Mayhem in Myrtle Beach Read online

  Also by T. LYNN OCEAN

  Choosing Charleston

  Carolina Booty

  Jersey Barnes Thriller series:

  Southern Fatality

  Southern Poison

  Southern Peril

  Mayhem in

  Myrtle Beach

  * * *

  T. Lynn Ocean

  A Note from the Author

  Thanks for ordering Mayhem in Myrtle Beach. If you enjoy the read, please spread the word among your book-loving friends. I’d be especially grateful for an online review.

  For information on additional titles, visit www.tlynnocean.com

  I appreciate you all. Live large and laugh often!

  Tracy Lynn Ocean

  Copyright 2014 by T. Lynn Ocean. In accordance with the Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading or electronic sharing of this work without permission of the publisher constitutes piracy/theft of the author’s intellectual property.

  Thank you for reading an authorized copy of this book and supporting writers everywhere.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner to create an entertaining story. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Mayside Medical Clinic

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  Willie stood naked in front of the mirror, contemplating his eighty-two-year-old body for several seconds before putting on his clothes. A cubbyhole with a bench served as the exam room’s changing area, and the floor was slick beneath his socked feet.

  Scrutinizing his midsection, Willie figured his body was just as good, maybe even better than most men his age. His abdomen had thickened over the years while his arms and legs had thinned. Overall, though, he was very presentable. Especially in clothes. The right clothes could work miracles on a worn body.

  Five minutes later, dressed in navy slacks and a cotton golf shirt, he relaxed in Doctor Stanford Norman’s private office. Across from him, his physician friend reclined behind an antique cherry desk.

  “Your blood pressure is a tad high on the systolic, and your cholesterol numbers need to come down. But your lab results are all within range. Stress test was good. I figure you’ve got one or two years left in you,” Stanford teased.

  It was rare for a patient to also be a personal friend and the doctor was genuinely glad to see this one. Stanford’s office was a few hundred miles from Willie’s home and they purposely scheduled his bi-annual check-ups on a Thursday so he was the last patient for the week. They’d share a drink afterward and back at Stanford’s house, his wife would cook dinner. Then they’d play a round of golf the next day. It was a custom that neither could remember who’d started.

  “What about the tingling in my hands and feet?”

  “You’ve got me stumped on that one. It can be a symptom of so many different things, and I hate to shotgun prescriptions at you just to see if something works. I’m referring you to a specialist in your hometown.”

  Willie nodded his agreement.

  “Meanwhile,” Stanford grinned, “a good massage therapist couldn’t hurt.” A little massage therapy never hurt anyone. The human touch was good for whatever ailed you, and that was a scientifically proven fact.

  A dark-skinned nurse rapped twice on the open office door and shot them a dazzling smile. “Doctor Norman? We’re all done for the day. Front door is locked and phones are forwarded to the answering service.” She was a knockout. Right off the cover of one of those skimpy-model magazines. Willie produced his own, much less-perfect smile.

  “Thanks, Suzanne,” Stanford said. “You have a good weekend.”

  It was late Thursday afternoon. Years ago, he’d quit working on Fridays and his staff loved him for it, especially since they got paid for a forty-hour work week. He retrieved a bottle of Hennessy and two glasses from a credenza behind his desk.

  “Join me for a cognac?”

  “Of course,” Willie said, adding something about it lowering his blood pressure. Sipping in comfortable silence, the two men could have been mistaken for brothers because of similar features. Straight white hair, thinning on top and sparse everywhere else. Eyes that appeared brown, but upon closer inspection revealed flecks of gold and green within their irises. Smoothly shaven, slightly sagging faces above once-strong necks. Creased wrinkles surrounding self-actualized eyes—lines indicating years of survival, like the rings of a stoic tree trunk.

  “I’m curious about something,” Stanford said after a beat. “Why on earth did you decide on that Great Wings retirement community you’re living in? You never stay at your beach house or the mountain cabin. You don’t travel. I mean, with your money, you could go anywhere and live like a king. Hell, you could hire a fulltime massage therapist. A cute, young, sassy thing, if you get my drift.”

  Willie got his drift. “I don’t know, Doc. Originally, I’d planned to split my time between the beach and the mountains, but I gave the cabin to a summer camp for kids. And I don’t spend time at the beach house because it reminds me of Jenna Louise.” He sighed, contemplating life since his wife’s untimely death. “I should probably put it on the market.”

  “You could always gift it to me. Although my kids already use it all the time.” He’d had a key to Willie’s beach house forever. “Never mind on the gifting thing—I wouldn’t want to pay the taxes and insurance on that place. But back to Great Wings.”

  “It’s a good place to hang my hat where the people are nice. And they don’t know about my life before retirement. I hate all that pretentious bullshit when people find out you have money and all of a sudden they start acting differently around you.”

  The doctor shrugged. “Okay, then. Since you’re there, make some friends. You don’t have to hand out copies of your financial statement! Find a nice woman to date.”

  “The dating thing is too much hassle. Besides, this dick,”—he looked down at his lap—”hasn’t been interested in much lately. Your annual prostate exam is the most action my old sack of bones has seen in years.”

  “I can give you some Viagra samples.”

  Willie dismissed the offer of free samples with a wave of his hand. “If that stuff didn’t kill me, trying to find an accommodating woman probably would.”

  Laughing, the doctor found a bag of pretzels in his desk and laid out the snack.

  Willie munched a few. “Let me ask you something, since we’re being candid,” he challenged the doctor. “You’re what, almost eighty now? You’re wealthy. Why haven’t you retired? Give it all up and go bird watching.”

  “I probably will soon. But right now I still love getting up four days a week and coming to this place.”

  The six-month check-ups always made Willie feel better, simply from the conversation. He and the doc had served together in the military and remained close since. The big difference in them now was that the doctor
had a lovely wife and a slew of kids and grandkids and extended family. All Willie had was a lot of money. Stanford always gave him provocative suggestions as to how he could spend it, but Willie didn’t need anything.

  “I’m thinking of going on a bus trip with the Great Wings group,” Willie announced.

  Doc Norman’s eyebrows shot up. Willie never did anything social. “To where?”

  “South Carolina. Myrtle Beach. The same place that Jenna and I first met. She was there for the Sun Fun Festival and I was there for a seminar.”

  “You’ve always loved the coast.”

  The afternoon had grown dusky and Willie watched the beginnings of rush-hour traffic flash by the windows. “The maintenance fellow is trying to talk me into it. Thinks I’m too much of a hermit. But the problem with being around people is that they always want you to talk.”

  “Well, whether you want to talk or not, your maintenance fellow is right. I think a group trip is a wonderful idea. And if Jenna Louise were alive, she’d tell you the same thing. It’ll get you off your reclusive ass for a few days.”

  “To a bus trip, then.” Willie raised his glass to touch Stanford’s. Maybe I will make a friend or two, he mused.

  One

  Executive Director’s office

  The Great Wings Retirement Community

  Norfolk, Virginia

  “My name is Sherwood and I’ve come by to apply for the activity director position.” Bright green eyes questioned from beneath dark, longish hair and a smooth, tanned complexion. The girl was dressed in a too-big suit that was an expensive make, but obviously borrowed from a sister or friend. She looked to be about twenty and managed an air of calm above a hint of desperation.

  ***

  Exactly seven weeks ago, Sherwood had experienced the greatest day of her life. That evening, it had plummeted to the worst. It was noon on a sunny Saturday when, dressed in the traditional long gown and cap with a brand new red silk dress beneath, she had graduated from college with honors. She’d eaten a celebratory lunch of lobster salad, buttery croissants and fizzy champagne punch. Dreamily light-headed, she’d soaked up all the congratulations on both her graduation and her upcoming marriage. Elation flowed through her veins and she owned the world. It was all there—everything she desired—hers for the taking. The job offers, the new house that her fiancée was buying for them, and of course, the wonderful man himself, Jake.

  Had her dreams not been cruelly trampled, she would have been standing at the altar in front of a preacher, showing off a wedding gown studded with miniature pearls. Instead, Sherwood was standing in front of an executive seated behind a massive desk, and not so proudly wearing a suit fished out of her sister’s closet.

  Even thinking back on it, she could taste the bitterness on the back of her tongue. Jake had made love to her before giving her the news. They were in one of the unfurnished rooms of his brand new house and the smell of freshly laid carpeting had made it more exciting. He’d coarsely lifted the red silk dress above her waist and, standing, pressed her back to the wall with what Sherwood had perceived as passion. He hadn’t even bothered to remove any clothing. Instead, he’d unzipped his jeans and forced the lacy material of her panties to one side. Although it was unpleasant, Sherwood happily obliged. Soon, she’d be his wife. His wife. Mrs. Sherwood Jennings.

  Later during dinner, when Jake had calmly informed her that the wedding was off, that he didn’t want to make such a big commitment, that—on the brighter side—she could keep the diamond engagement ring, Sherwood thought it was simply a joke. A really bad joke. But when he didn’t smile, she knew that the man she’d idolized during four years of higher education was abruptly walking out of her life. Days later she reflected that he had done it as easily as one might change brands of toothpaste, or trade in an old cell phone to buy a new one. Ruining her life was simply an item to be crossed off his daily checklist.

  Sherwood had played the role of hostess for his dinner parties, cleaned his townhouse, helped him put down two pallets of Bermuda sod when a fungus had killed his small yard, shopped for his clothes, rubbed his neck, listened to his endless horror stories about illiterate students, fed his cat when he was out of town for conferences, and smiled through it all—thinking that she was the luckiest girl on campus.

  After a weeklong pity party, the rage was gone. She started eating again, and working out, and actually made a joke to someone when they offered their ‘sincerest apologies’ over her canceled wedding. Her boxes of belongings were already packed and ready for shipment to Jake’s new house. Instead of unpacking, she loaded them into her fifteen-year-old Range Rover and headed to Virginia to live with her sister. After all, she didn’t have a job lined up. There wasn’t a single thing to keep her where she was. Her parents had moved to North Carolina during her junior year and she had no other family in Georgia. Armed with a newly obtained sense of wisdom, a college degree, three hundred and twenty-two dollars from a closed checking account and some major attitude, Sherwood Tyler determinedly drove away from the campus and into a new chapter of her life.

  ***

  Jane Sullivan, director of the Great Wings Retirement Community wondered how the girl had gotten past her receptionist. She studied the unsolicited job applicant, who stood half in and half out of the doorway. For more than a month, Jane had met with countless candidates to fill her activity director’s position. So far she hadn’t found anyone suitable. She was not pleased at the interruption—especially an unscheduled one—but decided to offer a quick interview and motioned the girl to enter. Sherwood did, closed the door behind her, and sat down.

  “Resume?”

  “Yes ma’am. Here you are.” The girl pulled a piece of paper from a manila file folder and offered it to her prospective boss. “I just graduated from college a month ago. I have an accounting degree.”

  Anticipating her interviewer’s next question, Sherwood blurted, “I’m broke, and I moved to Virginia to live with my sister and her husband until I can get a place of my own. I, um, need a job.”

  Jane Sullivan studied Sherwood with interest. Something about the girl reminded Jane of herself at that age. The optimistic attitude, maybe.

  “Any experience as an activities director?”

  “No. But I worked for a parks and recreation department and taught swimming lessons during the summers. I also worked as a server in addition to being a resident assistant for my dorm. So I do have job experience and I’m a really quick study.” Sherwood produced another piece of paper. “Oh, and here’s my college transcript, if you want to take a look at that.”

  Jane Sullivan let her eyes roll over the transcript. “Have you ever worked with senior citizens before?”

  “No, but I imagine they’re like everyone else. Just older.”

  Jane smiled. Well at least this candidate is refreshingly honest, she thought. It was difficult not to like the upbeat girl sitting across from her, even though Sherwood’s qualifications for the position were nonexistent.

  “Why are you interested in going to work for the Great Wings Retirement Community? With your degree, shouldn’t you be pursuing a career in accounting or banking?”

  “Because I need a job. And, I think I would enjoy doing something besides working with numbers. In retrospect, I’m not even sure why I majored in accounting.” It had actually been Jake’s idea, but Sherwood didn’t want to go there. She sucked in a deep breath, summoning courage. “Would you like a reference page?”

  Jane Sullivan laughed aloud and her round figure fell against the back of a leather executive’s chair. As property manager and director, Jane was known for superior customer service. She personally chose every employee that serviced her owner-residents, right down to the groundskeepers. Her seniors enjoyed a fitness center with a zero-entry heated pool, two clubhouses, and an on-site café and pub. Not to mention car washing stations. Boat and RV storage. Sidewalks wide enough for golf carts. Would this girl be able to fit in, she wondered. Or would the resid
ents chew her up and spit her out like a piece of hard-to-digest tomato peel?

  Jane’s office door burst open. A man sporting a plaid sweater and gripping a fluorescent pink putter ambled through, muttering.

  “She did it again!” he said, pointing at the window with the golf club. “Backed right into the rec room! I’m telling you, that woman needs to have her license suspended. Every time she parks, she has to hit the damn wall. I guess it’s the only way she knows that it’s time to stop, for pete’s sake.”

  Jane Sullivan ushered the man out of her office. “Thanks for telling me, Gus. We’ll get over there and take a look.” She patted him on the shoulder, closed the door, and dialed a number.

  “Brad? It’s Jane. I think Mrs. Storrey just ran into the clubhouse again. She’s driving the Lincoln.” She paused to listen. “I agree. Go ahead and get a quote for the curb stops. After you check on Mrs. Storrey, of course. Thanks.”

  Jane Sullivan hung up and smiled at her young job applicant. Unfazed by the interruption, Sherwood sat, waiting. Jane decided to see if the girl could handle a bit of pressure.

  “Where were we? Oh, yes. You’re a college graduate with no money and no relevant experience. And you want a job directing the activities of several hundred demanding retirees?”

  Sherwood nodded, not at all offended. “Yes. I’m intelligent and capable of doing anything the activity director position would require.” She sucked in a deep breath and remembered to smile, displaying a line of even white teeth.

  Sherwood had handled Jane’s little challenge without a flinch. The girl’s skin just might be thick enough to do the job. After reviewing the resume, Jane Sullivan decided to offer Sherwood a job against all logic. She hoped she wasn’t making a hasty decision because she’d grown tired of interviewing candidates. But Jane’s gut instinct about people had never failed her before. And her gut was telling her to give the college grad a shot.