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  Bodies on the Beach

  A Hang Ten Australian Cozy Mystery

  Stacey Alabaster

  Fairfield Publishing.com

  Copyright © 2018 Fairfield Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Message to Readers

  1. Claire

  2. Alyson

  3. Claire

  4. Alyson

  5. Claire

  6. Alyson

  7. Claire

  8. Alyson

  9. Claire

  10. Claire

  11. Alyson

  12. Claire

  13. Alyson

  14. Claire

  15. Alyson

  16. Claire

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Thank you so much for buying my book. I am excited to share my stories with you and hope that you are just as thrilled to read them.

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  1

  Claire

  Having admirers was nothing unusual for me. But on this day, I wanted to remain incognito. I was dressed in black, shades on, as I drove back into town, trying to dodge the stares coming from overhead. Caw-caw. I know a bunch of crows is called a ‘murder,’ but what about seagulls? They swooped down and followed me. I knew exactly what they wanted. Food. When tourists come to the beach, that’s what they bring with them.

  Except I wasn’t a tourist. Well, not exactly. Certainly not a local. Not any longer. And with the seagulls hovering, I was concerned that they were about to decorate my expensive, freshly cleaned car, so I increased my speed around the bends that would bring me home.

  The sign came into view.

  “Welcome to Eden Bay.”

  Population four thousand. A generous estimate that included surrounding areas.

  Underneath the writing, a dolphin was doing a backflip that seemed to defy gravity over sparkling waters. The waters in Eden Bay did tend to sparkle. As the ocean came into view, my shades were suddenly needed for more than just style.

  Eden Bay welcomed me back and I felt stabs of nostalgia in my stomach as I rolled around town. To my left, the skatepark where I had spent so much of my youth, and the waves where I had spent my teenage afternoons on a board, risking broken wrists and ankles in order to catch the next wave. Now, glancing at my slick icy blonde hairdo in the rearview mirror and perfectly made-up face, I wondered how I could ever have been such a tomboy.

  There was jaunty music. There was an ice cream van, with the once-colorful stickers on the side that were slightly faded and peeling off, but that didn’t stop the kids from taking a break from making sandcastles and lining up with joy for the cones that were overpacked and underpriced. How did the ice cream man ever manage to make a profit? Eden Bay always seemed slightly untouched, removed from the modern world, decades behind the world I now inhabited.

  There were sideways, envious glances at my Porsche as I drove down the wide streets. I just smiled safely behind my dark shades and flipped my hair back over my shoulder. My car always attracted this sort of envy. So did I, a lot of the time. Hey, let them be jealous of my success. I earned it.

  I pulled up to the curb, hoping not to be recognized.

  “Claire Elizabeth Richardson?” The voice was sing-songy, yet deep at the same time. It had been a long time—almost a decade—but I recognized that voice. It was the one I’d heard when I was in trouble for wearing the wrong uniform, and the one I’d heard when I was getting congratulated on another A+. Great. My high school English teacher, Mr. Carbonetti. He must have been very young when he was my teacher, because even on that day he stood there, youthful-looking with only a little bit of grey in his still spikey brown hair. He’d always been my favorite teacher while I was at school, and English had always been my favorite subject. But now… Well, I didn’t want anyone making a fuss of my arrival. And Mr. Carbonetti was the kind of person who made a fuss.

  I grimaced a little and turned around. “That’s me,” I said, taking off my sunglasses, letting my ice blonde hair sway in the sea breeze. I didn’t look too different either—just an improved version of myself that trips to expensive hair salons and designer boutiques could buy.

  Mr. Carbonetti—I was struggling to remember his first name, teachers never seem to have one, do they?—nodded to the bookstore I was standing in front of. “Back in your old hunting ground, I see?”

  I nodded and took a deep breath, looking up at the store that said, “Fabled Books.” Two stories tall, it seemed even taller in that moment, as though it reached all the way to the sky.

  It had been almost two months since my grandma Mable had passed away. Most of her belongings, and her house, had been left to my dad. But to my surprise, the bookstore had been left to me. According to my grandma’s will, I was the one it meant the most to.

  The bookstore was a real mishmash of new and secondhand books, every single genre you could think of (and some you couldn’t), and my grandma had always had a generous ’swap’ policy, where you could bring in any book you no longer wanted and swap it with any book in the store. Yes, as you can imagine, that resulted in something of a loss when people would switch their ratty forty-year old paperbacks for a brand new hardcover bestseller. Still, the store had somehow managed to stay afloat for thirty years. My grandma had first taken it over four years before I was born and kept it until the day she passed away. The same day I turned 26.

  Mr. Carbonetti was grinning from ear to ear. “Are you back in town for good?”

  “Just a quick in and out visit, I’m afraid,” I said, breaking the news to his disappointed face. “Tying up a few loose ends.”

  “We were all so sad to hear about your grandmother. Mable was a big part of this community. She is greatly missed.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Outside the bookshop, I was greeted by the lady who was in charge of my grandma’s estate, Dawn Petts-Jones. She was a local solicitor and owned the closest thing to a law firm the town had. She handled pretty much every single legal matter anyone in town had and she was always willing to put in the personal touch. “It’s good to see you, Claire.” She unlocked the door and let me inside.

  The place hadn’t changed in the last thirty years. Amongst the books there were wind chimes that blew and chirped as the wind hit them, and it always smelled like incense. I sighed when I saw how dusty some of the ancient texts up on the top shelves were. It wasn’t just the shop that hadn’t changed in decades, some of the books hadn’t been moved in that long either!

  I climbed up the creaky stairs to the second floor, where most of the fiction was kept. The old romance novels, the western adventures, and my favorite section—the murder mysteries. I ran my hands along the spines and remembered evenings spent curled up in the corner of the shop, insisting that my grandma kept the lights dimmed to add to the atmosphere while I read, while she tutted and told me it was going to ruin my eyes, but turning down the lamps for me anyway.

  It had been a while since I’d had the time to read. My job as a movie producer kept me far too busy and these days, the only thing I had time to read were messages and emails from actors and directors, complaining about scripts and call times and quite often at war with each other. I could see that my phone was already piled up with emails. I ignored them. For now. I’d have to deal with them later whe
n I got back to my motel room.

  I sneezed. At first, I thought it was just the dust from the books. Then I saw a grey, longhaired ragdoll cat slink out from behind one of the shelves, looking grumpy like I had disturbed him from a long sleep.

  “Oh, is that Mister Ferdinand?” I exclaimed in shock.

  I knelt to gently pet him, while he reluctantly purred. “I can’t believe you’re still alive…” I stood up and turned back to face Dawn. “Has he just been here the entire time? In the bookstore?”

  Dawn nodded. “This is his home. Neighbors have been checking up on him. Feeding him.”

  I knelt back down and he snuggled into the palm of my hand. He was probably missing my grandmother. I was still shocked that he was around. He must have been seventeen years old, at least.

  I sneezed again.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty dusty in here,” Dawn said.

  I nodded and tried to find a tissue in my purse.

  “It will get better once it’s been cleaned,” she said.

  “I don’t plan to be here that long,” I said, before leaving the shop for some clean air.

  I tapped my foot impatiently and cleared my throat. Why did everyone in Eden Bay have to walk so slowly? The greasy fish and chips packet in my arms, that I was hugging like a baby, was starting to go soggy. If I was going to eat such terrible food, I at least wanted it to be hot. Well, okay, I have to admit that I secretly love fish and chips. My diet in Sydney consisted mostly of quinoa salads and veggie juices.

  I was missing the hustle of the city right then though, and the temptation to check my phone was becoming overwhelming. I told myself, Just a few more days and you’ll be back.

  “Excuse me?” I said, trying to push my way through the lazy crowd heading down to the beach. I glanced over at the ocean. Why would anyone want to stay in this place? I mean, I got that it had pristine white sands and water that stretched on forever, but it was the kind of place you visited for a two-week vacation, then got bored and went back to your own life. There was no opportunity for development here. I felt sorry for all the people I’d left behind while I’d gone to spread my wings.

  I was almost knocked over by a skateboarder right as I reached the bookstore. I was about to blast her when my heart stopped.

  I quickly ducked back into the shop.

  Please tell me she didn’t see me.

  I could still see her outside the window so I pressed my nose gently to the glass and peered out, watching her struggle to maintain balance, long, wavy hair going everywhere, as she flew down the footpath. She toppled when she got to the end of the road and fell forward right off the board. Of course she did.

  Let me tell you a little bit about Alyson Faulks. Same age as me, but the complete opposite. 26 and refusing to grow up, ever. Unambitious. Dreamy. The kind of laidback that drove people like me crazy.

  Sure, we had been best friends when we were twelve years old. But that was a long time ago.

  She was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a bright blue tie-dyed shirt, and it looked like her hair hadn’t been brushed in days. Probably because it hadn’t been. She also preferred saltwater to clean her hair, as opposed to actual real shampoo and conditioner.

  Once, we had been two peas in a pod. But whereas I had grown up, left Eden Bay, and made an actual career for myself, Alyson had grown deep roots here. She refused to ever leave Eden Bay, in fact, and I wasn’t sure she had even traveled further than the next town down the coast where they held the annual surf competition. She claimed that in life, you only needed three things: surf, sand, and skateboards. She thought that if you just sat back and relaxed, then things would all fall into place. But I knew better. If you wanted something, then you had to walk up and grab it.

  Dawn wandered over to the window to see what I was gawking at. “Isn’t that a friend of yours?”

  “Not anymore,” I said, closing the blinds.

  “Let’s get some of these dusty old books packed up,” I said, wiping my hands once I had finished my fish and chips. “Otherwise, no one will ever want to buy this place. Not in this state.”

  Dawn looked a little downhearted. “I think these old books give the place their charm,” she said, glancing around.

  “Well, they look like they belong less in a bookstore and more in a rubbish bin,” I said, reaching up to the top shelf to grab an old book on local railways that had at least a millimeter of dust on the top.

  Dawn seemed like she wanted to say something but was holding back, like it wasn’t her place to speak. But eventually, she did. “You know your grandmother didn’t want you to sell this place, don’t you? She wanted you to have it.”

  I climbed up on the step ladder and coughed when the dust hit my face. “I don’t have time to run a bookstore, Dawn. I basically run a movie studio.” I picked up a thick book on the history of Eden Bay that was almost the size of me and sneezed again, covering myself with dust! I groaned and looked down at my designer suit, which was now absolutely covered. Along with my hair. I was distraught.

  Dawn eyed me with amusement, though she tried to hide her laugh. “Maybe a more casual look would work better in Eden Bay…” she said with a raised eyebrow while I dusted myself off.

  Well, if she thought that I was going to give up my Chanel suits, she had another thing coming. Why did people in this town have to be so small-minded anyway? There was nothing wrong with dressing well and taking pride in your appearance. Though people like Alyson Faulks would clearly think otherwise.

  There was suddenly an ear-piercing noise. Mr. Ferdinand woke up from his most recent nap and let out a grumpy little meow at the intrusion. “What is that?” I said to Dawn, dropping my book.

  Sirens.

  Dawn and I looked at each other. There were never sirens in Eden Bay. The population was young. Crime was low. I wasn’t even sure we had a police station.

  We both walked over to the window, Dawn pulling the blinds up while I picked up Mr. Ferdinand and stepped outside to ask the milling crowds what was happening.

  Someone was dead on the beach.

  2

  Alyson

  I was whistling as I walked along, hands in pocket, waving to the people I passed. Oh, look! My old English and homeroom teacher. He waved back and asked how I was. “Wonderful,” I replied. “Just like every day!” I was never one of his favorite students. I was more likely to scrape by with a C- in English class. My niece J waved to him as well. In a few years, he would be her teacher. Strange to think that time rolls by like that. I guess I don’t think about time passing that much though. I took every day in Eden Bay as it came.

  The sky had been pink that morning. My favorite color. Well, apart from yellow and orange. I also like blue, and red, and purple. Well, I like every color.

  Anyway, there’s a saying, I think, that goes, “Red sky in the morning, devil’s warning?” But what did a pink sky mean? I like to make up my own sayings and make my own meanings up as well. Maybe a pink sky meant an angel’s warning.

  Either way, it was definitely a warning. When I woke up that morning, I just felt like a strange vibe was in the air.

  But by the time lunchtime had drifted around, I had more or less forgotten about it and I was back to my cheery, relaxed self. The sky above Eden Bay was a pale blue by then, with only a few little gumdrops and streaks of white.

  It was my day to look after J, my eight-year old niece and my little doppelganger. I’d let her have a “J Day,” which meant she got to decide what we did. I’m more of a surfer girl, but J had decided we were going to ride skateboards ‘round town. I was a little wobbly as I stepped up onto the board in the main street and tried to keep my balance. J was laughing at me as I stacked it on the curb. I looked down at my scuffed knees and grinned.

  But J had something far scarier than a skate in mind for “J day.”

  “You told me we could do anything,” she said, pouting as I stared up at the shop in front of me. A hairdresser salon.

  “Uh, no wa
y,” I said when I realized what she wanted me to do.

  “Why not? Just a few inches off!” J exclaimed.

  There were two reasons why. One—I always cut my own hair. Why would I pay hundreds of dollars for something I could do myself for free? Two—the owner of the salon, Brian, spells his name with a I. Why would you ever spell a name with an I when you could spell it with a Y?

  J was not taking no for an answer. “You haven’t had a change of haircut in…a billion years!” she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. Well, she’d only been on the planet for eight years. That probably felt like a billion to her.

  I glanced at myself in the reflection of the shop window. Hey, beach waves were in, right? They were always in in Eden Bay, no matter the year or the decade, and sometimes I forgot what year we were in anyway.

  I grinned and said, “No way times ten!” before making a dash of it, skateboard tucked under my arm as I tried to run in the opposite direction while J dragged me back.

  “Come on,” she whined, with a little pout and puppy dog eyes—a look that always worked on me. “Just a little trim. I want to see you looking beautiful.” She put her hands up in a little prayer position like she was begging me.

  Hmm. An idea came to me. I placed my hands on my hips and looked down at her with a naughty grin of my own. “I will if you will.”

  J’s own hair was tied back in a ponytail and she had a baseball cap on backwards. Much like me, she never cut it, keeping it long and natural. She could have been mistaken for a mini version of me, even though I was only her aunt.