“Yes, I am,” Rosa replied. “In fact, vampires and medical examiners are my specialties.” She pronounced it “speshee-al-i-ties” and immediately realized how British she sounded at that moment. “One can usually find both hovering over someone newly cold,” she quipped.
“Ha! I like this girl!” Melvin Philpott chuckled and raised his glass. “To one of London’s finest.” They all raised a glass and took a sip, and Rosa couldn’t help but feel a tad embarrassed.
The group continued chattering, and Rosa soon wanted to be alone, even if to simply walk the beach and watch the sunset. With her shoes in hand, she placed her empty glass on the buffet table and wandered away from the crowd. Soon, all she could hear was the distant music from the band and the crashing of the surf. She sat down on a large piece of driftwood and released a slow breath. Had it only been five days since her mum and dad had taken her to the airport and waved her off?
The voices of two women coming from the beach behind her interrupted her thoughts. Turning to the sound, Rosa saw the two were immersed in an intense argument. In the fading light, Rosa could just make out the forms of Shirley Philpott and Florence Adams, seemingly too engaged in verbal sparring to notice her.
With the crash of the waves and the squawking of the seagulls flying overhead, Rosa couldn’t make out what was being said. Mrs. Philpott pointed at Miss Adams, who immediately slapped her cousin’s finger away. Shirley Philpott tried to placate the younger woman, but Miss Adams was having none of it.
Florence Adams shouted at the top of her lungs, “My glass is empty, and I know where to get some more of the good stuff!” She then stormed off in the opposite direction of the party. Shirley Philpott threw her hands up in the air one last time before she lumbered back to the gathering.
Rosa wished she hadn’t heard or seen the family spat and determined to clear her mind of it. Rising to her feet, she walked into the water and enjoyed the feel of the warm, gentle surf on her toes. She continued along the beach as it curved inward until the party was no longer in her line of sight, and the music had faded away.
Just up ahead, Rosa saw Flo Adams walking toward a bank of houses, each with porch lights illuminating the beach. Near a beach access stairway, Miss Adams met up with a man who wore khaki pants and a loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt. Even from this distance, Rosa could see he was fit and good-looking.
Determined to ignore the couple, Rosa continued her walk, but when she saw the man grab Florence by the arm, her police instincts kicked in, and she stopped.
Great, she thought. Just what she didn’t need in her life—more drama. How far did she have to travel to find peace?
After a moment, the man released Miss Adams’ wrist, but when she turned to leave, the man stepped in front of her. It disturbed Rosa when the man cupped the back of Florence’s head as if he intended to force a kiss.
Rosa took a step toward the couple, but then Florence swiped away the man’s hand and stormed off. Rosa stopped in her tracks and let out a breath of relief. She pivoted back toward the party before Aunt Louisa decided to send out a search party for her.
The smooth voice of the lead singer of the band grew louder as Rosa drew closer, and she recognized Frank Sinatra’s “South of the Border”. Despite all her previous efforts, her mind betrayed her by flying to the memory of an American serviceman of Mexican descent who’d been stationed in Santa Bonita during the war.
Private Miguel Belmonte had been Rosa’s first love. The first time he’d turned his smile on her, deep dimples in his cheeks, she’d melted like a plate of butter left in the hot sun. Rosa often wondered if the stolen moments she and Miguel had shared during those four wonderfully agonizing months so long ago had ruined her for anyone else. Was this why she couldn’t go through with marrying Winston?
The emotions rushed hotly through her as if the “shame” she’d brought on the Forrester family had happened only yesterday. Aunt Louisa had been livid, a living volcano, spewing lava of unkind words. Rosa had not only fallen for a poor man, but she’d also dared to love a Mexican. Mostly service people, especially in 1945, the Mexicans worked in mansions like Aunt Louisa’s and came in through the back door. This Belmonte boy would keep Rosa in poverty. Would ruin the family name. Did Rosa want that?
But seventeen-year-old Rosa hadn’t had much of a say. As soon as the war ended, Aunt Louisa booked her a ticket back to London, where her parents had eagerly waited, unaware of their only daughter’s broken heart.
Funny how returning to the place of one’s childhood stirred up so many emotional memories.
She walked closer to the band’s stage to join a handful of onlookers. The song was winding down to its end. The singer, dressed in khaki pants and a short-sleeve cotton shirt, hit the last note with a flourish and turned to smile at the crowd as they applauded. His gaze fell on Rosa, his copper-brown eyes registering surprise.
Miguel Belmonte.
Their eyes locked and everything around them—the people, the noise, Aunt Louisa’s throaty laughter—faded away, with only the sound of Rosa’s heart pounding in her ears like an angry thundercloud.
And then a woman’s shrill scream filled the air.
2
Rosa instantly sprinted towards the scream, every police reflex on full alert. So focused on the urgency of the moment, she failed to notice how her crinoline slip chafed her thighs, or how the sand stuck to
