The Haunted Beach (Tropical Breeze Cozy Mystery Book 4) by Mary Bowers Page A
Authors: Mary Bowers
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with?”
“Are you implying that my wife has left me?”
“I’m just trying to work out the possibilities, Mr. Peavey. We have to look at it from every angle.”
“Of course, of course,” he ran his hands through his wild hair and tried to concentrate. “Look, she might have gone down to check on one of the neighbors. She’s very fond of Dolores. Mrs. Dolores Brinker. She lives in the big house at the end of the block. There’s a big age difference, but it never seemed to matter. Dolores is interesting. She’s had a very different life – a very privileged life. She’s a Strawbridge, you know. I never thought about it before, but I suppose Dolores is kind of like my wife’s fictional heroines. The pawn of a domineering mother, who defied her mother and married the man she loved. I suppose if Peggy is with anybody, it’s Dolores. The only other ladies in the neighborhood are Willa Garden and Claire something. Willa doesn’t seem to be particularly close to anybody, and Claire hasn’t lived here long enough for anybody to get to know her. Peggy wouldn’t be with either one of them, especially not in the middle of the night.”
He stopped suddenly, as if he’d just come up against a barrier.
“Anything else?” Bruno prodded gently.
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“If it would help us find your wife . . . .”
“I don’t think it will, but I may as well go ahead, or you’ll think I’m hiding something. Dolores Brinker has been having . . . problems lately. She thinks her mother’s ghost is haunting her. If you want the full story, you’ll have to go to Information Central – the cleaning ladies. That’s it! Dolores has been going out on the beach at night, thinking her mother is there. Peggy must have gone down there to check on her. I bet she’s at the Brinker house right now, putting Dolores to bed or something.”
He was halfway to the front door, running, when Detective Bruno called him back.
“She’s not there. Please come back and sit down, Mr. Peavey.”
Parker came slowly back and sat in the pretty little white-painted desk chair, looking wary.
“How do you know she’s not there?” he asked. “And how did you get here so fast? Even if Ed called right after I told him –“ He stopped, as it began to dawn on him. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Mrs. Brinker drowned last night. Do you think your wife might have been with her?”
With that Parker lost the little composure he had, and wasn’t able to answer any more questions. Unable to restrain him anymore, the detectives gave up and went outside with him, where he ran ahead of them down to his neighbors in front of the walkover.
A St. Augustine Beach patrolman was at the end of the walkover looking as if he didn’t know whether to guard, comfort, separate them or tell them all to go home. His assignment had been to keep the homeowners of Santorini off the beach. He remained silent as the neighbors and the police detectives came together. Since there was only one patrol car and one unmarked car in the drive, the rest of the response team had to be out on the beach.
“Have you seen her?” Parker asked desperately as he ran up to Rod Johnson, Willa Garden and Edson Darby-Deaver.
“Sorry, Parker,” Ed said. “Peggy isn’t here – not in the Brinker house and not in Frieda’s house. Not in anybody’s house. We checked, and the cop here communicated with the guys on the beach. They’re looking now, but there’s still no sign of her.”
Parker began to dissolve in the driveway, and Willa, whose house was closest, said, “Let’s get him inside.”
Rod and Ed took Parker by the arms and guided him up the driveway.
Over his shoulder Ed said, “I haven’t forgotten about that camera, Officer. But as you can see –“
“Just take care of your friend,” Bruno said. “I’ll be around.”
“What camera?” Parker asked.
Ed got a wild look on his face and rolled his
“Are you implying that my wife has left me?”
“I’m just trying to work out the possibilities, Mr. Peavey. We have to look at it from every angle.”
“Of course, of course,” he ran his hands through his wild hair and tried to concentrate. “Look, she might have gone down to check on one of the neighbors. She’s very fond of Dolores. Mrs. Dolores Brinker. She lives in the big house at the end of the block. There’s a big age difference, but it never seemed to matter. Dolores is interesting. She’s had a very different life – a very privileged life. She’s a Strawbridge, you know. I never thought about it before, but I suppose Dolores is kind of like my wife’s fictional heroines. The pawn of a domineering mother, who defied her mother and married the man she loved. I suppose if Peggy is with anybody, it’s Dolores. The only other ladies in the neighborhood are Willa Garden and Claire something. Willa doesn’t seem to be particularly close to anybody, and Claire hasn’t lived here long enough for anybody to get to know her. Peggy wouldn’t be with either one of them, especially not in the middle of the night.”
He stopped suddenly, as if he’d just come up against a barrier.
“Anything else?” Bruno prodded gently.
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“If it would help us find your wife . . . .”
“I don’t think it will, but I may as well go ahead, or you’ll think I’m hiding something. Dolores Brinker has been having . . . problems lately. She thinks her mother’s ghost is haunting her. If you want the full story, you’ll have to go to Information Central – the cleaning ladies. That’s it! Dolores has been going out on the beach at night, thinking her mother is there. Peggy must have gone down there to check on her. I bet she’s at the Brinker house right now, putting Dolores to bed or something.”
He was halfway to the front door, running, when Detective Bruno called him back.
“She’s not there. Please come back and sit down, Mr. Peavey.”
Parker came slowly back and sat in the pretty little white-painted desk chair, looking wary.
“How do you know she’s not there?” he asked. “And how did you get here so fast? Even if Ed called right after I told him –“ He stopped, as it began to dawn on him. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Mrs. Brinker drowned last night. Do you think your wife might have been with her?”
With that Parker lost the little composure he had, and wasn’t able to answer any more questions. Unable to restrain him anymore, the detectives gave up and went outside with him, where he ran ahead of them down to his neighbors in front of the walkover.
A St. Augustine Beach patrolman was at the end of the walkover looking as if he didn’t know whether to guard, comfort, separate them or tell them all to go home. His assignment had been to keep the homeowners of Santorini off the beach. He remained silent as the neighbors and the police detectives came together. Since there was only one patrol car and one unmarked car in the drive, the rest of the response team had to be out on the beach.
“Have you seen her?” Parker asked desperately as he ran up to Rod Johnson, Willa Garden and Edson Darby-Deaver.
“Sorry, Parker,” Ed said. “Peggy isn’t here – not in the Brinker house and not in Frieda’s house. Not in anybody’s house. We checked, and the cop here communicated with the guys on the beach. They’re looking now, but there’s still no sign of her.”
Parker began to dissolve in the driveway, and Willa, whose house was closest, said, “Let’s get him inside.”
Rod and Ed took Parker by the arms and guided him up the driveway.
Over his shoulder Ed said, “I haven’t forgotten about that camera, Officer. But as you can see –“
“Just take care of your friend,” Bruno said. “I’ll be around.”
“What camera?” Parker asked.
Ed got a wild look on his face and rolled his
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