Search For Reason (State Of Reason Mystery, Book 2) by Maxwell Miles A

Author:Maxwell, Miles A. [Maxwell, Miles A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: B B Broadington LLC
Published: 2015-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

Surf’s Up!

An American flag at half-mast, flapping loudly in the offshore wind, was the only visible indication the country had been attacked, that so many had died. The palms were one-sided, their wide green fronds all downwind.

As if New York and Virginia had never happened, judges called out point decisions through the lifeguard tower’s loudspeaker. The final round of the famous 13th Annual Indialantic Beach Surf Classic was limited to three insanely brave, hot-looking wahinis — bikini-clad females in the surfer world — and seven of the toughest male surfers, all of whom risked the unusually large leftover surf of Hurricane Thomas, to gain bonus points in the final freestyle competition.

Two days ago, officials declared: “There will be no event this year out of respect for those who died.”

Eighteen top surfers had gone first to the media, then stood before the officials to declare there definitely would be a contest — with or without judges or sponsors. “What are we supposed to do — stay home? The attackers would not shut down their lives or their own natural joy of living. “Terrorists be damned!”

So today, it was on! And the surf was way, way up!

While the beach crowd watched, two boys, grinning like maniacs, cut back along the front of the swell, letting the curling water fold over their heads. As two of the youngest kids in the meet, most of the older guys razzed them for a couple of shrimps.

From the beach, it was easy for officials to tell them apart. The boy in the lead, white-blond hair streaming back with running water, wore red-and-yellow knee-length California-style trunks. The boy following, whose spiky red-brown hair reflected brilliant sparks from random sunbeams beginning to poke through the dark sky, wore green. Several young wahinis near the judge’s stand found it necessary to argue over which suit more nicely set off the boys’ startling sea-green eyes.

Unlike the other finalists, the boys didn’t care about points or the competition. They had entered to hang out with their friends, and to get away from an old tragic loss of their own. Five feet apart, they faded back into the dangerous ten-foot pipe of crashing water, and disappeared from view.

Hidden inside the folding water, the blond boy in red-and-yellow cut his board up tight while the brown-haired boy in green flew down the flowing ramp and shot forward, passing underneath. The blond slashed back down and followed after.

Together they shot forward out of the pipe.

To the screaming crowd, as to the judges, it was obvious. The green trunks were now in the lead, followed closely by the boy wearing red-and-yellow. Though the boys couldn’t hear it over the roaring water, the beach audience, upon seeing them reappear in different order, began jumping up and down, cheering wildly.

A tall, beautiful auburn-haired woman watched with somber satisfaction.

“Anyone know who they are?” a man wearing a press badge asked.

Mary Williams smiled. “They’re mine, I’m afraid.” She sighed, “And I suppose you’ll want to talk with them.

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