Page 21 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

I clue her in? Brie was a kid—okay, she was starting college, but she was a teenager. Still, she had been here at the same time as Diana, and she’d already proven herself to be observant. She might

be able to fill in some of the blanks.

She looked at me with suspicion, so I just blurted it out. “I think the book belonged to Diana Harden. The missing woman.”

“The dead woman,” Brie corrected me bluntly.

“Yes.”

Brie nodded. “I saw her with a book. I thought she was writing in it—you’re saying she wrote in that book.” She reached for it again, but I held it away from her. She pouted. “Geez.”

“Let me explain first.” I wanted someone to confide in, but how did I explain my theory? “Diana was writing about people here

at St. Claire. Staff and guests.”

Her eyes widened. “ Really? Now you have to show me.”

“She wrote in sort of a code, and I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

Brie stared at me in disbelief. “I’m eighteen,” she said flatly.

I opened it to the middle and read one of the comments.

“‘A trophy wife and juggling a bimbo. Viagra much?’ Then she has a year, 2012, and drew what looks like a row of houses.”

As I said year , I wondered if I was wrong about that. Maybe the number meant something else.

Brie snorted. “Maybe the guy has a couple wives in different parts of the country.”

“Or multiple mistresses,” I said. I turned a couple pages and then read, “‘How much will he pay to keep his secret?’” I looked at Brie and said, “That comment doesn’t have a drawing, but it has a number, 522. I thought maybe a room number,

so I tried one of the numbers, and it’s not a room.”

“Good guess,” Brie said. “We’re in a cabin. We don’t have a number. It’s called the Jasmine Suite.”

“It’s like she’s writing whatever comes to mind when she sees someone. There are several notations that appear to be tracking

individuals’ net worth. They’re vague, but I’m a financial planner. I recognize some of the shorthand.”

“No names?”

“No, just these numbers and a few doodles.” I turned to the front of the book and read the comment that I had been mulling over all night. “She circled a passage about the book’s heroine, then wrote, ‘Sounds just my type. I hope she’s not too mad at me...’”

“Holy shit,” Brie muttered. “That sounds personal.”

“There’s a heart next to it, so I’m thinking it’s about a girlfriend, or maybe she just likes redheads? The heroine is a redhead.”

I bit my lip. I had been thinking of a possibility all night, and now it seemed so obvious that I wondered if I was embellishing

the thought in my head.

“What?” Brie asked. “You thought of something.”

“Amber is a redhead. And later in the book, Diana wrote that her #1 was going to be late, again with that little heart next

to the comment.”

“OMG, you think that Diana and Amber were an item?” Brie said excitedly.

“Jason mentioned that Diana was angry because her girlfriend was late to their vacation. But maybe I’m reading too much into

this.” I giggled at my unintentional pun.

“Don’t you follow news?” Brie said. “Amber Jones has been seen with the hottest guys and the hottest girls.”

I wasn’t up-to-date on popular culture, unless it was about popular books and authors. Plus, I wouldn’t call entertainment

gossip news . “I didn’t know she was that big an actress.”

Brie laughed. “She’s an extra. A couple of one-liners in movies, but mostly she plays the victim on crime shows where she

just has to lie on a slab and look like a corpse.”

I pictured Diana’s body and involuntarily shivered. “Well.” I didn’t know what to say. “I suppose we could find their social

media accounts and see if Amber and Diana have been together.” I considered Amber’s argument with Parker. “Do you know anything

about a thirtysomething guy who looks like a trust fund baby? Slim, sandy blond hair, has a dickhead vibe. First name Parker.

He and Amber were arguing yesterday. Then I heard him talking to his father on the phone.”

“Parker Briggs. Total dick.”

“I overheard him telling his father that he and Amber were trying to fix their relationship.”

“Really? Maybe.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”

“Have they been here before?”

Brie shrugged. “I’ve never seen them. But we come the same two weeks every year, right after school gets out. When Dad played

ball, we came in December—really nice then. I mean, it’s nice now, but June is also the beginning of hurricane season.”

I must have looked panicked, because Brie laughed and said, “They don’t have any major storms on the radar for the week.”

That relieved me. I’d seen too many pictures of the aftermath of hurricanes. I didn’t want to be in one.

I flipped pages on my notebook and started writing names and days. “Diana went missing on Sunday. Amber came over on the ferry

with me on Tuesday, but Parker was already here. Do you know when he got here?”

“Monday,” Brie said. “Word is that he made a last-minute reservation and was told there was nothing available. He made a stink,

and Tristan freed up a room—they always have one or two for people like Briggs. St. Claire thrives on those elitist assholes,

the ones who throw money around and have the clout to break a place.”

“I know the type. But not everyone here is like that.”

She shrugged. “Half and half.”

“I chatted with Nelson and Anja Stockton. They seem very nice.”

“Wannabe elitist assholes.”

“And David and Doug came over with me on the ferry. They were friendly.”

She shrugged. “Sure, I met them a couple years ago. Nice, but Doug has a stick up his ass. Makes sure that everyone knows that his husband saved my dad’s career. He drops the name of every baseball player David performed Tommy John surgery

on. And talks about their house and their vacations, and I want to ask, what are you compensating for, Doug?”

For a teenager, Brie was not only observant but insightful.

I made a note about Briggs. “So Parker arrived Monday. When did you get here?”

“Friday.”

“And Diana got here Friday, too, right?”

“Yes. We were on the same ferry.”

She looked over to what I was writing. “What are you doing?”

What should I say?

“Come on, tell me,” she pushed. “It looks like a timeline.”

“Diana was here for two days before she disappeared. If she really was blackmailing people, who? And—”

Brie leaned forward. “And you think someone here, on the island, killed her?”

I wanted to temper her enthusiasm—though I was just as excited.

“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “But it could have been an accident.”

“You believe that?”

I shook my head.

“Neither do I.”

“What did Diana do on Friday and Saturday? I mean, on Sunday morning she went to St. John. That was, according to the newspaper,

confirmed by the St. John police. You said she went to the spa on Friday, right?”

Brie nodded. “And she spent a lot of time lounging on the beach. That’s where I saw her the most. Reading that book.” She

paused, clearly thinking about something specific.

“What do you remember?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

It wasn’t nothing. “Brie, don’t hold back. I told you my theory.”

“What if I saw Gino Garmon in a heated conversation with Diana on Saturday night?”

“The night before she disappeared?”

“Yep.”

“Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“No. It was late, and I was hanging out at the dock. It’s peaceful there, no one’s around, but it’s off-limits to guests after dark.

I was sitting on the back of the ferry looking at the stars, and they were on the beach next to the dock.

I heard a shout, thought I was busted, but when I looked over, it was Gino and Diana.

He was angry. She was laughing. Then she got mad and pushed him.

He walked away first. But I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. ”

And now Gino was investigating Diana’s death. That seemed like a huge conflict.

“What do you know about CeeCee and Trevor?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t think either of them have been here before. They came in late Friday night.”

“Can you find out if Trevor’s married?”

Brie grinned. “Easy-peasy.” She pulled out her phone, then groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sherry. Shit.” Brie rolled her eyes. “My dad thinks we need to spend girl time together. He just texted me, reminded me I’m

supposed to be back in fifteen minutes so we can ‘do something.’ Like what? Talk? I can’t stand her.”

I thought back to my brief encounter earlier today. “She’s kind of possessive about your dad.”

“Right?” Brie said. “You saw it too. I mean, she’s had two husbands, you know. I don’t trust her.”

I had an idea. “I’m going hiking with CeeCee this afternoon. We’re meeting at the bar. I don’t know why I agreed, except I

felt kind of bad for her because she’s so friendly and her boyfriend is working all day. Why don’t you and Sherry join us.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“You’d be doing me a favor.”

Brie grinned. “She’ll hate it! Perfect.” She typed rapidly on her phone with her thumbs. I was fast, but Brie beat me. “Now

she can’t get out of it, because she won’t say no to my dad.” She turned her phone so I could read the messages.

Dad: Remember, you and Sherry have a girls afternoon. Don’t be late.

Brie:

Dad: Give Sherry a chance. It’s important to me.

Brie: I know

Brie: hey there’s this hike I really want to do totally easy trail so tell her to wear good shoes k?

Dad: Great idea! I’ll tell her. I’m meeting up with David and Doug, I’ll see you both when you get back.

I laughed and handed her back her phone. “Your dad likes emojis.”

Brie sighed dramatically. “I regret showing him how to use them. I’ve told him less is more, but whatev. He’s like at that

awkward age between Gen X and Millennial.”

“We need to do some research,” I said. “If we learn more about the people on the island, maybe we can figure out what Diana’s

shorthand means.”

“Like?”

“Trevor’s background, and maybe Gino Garmon. Where was he a cop? And if Amber and Diana were together.”

“Anyone else she wrote about?” Brie glanced at the book.

“Maybe, but I’m still putting it together.” If Diana had been writing about Andrew and Sherry, I didn’t want Brie reading about it without me knowing exactly what she meant.

“I’m not your Girl Friday,” Brie said. “Think of me as Dr. Watson. If I’m going to help you—and I can run circles around you

on the internet—then I want to know what you know.”

She turned her phone around again, and there was an Instagram post of Amber Jones and Diana Harden, arm in arm, at some charity

event.

My mouth fell open, and I grabbed her phone. “How’d you find this so fast?”

“What can I say? Cyber-sleuthing is in my blood.”

The picture had been taken at a children’s charity event in New Orleans six months ago. It was posted on the charity page,

and only Amber was identified.

Brie took her phone back. “I’ll see what I can find on Parker Briggs too.”

“Be careful with him,” I said, suddenly wondering if we should even be doing this. I was dragging an eighteen-year-old into something that could turn dangerous.

Because someone had killed Diana Harden.

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m serious. If I’m right and Diana was blackmailing someone here, on St. Claire, then they’re still here. Because everyone

who was on the island Sunday is still a registered guest.”

My words sank in.

“Okay, I get it,” Brie said, and got up. “I’ll be in full stealth mode.” She was halfway across the patio when she looked

over her shoulder with a smile. “One thing about teenagers? No one here pays us any attention.”