Pelican Beach Murder Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Pelican Beach

  Murder

  By

  Phyllis H. Moore

  http://www.phyllishmoore.com

  https://www.Amazon.com/author/phyllishmoore

  DEDICATION

  This novel is dedicated to Sue and Annette.

  Like the characters Meg and Jean, Sue and Annette have kept their friendship alive. They enjoy spending time on the beaches of Galveston Island, beach combing and exploring. They are readers, and readers are the BEST!

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Other Books by Phyllis H. Moore

  One

  MEG MILLER HOPED she wouldn’t have to encounter another dead body. Now, in late May, Meg could think about the past Christmas season with some perspective. The holiday hadn’t been as joyous of traditional as she expected. There had been more surprises than she was used to—one positive, but the others were troubling and eye-opening. If there was a lesson from December, it was that she was resilient and could still be a productive member of society. Her intuition told her the trait would serve her well in the future.

  There had been a freak snow event, and the weather that winter had been wet and cold, but now she wore her favorite black bathing suit and an embroidered sundress. She had her bare feet propped on a stool and gazed past her brightly painted toenails to the sand dunes below.

  Dorie napped on the sofa in the living area, opting for air conditioning in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Meg was happy that she and her daughter had been able to spend some time together, walking the beach, doing nothing in particular, enjoying new surroundings.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Meg said when Dorie opened the garden doors to the deck. “Did you have a good nap?”

  “I could’ve slept all afternoon. Michael called to say he’d be here day after tomorrow to pick me up.”

  “Is he enjoying teaching summer school?”

  “Classes haven’t started yet, but he’s prepared. The extra money will come in handy, but I think he’d rather be doing what we’re doing. He’s a little jealous of our beach time. He’s been painting the nursery.”

  “It’s been a treat, this little get-away. I’m so fortunate that Tom and I could work out the house trade for the summer.”

  “Tom’s really a nice guy, Mom. Michael and I have had him over for dinner a couple of times. He always brings the nicest bottle of wine and flowers. He’s a basketball fan, so he and Michael could talk all night, and he always insists on helping with the dishes. It’s like we’ve always known him. He’s painted and made some repairs at your house.”

  “Oh, I didn’t expect that. Woohoo. What’d he paint? Not that I mind. There are lots of choices.”

  “He sanded and painted the kitchen door and the railing on the back stoop. It looks great, fresh and clean. I told him where the paint was you’d bought.”

  “Good deal. That was long overdue. I expect him to come here for a visit. I’ll have to make something special for dinner.”

  “I’m going to shower. We still going into town to eat?” Dorie asked, shielding her eyes from the sun slanting onto the deck from the west.

  “Yes, if you’re still up for that.”

  “Sure. Looking forward to it.” The cottage breathed out a draft of cool air when Dorie went back inside.

  Meg continued to lounge on the deck. She enjoyed the warmth of the patches of sun on her feet and thighs. The breeze from the gulf—a little gritty, a little salty—coated her skin and hair with a briny layer of film.

  She liked the smell of the ocean. The salty humidity reminded her of trips to the coast before her mother died. Meg and her brother would run with their father along the beach with a kite, while her mother and older sister sat on a porch reading and watching. Now, she thought her sister’s behavior had been odd. At the time, she hadn’t thought about it at all. That little beach house had been much different than the quaint cottage she enjoyed as a result of the trade with Tom.

  The conversation between her and Tom came back to Meg as she enjoyed the sun and breeze. Dorie had reminded her of how much she liked him.

  “Meg,” Tom had said as they stood outside the post office on Main Street. “I have a proposition for you. Feel free to tell me no, because I can come up with an alternative, but I want to give you first right of refusal.”

  She’d smiled, not sure what he was going to suggest. “Well, I’m up for new things. What do you have in mind?”

  “I rented a beach house on Galveston Island for three months beginning in May. It’s a small two-bedroom, two-bath just behind the dunes down close to Jamaica Beach. I’ve stayed there before. It’s nicely furnished and updated, with a hot tub and all kinds of beach chairs, surf boards and sand toys. So here’s the deal. I’m not going to be able to get away until September or October. There are loose ends to tie up here on the Hillard case and the follow-up on the mega-church fraud.”

  “Oh, Tom, I’m sorry. That’s bad luck. What can I do to help you out?” She had pulled her sweater up around her neck as the March wind blew cold against her. The thought of a cottage on the beach had sounded fabulous as the gusts pushed against her.

  “Well, I’ve already given up my apartment here, and it’s too late to rent something else for such a short time. I was wondering if I could maybe do a swap deal with you. If I could stay at your cottage here, you could take the beach cottage for the three months I’ve reserved. I’m only one person, and I’m neat and handy with repairs and maintenance. In fact, I enjoy having a little project to work on in my downtime.”

  Meg had listened, her smile widening when she’d realized what Tom was proposing. The cold wind had made her eyes water, the moisture drying before reaching her reddened, chapped cheeks. She blinked.

  “Maybe I’m asking too much. I understand if it’s not something you want to consider. Really, Meg, don’t worry. I’ve been meaning to give you a call. I thought I’d mention the trade, since I ran into you here.”

  “No, no not at all. It sounds like… well it sounds like a great deal for me. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have living in my little house,” she’d said, not hesitating to accept Tom’s offer. He’d seemed genuinely relieved. The deal had been struck.

  Tom had given her a hug. “This will be a help, and a relief that my problem with housing has been settled. Can we work out the details over dinner this evening, my treat?”

  Meg immediately started planning the times when family and friends could come for visits. She wanted Dorie to be there early because of the approaching delivery date of the baby. Michael had to finish the school year and had volunteered for summer school, but he used weekends to drive Dorie to Galveston and come back to pick her up. So far the arrangement had worked out nicely. Now she was hearing from Dorie that To
m had already made improvements to her little house—a bonus.

  Meg would deal with the arrival of her grandchild when it happened. She knew she could camp out in Dorie’s guest room when the baby came if Tom was still in need of her house. She and Dorie had talked about it, and Meg was willing to play it by ear.

  Couldn’t have worked out better.

  Meg watched a line of pelicans soar above the deck. She counted fifteen. They were silent in their gliding formation, only briefly slapping the air with their awkward wings to glide further. Gulls gathered on the beach, their dark legs jutting out under their plump gray-and-white bodies, squawking and cackling as they shared a joke she couldn’t understand.

  LaRue, Meg’s indoor cat, had made the temporary move with her. There was a small pet deposit, worth it; otherwise, Meg would’ve been in the cottage on stilts by herself most of the time. There were more people around the scattered beach community on weekends, and the weekdays were quiet. Only a few of the other beach houses were occupied on a regular basis, and the houses weren’t close together.

  She had been there for two weeks, long enough for LaRue to get acclimated and comfortable with her surroundings. The cat didn’t venture to the shoreline. She was either in the house, on the deck, or under the house in the shade. LaRue had no interest in going beyond the dunes toward the water. Meg was glad; she didn’t want to have to chase her.

  Besides LaRue and the guys in the fish market at Jamaica Beach, Meg hadn’t had a real conversation with anyone except Dorie. Tom had called to chat a few times, as had Jean, Meg’s best friend. Meg was relaxing into the routine and didn’t mind the isolation. She found eating and sleeping when the mood hit her enjoyable.

  There was a constant breeze off the water. Meg enjoyed sitting on the covered deck, sheltered from the harsh sun in the heat of the day. She had an e-reader full of books she intended to read and enough yarn for a few baby blankets and booties for her new grandchild—Dorie still hadn’t revealed the sex of the baby. She was also experimenting with crocheting French market bags inspired by a Pinterest post.

  “Mom, this really is the perfect beach house,” Dorie said, walking out onto the deck, drying her hair with a towel. “I was just looking around in the kitchen. It has everything you need, and it’s more up-to-date than mine.”

  “I know. It is nice, isn’t it? As you’ve no doubt noticed, I haven’t cooked anything very elaborate, but when Jean comes to visit, I think we’ll eat in most evenings. We enjoy a glass of wine, so staying home for dinner seems like a good plan.” Meg had no complaints about her accommodations or the amenities nearby. She and Dorie had been enjoying trying out the local restaurants.

  Jean would be arriving in another week. Meg had plans to take her shopping on the Strand in downtown Galveston and out to eat on the harbor, where they could watch dolphins roll in the wakes of barges and ships. It was just the getaway Meg had dreamed about, and she wanted to share it with Jean. Neither of them had had an opportunity to travel together since Jean’s children began having children. The grandchildren occupied most of her free time.

  Tom had telephoned Meg a few times so she could tell him about her stay. He told Meg he appreciated the use of her house, but he wanted to live vicariously through her stories of the beach. They were becoming close friends. If someone had told her a year ago that Tom was a special agent with the FBI, she wouldn’t have believed them. She liked that they enjoyed such a close connection now.

  Meg had wanted to fix Tom up with one of Dorie’s single friends. She had mentioned it to their mutual friend, Detective Penny Crawford, but Meg had been waved off.

  “I wouldn’t recommend that, Meg,” Crawford had said. “Tom’s gay. He had a partner who died in a boating accident in Florida a couple of years ago. He’s thrown himself into his job.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that—that he lost his partner, not that he’s gay. I appreciate that information,” Meg had said. “He’s so handsome and nice.”

  “Yes, absolutely. He’s an all-round good guy. I’m sure he’ll start dating again in his own time.” Meg did appreciate the information. They had all become friends during the Hillard investigation, and she thought of Crawford and Tom as family. She loved calling the detective by her last name, a term of endearment.

  Meg was sure someone would be attracted to Tom. He was handsome and well-rounded. She couldn’t help but think he might have found someone in Galveston. However, she agreed with Crawford—he would find a partner in due time.

  The small house had two ample-sized bedrooms, each with its own bath, plus a small loft with a built-in day bed for overflow guests. The open living area, combined with a modern kitchen, was comfortably furnished. There were plenty of towels and linens.

  Meg investigated the storage closets beneath the house and discovered picnic baskets, beach toys, kites, and several folding beach chairs. Various equipment hung from a large pegboard. Meg recognized a metal detector. There was even a small kayak and paddle. She inspected the kayak, but had no desire to use it. She was afraid she would be turned upside down by a wave and drown. In fact, Meg hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but she wasn’t all that fond of getting in the surf. She panicked at the thought of being swept out in the gulf by a riptide. No thanks. She would enjoy the water from afar.

  A protected garden area, fenced to shield the plants from the salty breeze, was situated at the west side of the house behind a tall dune. It had an automatic watering system connected to a raised rain barrel and solar panels. There were fresh zucchini, yellow squash, cherry tomatoes, and green beans producing. There was a note with other details about the house, asking guests to make use of the fresh vegetables and herbs in the garden. Meg had already made salads using the produce. She enjoyed weeding in the early morning after her walk and spraying fresh water on the leaves.

  There were a couple of bicycles under the house as well. Meg thought she and Jean would be able to take bike rides and do some exploring in Galveston Island State Park. There was also a volleyball net and balls, but it would be too much work to set up. What Meg liked best about the house was there was no television.

  The anticipation of Jean’s visit excited Meg. She would drive down the seawall to a larger grocery store and purchase fresh flowers, a few things to make the guest room personal, and the makings for Jean’s favorite pound cake. It would be a pleasant change to be able to entertain in the new surroundings.

  Combing the beach for shells and sea glass was an early morning habit Meg incorporated into her daily walk when she didn’t laze in her pajamas on the deck. She enjoyed the shore as the sun was rising behind distant clouds. The watercolor hues were always stunning.

  Dorie made the walk with her a few times, but now she was having lower back pain and made fewer treks into the sand. There were days when Meg imagined she was the only person seeing the sight. In the evening, she walked the opposite direction, heading west to admire the sunset. Almost every day, there was a single crane strutting in the same spot at dusk in the dunes. Walking west was peaceful because there were no houses until farther down the beach.

  Feeling secure and safe in her surroundings, Meg hadn’t given a second thought about the proximity of neighbors. She enjoyed the peace and quiet. However, that would soon change.

  It would be a case of “be careful what you wish for.”

  Two

  LATER IN THE day, after a seafood meal with Dorie, an evening walk, and a soak in the hot tub, they sat on the deck. Meg lounged in the same deck chair with a glass of wine. The breeze was cooler, and she draped a sweater across her legs. As the light faded, she put her e-reader down and closed her eyes, her head nestled into a throw pillow on the back of the chair.

  She awakened to a blast of a noise and looked to her daughter. Dorie’s forehead furrowed as she sat forward in the hammock and pointed to the north.

  Meg wasn’t sure if it had been a real sound or one in a dream. However, Dorie confirmed she’d heard it also. Meg sat up straight, o
n alert for more blasts. LaRue was walking along the railing of the deck, nonplussed by Meg’s curiosity.

  Picking up her wineglass, Meg entered the dark house and headed to the kitchen sink. They hadn’t been in the house to turn on lamps since the sun set. She looked out the kitchen window and across the road toward houses on the bay side of the island. Dorie walked in behind her.

  “Leave the lights off. We can see best if it’s dark in here,” Meg whispered.

  “You’re right. What do you see?” Dorie’s voice lowered to match Meg’s.

  “Why are we whispering?” Meg could see the silhouettes of the houses in the distance, across the road. There were no lights in any of the houses and hadn’t been since she’d arrived. She tracked a car as it drove down a sandy road.

  “There’s a car headed down that little road across the highway to those abandoned houses. It’s driving pretty fast, kicking up a lot of sand behind the taillights.”

  Meg hadn’t explored the neighborhood on the other side of the road. The houses were unkempt with peeling paint and torn window screens. Loose shutters tilted at the sides of the windows, and shingles were missing from the roofs. She’d assumed it was a developer’s failed project.

  Meg rinsed the wineglass and filled it with water, sipping as she watched the red lights of the car. They were moving faster than she imagined they should. The car stopped, headlights shining under one of the houses. Interior lights flickered on, exterior lights shone, and two people moved around the deck.

  “Could you hand me those binoculars from the top of the fridge?” Meg blinked her eyes from the strain.

  “These were Dad’s. I can’t believe you still carry them around.” Dorie unwound the strap as she handed them to Meg.

  “They’re always in the car. I’ve had a couple of opportunities to use them since I’ve been here.”

  Looking through the binoculars, she was able to see the figures. Two people were making trips up and down the stairs to the first floor of the raised house where the car had stopped. She hadn’t seen a car at the house since she’d been there. Meg squinted and rolled the dial to focus.