White Sand Blues Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Vicki Delany

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Delany, Vicki, 1951-, author

  White sand blues / Vicki Delany.

  (Rapid reads)

  Issued also in electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-1535-3 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1536-0 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1537-7 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads

  PS8557.E4239W44 2017 C813’.6 C2017-900860-9 C2017-900861-7

  First published in the United States, 2017

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017932516

  Summary: Paramedic Ashley Grant finds herself in the middle of a murder investigation while in the Victoria and Albert Islands in this work of crime fiction. (RL 3.0)

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Design by Jenn Playford

  Cover photography by iStock.com

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  20 19 18 17 • 4 3 2 1

  Orca Book Publishers is proud of the hard work our authors do and of the important stories they create. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or did not check it out from a library provider, then the author has not received royalties for this book. The ebook you are reading is licensed for single use only and may not be copied, printed, resold or given away. If you are interested in using this book in a classroom setting, we have digital subscriptions that feature multi user, simultaneous access to our books that are easy for your students to read. For more information, please contact [email protected].

  To Alex, for introducing me to “her” islands

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  AN EXCERPT FROM JUBA GOOD

  CHAPTER ONE

  ONE

  “YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?”

  “Start work. Now. We have to get him. No one else is going to.” Simon bent over. He began unlacing his boots.

  He was wearing black steel-toed work boots. I had on sandals with two-inch heels and thin straps. This was the first time I’d worn them. They’d set me back two hundred bucks I could ill afford. I glanced around. I hoped to see someone, anyone, ready to help.

  Curious faces stared back at me. Some of the faces were black or brown. Most were shiny white. More than a few were a hideous shade of pink. Only Simon and I and the hotel staff were wearing street clothes. Everyone else wore some sort of beach attire. One guy held a sweating glass full of slices of tropical fruit and a colorful umbrella. Cameras and cell phones were lifted. If anyone told me to smile, I’d smack them.

  I looked out to sea. I hoped to see a rescue boat heading to my, well, rescue.

  No such luck. The water, at least, was calm.

  “Ashley,” Simon said. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but his jaw was tense. “This is the job. Can you do it or not? If not, there’s a flight to Miami leaving at six. I can tell Gord you changed your mind.”

  That sounded tempting, but I took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” I hoped I sounded like a firefighter I’d once heard as he led his men into a burning building. They rescued two children and a cat that day.

  My plane had landed on Grand Victoria Island less than an hour earlier. I’d been surprised to see that my new boss had sent an ambulance to meet me. I’d been even more surprised when a call came over the radio and the driver said we were to answer it.

  I kicked off my sandals.

  I couldn’t do much about the sundress. It also had set me back a pretty penny. I’d wanted to start my new life looking like a million bucks. Confident, in control. Dressed for success.

  No one had suggested I’d be better in a uniform or hospital scrubs.

  Simon didn’t look back to see if I followed. He waded into the surf.

  I prefer to stay out of the water whenever possible. When I took this job I forgot that an island is surrounded by water. I took a deep breath and followed Simon. The sand beneath my feet was soft and deep. The water was clear. Tiny fish darted around my freshly painted toes.

  I kept an eye out for sharks. No fins broke the surface of the sea. No ominous music played. Perhaps these fish were too small for sharks to concern themselves with. I hoped there was no blood. Didn’t blood attract sharks?

  The sharks aren’t the only reason I hate the ocean. There’s the seaweed too. Nothing cleaner, my dad used to say when we vacationed on a lake in Ontario or the ocean in Nova Scotia. That did nothing to allay my fears. To me the long tendrils seemed like those of a sea monster, reaching out, eager to drag me into the dark depths. They still did.

  I squeaked and tried to dodge a dangerous length of seaweed. My toe connected with a submerged rock. I felt a stabbing pain in my right foot. I yelped, jumped and started to fall forward into the water. My arms waved wildly as I fought to keep my footing. I was in no danger of drowning. The water was about fifteen centimeters deep at this point. I spat out salty water and fine grains of sand. As I stumbled to stand, I tried to regain a shred of dignity.

  Simon had turned around. He glared at me over the rims of his sunglasses. I could read his mind—hiring this one was a big mistake.

  I gave him what I hoped was a confident grin and lumbered upright. I dug my bare toes into the sand to steady myself. “Coming,” I called.

  The bottom of the sea sloped gently. They weren’t very far out, so we didn’t have to swim. A man waited for us. The water came up to his waist. He was tanned a nut brown and wore a blue T-shirt and shorts. I guessed he was a hotel employee.

  The dead man bobbed gently on the surface.

  Simon grunted greetings. He—the living man, that is—nodded, his face solemn.

  My three-hundred-dollar linen dress with lace edging was being ruined by salt water. My two-hundred-dollar sandals were probably being pinched by a beach urchin with excellent taste. But my training took over as soon as we reached the body. He was lying faceup, staring into the sky. His face was blue, from death and immersion in the water. No doubt he’d been flipped over by the hotel employee.

  Simon grabbed the dead man’s collar. I put my fingers to the neck. I felt for a pulse. Nothing. I glanced at Simon and shook my head. The dead man was white, in his sixties maybe. Belly like a nine-months-pregnant woman. His thick hair was so jet black that it had to have been dyed. His fingers were long, his nails manicured. A fat gold band encircled the third finger of his left hand. A ring with a big red stone decorated the pinky of his right. His stomach hung over a baggy, knee-length bathing suit. His feet were bare. He hadn’t been in the water for too long. Sea creatures hadn’t had time to begin making a meal out of his tender bits.

  I led the way back to shore. Simon and the hotel employee followed. The body bobbed between them. I wondered where the police rescue boat was. Simon asked the man helping us, Mark, how his son was getting on in school.

  “Very well,” Mark said. “Thank you for asking.”

  �
��This is the Club Louisa,” Simon said to me. “One of the best hotels on the island. And on Grand Victoria, best means expensive.”

  “You got that right,” Mark said with a laugh.

  We’d parked the ambulance on the lush emerald grass of the hotel grounds. That was as close as we could get to the water without getting the wheels trapped in sand. We’d left the gurney at the edge of the water. The men laid their burden onto it. Mark lifted the front and Simon the rear. We didn’t stop to put on boots and shoes before we walked up the beach. The onlookers stood quietly and respectfully. One pink-chested guy held his baseball cap over his heart. A woman crossed herself. I hurried ahead to open the ambulance doors. The crowd of onlookers closed in behind us. More pictures were snapped. I tried to ignore them. A woman waited for us by the ambulance. She was well dressed in a khaki skirt cut at the knee. Her blue shirt had the hotel’s yellow sun logo over her breast.

  She stepped forward and glanced down at the man on the gurney. He looked past us into the expanse of brilliant-blue sky. I’ve seen that look often enough that it doesn’t bother me. Not anymore.

  “Recognize him, Elaine?” Simon asked.

  “I think so.” Her accent was upper-crust British. “One of ours, I fear.”

  “I’m sure the police will be around to talk to you about it later,” Simon said. His rolling Caribbean accent was soft and gentle.

  “Julian! No! Julian.” A woman came running up the beach, struggling in the deep sand. Spectators stepped out of her path. A gorgeous sapphire-blue beach gown dotted with gold beads streamed behind her. She wore sexy, barely there gold sandals and a large-brimmed straw hat with a gold scarf wrapped around it. I guessed her to be in her midforties. Following her was a younger woman in a pink-and-white bikini and large sunglasses. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. The older woman took one look at the staring blank face on the gurney and moaned. She crumpled to the ground in a delicate heap.

  “Ashley, look after her,” Simon said. “She’d better come with us. Let’s get outa here.”

  I crouched beside the woman. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened. “Julian?” she whispered.

  “Let me help you.” I put one arm around her shoulders and guided her to sit. Her eyes were dark, almost black. Her lips were painted a soft pink, and the studs in her seashell ears appeared to be genuine diamonds. She blinked and touched my chest lightly. Her long nails were painted to match her lipstick. The sun caught the diamond on her finger. The light it threw back was so strong, it could be used to send signals into space.

  I helped her to her feet. She swayed slightly, and I kept a grip on her arm.

  “Do you know this gentleman?” Simon asked.

  “My…my husband. Julian.”

  “You can come with us. Ashley, you go in the back. Mrs.…uh…?”

  “Hunt. Christina Hunt.”

  “The widow Hunt,” a sharp voice said.

  We all turned. The younger woman who’d followed Mrs. Hunt spoke. “It didn’t take long for you to get what you wanted, did it, Christina? The sad, tragic widow. The rich, sad, tragic widow.”

  “Sally, my poor sweet thing,” Christina murmured. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She shook me off. She stretched out her arms. She took a step toward the girl as if to give her a hug.

  Sally’s body stiffened. “You killed him, Christina. I know it. And I intend to prove it.”

  “You’re overcome by grief, my dear.” Christina glanced around. The crowd of spectators was growing, pressing closer. Murmurs began at the word killed.

  “Sort it out later,” Simon said. We loaded the late Mr. Hunt into the ambulance. “Get in,” he ordered me.

  I was the medic. Simon was my driver. But I was the new one here. I turned, ready to obey.

  “Hey, Ashley,” Sally said. “How’s things?”

  TWO

  WE LEFT THE BEACH with Christina and the body of her late husband. The hotel manager said she’d call a cab for Sally.

  Mark had run down to the water. He’d returned proudly bearing Simon’s boots. There was no sign of my expensive sandals.

  I studied my formerly lovely linen dress, soaked with salt water, full of sand. It hadn’t been a very practical choice anyway for a long plane trip.

  Note to self: Don’t waste money trying to impress the locals.

  I sat in the back of the ambulance with the late Julian Hunt. Through the small windows in the doors I glimpsed tall palm trees, low buildings and a blue sky. The trip took no more than five minutes. I hadn’t realized how small this island was until I saw it from the air.

  As soon as we got to the hospital, I jumped out. I opened the passenger door for Mrs. Hunt. She sobbed quietly as I took her arm. “Are you…uh…on vacation?” I asked. Stupid question, considering the beach dress.

  “I thought a nice relaxing holiday would do Julian good. He’s been working so hard lately. He didn’t want to take the time off. I insisted. This is all my fault!” Her eyes were red, her mascara a black smudge.

  “I’ll be right back to help you,” I said to Simon. “Let me get Mrs. Hunt inside.”

  We walked through the swinging doors into the hospital. The reception area was bright and clean.

  “Where are you from?” I wanted to keep her talking.

  “Picton, Ontario,” she said.

  “Really? Me too.” I hadn’t recognized Sally at first. Not until she said my name. Sally Hunt. I’d gone to school with her. We hadn’t been friends, but we’d been in many of the same classes, and we had both been on the baseball team. I remembered seeing Sally’s parents at school sports events. Her mother had been a mom like all the others. Not this pretty weeping woman.

  I found Mrs. Hunt a seat. I was back outside helping Simon unload the gurney when a cab pulled up. Sally leaped out, still wearing her bathing suit. I was glad I’d had the foresight to pull a sheet over her father’s face. Simon and I wheeled the gurney into the hospital. Sally followed.

  A nurse with a bosom like the prow of an old sailing ship waited for us. She turned without a word and led the way through a set of doors.

  Sally and Christina tried to follow. The nurse lifted a hand. “No entry.”

  “My husband,” Christina protested.

  “No entry. Sit down. I said, sit down. Someone will be with you shortly.”

  The two women did as they were told. The doors swung shut behind us.

  The nurse held out her hand to me. “You must be the new medic. Welcome. I’m Lucy.” Her accent spoke of the backstreets of Glasgow.

  We handed over the body of Mr. Hunt to the morgue staff. Simon told me I could go outside and catch some air while he finished the paperwork. “Only because it’s your first time here. From now on, you do your own paperwork.”

  “Better not walk about like that.” The morgue assistant pointed to my feet. It’s never a good idea to wander a hospital in one’s bare feet.

  The assistant rummaged in a locker and pulled out a pair of pink flip-flops. They were chewed around the edges. I hoped the chewing had been done by a playful dog. I slipped them on. Not too dreadfully big.

  Christina watched me walk back through the waiting room. Outside, Sally had taken a seat on a patch of weedy grass in the shade of the ambulance. I hadn’t even had time to notice how hot it was. The sun beat down on the pavement so hard it made the air above shimmer and shake. Palm trees lined the hospital driveway, not moving in the still, humid air.

  Sally slowly got to her feet. Her eyes were dry. “Ashley. Nice to see you.”

  “I wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

  Her eyes ran down my body, taking in the ruined dress, the cheap flip-flops. I’d arranged my hair that morning into a neat French braid. Now it hung around my face in salty strands. My lip gloss had been chewed off somewhere out at sea.

  “She killed him,” Sally said. She pointed with her chin toward the door to the hospital.

  “Do you mean your stepmother? T
hat’s a heck of a strong accusation.”

  “Don’t call her that. She’s my father’s wife. She’s no relation of mine.”

  “I’m sure it was an accident.”

  Sally snorted. “She’s been planning it for a long time.”

  The doors opened, and Simon emerged with the empty gurney. “Your stepmother,” he said as Sally growled, “is with your father now. You can go in. I’m sorry for your loss. Ashley, let’s go.”

  “Look,” Sally said. “We can’t talk here.” Hospital staff were coming and going. No one paid us any attention. “Where are you staying?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “You don’t know?”

  I shrugged. “I just got here.”

  Simon climbed into the driver’s seat and switched the engine on. He tapped the horn. I had little doubt he’d leave without me if I didn’t hurry up. “I gotta go, Sally. Nice seeing you.”

  “You know where we’re staying. Call me later.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I don’t have anyone else. No one I can trust. She’ll do everything she can to cover it up. I need you, Ashley.” The look on her face was a combination of emotions. Grief, anger, hate. I hesitated. I’d only just arrived on the island. I wanted time to settle in, get to know people and find my way around.

  But the sadness in her eyes had me saying, “Tonight. I’ll call you tonight.”

  I jumped into the ambulance. Simon drove away.

  THREE

  MY HOTEL WASN’T AS NICE as the Club Louisa. But it came close. The buildings were such a brilliant white, it hurt my eyes to look at them. They were surrounded by thick, green lawns. Masses of purple and white flowers lined the neat walkways. The blue ocean sparkled in the distance. Two sailboats leisurely drifted past.

  The wide French doors on the main building opened, and a woman came out. “Welcome to the Ocean Breeze Hotel, Ms. Grant.” Her smile was wide and her eyes friendly.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Simon. “Home sweet home,” he said.

  “Wow.” I got out of the ambulance.