Murder at High Tide
A Rosa Reed Mystery book 1
Lee Strauss and Norm Strauss
Chapter 1
Hugging was a very “un-English” thing to do.
Rosa Reed, rather British through and through, had yet to acclimatize to the exuberance of the American branch of her family and had endured more hugs in the few days she’d been in Santa Bonita, California than she’d had for most of her life growing up in Great Britain, the war years excepted. Now that she and her cousin Gloria had arrived at her Aunt Louisa’s charity event on the beach, Rosa braced herself for even more.
Drinks and cigarettes in hand, a crowd of people milled about, standing or sitting at round tables covered in white linen. Catering staff, all dressed in white, were busy fussing with the food.
“I feel overdressed,” Rosa remarked to her younger cousin Gloria Forrester. Red ribbons adorned Rosa’s white dress that was sprinkled with black polka dots. Short chestnut-colored waves were crowned with a white straw sun hat trimmed with matching red ribbon.
“You’re a Forrester,” Gloria said. With dark hair curled tightly around her ears, and dark lipstick on a bright white smile, Gloria spun to show off the fancy baby-blue crinoline skirt of her swing dress. “You’re supposed to overdress.”
Rosa grinned. Gloria Forrester was seven years Rosa’s junior and often seemed younger than her twenty-one years.
“And that dress,” Gloria continued, motioning a white-gloved hand toward Rosa, “is fabulous!”
“Another perk of having a mother who owns a prestigious Regent Street dress shop,” Rosa said.
“I love Feathers & Flair! Shopping there was the highlight of my trip.” Gloria’s eyes, briefly wide with wonder, now darkened in shock. Her gloved hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine, Gloria,” Rosa said, forcing her voice to sound light. “Ancient history.”
If one considered a month ancient. Perhaps in California, but not in England. A month was like a breath, and Rosa still felt the sting and humiliation of what had, in front of many witnesses including the members of the Forrester family, been a failed attempt down the aisle.
Gloria removed her sandals, hooked the straps over one hand, and motioned for Rosa to do the same. Rosa grinned at the sight of the two of them, dressed for a party yet barefoot on the beach. She was glad Gloria had reminded her not to wear stockings.
Gloria linked her arm with Rosa’s and pulled her down the beach—those bad memories left behind them, for now.
“There’s Mom.” Gloria pointed to a slim, attractive woman in her early fifties who held a martini in one hand.
Louisa Forrester, the half-sister to Rosa’s mother Ginger Reed, saw the young ladies approaching and broke into a smile. Handing her drink to one of her companions, Louisa gracefully stepped toward them, the hem of her stunning black evening dress flirting with the sand.
“Girls! There you are!” Aunt Louisa spread her arms wide apart.
Rosa hesitated, then briefly succumbed to the squeezing, despite the public setting.
With one hand still on Rosa’s shoulder, her aunt stepped back and appraised her with a long glance. “You do look pale, though, Rosa. We need to get you in the sun.”
Rosa grimaced inwardly. Affection mixed with criticism was Aunt Louisa’s way. Besides, she’d spent plenty of time in the sun, though she did concede to being a shade dweller. Her fair skin burned easily.
At least Aunt Louisa had stopped commenting on her accent. She was determined to, in her words, “make an American out of you again”.
“Gloria probably didn’t fill you in on the purpose of this event,” Aunt Louisa started. “It’s a fundraiser for one of my charities. I serve on several boards. This one is for the California Polio Research Foundation. You’ve heard of the March of Dimes that President Roosevelt instituted in the thirties? There’s a loose association with that.”
Aunt Louisa pointed to a large banner that hung over the buffet tables with the CPRF—California Polio Research Foundation—logo emblazoned on it. “I want you to meet some people who help with the charity.” She turned back to the lady still holding her martini. “This is Florence Adams, or ‘Flo’ as we like to call her. She was invaluable to me in planning this whole evening.”
Florence Adams, in a red crushed-satin party dress, handed the martini back to Aunt Louisa. Flicking her blonde ponytail over her shoulder, Flo smiled to reveal straight white teeth and a wide, expressive mouth. An attractive woman with tanned skin that crinkled slightly around the corners of her blue eyes, regarded Rosa.
“Hello, hello,” she said rather loudly. Her arms opened wide, and Rosa accepted the unsolicited hug. Miss Adams’ speech had a slight slur, and the smell of brandy on her breath was strong. “Your aunt has told me all about you. I hope—I hope your stay in Santa Bonita goes well. Are you here for very long?”
That was a question Rosa didn’t know how to answer. Her nuptials disaster had made Rosa desperate to escape London. She’d taken a leave of absence of an undetermined length from her job with the Metropolitan Police and booked a one-way flight.
Lifting a drink from a passing cocktail tray, Gloria handed Rosa the delicate crystal glass and answered for her. “She is going to stay for as long as she likes.” She launched into a faux London accent. “This poor copper needs a break, and I intend to make her enjoy every minute of it.”
Aunt Louisa interrupted two people seated at a nearby table who seemed deep in conversation. She put her hand on one of the young men, his khaki shorts exposing steel and leather leg braces.
“Please excuse me,” she said. “I’d like you to meet my niece. Rosa, this is Rod Jeffers. Rosa just arrived from London.”
“Great to meet you,” the young man said, nodding his head.
Aunt Louisa went on. “Rod works with us in public relations and is excellent with the press and any aspects of promoting our charity.”
Continuing her introductions, Rosa’s aunt motioned to the man Mr. Jeffers had been engaging with. “This is Raul Mendez, the treasurer of our little organization. But don’t think him a bore. He’s also a great bassist and is playing in the band we have here tonight.”
The young man smiled thinly as he stood and briefly took Rosa’s hand. “Welcome to Santa Bonita. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some food, ya know, before the band’s finished its break.” Mr. Mendez shuffled through the sand toward the makeshift stage in the distance.
Rosa continued to smile as she was put on display and introduced to her aunt’s many friends and acquaintances. She just hoped she could keep all the names straight, should she meet these people again after tonight.
Aunt Louisa waved an arm and shouted, “Shirley! Shirley!” She was loud enough that Rosa thought, perhaps, Florence Adams wasn’t the only one to have had a bit too much to drink. However, Rosa knew her aunt well enough to know that she would never get to a point where she was out of control. Control was far too important to her.
Shirley, a middle-aged woman with a thick waistline and round cheeks, turned at the sound of her name, and if Rosa’s instincts were right, forced a smile she didn’t feel.
“Rosa, this is Mrs. Shirley Philpott, Flo’s cousin and the wife of our chief medical examiner, Dr. Melvin Philpott.” Shirley nodded at Rosa. “Shirley, this is my niece, Rosa Reed, from England. You’ll get a kick out of her accent.”
Mrs. Philpott laughed at that. “Now, you must say something!”
“How do you do?” Rosa said politely.
“Oh, you’re right, Mrs. Forrester. She’s adorable. Come now, give me a hug!”
“Oh,” Rosa muttered as Mrs. Philpott, soft and doughy, almost squeezed the wind out of her.
Mrs. Philpott released her but held her shoulders with two strong hands. “Say something else.”
“I find your accent charming as well.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Philpott laughed. “Just like the Queen.”
Being a novelty conversation starter for her American family was becoming the norm for Rosa. If she wanted, she could revert to the American accent she’d picked up during her stay at the Forrester mansion during the war years. Having spent her impressionable teens under Aunt Louisa’s tutelage had left a deep and lasting mark. She just didn’t know if she wanted to. Her London heritage had a deep meaning for her.
An older, jovial man wearing dark-rimmed spectacles and a cream-colored three-piece suit joined them, and it was Mrs. Philpott’s turn to make introductions. “Honey, this is Louisa’s niece, Rosa. She has the most adorable accent. This is my husband, Dr. Philpott.”
Only in California could one get away with wearing a formal suit while barefooted, Rosa mused.
He extended his hand. “Your aunt tells me you are a police officer! Well then, I'm sure you are very familiar with us pathologist types.” He chuckled as he took a puff from a cigarette.
“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.
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