The screamer, a distressed young lady who seemed to be on the verge of fainting found her tongue. “Oh my God. I think she’s dead!”
Gloria, who appeared acquainted with the lady, ran over to support her. “Vanessa! Are you all right?”
Rosa’s gaze moved from her cousin and the poor girl who’d stumbled over the tragic scene to the body before them, a female with strands of wet blonde hair obscuring her face was soaked from the latest splash of waves. Rosa was quite sure the woman was dead but squatted low to put two fingers to the neck. She frowned. No pulse.
Rosa recognized the dress, now drenched and marred with bits of seaweed. She didn’t have to see the face to know who it was.
A crowd quickly gathered, and exclamations of surprise and distress could be heard as more people arrived. Rosa heard cries of “Oh my God,” “Is she dead,” and “Who is she?” circulate through the crowd.
As she turned the body onto its side, Rosa hoped to clear any water from the mouth, but none dribbled out. Failing to find any sign of life, she let the body fall back.
“Okay, everyone. Back away.”
Rosa instantly recognized the voice and glanced up at Miguel before standing and backing away as instructed. His shock at seeing her was still evident on his face. This time, he spoke loudly for the crowd’s benefit. “I’m a police officer. Please step back.”
Rosa blinked. A police officer?
Dr. Melvin Philpott, who had just broken into the circle and was breathing hard, said, “Oh my.”
Squatting, Dr. Philpott also checked the pulse. His face was grim. He finally turned to Miguel and slowly shook his head.
Rosa scanned the crowd. Experience told her that even if a death initially appeared to be accidental, it could just as well be a homicide. If it was, it was also likely that the killer was still in the area and might even be part of this charity fundraiser event. It was possible, if not probable, that he or she was in this very crowd, looking on.
Without drawing attention to herself, Rosa took a few steps back into the crowd to observe people’s reactions. The art of reading facial expressions and body language was something that her mother, a renowned London private investigator, had taught her.
A hush had descended on the stunned onlookers. Horror-struck people covered their mouths while others stood on tiptoes for a better view. A woman in the back mewed softly.
Rosa startled at the sight of her cousin Clarence, who made a right scene earlier about not attending another one of his mother’s events. Looking rather out of place on the beach, he wore belted shorts, and shoes with argyle socks pulled to the knee. He watched her intently with a strange, bemused look on his face. When had he arrived?
Rod Jeffers stood by his table in the distance leaning on an arm crutch. Next to him, Raul Mendez poked the sand with a stick while idly observing people’s reactions to the body. Shirley Philpott was nowhere be seen.
Rosa also noticed a man standing in the surf just in the shadow beyond the reach of the lights. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the man she had seen earlier trying to steal a kiss from Florence Adams. The man seemed to notice Rosa looking at him and quickly backed into the darkness. Rosa automatically catalogued these observations in her mind and looked at her watch to check the exact time. Apparently, the detective in her refused to go off duty.
In a loud voice, Miguel said, “Please, everyone remain calm. Can someone please run to the nearest phone and call an ambulance and the police department?”
Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Raul Mendez volunteered, turned, and jogged toward the parking lot and the nearest homes.
“Did anyone see what happened?” Miguel addressed the crowd. “Maybe up on the pier?” He scanned the group, but a sense of corporate dread fell, and no one spoke up.
“The tide is coming in,” Mr. Philpott said in a voice that was calm but firm. “We need to move her.”
Miguel nodded. “Okay, I need everyone to back away, but please stay on the beach until the police arrive. Until then, let’s let Dr. Philpott do his job.”
The crowd slowly dispersed with people wandering back to the safety of the stage and food area where the lights illuminated the beach. Most were speaking quietly and hugging each other. Speaking to the distraught Vanessa in soft tones, Gloria guided her away from the scene.
As Rosa approached, Aunt Louisa stood to the side, her mouth agape. “I can’t believe this is happening! All the planning, all the invitations, the food . . .” She threw her hands up in the air, her eyes hard with anger. “Is it really Florence?”
Rosa nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Shirley Philpott’s voice reached Rosa before the boisterous woman came into view. “What’s going on?” She bounded through the sand like a happy hippopotamus. “Has the party moved down the beach?”
Dr. Philpott awkwardly stepped to shield the body of Florence Adams from his wife’s view.
Mrs. Philpott stopped, her thick ankles sinking into the sand. “Mel, what’s the matter with you?”
“Shirley, prepare yourself.”
Mrs. Philpott’s eyes grew wary. In a very unladylike manner, she pushed her husband out of the way, then abruptly stopped, nearly toppling over. Her pudgy hand clutched at pearls.
“No, no, no. It can’t be!”
In the glow of twilight, Rosa could see that Shirley Philpott had lost color.
“I just talked to her not a half an hour ago,” Mrs. Philpott said and burst into tears. “H . . . how did this happen? How could it happen! Did she drown? Was she drunk again? Did she have a heart attack? This is just awful.” She let out a loud, mournful sob. “Awfuuuull!”
Aunt Louisa grabbed Mrs.
