Pelican Beach Murder Read online

  “Oh no!” She was certain she saw one of the people strike the other, more than once. She could make out the outlines of bodies but no distinct features. I’m going to need a telescope. “What it is it, Mom? What do you see?”

  “I thought I saw one person hitting the other, but surely not.” Meg shook her head, convincing herself it was her imagination. The people’s movements were chaotic.

  Lowering the binoculars, Meg was sorry she had intruded on their privacy. She always had the spy glasses in the console of her car, a habit her late husband had started to view birds when they traveled. So far, she had only used them to watch people and spot hidden cars in the woods.

  “I probably shouldn’t spy on whoever that is. But the noise sounded strange. I’m going to call and report it because it sounded too much like gunfire. I won’t be able to fall asleep until I do.”

  “I think it was a backfire,” Dorie said. “I haven’t heard one in a long time, old cars make them sometimes.”

  “Yes, that was what it sounded like. At first I thought it might’ve been gunfire.” Meg yawned. “I’m reporting it, just to be on the safe side and then I’m turning in.”

  “I’m right behind you. See you in the morning.”

  The bamboo shades on the windows in the bedroom let in just enough light to let Meg know the sun was rising. She slipped into her bathing suit and cover-up, put on a pair of flip-flops, brewed a single cup of coffee in the Keurig, and walked down the stairs to head to the beach. Groups of seagulls were already scavenging the shore and flying high above her with their laughing noises. She frequently told LaRue they were laughing at her. “You gonna let them talk to you like that, Rue?” Meg would tease. The cat would turn her back and walk off.

  Meg walked about fifteen minutes down the beach to a massive piece of driftwood. She listened to the pounding of the surf, allowing it to froth around her thoughts and ankles. That morning it was more like a gentle sloshing, and the water was calmer than she’d seen it all week, bluer and clearer. The scent of the beach was fresh and salty.

  In the distance, she could see a couple of people standing on paddleboards. There were several people down the beach on towels, doing yoga. If she were a full-time resident, it might be something fun to do. Maybe if Jean could stay a week instead of just a few days, they both could do it. Meg planned to call her and suggest she plan to stay longer. She could imagine them spending time on the beach that way.

  When Meg was back at the house, Dorie was up, pouring a glass of orange juice. Meg made herself another cup of coffee and checked her email, sitting at the patio table on the deck. The heat didn’t bother her; she just wore fewer clothes. Jotting down items on a shopping list from the recipes she stored on her computer, Meg had enough to venture to the larger supermarket in Galveston. After a shower, Meg and Dorie headed out for shopping.

  Meg parked under the only shade she could find and took her crocheted shopping bag from the trunk. Another woman approaching the entrance stopped Meg to admire the bag. The woman was dressed in white cropped pants and a long linen shirt. She wore oversized sunglasses, a straw hat, and an appealing shade of orange lipstick. Meg thought she was pleasantly casual and fashionable. “Where in the world did you find that bag? I love it,” the woman said.

  “I made it,” Meg replied. “I love to crochet and you can only have so many afghans, so I searched for patterns to make something useful. I’ve just about worn this one out. I think I’ll have to make another.”

  “You should sell those. It’s perfect for picking up a few things. I’d buy one right now if you had another.”

  “Oh, thank you. One of these days if I have the time, maybe I’ll tackle selling them.”

  “Well, have a good day. It’s gonna be a hot one.”

  “You too,” Meg said. She had received other compliments on her shopping bag. It had come in handy during her vacation getaway, where she used it for taking towels to the beach and carrying other things up and down at the beach house. Dorie pushed the basket while Meg walked ahead with the list.

  “You really should consider selling those bags, Mom. They’re cute and practical. Did you see how stylish that woman was? She wants one.”

  “They’re handy. I love mine. I’m working on one for Jean. They’re great for a lot of things. I get compliments all the time. Maybe I could sell them. I think I’ll have plenty of time on my hands after you leave.”

  “You’ll have Jean and then Tom to entertain. If I know you, you’ll stay busy.” Dorie stopped and read the label on a box of cereal. “Jeez, everything has sodium.”

  Meg selected a small orchid to put on the dresser in the guest room. She would suggest Jean take it with her when she left to go home. She found all the ingredients for the lemon pound cake and shrimp salad. It was too hot to cook much, but she would do some make-ahead salads they could nibble on when they didn’t have plans to go out. She stocked up on white wine, Jean’s favorite, and crackers and cheeses. Some fruit for the massive wooden bowl on the island, yogurt and granola, and Meg had crossed off everything on her list. She couldn’t resist the counter with handmade chocolates, picking out a sampling for sweet treats. She was thinking about her son-in-law also. He always liked something chocolate, and he and Dorie preferred lounging rather than venturing out.

  When they got back to the house, she insisted Dorie only carry the lightest bags. Heaving the shopping bags up the stairs in two trips convinced Meg she couldn’t live in a beach house on a permanent basis.

  After unloading the groceries and putting them away, Meg prepared the cake batter for several small loaves she could freeze and telephoned Jean.

  Meg stepped onto the deck for their chat, closing the French doors behind her. “You’re retired. You have no responsibilities other than some volunteering. Just let them know you’ll be out of town. Even volunteers can take time off.” Meg wanted Jean to come earlier and stay longer.

  Jean was hesitant at first, pointing out that she would have to board her terrier.

  “No, Jean, bring Gizmo. This is a pet-friendly place, and I’ve already paid a small pet deposit. He’ll be just fine. It’ll give you company on the drive down. Bring his little kennel. Honestly, Jean, he’s more than welcome.”

  “Bringing him would solve that worry. I know you’re right, Meg. There’s absolutely no reason I can’t stay as long as I want, or as long as you’ll have me. I’ll do it. I’ll pack enough clothing for a longer stay.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that, but you don’t need clothes, Jean. Bring a couple of bathing suits, a caftan, and some pajamas. There’s a washing machine and dryer in the laundry room downstairs. All you really need is what you wear to travel, your toothbrush and a comb. I’ll let you borrow one of my new hats.”

  “You make it sound pretty relaxed. I think I’m going to enjoy this. I’ll play it by ear but prepare for a longer stay. I’ll text before I leave the house. I’m looking at my calendar. I’ll plan to get an early start and be there by early afternoon on Tuesday.”

  “Good. I look forward to seeing you and Gizmo. I’ve already got the wine in the fridge, and there’s cake in the oven.”

  “Woohoo,” Jean laughed. “What else do girls need?”

  Meg hung up with a little mist in her eyes. She was thrilled that she and Jean would be able to share the experience. They used to have little trips a couple of times a year.

  When her own grandchild arrived, Meg would be spending more time with Dorie and Michael, also. Her times with Jean would be few.

  She wished she knew the sex of the baby. It would seem more real to her.

  Michael arrived Friday evening. They were casual about eating, not bothering to dress or go out. Dorie and Michael preferred lazing on the deck and beach combing. Meg liked that she wasn’t stressed or worried about entertaining them. They played Scrabble, read during the heat of the day. Michael admitted he enjoyed the anticipation of the weekend trips. “You know, we might not be able to travel much after the baby�
��s born.”

  “Probably not,” Dorie agreed. “I know it’ll be different, but I can’t envision what it’ll be like to have another person in the family.”

  “Glorious!” Meg said. “It’ll be simply glorious. You’ll be busy putting together bicycles and setting up swing sets in the backyard.”

  “Not so fast, Mom. It’ll be a while before any of that. Don’t you dare get this child a bicycle for Christmas.”

  “Trust me, it’ll go by so fast you won’t know what happened.” Meg giggled as she thought about how a child would rock their world.

  Standing on the deck, Meg waved as Dorie and Michael drove away. Now focused on the arrival of Jean, she glanced down at her cat. “LaRue, it’ll be so nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t turn her back on me and head to the litter box. You’re going to have some company, too. I hope you can be cordial. Oh, I almost forgot.” Meg had set a small package of catnip balls on the kitchen counter. She opened it and threw one on the floor for LaRue. Batting it with her paw, LaRue acted indifferent at first, but eventually picked the ball up and walked out onto the deck.

  “You’re welcome,” she called after her.

  Meg made a batter for bran muffins and placed them in the oven. She took lemons from the fruit bowl and began cutting them to squeeze the juice for the lemon glaze she would pour over the cake she’d stored in the freezer, then raked a little zest into the juice for added flavor. She left the lemon halves on the cutting board, liking the aroma that circulated in the kitchen as she stood at the sink, washing the knife and zester.

  Sand lifting and blowing on the road drew Meg’s attention to someone driving toward the house. There were no other houses down the lane, so the car had to be headed to the one she was occupying. She dried her hands, slipping into her flip-flops as she walked onto the deck and headed down the stairs.

  Meg rounded the corner of the house in time to see a young woman step out of a rusted minivan. The woman appeared to be in her twenties. She wore denim cutoffs, one of the pockets hanging below the bottom of the shorts, and a tank top. “You Can’t Touch These” was written across the fabric on her braless chest. The woman was barefoot, and she’d left the car running.

  Good, I won’t have to cut the cake and make tea.

  “Hello there,” Meg called out.

  “Hey, is your electricity off?” The young woman marched toward Meg, kicking up sand in curls behind her.

  “No, I haven’t had a problem. Everything’s working,” Meg said.

  “Huh. My boyfriend and I are at the Charles place across the road.” The young woman turned to point to the house Meg had spied on, and Meg noted bruising on the woman’s back and shoulder as she turned. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, revealing a butterfly tattoo on the nape of her neck. There were other tattoos, but Meg couldn’t figure out what they depicted or recognize their meaning.

  The woman turned back toward Meg. “The electricity went off this morning for some reason.”

  “I’m sorry. Mine’s been fine. Do you stay there often? This is my first time in this house. I’ve had no problems, and I’ve been here a few weeks.” Meg glanced at the minivan as it sputtered. Could’ve been the backfire last night.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve come down. The house doesn’t get much use. I guess that’s why my uncle suggested it. Sheesh, it’s always something.”

  “You might try checking the breaker box,” Meg suggested. “Do you know where it’s located?”

  “No, but I’ll mention it to Leon. He’s not very handy.” The young woman rubbed her arms and shivered in the pounding heat of the bright sun.

  “I’m Meg, by the way. I’ll be here all summer. How long are you two visiting?”

  “Hey. Echo.” The woman held out her hand toward Meg. At first Meg thought she might be saying her name was Meg also, but then she realized her name was Echo.

  The woman’s hand was ice cold. Meg detected a strange odor, an ammonia smell. She glanced toward the carport to see if there was a spill of something.

  “We’re not staying too long. I’ve got to get back so we can find out about the electricity or we’ll never be done.” Echo turned and marched back toward the running car, sand flying behind her feet.

  Meg watched as Echo backed off the sandy asphalt onto softer sand, almost getting the back tires stuck. After some stationary spinning, she managed to pull out of the sand, accelerating down the lane toward the road. When she backed off the accelerator at the highway, there was a loud noise.

  Meg turned to the side of the house and examined the storage closets, looking for the source of the odor, but it was gone.

  What did Echo mean by “we’ll never be done”? What are they working on?

  The muffins! Meg remembered. She sprinted up the stairs. When she opened the door, the sultry aroma of baking engulfed her. She rushed to the oven and opened it. It was okay, nothing burned, but definitely done. Meg placed the muffin tins on a trivet on the island and finished preparing the lemon glaze.

  After washing the dishes and gazing at the house across the way, thinking about her conversation with Echo, Meg had time on her hands. She made a glass of tea an pulled her yarn basket out to begin a market bag for Jean.

  She no longer had to glance at a pattern, having memorized the stitches and tending to improvise the length and width according to the amount of cord she had. It was something she could do mindlessly, glancing up at the shore from time to time. The gulls spoke to her in mocking laughter, always brash and chaotic in their cries, sometimes making Meg stop and squint upward to see what they carried on about.

  She remembered her paternal grandmother had taught her the basic crochet stitches and had shown her the abbreviations on a printed pattern. After she had made a few flat pieces, she had moved on to more complicated tasks. She enjoyed the challenge of taking on an intricate, lacy piece, but the bags were fast and practical. It was a productive way to spend the afternoon.

  Crocheting was a skill she wouldn’t have if her grandmother hadn’t taken time with her. She hoped she could be as memorable to her own grandchildren, give them skills no one else could.

  As she gazed out to the sea, she wondered about her maternal grandmother, a woman no one ever talked about. Meg had never met anyone in her mother’s family. She didn’t know their names. Those people had made no impact on her life other than giving her a mother. Crocheting and anticipating the birth of her own grandchild moved her to think about the grandparents she never met. The quiet encouraged thoughts Meg had entertained before. Maybe her mother had been an orphan, but she’d never talked about that either. Now it appalled Meg that she and her brother had never questioned her or their father.

  Little did she know that the quiet, relaxed beach scene she would share with Jean would be turned upside down in less than a week, just shortly after Jean’s stay. Even with her own keen intuition, Meg couldn’t have predicted what would happen during one of her morning walks. If she had suspected the gulls might be calling out warnings, she might not have gone out at all.

  Three

  DORIE TEXTED MEG on Monday morning: You’re killing me here. I’ve been craving something lemony and maybe a big slab of bacon, LOL.

  Meg grinned. Michael and Dorie had obviously eaten one of the lemon loaves she had baked. She remembered the weird yearnings of pregnancy.

  They texted back and forth for a minute or two, sharing the events of the day. Dorie was killing time, sitting in the waiting room of her gynecologist’s office. Meg told her what started as an idea to create one tote bag for Jean ended in a stack of five. I’ll let Jean choose her favorite, but maybe the rest will go in the Christmas closet.

  LOL, I’ll probably need another one, Dorie texted back. If the stories I hear are true, babies have a lot of paraphernalia.

  Meg had been productive, but she was ready to stand up and move around, deciding to do some light housekeeping in preparation for Jean’s visit. The cottage on stilts was easy to m
aintain. She’d already cleaned the guest bedroom and bath, making sure there were enough soap, shampoo, and towels. She also ran a duster over the floor, swept the deck, and cleaned the windows with glass cleaner.

  Then Meg turned to the kitchen, doing prep work for the salads she would have available and mixing up the fruit to macerate in sugar for the sangria. She made sure everything she could prepare ahead of time would be done for the meals they would have when Jean arrived, wanting to spend most of her time enjoying the beach with her friend.

  Meg stood at the island, taking stock of what she’d accomplished. I’m an entertaining goddess. She put on her bathing suit and poured herself a glass of wine, then headed for the beach. It was almost dusk. Her toes sank into the wet sand, leaching the water from around her feet and changing the color from dark gray to taupe. The course grit kneaded the soles of her feet as the surf massaged her soul. It didn’t get old, watching her steps on the beach and following the waves as they slithered back into the gulf. The rhythm of the water seemed to whisper in the approaching evening, quieting the landscape around it. She hoped Jean would enjoy a sunset walk as much as she had.

  Meg liked watching the moon rise over the water from inside the hot tub. It was a waxing moon and would be full a few days after Jean arrived. The bubbles roiled around her as she witnessed the silver light peek over the horizon while she sipped wine. She only allowed herself one glass for the walk and soak in the tub. That, she felt, was self-control.

  Sometimes she turned on the heater in the hot tub, but that evening she didn’t. It had been hot and humid, and she wanted the soak to be refreshing. There were additives for the hot tub in the downstairs closet. She had sprinkled grapefruit bergamot in the water before starting the bubbles. It was a tangy herbal aroma, but she wasn’t sure it was any better than the briny, natural sea scent that drifted over the dunes.