The Reluctant Promoter: A Hurley Beach Mystery, #2

By Keith Sink

Book #2 in The Hurley Beach Mystery Series

What could keep a promoter quiet?

The Reluctant Promoter takes place in the small tourist town of Hurley Beach. A gang killing, a foul energy drink, a growing collection of tag signs and a scared promoter combine to stir up the paranoid residents of the small beach town.

The matriarch of the family, Velma, runs a successful beauty salon, is active in her church, and occasionally asks too many questions. She's accompanied by her overfed pug, Henry.

Her son Bernie is a retired police detective adjusting to life in the small beach town.

Sandy, Velma's niece, is a new Deputy making waves in the male-dominated sheriff's department.

In book two of The Hurley Beach Mystery Series, an energy drink promoter is implicated in a murder when a body is found in his burnt-out car. The stranger refuses to cooperate as gang tag signs appear around town. Is the promoter in on the escalating attacks or is he a naive pawn?

Is the town itself at war and who can the amateur detectives trust?

The Hurley Beach Mystery Series is an entertaining cozy mystery series with quirky characters throughout.

Read The Reluctant Promoter and solve the mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PiddlePup, LLC
• Release date: Jul 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393453420

Keith Sink

A native of North Carolina, author Keith Sink grew up reading Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Stratemeyer Syndicate books. He is the author of the Hurley Beach mystery series. He earned a Bachelor of Science Degree in Criminal Justice and worked in the Computer Industry as a consultant. Through his early years in the Carolinas and his later life in the Pacific Northwest, Keith has gathered a treasure trove of tales he’s woven into his novels. A cozy mystery writer, Keith also enjoys writing Science Fiction and Fantasy. He lives in Seattle, WA with his wife and enjoys creating stories with his black lab Jessie snoring nearby.

Book preview

1

The hum of the florescent lights overrode the metallic clinking sounds on Loren’s laptop. Swiping her fingers across the screen, splashes of light informed her she had cleared the level and could move on to greater challenges. It passed the time , she thought. At least I’m not flipping burgers.

The room was dim except for her station. The screen changed back into a montage of pictures from her last family vacation. Her mother, father, and little brother showed some goofy and some serious poses in front of different landmarks. The computers surrounded the room creating a circle with monitors facing inward. It was her turn to take the night shift, so she dug herself deeper into her comfy swivel chair and prepared for a long night.

She saw the lights on the long display and the terminal come to life well before the phone rang. Taking a deep sigh, Loren touched the toggle on the headset at her ear and began her speech.

Nine one one emergency, she said. What’s the nature of the emergency?

Shuffling and a small burp ensued before the person on the other end spoke.

Well, um… No emergency, I guess. I want to know where the hell my car is, came the voice.

Was the car taken sir? Loren said.

It was parked outside a bar.

And it’s not there now sir?

The anger in the voice increased as he gained his ability to talk. No. That’s why I’m calling you.

Sounds aggravated, she thought.

Sir. If you can tell me where the car was parked, I can find out where it could have been towed.

The sound of shuffling and a clearing of a throat ensued. I parked at this bar in Hurley Beach, said the voice on the other end of the line.

Loren could hear the man shuffling on the other end of the line.

"Barnacle Bay. The name of the place is Barnacle Bay," he said.

Loren typed the name into the computer and continued the conversation as the map of the area came up on her screen.

And was it parked in a tow-away zone?

Of course not. That’s why I think it was stolen, the voice said. I need that car back. It’s really important.

OK, sir. If you want me to send out a deputy to get some information and put out an APB on it, I’ll get someone out here in the next hour.

No. No. You’re probably right. Maybe I parked it wrong. Where would it go if it was parked illegally? he said.

Running a finger down a list pinned to the wall of the cube, Loren stopped near the bottom. Looks like it would most likely be towed to Nifong Towing, she said. It’s about a half mile from the bar.

The line clicked a few times and went dead.

You’re welcome, she said into her headset. If you had waited for me to finish, I would have told you they don’t open until tomorrow morning.

Taking off her headset, Loren typed a few notes into the little window on her screen and turned back to her laptop to continue the game.

A half hour later, the door alarm chimed. Loren looked up from the revelry of the screen to survey the operations room.

The clanking of keys on a desk and the movement of a chair brought her head up to look over her monitor into the dimly lit station area. Night duty made her nervous, especially when she was alone. The footsteps sounded louder and then there was a small tap at the bottom of the door. Loren smiled. She recognized the tap as her friend Sandy’s usual greeting.

Sandy opened the glass door to the command center and walked in bearing a restaurant bag. A red cartoon pig printed on the bag smiled back at Loren.

Burley’s BBQ? said Loren. How classy.

Sandy placed the bag down on the desk in the room’s center. Only the best for my co-workers. Sandy looked down at the game on Loren’s laptop. I see from your score, it’s quiet around here.

The smoky smell of pork BBQ began to envelope the room. Surveying the contents of the bag Loren pulled out a crinkle fry and shoved it into her mouth.

Loren raised her eyebrows and smirked. Very quiet, Loren said. So far I’ve gotten a report of car prowlers which I passed on to Dupree; a domestic dispute that was solved before Ross got there, and some guy who misplaced his car.

Slow night then. I guess that can be fun.

Shoving a few more fries into her mouth, Loren looked up at Sandy. Fun? I’d rather it be busy in here.

Loren waved her arms around the room. The quieter it gets in here the more jittery I get when a call comes in.

Sandy pulled out the two wrapped packages at the bottom of the bag and offered one to Loren. You always have been the nervous sort. Sandy agreed.

Maybe I Haven’t had your training, Loren said.

Hah! You went through the same academy class I did. And as I heard it you were the top of your class.

So much that good that did for me. Loren swiveled in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. I keep drawing the short straw on assignments.

Don’t worry, your time will come. I once felt like you did and just learned to take the opportunities that came my way. You’ll have your chance, just grab hold of it.

Kenton’s father named the tow yard after a cousin who helped him in his early days. James Nifong didn’t give him money to start the yard, but he gave him business advice. The tow yard made its way down to Kenton, but he didn’t have the heart to change its identity since it meant so much to his father. The yard changed little over the past forty years.

A high fence which surrounded three quarters of the large rectangular yard, kept the area secure. A large gate which allowed access to large tow trucks, RVs and whatever else they could pull in or were paid to store for customers protected the rest of the yard. At the front sat a small structure where Kenton and his driver Jonas filed their paperwork and drank beer between pickups.

The resident canine was a big wrinkly dog named Turk. Turk was of undetermined genetic origin with a mean temper. He walked the yard with a nervous tension and barked at anything that disturbed the silence. The crickets took most of Turk’s attention at the moment. Behind him he dragged a large metal chain. Though the chain held him back, he still had length enough to reach most of the yard. He walked the yard with a stiff cadence that hinted at his age. Every few minutes he would let out a little guttural urp sound just to let everyone know he was still on the job.

Kenton sat at his desk looking over his log book. In the log, he recorded the make, model, estimated year, color, license plate number, VIN ID, mileage, and a list of any valuables in the car. A light blue Honda was their newest guest.

Kenton had examined the car when it came in. No noticeable dents, usual scrapes near the key locks, but nothing out of the ordinary. Writing these details in the log, he realized he hadn’t checked the trunk. He put a question mark in the log and wrote in the rest of the information.

He reached for his mug and realized it was empty.

Time for a fill up, he said to himself.

Kenton reached out for the coffee pot behind his chair when he heard the sound. It sounded like a muffled yelp.

Looking up from his desk, Kenton called out. Everything OK out there Turk? He didn’t expect an answer but Turk usually came running when he was called. He closed the log and put away his pen. After a few more minutes and a few more calls out to the yard, he reached under his desk for the butt of the pistol.

The grip of the Colt .45 felt cold in his hand as he pulled it out of its holster. A slight swoosh sound came from where the two items separated. Kenton kept the gun loaded after a nasty encounter a few years ago almost cost him a kidney.

I hope I remembered to load this thing the other day, he mumbled.

Kenton pulled back the hammer and pointed the gun in front of him as he left the building. He began by looking at the gate and the lock. Both were as Jonas had left them. Just then, he remembered it could be Jonas. Turk and Jonas were friends. He lowered the pistol, expelled the breath he was holding in and called out.

Jonas? Is that…, he said.

The crushing of his left ear was the last thing he felt before stars filled his vision and his knees collapsed. A ringing took over the sounds in the yard. No longer could he hear the crickets or even Turk’s chain as it moved around the yard. Now there was silence as his eyesight became blurry. There was now nothing but silence and the dark.

This time the game is Omaha Hi-Lo. Bernie slid the cards out to each of the people at the table. Around the blue felt table sat his friends who joined him every other Sunday night for a few hours of poker. To his left sat Thomas, whom Bernie had known all his life. Beside him was Maurice, Sam and Ted.

The Rolling Stones were playing "Give me Shelter" on the radio. The wind brought night air through the windows opened at the front of the house.

Bernie looked at his hand and motioned for Maurice to start. Call, raise, or fold, he said.

Maurice dragged his cards in front of his hand. I’ll call, he said.

Me too, Ted said. How’s your business been there Maurice? Lots of college kids in town I hear.

Yeah there’s a lot of overflow from Myrtle Beach. Mostly college kids from Greensboro, Maurice said.

Kids? Don’t let them hear you call them that, Bernie said. Bernie threw his cards into the middle of the table. I fold.

Maurice nodded. Good point. Don’t want to piss off the visitors.

I must fold this one, Thomas said.

Everyone looked at Sam. I’ll call, he said.

Ted leaned back in his chair and played with the label on his bottle. Taking a drink, he pointed the bottle at Bernie. Speaking of business, how’s the fishing business? Thomas said.

Bernie thumbed his chips and thought about the question. Fishing business is stagnant. I don’t think the fishermen like all these kids around. But I’m selling a lot of energy drinks. I don’t understand it myself, but those things are popular.

Tell me about it. We sell a lot of mixed drinks with them. Maurice said. Something about a buzz along with your alcohol. Seems like one counters the other, but whatever.

Ted finished pulling the label from his bottle. I’ll have to ask Terry over at waste management if there’s been an increase in cans. He likes to report on things like that. I guess it’s his analytical nature, Ted said. Did you guys know Terry graduated from MIT?

Bernie shook his head. Guy like that working in waste management, he said.

He loves it over there. He generates all kinds of scatter graphs and charts showing our performance — does a good job.

Sam reached for his pile of chips and put in fifteen. I’ll check, Sam said.

Bernie burned a card and turned over the next adding it to the row of cards in the table’s middle.

Now that you mention energy drinks, Ted said. "There’s a company doing a promotion I heard about today in Myrtle Beach. Called Tom-Tom or something like that. They’re holding a beach volleyball championship. Some guy came by today to tell me about that. Handed out a few fliers. Nice guy."

I’ll have to check it out, Bernie said.

Same here, Thomas said. That’s what we need.

Bernie burned the next card and turned over the next card. He placed it beside the last card. Last bet gentlemen.

What? Maurice said. Energy drinks or more beach volleyball?

Thomas looked up from his hand. Well beach volleyball. I can care less about those drinks. He curled his mouth. I haven’t tried it myself. A soda here and there does everything I need.

Fifteen, said Sam.

Everyone turned to look at Thomas. I’ll call. Watcha got?

I’ve got the low spade. Sam turned over his hand to reveal the elusive two of spades.

Thought so. I’ve got two pair. Thomas showed his hand.

Kings and sixes. A split pot, Bernie announced.

After they divided the chips, Bernie went to the kitchen with Sam close behind. The old fridge made a sucking sound as it reluctantly opened. Bernie brought out two beers and handed one to Sam. Saw some of your guys over at that new house being built on main. I see they have the posts in but they appeared to be waiting on someone.

Last Tuesday? Sam said.

Bernie nodded.

They were waiting for me. Sam opened his beer and shook his head. The one day I tried to take off and some asshole paints all my supplies with gang banger graffiti.

With a loud slurping sound, Bernie took a gulp of his beer. They tagged your lumber?

Bernie thought back to his days on the force. A gang task force had given them a presentation on gang tagging. It gave Bernie a different perspective on the clues of gang activity put out there for display every night.

Yeah. The lumber, the pilings, and the porta-potty. Made for one hell of a week. We got it out of there before Mrs. Edison saw it. She would have had a cow if she saw that on her lumber.

Not seeing a lot of building going on. Are you doing OK out there? Bernie said.

I’m not struggling too much yet. But that’s only because of the downturn in the economy. Most of my competition moved off to green pastures. But you know Betty. She’ll never let me move out of here.

Bernie raised his beer to toast Sam. That’s what you get for marrying the richest family in town.

Sam returned the toast by clinking his can to Bernie’s.