Murder on the Boardwalk (A Rosa Reed Mystery #2) - Lee Strauss

1

Lines of gently swaying palm trees and stucco Spanish mansions were set against a cloudless blue sky, and Miss Rosa Reed, known in rainy London, England as WPC Reed of the Metropolitan Police, thought the endless sunshine would never get old. She strolled away from the Forrester mansion in Santa Bonita, California, with her cousin Gloria at her side.

“We need to find you a fuller crinoline,” Gloria said, playfully nudging Rosa with an elbow as they neared one of the Forrester vehicles, a two-tone yellow Chevrolet Bel Air parked in the driveway.

Not once in her life in London had Rosa been criticized for her wardrobe. With a mother who owned one of London’s highbrow Regent Street dress shops, Rosa had grown up under the influence of stylish and quality fashion, the kind that certainly turned heads in the United Kingdom. Apparently, the California coast was a different story as Rosa had been encouraged more than once to wear something a little brighter, a little tighter, or today, a little fuller.

Then again, those suggestions had come from Gloria and might have said more about Rosa’s spirited cousin than they did about California fashions. Already, Rosa regretted giving in to Gloria’s pleas to accompany her to the fair recently set up at the boardwalk. Rosa preferred the quiet of her bedroom—hers at the Forrester mansion felt as cozy and comfortable as her room at Hartigan House in South Kensington—and a good book. Rosa had a stack resting on her night table, from mystery fiction to the latest in forensic science developments. She’d raided the Forrester mansion library shortly after she’d arrived in Santa Bonita, and had tipped one of the maids to make a run to the local library for her (not daring to go there herself for reasons she’d rather not think of at this time). The gentle purring and warm companionship of her kitten, Diego, was all the socializing Rosa desired, and with a deep breath she had to brace herself for the cacophony sure to come.

Not wanting to face Gloria’s wrath if she changed her mind, Rosa was determined to be a good sport. Gloria looked adorable and rather youthful—seven years Rosa’s junior, Rosa often felt ancient at twenty-eight in Gloria’s presence—in her pink flared skirt with an embroidery of a sizable French poodle and flat black-and-white leather saddleback shoes.

Gloria stood with one hand on one tiny hip and the other stretched out, palm open. “Keys?”

“Why?”

“You’ve driven it all week. Besides, you have Diego to concern yourself with.”

Rosa peeked into her tapestry handbag, or satchel, as she liked to call it, where her kitten slept soundly. She’d chosen the satchel more for the comfort of Diego, a brown tabby kitten Rosa had recently rescued, than she had for how it complimented her sky-blue swing dress—the one without a large enough crinoline, apparently—and matching Juliette cap.

Diego had an adventurous personality and didn’t, for the most part, cause Rosa any concern when she took him along. A rather fortuitous discovery, since Aunt Louisa had insisted that Rosa keep the kitten with her and not leave “that scraggly thing” behind unless either Gloria or the Forrester housekeeper, Se?ora Gomez, was available to watch him.

Rosa suppressed her strong feelings of apprehension as she handed over the coveted keys. “Drive carefully!” With an exaggerated shudder, she added, “The way you command a car reminds me of my mum.”

“Oh, I love Aunt Ginger!” Gloria smirked at Rosa before snatching the keys. “I don’t suppose you’d like to trade mothers?” She laughed before Rosa could come up with a suitable quip and hopped into the driver’s side of the Bel Air. In moments, the large engine rumbled to life.

“Why Do Fools Fall in Love” played on the radio, and Rosa mused at how apropos it was for her, the fool who fell in love with Miguel Belmonte, her former American flame and who, as fate would have it, was no longer single.

Gloria, looking away from the road more often than Rosa would have liked, announced, “I’m sure we’ll see people I know at the boardwalk. In fact, you might run into some of your friends from high school.”

Though born and raised in London, Rosa had spent her high school years in Santa Bonita. Her parents had felt an urgent need to get her out of harm’s way during the Second World War, and Rosa suspected some of that angst was due to their involvement with the British secret service, though she could never get them to admit