Killer Summer Lynda Curnyn (most important books of all time txt) 📖

when I left the city that night, around eight. I can only assume she wasn’t inspired to strip down naked and dive in during daylight. It was hard to imagine Maggie skinny-dipping at all, much less doing it at a time when the whole world might catch a glimpse of her goods.

I headed for the shore, walking at a brisk pace.

Okay, so let’s assume Maggie did go to the store and then realized belatedly it was closed. She then decided to walk home. Why not? She was in no hurry. Dinner was already ruined, I remembered, trying to shake off my own guilt for my part in that. Besides, walking along the beach was nice. Especially when the sun was going down.

Once I began to pass through Saltaire, I remembered that Tom was in Saltaire the night of the drowning—or so he said. At the chief of security’s house. Maybe he walked home along the beach, ran into Maggie. A fight ensued. I mean, they had been fighting earlier that night, at least according to Nick. I wondered if Tom had mentioned that little detail to the police. I also wondered if the chief of security at Saltaire had hedged about the time Tom had left the house. God, did people do that? It seemed insane to imagine a man charged with law enforcement for his hamlet would do such a thing, but people stuck together on Fire Island. I suppose anything was possible. There was no one else to corroborate the story. No witnesses. It wasn’t even the full season yet, so it was possible the beach was empty. It was never really full of people at night. There had been no one on it when I had taken my walk with Myles last summer. And there was no one on it when I took my ill-fated stroll withjanis.

But Maggie was naked. Did a woman fighting with her husband suddenly drop her drawers?

Unless the husband was playing apologetic. Maybe he’d even seduced her into the water.

Did married people seduce one another?

There was always the possibility that Maggie was with someone else. Like a lover. I thought of Donnie Havens and his hot-tub parties, then quickly shook off the thought, remembering his hairpiece. God, if Maggie was having an affair, I would hope she would choose better.

Then I remembered that she had been pretty cozy with Nick that first weekend. Not that I thought Nick could be responsible for taking another life. Hell, he could hardly keep his own together. Besides, he barely knew Maggie. Yeah, he was a fast operator when it came to women, but not only would he have had to have started an affair, it would also have had to spiral pretty far out of control for him to murder her.

Jesus, where was I going with this? Nick was my friend. I’d know if he was a murderer. Right?

Maybe I was trusting my gut too much, but my gut said Tom. Myles always said I relied a bit too hard on my instincts, which sometimes got me into trouble. It was one of the reasons I had a difficult time finding film work these days. I had become known as a bit of a maverick in the industry—that was the polite word for loose cannon—when I had exposed a manufacturing company for illegal dumping in the midst of making a corporate video for them. Yeah, I lost the gig—you didn’t turn the camera against the company who was bankrolling you and expect them to be grateful. But at least the company had been slapped with a big enough fine to keep them from doing that again. Of course, the job offers hadn’t exactly flowed in after that little incident.

I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to the present situation, wishing, as I did, that I had Myles to bounce ideas off of. He was always so level-headed, and I’ll admit I needed that kind of sounding board when I was concocting my conspiracy theories.

Or in this case, murder theories.

Now, gazing around at the beachgoers as I entered the hamlet of Kismet, I wished I would run into Myles, despite my disheveled appearance. Just to talk this through. He’d always been such a good listener…

Then I remembered that Myles was likely discussing legal matters and God-knows-what-else with a certain blonde in a yellow bikini.

Jerk.

Still, I found myself combing the beach for him as I walked. I wasn’t sure what I needed more, to see Myles and be reminded that he wasn’t mine anymore, or to talk to him and remember that he should be. We were so good together…

My heart stopped when my gaze fell upon a golden-brown head, standing beside a small motorbike with four wheels—a quad, I think they’re called—a hundred yards away. The face, even hidden behind silver aviator glasses, was familiar, but I realized right away it wasn’t Myles. Though it could have been, had Myles followed in his cop father’s footsteps like he’d once planned. This guy was in uniform, a Suffolk County police uniform, and looking a bit like Mr. Callahan probably did back in the day.

Then I remembered I had seen this cop before. He was the officer who had responded to the 9-1-1 call the night of the murder. I’m sorry, did I say murder? Drowning. Myles would say “innocent until proven guilty,” which was probably why he was up for a job in the D.A.‘s office, while I was lucky if I would eat next week.

Before I could think twice, I was hurrying over to the aforementioned officer, who was just about to get on his quad and drive off now that he’d finishing chastising a dog owner for allowing his golden retriever to frolic on the beach without a leash.

It’s a wonder these guys weren’t investigating Maggie’s death a little more thoroughly. I mean, really—ticketing dog owners? Surely murder was more interesting.

“Excuse me?” I yelled, seeing as my only link to the non-case was just