Falafel Jones - Max Fried 01 - Life's a Beach Then You Die Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Excerpt from Payback’s a Beach: Chapter One

  Excerpt from Payback’s a Beach: Chapter Two

  Excerpt from Payback’s a Beach: Chapter Three

  Life’s A Beach Then You Die

  By

  Falafel Jones

  Copyright 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013 by Falafel Jones

  Fourth Edition November 2013

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I noticed them the moment we arrived. She was a busty blonde bursting from a blue bikini and holding a lipstick stained cigarette. He looked like a handsome Irish football player grown older and puffy, a scotch glass a fixture in his hand. Besides Jack, the owner-bartender, they were the only ones there.

  While we sat outside on bar stools admiring the ocean, Jack brought my AmberBock draught and Mariel’s vodka tonic.

  I said, “Thanks,” and when I lifted my chilled mug, condensation dripped onto my crotch. I decided to sit until it dried.

  Jack wiped the wet spot on the counter and leaned forward on his hands. “Max, we’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Who? Me?”

  “Yeah, I know you come in about now, so I told them to wait.”

  Mariel and I turned to each other and then to Jack. Sometimes, you couldn’t tell when he was kidding.

  Jack AKA Jack Jr. worked at Bobbi and Jack’s Beachside Patio since childhood. He claims to have been born behind the bar here when his dad ran it and where allegedly, his pregnant mother, Bobbi, served drinks until and immediately after she dropped him. He sometimes told gullible customers his real name is Jack Daniel’s for the drink his Mom had on her tray at the time.

  “Guys, I don’t want to impose,” Jack raised an eyebrow, “one of my lunch regulars needs a hand. Maybe you can help. Ed’s a local lawyer. I think he’s semi-retired,” Jack pointed down the bar to the man and the woman.

  She could be either a good-looking older woman who appeared younger or a haggard younger woman who appeared older. It was hard to tell. Whatever her age, I’d say she was fond of the man she sat with. Her hands lingered on him whenever possible.

  Despite her attention, when Jack pointed at him, Ed looked in our direction. I said, “Sure. I’ll talk to him,” and Jack waved him over.

  After getting up from his stool, Ed bent down and whispered something to the woman. Then he straightened up and put some money on the bar. She smiled up at him and said something I couldn’t hear. When he bent down again, they kissed. He picked up his drink and walked over to where Mariel and I sat. With a cigarette and his drink in his left hand, he reached out with his right. “Ed McCarthy,” he shook my hand then Mariel’s.

  Mariel gave him her perfect smile.

  Ed wore the New Smyrna Beach uniform of tan cargo shorts and sandals. He topped his version with a blue and white, short sleeved floral print shirt. I topped mine with a short sleeve golf shirt; black out of deference to the fact it was winter.

  “Jack tells me you’ve moved down from New York to the corner of the bar,” Ed chuckled at his own joke. “I’m from New York, too. In law school, I dated a girl from Daytona Beach so I got licensed in both states.” He took a drag from his cigarette.

  The way he rambled on told me he must have been waiting at the bar for quite a while. Well, that and the swizzle sticks all lined up where he had been sitting.

  “Nice to meet you, Ed.” I thought I saw him here before. The place is less crowded during the off-season and the regulars stand out over time. “I’m Max, my wife Mariel. Jack said you might need something.”

  Ed took a deep breath. “I’m handling an estate for a client. Ray was my first Florida account. I wrote his will and we had a lot in common. We’d fish together… Just this morning I attended his funeral. He took Friday afternoon off to do Christmas shopping and died instead. When you write those things, planning for someone’s demise, you think days like today will never come.”

  Mariel took her eyes off him, stared at me for a long moment, and then back at Ed. “Oh, we’re so sorry about your friend.”

  “Thank you. Kathleen and Ray didn’t have anyone here so after the funeral she’s going home to her mom and dad. She’s busy packing so I’m drinking alone.” He shook his head. I guessed that either the blonde wasn’t drinking or for some reason, she didn’t count.

  Mariel appeared upset, “Kathleen’s his wife?”

  “Yes.” His gaze turned up at the sky for a moment and then back down at me. “This one’s for Ray.” He raised his glass and took another sip.

  Mariel and I raised our glasses and drank with him.

  Ed said, “It’s bad enough losing a friend, but when they die at someone else’s hand, it’s that much harder to accept.”

  I was about to tune Ed out, classifying him as a melancholy drunk but that statement caught my ear. “Your friend was murdered?”

  “Police found his car overturned and crushed on the side of the road. A clear day, no traffic, no skid marks. It’s an unattended death with suspicious circumstances so they’re investigating it as a Homicide. I’m waiting to hear more from the M.E.”

  “If the police are involved, why do you need me?”

  “Kathleen needs to locate their assets. The police found his notebook computer in the car wreckage. Kathleen wants it examined.” He shrugged. “She says he used it for online banking.” He took a long drink from his glass and placed it on the bar with a thump.

  I didn’t like the sound of this. I took early retirement because someone took a shot at me and I promised Mariel I’d stay out of harm’s way. A case involving a homicide sounded risky.

  Ed took another sip of his drink and went on to say. “I told Jack I didn’t know anyone who could search the computer. I need to get past the passwords and preserve the information for court use. You know, in case someone contests the will or makes claims against the estate. Jack told me you used to do that kind of work.”

  “Used to, before retiring, I worked for the State as a computer forensics examiner.”

  “You me
an you can search a computer, break the passwords, and find things?”

  “Yeah, sure. That’s what I did.”

  Ed put down his drink. He placed his hands flat on the bar and leaned toward me. “Max, that’s what I need. Will you do it?”

  “Sorry, no. I’m retired now. These days, we’re working on our health. As part of our retirement exercise routine, Mariel and I walk two miles up the beach to get here. We have a drink. We walk back home.”

  Ed leaned his head back and squinted at me. “I never thought of bar hopping as exercise.”

  “Well,” I said in my defense, “sometimes, if it’s not too hot, we also walk the half a mile across the island on Flagler Avenue from the ocean side to the riverside. Mariel shops the boutiques and I bench test the benches.”

  He shook his head. I don’t think Ed thought I took exercise seriously enough. “Do you know anyone else who can do it?”

  “In New York, yeah, but not here.”

  “If I had to hire a stranger, what would I look for?”

  “I’m a stranger, but find someone with a certification in computer forensics. Get someone with a bunch of letters like ENCE, ACE or CCFE on their business card.”

  “Are you certified?”

  I smiled up at him, “I’m an ACE.”

  “What’s that?”

  “AccessData Certified Examiner. AccessData makes computer forensic tools. But now, I’m a full time retiree and beach bum.”

  “Jack says you have a private investigator’s license.”

  “Yeah, a lot of states require examiners be licensed.”

  “So you do P. I. work?”

  I laughed. “No, I never used my license. I got it before I got shot. I figure that if I needed to work after I retired. I had to have a fall back plan and with my personality, I’d never make it as a Wal-Mart greeter. Turns out my experience qualified me for a Florida P. I. license. I applied for one and got it but that’s it.”

  “Someone shot you? What happened?”

  “I lived… I’d rather not discuss it.”

  Ed sat down on the bar stool next to me, waited a moment, and said, “Max, I need someone who can go over this notebook computer for bank accounts, investments and other financial information. I’ve been searching. Geez, I haven’t been able to find anybody else. Would you please do this one job for me?”

  “I’d love to help you out, but I retired a year ago, sold the house, and moved here to never work again. I still have some equipment and the license just in case I need work, but I don’t need it. I don’t want it and I don’t want to give up beach time or Mariel time. Life is like a roll of toilet paper. It goes faster near the end.” I raised my glass to drink.

  Ed waved his hand. “Yeah, I can understand, but it shouldn’t take long, should it? The results don’t need to be back for a week or so and based on Ray’s life style, there seems to be some money here. I’d be able to pay you a fee that would make it worth your effort.”

  “I’m not looking for trouble. I don’t need any more danger in my life.”

  Ed made a dismissive wave with his hand. “Ah, it’s a safe job. The Police are handling his murder. All you need to do is locate the family bank accounts… nothing more than that.”

  I felt Mariel touch my arm. “It’s OK if you want to.” She showed me her sad face. “I don’t mind if you do this. I’ve some things to do which’ll bore you. Besides, I feel bad for his wife and it’s December. You’re not going to spend a lot time in the water anyway.”

  After Mariel spoke, I felt bad too. It hurt to think of someone refusing her help after I’m gone. She was right. I did have free time lately. There was no good reason I couldn’t spend a few days on this. There didn’t seem to be any real risk, plus a few extra bucks could buy a roof rack to carry my kayak. I tilted my head at Mariel. “The boss has spoken. I’ll take the case. How about an hourly rate plus expenses regardless of what I do or don’t find.”

  Ed smiled for the first time since we met. “Very good. Thank you. I’ve got to get back to the office, finish some paperwork. How’s this? I’ll prepare a standard service agreement you can sign. Come by in about an hour. While you’re reviewing it, I’ll call the police and find out when they’re releasing the notebook.”

  I nodded my approval and read the business card Ed handed me. His office was just a short walk down Flagler Ave.

  When Ed got up to leave, the blonde blew him a kiss. He grinned and waved back. I was curious about their relationship, but thought it impolite to ask who she was.

  Five minutes after he left, I forgot he had been there. In New Smyrna Beach, also known as “NSB”, we were having a sunny, December afternoon. It was about 77 degrees and it was almost Christmas.

  On Bobbi and Jack’s patio, a two-piece band played “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer”. A steel drum carried the melody and an acoustic guitar provided accompaniment. We liked to say NSB also stood for “Not So Bad”. We had been down here about six months, six months in New Smyrna Beach, not six months at the bar. Well, that statement was mostly true.

  Now that Ed had left, I felt pretty good and mellow. I had a steady pension income, a warm sunny day, a bar stool on the beach, live music and a beautiful woman. Who cared if I was a year older today?

  “Happy Birthday, Max,” Mariel said and handed me a small, wrapped box.

  “Usually, I don’t get my gift till dinner. Not that I’m complaining, but you got me curious. Why give it to me now?”

  “You’ll see when you open it. I thought you might want to use it later today. Besides, you’ll get a nighttime gift of a different variety.”

  I opened the box and removed the iPod inside.

  “I thought you’d like it for running on the beach,” she said.

  “Wow, great. Thanks. Now, I have no excuse for not staying in shape.”

  Mariel’s looks provided enough incentive to keep anyone in shape. We’re the same age, but people think she’s ten years younger. She hasn’t changed since we went to our High School Senior Prom together. Me? I look my age.

  Her trademark high heels showed off her shapely legs. She wore a loose cut amber print sundress, the color complementing her butterscotch skin. The dress tied around her neck with a thin string and clung to her flat stomach and thin thighs. Despite her petite figure, Mariel filled out the top nicely. The dress fit her well. Everything did.

  I wore shorts, a shirt, and sandals. My birthday was a “special event”, so we “dressed up”, meaning we both wore our wedding rings and underwear. Most of the time, we lived in our bathing suits and left our drawers in our drawers, along with the jewelry.

  After a lifetime in the frigid northeast, living seven days a week in our bathing suits became a symbol of the casual island life we came here to live. Much like invitations that specified “Black Tie”, we began categorizing a few of our own events as “Underwear Required”.

  So far, aside from special occasions like this one, trips to the airport and infrequent cold days, there weren’t many other items on the list. We even extended the rule so that wedding rings were only required when wearing underwear. When Mariel would ask me if I were wearing underpants, I would show her my ring finger and then she would know her answer.

  Jack’s meandering around the bar led him back to us, “Refills?”

  Mariel and I shook our heads. “No thanks.” I said.

  He glanced down at the packaging on the bar. “What’d you get?”

  I showed him the iPod. “Birthday gift from Mariel.”

  He raised one eyebrow at her and nodded. She beamed back at him, happy he approved of her gift selection.

  “Hey, happy birthday. ” He pushed the bills I had left on the bar back at me. “Then, this round’s my treat.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” I raised my glass to him.

  “Thank you very much, Jack.” Mariel touched his wrist. “You’re very kind.” Then she turned to me, “Max, you promised that man. We have to go.”

  W
e said our goodbyes to Jack and headed out. When I agreed to help Ed, I thought the job would be a snooze. How could I know things would go so wrong? Who knew retirement could be dangerous?

  * * *

  We walked west on Flagler Avenue, stepping on the engraved bricks sold by the Flagler Merchants Association. For $50 a pop, tourists and locals had the chance to immortalize themselves with three lines of text for all to see. Mariel stopped to view the brick she bought to memorialize her dad.

  After a few blocks, we turned left to Ed’s office. The address he gave me led to a single story concrete-block house. A sign in the front window displayed a phone number and advertised the place was “For Rent 2Bd 1 Bth”. We walked up to the door and I knocked anyway. Nobody answered. I verified the address against Ed’s business card and decided we were at the correct place. While searching for a doorbell, I noticed a stone walkway leading to the left of the building.

  We followed it and found a second entrance. I knocked again and this time, the door opened. The house included a small side bedroom converted into an office with its own entrance. Ed ushered us inside.

  He grabbed my hand and shook it, “Max, Mariel. Thank you for coming.”

  “Please, have a seat.” Ed directed us to two upright wooden client chairs with upholstered seats. The chairs didn’t go with the rest of the room. I wondered if they might have come from a dining room set, maybe one broken up in a divorce settlement.

  “What do you think?” He asked, gesturing around the room. The decor was half-beachy and half-lawyerly. Amid sailing icons and an Ivy League diploma, requisite bookshelves had the requisite books. He seemed to have everything he needed if not everything ever published.

  “You appear to be well equipped,” I told him.

  “Thank you,” Ed walked across the room to a stereo receiver next to a CD player and speakers. Classical music played.

  He turned down the music and sat behind a huge old wooden desk. It was heavy and dark and could have come from some captain’s quarters. I couldn’t imagine how he ever got it in the door. I also couldn’t imagine how he could ever find anything on the desktop.