Page 6 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“I literally stepped off the ferry less than thirty minutes ago. I was about to check in when you called.” I paused, glanced

around, and then said quietly, “Almost everyone here is with someone, but there’s this one guy. I think he works here. He’s

gorgeous.” Understatement.

“Ohhh,” the girls said together. “More,” Jane added.

Talking to my besties helped. If I was going to have a wild and crazy fling this week, I needed to prepare.

“He’s about six feet, lean, tan, muscles in all the right places,” I said. “Dark hair that curls at his collar.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know. I just saw him across the lobby.”

I glanced out and he was still there, talking to the same couple, laughing at something they said. Then he looked at me over

their heads, and I froze as our eyes met. Then I turned my back on him. I needed more time to prepare.

“And you didn’t introduce yourself? Right then and there?” Jane said. “Dammit, Mia! What did we tell you?”

I moaned. “Channel Elle Woods.” Legally Blonde was our favorite movie. We’d seen it a million times.

“Channel Elle, channel Elle,” they chanted.

I needed to radiate calm, cool confidence just like Elle Woods. And here I was, heart pounding, hiding in the gift shop.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Just do it,” Jane said. “This is the last time you can be wild and free. Next week, you’ll be thirty and chained to a desk

for the rest of your life.”

I should never have told Jane and Amanda about the promotion.

“Love you too,” I mumbled.

Amanda, the diplomat, said, “Jane, leave her alone. Mia, seriously, you want this. You need this. Have fun and don’t think about anything except the moment, okay? Promise to be spontaneous?”

“Promise,” I said. “Now I really need to check in so I can enjoy the beach.”

“I swear,” Jane said, “if you don’t have sex on the beach, I’m never speaking to you again. When Robbie and I went to Miami,

we...”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear about your sex life, not without at least three margaritas,” I said. Jane and Robbie had had sex

in so many public places that I was surprised they hadn’t been arrested for indecent exposure. “Love you both. Bye.” I ended

the call before they could say anything else.

I’ve known Jane and Amanda since college, and my life would be worse without them.

Three years ago, I introduced Amanda to my assistant, Braden, and they married last summer; Jane and Robbie had been together for nearly two years with their destination wedding scheduled for October.

Which would just leave me, Mia Crawford, the unattached hanger-on, the fifth wheel.

Because even if I found a man to share my bed this week, it wasn’t like he’d want to come home to meet my cats.

The gift shop was filled with clothing, bathing suits, hats, toiletries, souvenirs, and books. Lots and lots of books, more

than just the bestseller rack.

You’d think someone like me, who reads every day, would have brought enough books to get me through the week. Normally, I

would have, but Grams had called yesterday while I was in the middle of packing, needing help with a financial crisis. Hours

later, I realized she was short this month because she had given four hundred dollars to an environmental group, two hundred

dollars to an animal shelter, and fifty dollars to her distinguished neighbor who made six figures but apparently needed cash

for a date.

The causes might be worthy, but not if Grams couldn’t buy groceries. I’d already taken over paying for her rent-stabilized

fifty-five-plus apartment, utilities, and insurance out of the trust I’d set up for her—a trust she couldn’t touch because

she’d give it away. But I made sure she had money in her personal account so she could get her hair done, buy groceries, go

to a movie or lunch with a friend now and again. Yet ten days into the month, she was broke. She’d called me, and I had panicked

more than she had, thus forgetting to pack my books because I was in a rush this morning.

And if I didn’t have a book to read, I would literally die.

The clerk approached, a young woman with dark curly hair and a bright smile. In fact, all the staff I’d met smiled brightly—too

brightly. They were the Stepford Staff, I thought. Should I be worried?

“Can I help you find anything?”

“Just looking for a book.”

“This table here—” she gestured like Vanna White from Grams’s favorite game show “—holds books about the islands, the history

of the area, photography. Over there—” she again gestured broadly “—is the fiction section. We try to keep it stocked with

newer releases, but if there is something you’d like that we don’t have, I can order it from St. John. It’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, and turned toward the rack of new releases. Nothing called out to me. The covers were uninspired, the

titles boring, the authors not on my auto-buy list. And yes, some of the books I’d already read.

A table in the corner was tastefully decorated with flowers and a handcrafted sign:

BEACH READS!

Books left behind by guests

Free for your enjoyment

One of the books written by a popular author looked depressing. After I read the inside flap, my suspicions were confirmed—a

story about a lying, cheating spouse. No thanks. I’d already had one boyfriend who’d cheated on me...

The next book was about a pathological liar. Also dated one of those ...

And the third book was about love the second time around. Maybe... except, none of my ex-boyfriends ignited that spark

inside me that made me think we could or should get back together.

Jane and Amanda agreed with my Grams. “Mia, your expectations are too high.” “Mia, there are no Prince Charmings, only frogs.”

“The only perfect guys are in romance novels.”

Yet Jane was engaged to Robbie, who ran his family’s construction business, and Amanda was happily married to Braden, and

I know that they didn’t think their lovers were frogs.

They were partly right. I had high expectations. I didn’t want perfection; I just wanted someone who was perfect for me . What was wrong with that? If I was going to spend the rest of my life with a man until we were both old and gray and needed

hearing aids, shouldn’t I have someone I enjoyed spending time with? Someone who was smart and interesting and liked my cats?

Frustrated that I couldn’t even find one book that whispered “Read me,” I spotted, tucked under a historical romance, a book

with a torn cover.

It pained me—physically hurt me—to see a book in such distress. I picked it up, and though the lower right corner was completely

missing, the cover was still intriguing—clearly a romantic thriller with a man and woman on a speedboat flying through the

water while being pursued by men in black on a bigger, badder yacht.

Intriguing.

I read the back cover, noted the book was written by a debut author. In addition to the partly torn cover, the pages were

gritty and slightly expanded, as if someone had left the book in the bathroom while taking a long, hot shower. Normally, I’d

never read a book in such a sorry state, but it was the only story that spoke to me, and I needed something to read.

“Excuse me,” a female voice said.

I glanced up, but the woman wasn’t speaking to me. She hailed the clerk, who was straightening a display.

The clerk went to help her, and the guest complained that she couldn’t purchase something without charging it to the room.

“We’re not set up to take cash or credit,” the clerk said.

“That’s ridiculous,” the woman snapped.

I tried to ignore the rude woman. I took a selfie with the book I’d read on the ferry for my review, then left it on the table.

“Look,” the woman said. “I need to buy something and my boyfriend can’t know about it, because it’s a surprise , understand?”

She spoke so nasty to the clerk that I wanted to intervene.

As I was about to lend the clerk moral support, a man of average height, dressed in an impeccable summer suit, entered the shop and immediately said, “Ms. Morrison, follow me, and we’ll get this taken care of to your complete satisfaction.

” He motioned for her to join him, and Ms. Morrison said, “Thank you, Tristan. I should have come to you first.”

I grabbed postcards for Grams, Amanda and Jane, Mr. Cohn, and my neighbor who was caring for Nick and Nora, my cats. I brought

them to the counter and said, “Are you okay—” I glanced at her shirt “—Trina?”

She smiled. “Yes. How may I help you?” I figured she must deal with difficult guests all the time.

I showed her the postcards, and she provided stamps, all of which would be charged to my room. “There’s a box in the lobby

where you can leave them—the mail goes out to St. John every afternoon—or bring them to me and I’ll see to it.”

“I saw a newspaper on St. John.” Slight fib. I saw it on the boat. It was now in my purse. “There was an article about a missing

woman, Diana Harden. Did you know her?”

Trina didn’t say anything for a beat, and I had this sense that she was going to lie. “I don’t think she came in here while

I was working. But I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Then she smiled her Stepford Smile and rushed over to an older man who walked

into the shop.

Okay, I supposed it wasn’t professional for staff to chat about missing guests with current guests, but that was weird.

I stepped out of the gift store half hoping the super-hot demigod was standing there waiting for me.

How may I serve you today, Ms. Crawford? Shall I bring chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne to your room? Would you

like a private massage? Lavender lotion or vanilla?

I sighed, envisioning his hands working my sore muscles into complete bliss.

.. but he wasn’t standing there pining away for me.

Such was my life. I pushed him to the back of my mind (not too far back) and checked in.

I declined the escort but accepted the resort map.

The clerk—Henry—had helpfully circled my room, a separate cabin north of the main lodge, down a trail that led to other private cabins.

“Have a lovely week with us, Ms. Crawford.” Henry was as cheerful as Trina and the boat captain and everyone else who worked

here. Pleasant on the surface, but with a hint of... of what? Like they all had a secret.

I thanked him and headed down the path that led to my cabin.

The resort was built at the eastern base of a steeply sloping mountain. Hiking trails marked with names like “Tiki Walk” and

“Siempre Viva Vista” meandered away from the main area. A carved arrow pointed toward an eerie path darkened by a canopy of

huge fanlike leaves dripping with sea grapes. The dark serenity drew me toward the forked path. The left headed up the mountain

with a wooden sign that read “Hot Springs.” To the right, a flatter, narrower path framed with vine-covered trees was labeled

“Luz Luna Bahia.” Both looked inviting.

The resort was a maze, and the main path curved around to the beach on the opposite side of the lodge. As my cabin came into

view, voices broke the silence. A loud female voice said something indiscernible. Then a male said, “Keep quiet.” They came

from above one of the many paths that cut through the mountains.

Shielded only by the palm trees and flowering bushes that marked the stone path, I froze. One step forward and they might

see me. Which wouldn’t mean anything, right? Just walking to my room, don’t mind me, continue with your argument...

I looked up. Partially obscured by the palm leaves, Amber Jones’s bright yellow hat stood out among all the green.

So she had been meeting someone here. One point for Mia, the amateur sleuth.

Enola Holmes, eat your heart out.

I couldn’t move. If I continued to my cottage, they’d see me and think I was eavesdropping.

Amber was arguing with a man who was probably her boy friend. Or husband. Or maybe a married man she was having an affair with. Or a serial killer...

Stop. The unknown fate of the missing woman was clearly on my mind. Still, I didn’t move because now it would be awkward and

suspicious. Leaning into the huge jasmine bush, I was trying to make myself as small as possible when I heard, “You have until

Friday or you’re dead.”