Retirement Can Be Murder

He broke off a rectangle and smelled it as he tried to take off his tie. Trying just made the knot tighter. He put the rectangle on his tongue and let it sit. It wasn’t melting yet. His fingerprints had a brown dust on them. He licked the tips of his fingers and waited for the chocolate to dissolve. He’d have to make it last. He felt it drip off the sides of his tongue. Water over a dam’s edge. It flowed to the back of his cheeks and stayed there, a singed sweetness. He broke off another square. Then another. Then two more after that.

When it was done, he looked in the mirror. He had chocolate on the corners of his mouth. It made it look like he was smiling. He wasn’t. He pulled the buttons of his suit jacket close to his stomach and stood in profile. Then he faced the mirror again. Why hadn’t he asked her to have a drink? What had stopped him?

He sat down at the computer and decided to get to work. Two e-mails. One from Gary and one from Thompson. He draped his jacket on the chair and started reading Gary’s e-mail first.

Dear Jacob,

I was going through some old things today and I saw something wonderful. A pair of 3-D glasses! And I was thinking, why not have the newspaper give out 3-D glasses? We could show the pictures of Sarasota in one more dimension than we do now! Three Dimensions! I was thinking that you could-

He wished he had another candy bar. He stopped reading and clicked on Thompson’s message.

Russo-what’s next? Remember our talk. I want to hear about something good. A really strong story.

The time stamp was from only a minute or two before. He was at the office late. Jake typed back frantically.

Sorry-had a late night. Went to banquet at a big local place. Have a great story. You wouldn’t believe it-a mad environmentalist stormed the stage. Threatened local developer, would like to do piece on tension between two parties. Condos: March of progress? Or environmental destruction? Violence or dissent? Freedom of speech, or chaos? Etc…great stuff.

He clicked send and went to the bathroom. When he came back, Thompson had already replied.

I like it.

Jake was surprised. Then he read on.

Good idea. People love banquet spaces. Bar mitzvahs, anniversaries. All that crap- give me a write up on the top places where retirees can throw a party. And get some good pictures, too. If possible, find a party with a celebrity host.

He wasn’t surprised anymore. He made the window disappear and went to the refrigerator for the two-liter bottle. He didn’t bother with the shot glass. He got out a mug.

The cream soda almost tasted sour. His body wasn’t used to the carbonation and the bubbles. He started burping. He took off his suit pants and put on a pair of shorts. As long as he was indulging, he might as well keep going. He went back to the computer.

He hadn’t done it in a while. He’d had self-control. But he pulled up the site now without thinking about it. All the old feelings rushed back. The excitement, the simple comforts. Relaxing and engaging at the same time. He signed in and looked over his shoulder, as if someone might see what he was doing.

It was like riding a bike. He went to a thread about an episode in season three and corrected a classic troll’s interpretation. Why had he been hiding it? No one understood Buffy The Vampire Slayer like he did. None of them could grasp the nuance or understand the hidden meanings. He belonged on the message boards, writing fan fiction and summarizing episodes.

He fixed a quote about Oz. His eyes glazed and he was almost calm again. He asked for a citation for a statement about season two. He argued that a character on the television show didn’t deserve their own biography. He felt full again and leaned back in his chair while he looked at the windows and exhaled.

Then he saw himself in the mirror, sitting there with his shirt and tie on, wearing shorts, the chocolate still staining the corners of his mouth. And the Buffy message boards open. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do it again. Any of it. And there he was. It was late, but he wouldn’t be going to bed soon. He could tell.

Why had it been so hard? Why couldn’t he ask her to have a drink? He looked in the mirror and had the answer. It was because of this. This was who he was. He wasn’t the person in the new suit, a person who deserved Mel. He was still this guy. Answering e-mails late at night. Eating chocolate. Drinking cream soda. Debating the impossible. He put his head against his arms.

Then the phone rang. It was her. He picked it up and started talking as quickly as he could.

“Mel! I’m so glad you called. I had been meaning to call you and I just didn’t feel like I could. But about tonight, I just wanted to say-”

“Jake,” she said. He stopped. Her voice sounded deeper and quieter.

“Yes?”

“I’m back at Sunset Cove. I drove home and got a call to come here. I thought you should know.”

“What is it?” Here it was. The boyfriend. He wiped the corners of his lips. “Is there…someone else I should know about?”

“Yes,” she said, almost whispering.

“What? Who?”

“Jake, I just can’t say it.”

He waited. She spoke again.

“I got the call and drove back here. It was a pair of teenagers. They were walking along our beach, by the concession building. They aren’t supposed to be here. They aren’t…”

“Are you OK?”

“The teens sneak on to the beach though. They can kiss behind the building. You can’t blame them. They were the ones who found her there. They thought she was asleep at first. But then she didn’t wake up.”

“Who? Who didn’t wake up?” He closed the laptop and looked into the mirror, waiting.

“It looks like it was peaceful. No convulsions. It was just her time.”

“What happened?”

“They found your friend Charlotte on the beach tonight.”

“My Charlotte?”

“Yes.” She exhaled into the receiver. “Charlotte’s passed away.”

CHAPTER 13

He’d thought the heat made sense at night. But now the cool seemed cruel. All the shadows were jagged and the water seemed too large. Near the beach, the winds were too strong. All of it was loud. How could he think that the heat made sense? Nothing made sense. Not now. He felt his feet sink into the sand. He’d be walking for a while.

He’d hung up after telling Mel he’d drive by in the morning. But he knew better than that. Everything would be changed in the morning. At night, he might have some idea of what the beach looked like when Charlotte had died. He’d put on a pair of jeans and started driving out to Sunset Cove. He stopped a full mile from the concession building where they found Charlotte. He hadn’t told Mel that he was coming. But Mel didn’t know that Charlotte had received a threat.

He walked quickly, first near the road and then closer to the shore where the sand was firm and wet. Ruined tennis shoes didn’t matter now. As he started to splash through the sand, he tried to trace everything in his head. When had it happened? And how had Charlotte died?

He ran past a sign to his left. The beach officially closed at 7:00, and he knew they flattened the sand at the end of the day. From the tracks he ran past, he could tell that a few people had walked along the beach since 7:00. One of them had been Charlotte. Except she never left.

So she had died at some point after seven, but before Mel had called him. Judging by the time of her phone call, it had happened before 10:00 PM. Somewhere in that three hour interval, Charlotte had died. Now he needed to know why and how it had happened. Had Charlotte actually been right? He tripped in the sand and almost fell down. He’d have to find out.

As he approached the concession building, he slowed his pace to a walk. Sand had stuck on the soles of his