The Haunted Beach (Tropical Breeze Cozy Mystery Book 4) (6 page)

“I had a dream last night,” Taylor said.

As soon as he’d managed to get the twins out of the house, he had called her to report the latest development. Before he could, she had blurted that one short sentence, not even bothering to say hello. Now he sat up, quivering. “About –“

“About
her.
About Frieda Strawbridge.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We were having coffee together at her house, and she kept getting up to look out the window.”

“Getting up? She was wheelchair-bound when you met her. And what window?”

“Ed, will you let me tell this my own way?”

He could hear the tension in her voice. Many times she had been exasperated with Ed, but this was different. She seemed to be at the breaking point.

“Of course,” he said.

She took a ragged breath, then began again. “We were in her house, and it was dark outside. I couldn’t see anything out the windows, but she could. She was young – a young woman of about twenty, and she could walk. She was wearing a white gown, very filmy, very light. And gold sandals. They glimmered. Her gown kept floating as she moved around. Her hair was in perfect waves, you know, the way they used to do it back in the 1940s. Pressed into place. She kept telling me to have more coffee, to eat some cake, but she was distracted at the same time, and I couldn’t eat because she kept jumping up and pacing, and then she would go to the window and say that they weren’t there yet, and they should be warned that the beach is dangerous at night.”

“They? Who were they?”

“She never said. But she kept looking for them and talking about how dangerous it was to play on the beach at night, and that they should stay out of the water, because there were rip currents.”

He waited, but she had stopped. “Anything else?”

“No. Ed, what have you gotten me into? I don’t like this feeling of being . . .
possessed.”

“I know. But it’s not me doing it. You know that, don’t you?”

She was silent for a while, then said. “Yes. Ever since Bastet showed up . . . at lot has happened that I don’t understand.”

“I know. Something has changed in you.”

“I haven’t changed!” she snapped.

Ed closed his eyes and shook his head. She was still fighting it, this interface with something she didn’t understand. It had formed too late in her life for her to accept it as natural. Perhaps she would never accept it, but some force had decided that she would have it and use it, even if her mind rebelled.

“The situation is fluid here,” he said carefully. “The Double-Quick Maids just reported another encounter. I have decided to begin night vigils on the beach. If necessary, I will go into the house. I understand you can’t keep watch with me. I know you have a lot of responsibilities with the animal shelter. But perhaps we can meet on a regular basis and you can give me your thoughts.”

“If that’s all you want, that’s fine,” she said. Then she grumbled, “Unless my cat disagrees,” and hung up.

Strange, Ed mused. Strange were the ways of the unseen powers. Ed would have treasured the gift that had been given to Taylor. But for some reason, she was the chosen one, and he was left to try to measure and analyze the unknown with all the psychic sensitivity of a bar of soap.

Taylor already had so many gifts: a healthy body, a beautiful face, a mission in life which she had achieved by creating the shelter and rescuing hundreds if not thousands of dogs and cats. Teaming up with such a woman would have been an exciting life, not that Ed thought of Taylor in a romantic way. He was more excited by her paranormal gifts. She wasn’t much older than Ed: a mere six years, and after middle age, who cared? But Taylor had her man, and Ed liked Michael, and Ed had known for a long time that he was destined to be a solitary man.

In some ways, he mused, a solitary life was necessary for the paranormal investigator. Most people just wouldn’t understand him. And the only ones who would – those involved in paranormal research, like himself – were sometimes bizarre. He ran over the list of female psychics, ghost hunters and mediums he had met. They ranged from uber-feminine exhibitionists to vampire tramps to possessed demon-witches who were scarier than the phenomena they investigated.

No, Taylor was just about the only normal possessed person he knew, and she already had a boyfriend.

As to Willa Garden, he knew he would never stand a chance. Like everybody else in Santorini, she thought he was just a crackpot.

Ed went to the beach at midnight.

He had pondered all day on the problem of how to keep his surveillance covert. The beach was wide-open, and the dune was protected by environmental laws. No climbing, no digging up plants, and no surveillance operations. In the end, he decided to set up his folding chair near the end of the walkover, on the side where the half-moon threw a shadow, tight into the corner by the dune. Hopefully, if he remained absolutely still, he would blend in with the surroundings.

He had once toyed with the idea of buying a ghillie suit – those really neat camouflage get-ups that made you look like a Bigfoot who’d just run through a haystack – since he spent so many nights hiding in graveyards, but in the end he decided against it. Making an unobtrusive exit in such a costume would be problematic. In this case, Frieda and Dolores would not be expecting to encounter anyone on the beach, so they wouldn’t be cautious until they got over the dune and into Santorini itself. If he kept to the shadows and didn’t sneeze, they probably wouldn’t notice him.

He began to consider if Frieda, in her ghostly state, might not sense his living presence. He was so engrossed in the idea that when he found another person just where he’d decided to set up, he nearly screamed.

“Ed, is that you?” the shadowy form said. In a heart-stopping way, the figure slowly rose up before him and stared. “What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?”

Ed had recognized him, but needed a moment to recover. Then he said, “The same thing you are, Ben. I’m waiting to see if your wife shows up.”

Ben Brinker stood absolutely still for a moment. “So the whole damn neighborhood knows,” he said finally.

At 62, Ben Brinker was slightly younger than his wife. He was a nondescript man of average height with a thick head of white hair and glasses, and had already been living in Santorini when Ed moved in eight years before.

“The cleaning ladies told me in the strictest confidence,” Ed said. “Nobody else knows.”

“The hell they don’t. Those two were born with megaphones where their mouths should be and shit for brains. What in blazes did they tell you for? And how did
they
know?”

“Dolores showed them the paintings she’d made of her mother’s spirit. It all spun out from there.”

“Oh.”

Ben turned and stared at the ocean. Then he said, “Frieda’s dead. She’s
dead.
It’s not her. It’s Dolores.”

Edson lowered his head. “I know.”

“You know what?” Ben said angrily. “That my wife is going crazy? That she’s seeing things? That I’m not up to the job of keeping her in at night instead of letting her slip out and run down the beach with invisible people?”

“Come on, Ben, that’s not fair. I only want to help.”

“This is about that stupid show of yours, isn’t it? You’re going to bring that Teddy guy down here to make a show about my wife and make fools out of both of us, right?”

“As God is my witness, I’m not letting Teddy Force anywhere near Dolores. But I’m worried about her, and so are the twins. I don’t know if Frieda is haunting your wife or not, but keep in mind, I’m the skeptical one on
Haunt or Hoax?
My first instinct is always that nothing paranormal is going on. So let me help you. At least let me keep you company. Since you’re here, I guess I can assume that Dolores got out again tonight, right? That you think she’s out here on the beach somewhere?”

Ben sat down heavily and took a swig from a beer can he had in the cup holder. Then he gestured beside him for Ed to set up his chair and sit down.

“I’ve looked around already,” Ben said. “She’s not here. I fell asleep in front of the TV, and when I woke up, she was gone.”

“What about Frieda’s house?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you think she might be in the house if she’s not here on the beach?”

“I – I guess I never thought of that. The only times she’s slipped out, I’ve been able to go out on a balcony and see her down here. Tonight she wasn’t on the beach – at least, I couldn’t see her – but I came out anyway because I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve looked up and down the waterline. Nothing. I never thought about her going to her mother’s house.”

“Well,” Ed said, lighting up his atomic wristwatch, “it’s 12:17. Why don’t we give it until 1:00, and if she doesn’t come back, we can go into the house and make sure she’s not there.”

Ben snorted. “By that time she’ll probably be back in her bed sleeping like a baby, and we’ll have been running around like idiots all night.”

“That would be the best-case scenario,” Ed pointed out.

Ben thought about it while he took another sip of beer. Finally he said, “Oh, all right. At 1:00, we go looking. But I hate that damn house, and of all times of the day to have to go over there – the middle of the night –“ He shook his head.

“I thought that house was similar to the one Frieda built for you and Dolores. Don’t you like your own house?”

“I’ve always hated it. It was a dirty trick Frieda played, giving us that thing as a wedding present. She never wanted her daughter to marry in the first place, and she didn’t like me. Giving us that house was her way of keeping us from escaping.”

“Why didn’t you just sell it?”

Ben smoldered. “When I say she gave it to us, I’m speaking figuratively. She built it and graciously offered to let us live in it, rent-free. A lavish mansion with an ocean view. By myself, I would have refused, but I had Dolores to consider, and Dolores loved it. And – God help her – she loved her mother. Her one act of defiance was to marry me, but she didn’t really have much defiance in her. When Frieda died, it reverted to us, but with Dolores in the state she’s in, I can’t think of moving her to someplace new.”

“There are some pretty luxurious assisted living facilities around here. Why not take her to one of them?”

“I’ve thought of that. I don’t know if I can get Dolores to go, but if this keeps up, I’m going to have to.”

After that, Ben kept himself hunched up in his chair, staring out to sea, and when he finished his beer he crushed the can, opened a small cooler and got out another one. Ed wondered just how much Ben had been drinking. That could explain how his wife kept slipping away from him. It didn’t appear that this was the first time Ben had come to the beach to wait for her, and he’d come well supplied.

At 1:00, Ed looked at his watch, stood up and looked down at Ben, saying, “It’s time.”

When he got no reaction, he prodded Ben’s shoulder and the older man woke up with a snort and started swearing.

“Ben,” Ed said patiently. “It’s 1:00. Dolores hasn’t come back. Let’s go look in Frieda’s house.”

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Ben fretted. “I wasn’t asleep. I was just thinking.”

Ed didn’t argue. Instead, he walked out a few steps and took one last look up and down the beach.

“Nothing,” he said, coming back. “Let’s pack up and go.”

“I’m ready, I told you.” He picked up his chair to fold it and his can of beer fell out of the cup holder. “Damn it, Ed, stop rushing me. What the hell is that?” he said, straightening up suddenly.

“What? Do you see them?”

“I see somebody, and whoever it is, she’s got no business in that house.”

Ed stared at him, then turned to look in the same direction. “In Frieda’s house?”

“Damn right, in Frieda’s house.”

“Where? I don’t see anybody. Was it Dolores?” Ed asked Ben’s back, since the older man had dropped his chair in the sand and was already going up the steps to the walkover.

“No, that was not my wife,” Ben said fiercely.

“How do you know?”

Ben stopped so suddenly that Ed ran into him. “Because I know my own wife, and that wasn’t her.”

“You said ‘she.’ Was it a woman?”

“We’re gonna find out,” Ben said grimly. “And who the hell is
this?”
he asked, his voice rising.

Ed angled his head around Ben’s body to see what he was talking about. Then he exclaimed, “Taylor!”

Ben stopped suddenly again and turned around. “You brought your girlfriend?”

Ed straightened his glasses and stared up at the taller man without stepping back. “She is not my girlfriend.”

Ben tapped in the security code and Frieda’s garage door rose. The sound of the rising door was explosive in the quiet neighborhood, and the light coming out was blinding.

“Ha!” Ed said. He had watched Ben’s fingers and he was feeling smug again about figuring out the code. He let himself smile, but quickly got control of his face as Ben whipped around and stared at him.

Ben looked beyond Ed to Taylor, who was now revealed to be a tall, blond, green-eyed woman who was very attractive, for being sixty-something. Ben was sixty-something himself, and not so distracted that he couldn’t notice a pretty face. But before he could adjust his attitude, a black cat walked around him and preceded everybody into the garage.

“You brought your cat?” Ben asked incredulously.

“She runs an animal shelter,” Ed explained.

“Everywhere she goes?”

Taylor stepped around the men, saying, “She insisted.”

“Oh, the
cat
wanted to come. Now it all makes
sense
.”

“She’s not always completely logical,” Ed confided softly, “but she’s a good friend.”

Ben, a simple man, was reaching the end of his ability to cope. “Why is she here, and what’s with the cat?”

“Taylor has a special connection to Frieda. As for the cat,” Ed said, giving his glasses a final push up the nose and walking to the house door, “I’m not sure what Bastet is here for, but it’s a rather exciting development.”

“Oh, really? Well you be sure and let me know when the cat decides to explain what’s going on. Nobody else is going to. Sure. Go ahead. Everybody into the house. Got a Ouija board, Eddie ol’ boy? I’m ready for anything.”

Ben punched the button to close the garage door and followed them in, muttering. The others had climbed the stairs, but Ben got into the elevator and took it up to the second floor. When the doors opened and he slid the gate aside, Taylor and Ed were already in the formal living room. They hadn’t turned on any lights, but wherever they walked, motion-sensor night lights came on, letting them see where they were going. The cat was nowhere in sight.

“Nothing in here,” Taylor said quietly.

“You can speak up, little lady,” Ben said. “The noise of the garage door going up probably made her clear out long before you got up here.”

“If you were in the elevator and we were on the stairs, how could anybody get past us? She had to go up.” Ed said, looking at the ceiling.

“Don’t bother to tiptoe around,” Ben said sarcastically. “And don’t bother to go up. She won’t be there. There are
two
staircases. The service stairs go down to a mud room. Maybe your cat got after her and she ran out.”

“Are you sure you saw – ah – a real person?” Ed asked cautiously.

“Well it wasn’t my mother-in-law, that’s for sure.” Then, in an off-hand way, he muttered, “That’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” Ed asked, quivering.

“The painting. It’s gone.”

Ed had walked over to where Ben was staring at a blank space on the wall. At the top of the space was a small, gold hook, supporting nothing. “Was it valuable?”

“No,” Ben said in a flat voice. “Since you already know, I may as well tell you. It was one of the paintings my wife made of what she said was her mother’s ghost. She said that one was particularly like her, and she insisted I hang it here as a gift. She thought Frieda was still here in the house.”

“And now it’s gone? Fascinating.” Ed pulled a digital camera out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and took a picture of the bare wall.

“Seriously?” Ben said. “We’re taking pictures of the walls now? Nuts!” He walked into the living room and threw himself down onto a leather sofa.

Undaunted, Ed gazed at the empty spot for a moment, muttered, “Just the kind of thing I’m looking for,” and went back to where Taylor was standing in a breakfast nook beyond the kitchen.

“Well, we may as well go up and make sure everything is normal in the bedroom, as long as we’re here,” he said. “Let’s take one more look down at the beach before we go up, though.”

He took the edge of one of the curtains to pull it aside, but it wouldn’t budge. While he was looking up at the rod to see what was wrong, the curtains suddenly began to slide apart by themselves. Ed and Taylor both jumped back.

“Don’t bother to take a picture,” Ben drawled. “It ain’t magic.” When they looked back, Ben was aiming a small remote control in their direction. He put it back on a coffee table and said, “Every luxury. That was my mother-in-law.”

Immediately losing interest, Ed went close to the picture window and scanned the beach. “Do you see anything, Taylor?”

“No. Nothing. Damn. Where could she be?”

Overhead they heard a distinct
thump,
followed by a soft patter across the floor.