Sunset Beach(57)

She paused when she came to a photo showing Jazmin and a Hispanic-looking man holding hands and standing in front of a palm tree, with a swimming pool in the background. Could this be the new boyfriend Lutrisha had mentioned?

She shook her head in frustration, but kept scrolling through more posts and photos. There was Aliyah, dressed in a spangly blue and green mermaid costume, posed under a Christmas tree. Jazmin and Aliyah at Halloween, with the girl posed in the same mermaid costume, but this time with a flowing red wig, just like Ariel in the movie.

She paused again when she came to what was obviously a selfie of Jazmin and a friend. Someone had tagged the friend as Neesa Vincent. Score!

Drue tapped Neesa’s name to check her other social media posts, but Neesa had a private page. Undeterred, Drue typed out a direct message.

Hi. My name is Drue Campbell, and I am working to help your friend Jazmin’s mom get more information about her death. Please contact me.

She typed in her phone number and pressed Send.

The rain slowed but didn’t stop. Drue paced in front of the doors to the deck, anxious to be outside, doing something. Anything. She’d never been good at inactivity.

Antsy, Sherri would have called her. Drue opened the guest bedroom door. Her kiteboarding gear took up most of the space in the room. Between her kites, boards, control bar, lines, harness, spreader, bar boots and wet suits, the gear had easily cost her upward of $7,000. Money she’d earned waitressing in crappy beach bars or working in surf shops. She ran her hand over one of her favorite boards, the Slingshot Karenina. Just another dust catcher now, she thought.

Her phone rang and she was surprised to see that the caller was Yvonne Howington.

“Look here, Drue,” Yvonne started. “I was thinking about all those questions you were asking me about Jazmin’s friends, so I got out the box of cards people sent after her funeral. I’d forgotten how many there were. I guess I didn’t know just how many friends that girl had. And I found a little card signed by somebody called Jorge Morales. I’m thinking maybe that was the boy my Jazmin was going out with.”

“That’s great, Yvonne. I did talk to somebody who knew Jazmin from the hotel and they told me her boyfriend’s first name was Jorge, but they didn’t know his last name. That gives me something to go on.”

“Maybe so,” Yvonne said. “Also, Aliyah would like to speak to you.”

“Hello?” The little girl’s voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible.

“Hi, Aliyah,” Drue said.

“I really like my coloring book,” Aliyah said. “And the glitter markers.”

“You know, I thought maybe you were a fan of Ariel,” Drue said.

“Uh-huh. I’m gonna be a mermaid when I grow up,” she confided.

“I love that idea,” Drue said. “Do you like to swim when you go to the beach?”

“I don’t know how to swim,” Aliyah said. “Mama said Jorge would teach me, because he had a pool at his apartment, but I haven’t seen Jorge in a long time. And Grandmama is afraid of the water.”

“Tell you what, Aliyah,” Drue said. “Someday soon, I will take you to my friend’s pool at Sunset Beach, and I will teach you how to swim, so you can be a mermaid.”

“You promise?” the little girl asked.

“I promise,” Drue repeated.

She heard Yvonne’s voice in the background. “Don’t be bothering that lady with stuff like that now.”

Then Yvonne was on the phone again. “You’ll call me when you find something out, right?”

“I will. And I really would like to teach Aliyah how to swim.”

“We’ll see,” Yvonne said.



* * *



After the rain finally subsided, Drue took her beach chair down to the water’s edge. Dark clouds lingered, so it was unexpectedly, blessedly cooler. The rain had chased away all but the most dogged beachgoers, so as the sun sank lower in the western sky, she felt she almost had the beach to herself.

After thirty minutes, the clouds miraculously parted, and the sun emerged as a fiery tangerine orb, tingeng the purple-edged clouds with streaks of pink and coral. Twenty yards out, a pair of dolphins dipped and rolled in the surf, so close to shore she heard the snorting sound they made when they breached the water’s surface.

Finally, her quarry appeared, picking its way carefully along the water’s edge, head lowered, laser-focused on its own fishing expedition. She’d been stalking the blue heron for a week, trying to snap the perfect photo.

The bird wasn’t shy, in fact, it seemed oblivious to her presence, but every time she had it perfectly positioned, in silhouette against the setting sun, it always decided to take wing and fly away.

Not today, she vowed. She pulled her cell phone from her beach bag and stood, careful not to make any sudden movements, which might startle her prey. She crept forward, keeping an eye on the waning sun, estimating she had maybe five minutes.

The heron’s stilt-like legs propelled it through the shallow blue-green water. A pair of sandpipers skimmed along behind it, darting in and out of the surf, eventually tiring of the game and moving on.

In the meantime, Drue stood waiting in a half-crouch, her trigger finger poised over the phone’s shutter button. “Come on, come on,” she whispered.