Beach Thriller(44)

* * *



I’m about to descend the stairs when I hear Maeve returning from her swim. Peeking over the banister, I see her wrapped in a plush white robe, towel-drying her hair.

Conrad emerges from his office, greeting her with a frown. “Mother, I told you to come get me before going for a swim. It’s not safe, especially by yourself. I should at least be on the shoreline.”

Maeve waves off his concern. “I can think of no better way to die than being swallowed by the sea. I don’t need you playing Baywatch on my behalf. And I prefer to be alone. It’s meditative for me, and I have a moment’s peace away from that barnacle you stuck me with.”

I can guess who she’s referring to and take that as my cue to get back into the closet where I belong. Before I go, I hear Conrad defend me. “She’s a good kid, Mother, and she wants to help. Give her a chance, will you please?”

“I don’t know where your altruistic streak came from, but you didn’t get it from me. Fine, I’ll give her a chance, but not today. I have more important things to attend to. Tell the girl to take the rest of the afternoon off. We’ll start up again tomorrow.”

The girl. Could be a lot worse, I suppose.





Chapter 26

Holly




Holly took a deep breath, inhaling the ocean air. She had set up her al fresco office on the shoreline of Crescent Beach, where she watched the seagulls patrol the skies in search of an unattended bag of chips.

A pang of longing sank into her chest. All her favorite memories were here, from building sandcastles to boy-watching with Anna. The chair on which she sat was the same one she’d used to read the first two volumes of the Sookie Stackhouse series.

She had everything she needed for a productive workday: an umbrella for shade, a cooler full of seltzer water, and a legal pad and pen.

What she didn’t have were any good ideas.

She dug her toes into the sand, the grit pressing into her flesh like a pleasing foot massage. She sipped her drink and gazed out over the water at a scattering of white sails and the occasional frothy wake of a passing motorboat. If she couldn’t find inspiration here, perhaps she would never find it.

She came full circle, back to Beach Thriller. Jade’s enthusiasm continued to tug at her. Perhaps she could finish the story she stopped writing when Anna died. The tricky part was getting started again. Watching the looping circles of the sailboats wasn’t going to butter her bread.

After an hour of false starts and dead ends, she balled up the new pages and tossed them into the cooler, destined for the trash. Then the doubt set in: What if she’d thrown away something good—words she’d never get back? When she went to fetch them, one of the crumpled pages started taunting her like the damn thing could talk, a deep fold in the paper shaped like a mouth that moved up and down like a paper puppet.

Had she overdosed on sunscreen? Her imagination was certainly running wild.

You don’t know exactly what happened the night Anna died. Find the answers. Clear your conscience. Finish your story.

“Fuck off,” Holly said, closing the lid on the cooler with authority, silencing the puppet.

But she hadn’t silenced her phone, which rang, shocking her out of her reverie. Holly contemplated letting Dan’s call go to voicemail. She had no progress to report. Her agent wanted to talk? Fine. He could know the sorry state of her existence.

“Holly, it’s Dan,” he said in a cheerful but officious manner. Didn’t he know that all incoming calls had caller ID? She let it go.

“Dan, how nice to hear from you,” she lied.

“Look, I wanted to apologize if I was pushy on the phone the other day. I’m never that way with my clients, and I don’t know what came over me.”

Holly thanked him for his concern, assured him it was fine, but she understood the real reason for his call.

“No flashes of inspiration yet. But you’ll be the first to know when the muse strikes.”

Holly swore she could hear her paper puppet calling out from the cooler in a sibilant, evil little voice. Find the answers … finish your novel …

“I still think you should try your hand at a romance—those are perennially popular. Maybe pick up a summer fling for yourself so you have real-life material to work with.”

Holly groaned. How sad that even Dan knew it had been way too long.

“Look, Dan, I have to go,” said Holly. “Jade will be home from work soon, and I have to get dinner ready.”

“Jade?” Dan asked. “Who is Jade?”

“Long story.”

“Can you write it?”

Holly almost laughed. “I promise I’ll call when I have pages to share, okay? I’m going to get there.”

“I believe in you. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

God, she hated when he used the “pep talk” voice.

No sooner had Dan ended the call than her phone trilled again. It was a FaceTime request from Shae. How the hell was she supposed to get any writing done? Holly braced herself for the conversation. Shae had a way of seeing through her masks.

One tap, and there she was, her smiley, life-is-perfect, I-love-California face, filling the screen.

“Haven’t heard a peep from you, and that makes me worried.” Shae raised an eyebrow.