Beaches, Blogging, and Bodies Read online

  I shook my head, certain she was wrong, but typed it in anyway.

  “Whoa. It worked.”

  “Told ya.”

  The browser was still open to her most recently viewed websites. And there was a very familiar looking address in one of the tabs.

  “My blog…” I murmured. “She was reading it on the day she died.” I was both flattered and slightly creeped out at the same time. “I didn’t even know she was a reader, or that she even knew about my blog.”

  “Oh yes,” Agatha commented as she peered over my shoulder. “She had become a big fan of yours. I turned her on to it, of course, but she had been reading it every day since. She loved the humorous style.”

  So, Matilda had been a fan of mine. As much as I felt pulled to go back to Pottsville, and felt guilty about staying, I couldn’t just leave Sandy Point without finding out who killed Matilda, could I? I had a responsibility, to my fan, to stay.

  I stared at the laptop screen, wondering what to write. It could be hard to write with some distractions, like the bright ocean sun shining directly in your eyes, but even harder with a woman standing right behind you, telling you what to write.

  Agatha had told me that the key to keeping a loyal fan base was to update regularly and to stick to a schedule. “You need to post at the same time, on the same days of the week, so that your readers aren’t disappointed.” I saw her shake her head in the reflection of the laptop screen. “And just because you’re here, doesn’t mean you get let off the hook.”

  “You’re not taking your own advice, though,” I pointed out, looking up at her over my shoulder.

  “Well, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

  I wanted to point out I had too. But she was right. My blog was still just a brand new baby and I had to tend to it. Hers was established and if she took a break, her loyal fans would still be waiting for her when she returned.

  I refreshed my site to take a look and check my stat counter—wanting to see how many eager readers I still had. “Wow,” I said, leaning forward to stare at the counter. I was still getting hundreds of views a day, even though I hadn’t updated once since I’d left Pottsville.

  But then I turned my attention to the actual content on the screen and realized that something was very wrong. Very wrong indeed. I didn’t recognize my own website. I didn’t recognize my own writing.

  “What is all this…” I cried out, leaning forward. The page was full of posts and words I did not remember typing. Had I written all this in my sleep? Had I taken total leave of my senses and forgotten that I’d ever written them?

  “How To Make A Stuffed Rabbit — The Classic Way.”

  The writing was prescriptive and stuffy, and the photograph of the doll rabbit was dressed in a little sailor’s outfit, and the poor thing had a miserable expression sewn into his face. The instructions made it clear that anyone who deviated slightly from the instructions was doing it entirely wrong; that the rabbit was supposed to look miserable and two hundred years old.

  I shook my head. “I would never write like this,” I said. “I don’t even know how to make a rabbit look so old-fashioned.”

  And I definitely wouldn’t write in such a serious, judgmental tone. I was horrified. I had been working to build a readership thanks to my quirky and irreverent writing style, not this strict tone that made readers seem like they were doing everything wrong before they’d even started.

  The post was dated the day before. “Well, I definitely didn’t update yesterday,” I said, staring up at Agatha, who was reading it all over my shoulder, looking as shocked and appalled as I was. “I was at the literary festival with you.”

  “Then how did all these posts get here? Is there a ghost updating your blog?” Agatha asked.

  I shook my head. “Not a ghost,” I replied. “A Brenda.”

  Chapter 6

  I was standing right on the edge of the ocean, hoping that would calm me down before I made the phone call. It hadn’t exactly worked. I wasn’t calm when Brenda finally picked up. I’d had to call her at the shop, and I didn’t even stop and ask if there were any customers there before I launched into my tirade.

  “Well, I don’t know why you’re getting so cross for!” Brenda finally exclaimed when she was able to get a word in. “I’ve been doing you a huge favor—taking time away from my own blog to help you! You should be thanking me, not screaming at me!”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and took a few deep breathes. Helping me? I should be thanking her? She had taken the one thing I had to myself, my creative output, my very own little site, and ruined it, by putting her Brenda stamp all over it.

  “How did you even gain access?” I asked her.

  “You left the login details on the computer at the shop!” Brenda was sounding more and more indignant, like I had truly brought all this on myself, like this was all my fault. “The shop, which, I may remind you, I have been looking after entirely on my own while you have been off sunning yourself at the seaside.”

  Not entirely what I had been doing. I tried to say something else, but Brenda would not let me speak. “And do I also need to mention that I am looking after your dog for you—your sick dog?”

  I was quiet for a few moments. “Yes, Brenda. I appreciate all that you are doing for me, but that does not give you the right…”

  “I will let you know if anything happens to Casper. Aside from that, I would appreciate it if you would stop harassing me!”

  Brenda slammed the shop phone down and that was the end of that.

  I wanted to throw mine right into the ocean.

  “I cannot believe this,” I stated, pacing back and forth once I was back inside the cottage. Jasper was just enjoying all the excitement of chasing me out to the ocean and then chasing me all the way back inside again. “She is ruining my reputation. I’d rather delete the entire website then keep her posts up for one minute longer.”

  “Hmm,” Agatha murmured and considered the matter thoughtfully. “You’ll have to change your password and delete her posts. Then write a post apologizing to any readers that she might have turned off or offended.”

  I nodded, but looked away.

  The thing was, Brenda’s posts actually had more views than mine. There was no way I was going to admit that to anyone though, least of all Brenda.

  Jasper barked at me before he jumped up on me, wanting a pat and attention. He was on my side, of course. “Good boy,” I said, tossing him a treat from the pantry.

  “This is just typical of her, though. Taking over, thinking she knows better, thinking that everything I do is her business.”

  I stopped pacing when I noticed something outside the window. A police car weaving its way down the hill.

  “What are they doing back here?” I asked. “I thought you said that the matter was close to being cleared up?”

  “I-I’m not sure,” Agatha said, nervously approaching the window.

  The police car drove off the road and parked right before the sand.

  Jasper was yapping at the backdoor. Despite the fact that we had just been outside, I couldn’t risk it if he actually needed the bathroom. All the floors in Agatha’s cottage were white. We hadn’t had any accidents so far, and I wanted us to keep our streak of being the perfect houseguests.

  “I can’t believe he’s back in town,” Agatha murmured from the front window.

  But I didn’t see what she was looking at, didn’t know what she was referring to, as I headed out the door.

  “Jasper needs walking!” I called out, grabbing his leash. I figured we could take a walk back to the news agency and say hi to Bill while we were at it. “I’ll be back in half an hour!”

  I laughed as Jasper started tugging on the leash, wanting to head in the direction of the walkway up to the cliffs.

  “Maybe we should head into town and visit your friend at the news agency?” I said to Jasper. He wiggled his tail in excitement. I never quite knew how much he understood, but sometime
s, he seemed to know exactly what I was talking about.

  Jasper loved life in Sandy Point. As we walked along, I couldn’t help but wonder whether, in his previous life, before he met me, his previous owners might have lived on the beach. But maybe the mystery of Jasper’s past was the one mystery I was never going to be able to solve. He had been brought into the rescue shelter as a stray, and that was all I knew.

  He sure was a fan of the beach, running along, flicking up sand, digging his paws into the sand, playing in the water. It would be a shame to eventually say good-bye to Sandy Point.

  We reached the top of the walkway and started walking up the hill toward town. I was enjoying the feel of the sun on my face and shoulders, and didn’t hear the vehicle behind me at first.

  I heard the sound of a police siren behind me and my heart skipped a beat. Not a full siren, but just a few quiet beeps letting me know that I needed to stop. I glanced down at Jasper. Had we been doing something wrong? He was on his leash and he hadn’t left any presents on the side of the road.

  My heart started to beat a little harder. Maybe I was the one who had done something wrong.

  I turned around and shielded myself from the glare of the police lights. I could make out a figure behind the wheel, but little more detail than that.

  The man stepped out of the car and I could not believe what I was seeing. It was a tall man with slicked back dark hair and a stern expression. One that I had encountered before, but never expected to see here.

  It was Detective Anthony Nicholas. The new boss from the Pottsville Police Department.

  “What…what are you doing here?” I took a few steps back, feeling a little dizzy. My head was a mess of confusion. I glanced around. Something didn’t feel right with the world in that moment. For the second time that day, I felt as though I was going completely crazy, that I couldn’t trust my own eyes.

  He nodded at me and even offered me a little smile. Out here in Sandy Point, he did look slightly less intimidating. “I guess it’s a bit of a shock to see me here.”

  “Yes, you could say that.” I just stared at him. “Do you care to explain what’s going on?”

  “I was part of the sheriff’s department here before my promotion and transfer to Pottsville,” he explained, slightly friendlier than he’d been during our first meeting. He shrugged a little. “To tell you the truth, I never expected to find myself back here in Sandy Point. Certainly not so soon, anyway. But, after what has happened, I was asked back for the investigation in the death of Matilda Spencer.”

  I gulped a little. I supposed his story checked out. Still, I was shocked by the coincidence.

  He sighed and looked up at the sky. “I thought I had said good-bye to this place for the last time.” He shook his head. “I guess you really can’t escape the past, though.”

  He did seem kind of like a different man than the one I had met in Pottsville. It was clear that he was not thrilled about being back in Sandy Point. He seemed down, disappointed.

  “Perhaps the matter won’t take too long to solve,” I said, trying to offer him some kind of condolence. “In the meantime, you can make the most of the sea air. We don’t get that in Pottsville.”

  He nodded. “I guess this is just the way life works out sometimes,” he said a little glumly.

  “Did you know Matilda?” I asked.

  He turned a little red at the bottom of his jaw and reached up to scratch it. “Not so well. Just the way that most people in this town know each other, I suppose.”

  I nodded and thought about this.

  “What about you?” he asked, placing his hands in his pockets. His face changed, and suddenly he was the man I’d met in Pottsville again.

  “What-what about me?” I asked.

  “Well, you seem to think it’s a large coincidence seeing me here. But I could say the same thing to you, Georgina. What brought you to Sandy Point this week?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. So, this was why he had pulled me over then. Not for a friendly chat, or to have a laugh about the coincidence.

  I straightened up and told him the truth. Most of it. “I’m just visiting a friend. Agatha.”

  “Right. The deceased’s best friend?” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t seem surprised by what I had said.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and frowned. “So, you arrived in town on the day that Matilda Spencer was killed?”

  “The following day, I believe.”

  “Hmmm. There really are a lot of coincidences taking place today, aren’t there, Georgina?” he asked, staring right through me.

  “I need to be getting back to the cottage,” I said, pulling on Jasper’s leash. “Let me know if I can be of any further assistance to you, Detective.”

  “Oh, I certainly will, Georgina.”

  “Please, I just go by George.”

  I hurried back to the cabin, eager to tell Agatha about the coincidence. I had to spill everything to someone, or I was going to burst! This was all just too crazy. Surely she would be interested to know that this man had practically been following me from town to town, stalking me; there was no way his intentions could be pure.

  “Hello, Agatha? We’re home again!” I called out, before making sure that Jasper’s paws were wiped on the mat before we entered the house. He’d been running on the wet sand and it had collected between his toes and nails.

  “Oh, Jasper, no!” I could see the trail of brown muddy footsteps on the pristine white floorboards. I groaned. That was going to take a decent amount of mopping to get rid of. Why was Jasper always like this?

  So much for us being the perfect houseguests.

  I chased after him, calling out an apology to Agatha as I went. “Terribly sorry, I will get all of this cleaned up if you can just show me the way to the mop and bucket.” I managed to grab Jasper before he hit the carpets and pushed him toward the backdoor and outside, where I grabbed a hose and washed him down.

  After I’d turned off the hose, I noticed how quiet it was and realized I still hadn’t heard a peep from Agatha, no cries of horror about the dirty floors or a greeting. Nothing.

  “Agatha?” I called out again, slowly walking back into the house. I told Jasper to sit outside and wait until he had dried off. “Agatha, are you home?”

  There was silence. I checked all the rooms, but they were all empty. There was no food cooking on the stove either.

  No sight of her. It was a little odd, so I walked out the front of the house, a few feet onto the sand, and checked the shore, in case she had decided to go for a walk. There was still no sight of her, so I figured perhaps she’d gone into town and I’d somehow missed her on the way back. Hey, I’d been distracted. I walked back to the house and dried Jasper off with a towel, a creeping feeling of worry coming over me. I told myself I was just being silly, but I shot her a text message anyway. “Just checking in. Should I start getting dinner ready?” I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could offer.

  When there was no response after an hour, I really began to worry.

  I found the number of the sheriff’s department.

  It was Detective Anthony Nicholas who answered. Great. I almost wanted to hang up right away.

  “It’s Agatha,” I said. “She hasn’t come home this evening.”

  There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

  “How long has she been missing Georgina?” He was still calling me that. The only other person who does that was Brenda, and there was really no point in trying to correct her or to get her to change her ways.

  “Well, an hour or so, I suppose. Maybe two.” I realized how feeble my complaint was, even as I was saying it. “Look, it may not sound like much, but there is a killer on the loose, isn’t there? Detective, I am worried.”

  “It’s only been an hour or two,” he said with another heavy sigh. “That’s hardly a missing person, Georgina. If she still hasn’t been seen nor heard from after twenty-four hours, call us back th
en. I’m sure she will return home at some point tonight. Try not to panic over nothing.”

  I hung up the phone, fuming a little. How condescending. Panicking over nothing, indeed. I had a perfectly good reason for fearing for Agatha’s safety.

  But perhaps he was right. Perhaps Agatha would return home safe and sound before sunrise. For all I knew, she had a hot date or something and was just ignoring her phone calls. I mean, she hadn’t told me about it, but maybe she was trying to protect her private business. That would be understandable.

  But Agatha never returned home that night.

  Chapter 7

  Jasper woke me up the following morning, desperate to go outside to do his business. It had taken me a while to fall asleep and I’d slept in, which wasn’t unusual for me. Still, everything else felt wrong that morning. As soon as I’d taken Jasper outside, still in my pajamas, I checked every room in the house and called out Agatha’s name a few dozen times, hoping that she might have come home or had just suddenly gone very, very deaf. It was all in vain.

  I picked up my cell phone and sat on the porch, staring at the ocean and wondering what I should do. There were little sailboats out on the water that day, in bright pinks and greens and blues.

  I wondered if I would get the same patronizing message from Detective Nicholas if I phoned again. Agatha had still only been missing for a little over twelve hours.

  I still had to try. I asked for him by name when I called, not that there were many options to choose from.

  “We will do what we can. But we have a bigger matter to solve right now, Georgina.”

  I hung up the phone and slowly put it down, still staring at the colorful boats out on the ocean. I was starting to wonder if I had made a mistake calling the police so many times. I was starting to think that might be the last thing Agatha wanted—anyone to know she was missing, that was. Especially the police.

  I remembered something she has said the previous day. “I can’t believe he’s back.” The words sunk like a stone to the pit of my stomach as I recalled them, now. She must have spotted Detective Nicholas on the beach. She’d sounded worried at the time, but I’d been too preoccupied with Jasper. Why would the sight of a detective worry her, unless she had something to hide?