“Is Bertie enjoying her reunion?”
“I think she is. Aside from the death, of course. Louise Jane and I had drinks with some of the women last night at their hotel. It’s nice to talk to older librarians. They have some great stories.”
“You had drinks with Louise Jane?”
“Believe it or not, yes. We’re getting on better these days. I think.”
The waiter had brought the bill for my glass of wine, and I’d fumbled through my bag searching for my credit card. When I finally found it, paid for my drink, and looked again, Tina Ledbetter’s stool had been empty. None of Bertie’s group had noticed her. They weren’t paying attention to their surroundings, of course, but the sunglasses and the big hat had gone a long way toward hiding Tina’s resemblance to Helena.
I wondered what had brought her to the hotel and what her interest was in that group of librarians. Maybe nothing. Perhaps she regularly came to the Ocean Side for a drink. It wasn’t far from her house.
The women paid their bills, gathered purses and wraps, and got to their feet. I managed to get out of the hotel without having to invite Sheila to my apartment to meet the Lady.
Who, of course, doesn’t exist.
Traffic was heavy on the highway this morning. The perfect weather had Sunday crowds streaming out of Nags Head to explore the beaches further south and the small, charming towns of Rodanthe and Buxton; see the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse; or hop on the ferry to Ocracoke. Plenty of cars were in the parking lot at Coquina Beach, but the beach is long enough for everyone to enjoy without feeling at all crowded.
Connor got the picnic basket out of the trunk, and I carried the blanket and umbrella over the dunes. We found a perfect spot and set ourselves up. He put up the umbrella and I laid out my towel. I took off my beach wrap and handed him the sunscreen. He rubbed it over my back and shoulders with deep, penetrating strokes that went on long after the heavy cream had been absorbed. I then did the same for him.
Well protected from the sun, shivering with pleasure, happy in each other’s company, we gripped hands and ran laughing and splashing into the surf.
We swam and played in the water, and then we collapsed onto our towels in the shade of the umbrella and read in companionable silence. Connor is in my book club, and he was also reading The Moonstone.
“The local cops aren’t all that efficient in this book, are they?” he said at one point.
“One of the standard tropes of traditional mystery fiction,” I said.
“Don’t let Sam Watson hear you say that.”
I chuckled. “Which is why they had to call in Sergeant Cuff, the hotshot from Scotland Yard.”
“You about ready for lunch?”
I closed my book and sat up. “I am.”
Together we unpacked the basket. He’d stopped at Josie’s Cozy Bakery for sandwiches, cold drinks, and desserts. “You have your choice of roast beef, ham and cheese, hummus and roasted red peppers, or tuna salad,” Connor said.
“You bought four of those enormous sandwiches for two people?”
“You make it sound as though there’s something wrong with that. I’ll have leftovers for dinner.”
“Tuna, please.”
He handed me my sandwich, and I unwrapped it and dug in. As we ate, we watched the activity on the beach. Waves along this stretch of the coast can be high and the riptide dangerous, but today the sea was calm, so some people swam close to shore while others played in the surf. Small children filled plastic pails with sand and dumped them out again while older ones kicked balls around. Families enjoyed picnics, and further down the beach fishermen sat in folding chairs next to their long arching poles, beverage of choice in hand. Colorful kites bobbed and swooped in the distance.
“A perfect day.” I peeked into the picnic basket, hoping he’d bought one of Josie’s famous coconut cupcakes. My favorite. Other than her pecan squares, which are also my favorite. Of course, I also love the dream cake she makes from an old family recipe.
Connor cleared his throat. “Lucy.”
The tone in his voice had me stop thinking about baked treats. I looked up. His face was flushed and his eyes bright. I wondered if he was suddenly coming down with a fever. “What? Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat again. “It is a perfect day. Lucy. There can be many more prefect days.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “The weather’s supposed to stay good all week.”
“I mean … I mean … beyond this week. Lucy, what I’m saying is—”
From the depths of my beach bag, my phone rang. Instinctively, I reached for it.
“Leave it,” Connor said. “Let them leave a message.”
“I’ll just take a peek and see who it is. Oh. It’s Detective Watson.” I looked at Connor. “I should get this. It might be important.”
He sighed. “Yes, I guess you should.”
“Good afternoon, Detective,” I said.
“Sorry to bother you, Lucy, but we’ve found something I need you to have a look at, and Bertie’s not answering her phone.”
“She’s having a farewell lunch with her college crowd. What is it?”
“You’ll see when you get here. How long will it take?”
“I’m at Coquina Beach with Connor. Ten minutes.”
“See you then.” He hung up.
“He needs me to come to the police station right now,” I said. “They’ve found something important.”
Connor began gathering up the picnic debris. “Did he say what it was?”
“No.”
“I guess we should go then.”
“What were you talking about when he called? Did you want to make some sort of plans?”
“Some sort,” he said. “It’ll keep.”
I felt somewhat odd walking into the Nags Head police station in my bathing suit, beach wrap, big straw hat, and flip-flops. Connor didn’t look all that mayoral in shorts with a rip in the right pocket, sandals, T-shirt, and Boston Red Sox cap (my Christmas present to him). But it was the Outer Banks on a hot Sunday in July, so no one had a right to
