to the eighteen hundreds. Bed-and-breakfasts spilled purple flowers from barrels onto sidewalks. Signs on every corner boasted the home’s age and owner’s surname. History mattered on Chincoteague.