The Perfect Staging for Murder by Kathleen Bridge

Author:Kathleen Bridge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mysteries & Thrillers
Publisher: Beyond the Page
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

Georgia made a quick right onto Ditch Plains Road. When we reached the beach parking lot, I looked ahead and saw Patrick’s Navy Range Rover.

“He’s here! I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I think of this in the first place? I know Patrick’s favorite way to escape is to go surfing. He once told me that when it’s just him, the ocean, and the sky, he feels like he’s inside a Nirvana bubble.”

“I know that feeling,” Georgia said, pulling the car into the spot next to Patrick’s. “There’s nothing like it. I like the analogy. Nirvana bubble.”

I glanced over at Georgia’s short-cropped white hair and thin muscled frame. It was hard to believe that not only did she surf, but she’d also talked meat-and-couch-potato Doc into buying his own surfboard. Doc was still learning. Georgia called him a grom, an Australian surfing term for a newbie surfer. Patrick had once called me a hodad, another Australian term, meaning someone who hangs on the beach watching the surfers. What he didn’t know was that I wasn’t watching other surfers—only him. And even though I thought of him as my Moondoggie, I never progressed to the level that actress Sandra Dee did in the movie Gidget. Perhaps, if I practiced on my bed with a surfboard, like Gidg did, I’d be more proficient at the sport.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Georgia said, turning off the ignition. “I want to get back to the shop, but I’ll wait until I know Patrick can take you home. Leave me your car keys. I’m meeting Doc later. I’ll follow him to your cottage, and we’ll drop off your car.”

I dug in my bag and handed her my keys. “You’re the best,” I said, blowing her a kiss. Then I got out of the car and headed toward the wood-planked walkway that led to the beach. Glancing over at Patrick’s car, I noticed that both of his surfboards were on top on the Range Rover. He always brought two. Apparently different boards were good for different weather conditions.

When I reached the end of the walkway, yellow caution tape stretched from railing to railing. A sign hung from a post beyond the tape that read Beach Closed. I leaned over the tape and looked to the right. Patrick usually stowed his gear next to the lifeguard station. Nothing was there, including a lifeguard. Lifeguards on Montauk beaches didn’t show up until Memorial Day Weekend. You had to surf at your own risk.

I ducked under the caution tape and looked out at the calm sea. As far as I could see, there wasn’t a soul in the ocean. The swells weren’t huge, but they were big enough to provide a few surfing thrills. As picture perfect as the Atlantic looked, and as bright as the sun was, I knew the water temp in April was somewhere in the low forties. Another reason to practice surfing Gidget-style on my bed—at least until the end of July.

For a moment, I got lost in a sea trance.

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