“No, there’s something else.”
“I hope it isn’t a dead body,” she said, obviously joking. When I said nothing, I heard her swallow. “Oh no, there is a dead body, isn’t there?” I told her about Izabelle, and she gasped. “How terrible! The poor woman alone on the beach-” Mrs. Shedd clicked her tongue in dismay. “I tried to tell Commander Blaine not to do the s’mores, but he was absolutely insistent about doing them. Then I tried to get him to go the traditional route, but no, he had to make them his gourmet way and stick in peanut butter.”
As the news sank in, Mrs. Shedd realized it presented a problem for the weekend program. “That leaves you with a big spot to fill, doesn’t it?” Her tone changed, and it was clear she wanted to end the call. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re good at improvising. Just make the best of it.” I heard her call to someone that she’d be there in a minute and to save a space in the mambo class. “By now you’ve had some experience dealing with deaths. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than I would.” She started to sign off, but I stopped her long enough to explain that most of the campers hadn’t arrived yet because of the fog.
“You said it was clear now. So, they’ll probably all show up tomorrow. Tell them we’ll do something to make up for the lost day. I have every confidence in you, Molly.”
“Thanks, but-” I started to say. It was already too late. She’d hung up and probably headed off to her dance class.
I considered calling Barry, but I wasn’t up for it. I knew what he’d say as soon as he heard someone had died: “Stay out of it.” But I couldn’t. As the holder of the rhinestone clipboard, I was in the middle of it whether I wanted to be or not. Though at least it wasn’t murder.
I needed time to think, and I wasn’t up for dealing with Adele just then. I saw her march past the window on the driveway side of the building. Any moment she would come through the door and give me the third degree about Izabelle. I just couldn’t tell the story one more time.
“I can’t face Adele right now,” I said, making a beeline for the other door. Dinah followed me out onto the deck. I was still getting used to being able to see beyond the end of my arm. I could actually see the fire circle, where a campfire was giving off a warm glow. I was going to suggest going there since it appeared the benches were empty, but as we crossed the path through the meadow, I saw two people sitting toward the back. The floodlights along the wall illuminated their faces. It was the guy who had made the scene with Izabelle in the kitchen-Spenser somebody-and his niece. I didn’t want to talk to them, either.
“Adele won’t find us at the beach,” I said, pointing toward the entrance to the boardwalk.
“So what was up with the cop?” Dinah asked as we started along the raised walkway. She stopped herself. “Sorry. You said you didn’t want to talk.”
“To Adele,” I said. “I always want to talk to you.” The sand was light even in the dark, and the contrast made the silhouettes of the bushes and plants stand out.
“He came to the hospital to write a report because Izabelle died on the beach. They don’t have much crime up here, and the police are very community-oriented.”
“Which means what?” Dinah zipped her hoodie a little higher.
“I don’t know. I guess you could say he was friendly when he asked questions. He wanted to know what Izabelle was doing on the beach.”
“What did you tell him?” Dinah stepped from the end of the boardwalk onto the sandy sidewalk.
“I told him about the s’mores and how everyone had gone their own way with theirs. He filled in the rest, saying she must have decided to take hers to the beach.”
We reached the street and a white Toyota went by. I watched the red taillights and finally saw the curve of the street. It was like discovering the area for the first time. Seeing the sky and stars was a relief after feeling like I was stuck in a pillow. Once we crossed the street, we started down the opening to the beach. When I looked ahead, even in the dark I could see the waves breaking against the shore. We walked a little farther and the beach seemed empty and peaceful. “I guess they must have finished any investigation. There’s no yellow tape,” I said as we reached the remains of the fire. I kicked one of the hunks of partially burned wood. “It looks like the fire must have gone out. Otherwise, the wood would have just burned to ash.”
“Or maybe someone put it out,” Dinah said.
“I don’t think Izabelle was worried about the fire. I don’t think she had time to be. The doctor said her attack could have come on within minutes after she ate the s’more with the peanut butter.”
“How awful. She comes to the beach to enjoy the goodies and then, blam! she’s sick,” Dinah said.
“It’s kind of odd that she’d be eating the s’more. She seemed so careful about her diet.”
“Maybe she was one of those people who watch themselves so carefully, and then binge,” Dinah said.
“We’ll never know.” I repeated my relief that her death seemed to be from natural causes. It was bad enough that I’d come across murders in Tarzana, but a murder in another place-it would look like I was some kind of murder magnet. I flopped on the cold, soft sand.
“Right,” Dinah said, sitting down next to me. “She just made a deadly choice in snacks.”
“I wish I’d paid more attention to everything when we found her,” I said, getting up.
“Right,” Dinah said, standing beside me. “I’m sure you’ve avoided Adele by now. It’s getting cold and damp here. I could use a little time in front of a fireplace. Commander Blaine set up board games and hot chocolate in the common living room of our building.”
“Aha, so you’re changing your opinion of him.”
“I still say he’s too fussy for my taste, but our campfire dinner the other night was fun, and he certainly came through during the whiteout. And those s’mores…” Her voice trailed off as she looked down the beach. “Okay, maybe that was not the best example under the circumstances, but he certainly came up with a lot of variations on the original idea.”
“You can argue all you want, but I think you’re softening.”
“He’s not my type,” Dinah countered. “I see myself with the brooding poet type. You know: intense, wears turtle-necks. Yeah, and isn’t into relationships, and is probably a jerk, too,” she added with a groan.
“I don’t think Commander is a jerk,” I replied. “He might be a little stiff and a little too enthusiastic, but definitely not a jerk.”
“Maybe not, but what do we really know about him? Just that he has a postal center in Tarzana and he’s very into parties. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you that someone who’s so into entertaining is alone?”
I glanced in the direction we’d come from. “Even if he might have a dark past, that cocoa is starting to sound good. You’re right, it is cold and damp. We might as well go back.” We got up and started to walk toward the street. As we approached the fenced-off area, I made a visual sweep of the planted area. Something got my attention. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at a strange glow.
We moved closer for a better view, but it still appeared to be just a ghostly light.
“Maybe somebody threw one of those light sticks back there,” Dinah offered, walking on.
I stood my ground and peered into the darkness. Curiosity had gotten the better of me. I had to know what it was. Dinah saw that I had stopped at the fence and came back. I tried leaning over it to see if I could reach the glowing spot, but it was too far away. “I’m going in,” I said, stepping over the low chain. But going in was as far as I got. There seemed to be no way to reach the glow without tromping on some plants. Dinah picked up on my plight and offered to hold my legs so I could lean over the plants without falling in them.
She braced herself, digging her feet in the sand, and held onto my calves as I leaned and reached into the tangle of growth. I tried to avoid thinking what night creatures might be crawling around, just waiting for some tasty fingers to come their way. Instinctively I balled up my hand. I wished I had my son’s old Pinchy-Winchy claw toy to use, or at least gloves. I willed my hand open, and as I pushed through the wiry brush, I felt something soft and grabbed it. It came free easily and obviously wasn’t attached to the sand.
Dinah pulled me up straight and we both looked at what I was holding. We couldn’t make out the color in the darkness, but the shape was clear.
I was holding a small pouch purse, and the glow was coming from something shaped like a flower attached to the front.
That was about all we could make out in the dark.
“Why do I think this has something to do with Izabelle?” I asked as we trudged up the beach toward the street.
