A Poor Woman's Wealth: A Hurley Beach Mystery, #3

By Keith Sink

How much do we really know about our neighbors?

A Poor Woman's Wealth is a heartwarming cozy mystery about a family of detectives who struggle to uncover the truth about a legendary pirate and a rumored inheritance and how they can be the motive for murder.

Velma is a fixture in the small town of Hurley Beach. She runs a successful beauty salon, is active in her church, and occasionally asks too many questions. She's accompanied by her reluctant sidekick–a pug named Henry.

Her son Bernie is a retired police detective who is running a failing bait and tackle store and building a relationship with a local girl.

Sandy, Velma's niece, is the first police chief in the small vacation town. As she and the town recover from a hurricane, she finds herself in the middle of a puzzling murder investigation.

In book three, we follow Velma and Sandy as they discover the body of a missing man buried in a shallow grave. Why was he killed and why is everyone in his life so calm about it?

Could the killer be a relative of the victim, the current wife, the ex-wife, or business acquaintances? Was he killed because of what he knew?

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

Read A Poor Woman's Wealth and solve the mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PiddlePup, LLC
• Release date: Jul 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393516903

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 parking lot transformed itself into a relief organization in a matter of hours. Velma gave orders to lift with your knees and don’t drop that to the growing group of ladies. Folding tables groaned as they were unfolded and put into place. They organized bottles of water, put up signs and greeted the trucks and cars loaded with people looking for some relief.

The storm wrecked the coast of North Carolina and people were searching for supplies. The First Covenant Episcopal Church was ready with provisions and batteries; or more specifically, the Southern Women’s Circle was ready. Among the heaping stockpile there was even a stash of suckers for the kids.

Velma was proud of her ladies. They were the pillars of their church.

You’re doing a fine job girls, and you too, Velma said, looking down at Frankie.

Frankie was a regular helper. His mother, Ivy, wanted him to grow up free range.

Whatever that meant, Velma thought.

In the distance she saw her son Bernie. He parked his truck in front of a large collection of limbs a homeowner was already making at the edge of the street. He was wearing his everyday clothes; old jeans and a holey t-shirt.

I wish he would dress better.

Did I wake you this morning? Velma said.

You always wake me.

Just didn’t want you to be late.

Bernie walked over to Velma and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Looks like the heavy lifting’s done. Good timing, if you ask me, Bernie said.

Bernie surveyed the work. Cases of water squeaked as they passed into the waiting car doors. People thanked the ladies; some offered to pay to which they responded with a smile and a no need.

Morning ladies, Bernie called to the collective. No one took theirs eyes off their tasks. Morning Bernie came the reply in unison.

I see you’ve got Frankie doing a little indentured servitude, he said.

Velma pursed her lips and raised her clipboard but then thought better of it. Taking a deep breathe she cleared her throat. Frankie volunteered, I’ll have you know.

And the promise of ice cream after had nothing to do with it? Bernie teased.

He likes my company. What can I say?

Bernie scratched his beard and yelled to Frankie, Morning, kid.

Frankie looked to catch who was calling him and caught site of Bernie. He smiled and waved back to Bernie.

What’s the mayor say about the town? Velma said.

She braced for the worst. The small coastal town of Hurley Beach was her home these last twenty years. Her family was here, or what was left of it.

About what you’d expect, Bernie said, The storm washed out a few of the roads but we’re not cut off. Utility crews are working on the poles. Police department has the town secured. Minimal damage.

Velma listened to the staccato in his voice. The years of police training were always there. Reports were brief, with clear words like utility crew and officers speckled throughout.

How is she doing?

She’s holding up well. Not a good time to start a new job. Sandy will make a fine police chief.

You don’t think this will be too much for her? Velma said.

Do you even know your niece? This will just make her a legend here.

Bernie adjusted his belt and looked around the parking lot at the growing number of cars.

Well I’m glad she’s holding up.

I also talked to Foster, Bernie said, I know he and Sandy aren’t speaking at the moment, but...

They’re just taking a break.

OK. Fine, a break. But he’s also an important part of the recovery.

Agreed, Velma said. What does our fire chief say?

He has bent up siding on the metal roof of the fire station, but he’s fine and ready to go. He wanted you to know he would be here for his afternoon shift after someone relieves him.

Good. We can use him. Velma took a quick glance back at her troops to make sure things were still progressing.

Bernie surveyed the progress as they stood talking to one another.

How’s the shop? he asked.

The shop was her hair salon. She cut and styled hair for over fifty years and when her husband suggested they move to the coast, she knew she needed a place to work. Ellis knew she had to keep busy, so he found a small piece of land and got to work building her a small place she could work four days a week. It was her home away from home.

Jeanie and I walked around it this morning. The storm ripped the awning off, but no water damage. Thank goodness. Where’s Ivy? she said.

Velma’s eyes left Bernie and focused on the left side of the line and noticed something out of place.

And then she ran off with the circus. Said she couldn’t handle the sun here, Bernie continued.

Supplies were dwindling over there. Linda was giving out the wrong number of cases.

She started off, but turned back to Bernie.

I heard you smart boy. Some of us can actually multi-task, Velma said. So, where is she?

She’s helping Maurice get the bar back in order. They have to be ready for the late-night crowd. She sends her regrets.

Velma scowled, looked from Bernie back to where Linda stood. This matriarch wasn’t too crazy about her future daughter-in-law working as a bartender, but she was keeping an open mind. Ivy raised Frankie all by herself for the last eight years. How can you not admire someone like that?

Oh, and one more thing. Can you stop by and talk to Sandy? I don’t mean to pry, but her relationship with Foster is giving me problems here and I need you to do a little snooping.

Mother, Bernie exclaimed.

Stop fretting. I just want her to know what she’s got with him. He’s a good catch and I’m fending off the vultures who want to move in. Velma waved to the women in the distance. A few waved back; others looked at her with sideways glances.

I think they are a little old for Foster, he said.

It’s not them I’m worried about. It’s their granddaughters. Four of them have eligible granddaughters they’d love to introduce to Foster. Sandy’s days are numbered if she doesn’t get her house in order.

I think you’re worrying about nothing. Sandy and Foster have something special. They both know it.

I hope you’re right. Well don’t stand around. People are piling up. They have to get to the gas stations to wait in line there, Velma said. Oh, and ask Sandy to invite Foster to Sunday dinner.

Bernie saluted and went to help Frankie. He avoided a small puddle in his way and greeted the ladies by name as he passed. She could hear him in the distance. We men need to stick together. These are dangerous waters. Frankie snickered.

Velma looked over the growing crowd. The trucks and cars were full of tired people looking for a sign that things would return to normal. Some lost their homes, others were eager to get back to their trailers to check the damage. Hopefully this will be the worst thing we have to face this season.

The new city police station was a one-story structure a few blocks from the beach and just yards from the road leading to the island of Hurley Beach. Built to withstand the onslaught of a hurricane, it proved itself capable of withstanding anything thrown at it; including the recent hurricane. Newly appointed Police Chief Sandy Fulsom took over the recently created post. She brought along her good friend and fellow ex-deputy Loren Montgomery to help with the new assignment. With things still settling down around the island, the Chief left Loren in charge of the office.

Rain poured outside the small building producing a relaxing melody. Loren slapped her face which created a stinging effect in her cheek. That’s better.

The door chimed in the hallway connecting the Mayor’s office and the Police station. She heard someone try the door to the mayor’s office and then plod down the long hall to the only other door; hers. A tall man in a casual suit walked in, folding up a damp umbrella.

Loren stood up from her computer where she was finishing a game of solitaire. Welcome to the Hurley Beach Police Station, I’m officer Montgomery, Loren said, What can I do for you?

This greeting was her idea. She wanted to create a sense of professionalism which she felt was sometimes missing on the island.

The elderly man gave a small wave at Loren, cleared his throat and raised his head.

I’m Professor Bruhill. I’m a historian from Wilmington, he said. I was hoping to talk with your mayor, but I see he’s out.

Loren remembered the hand-written sign Ted put up when he was away.

He’s out helping with the island repairs. Perhaps I can help you with something.

I see y’all have weathered another hurricane here. There’s a curse on the island, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard about, he said.

Pardon?

A curse. You have heard of the curse? Haven’t you?

Loren felt like the man may be a few screws loose, but she was anything if not persistent. She smiled at the newcomer.

I’ve never heard of any curses on the island, Loren said. This is a new posting for me, so I may just be out of the loop.

I’m a historian, you see, Professor Bruhill said. I research pirate activities of the seventeen hundreds; specifically pirates off the coast of the Carolinas.

Oh, the ‘Arrr’ type of pirates. I thought you might be talking about the computer type, she said.

I’m looking for information about legends of pirate activity in the early years of that century. I’m searching for a female pirate who ruled the waters near here.

Female pirate? What are you talking about? Pirates were dirty men, manning dirty crews on dirty ships.

Professor Bruhill must have found the exchange humorous. He let out a short snort and smiled back at her. Removing his glasses and wiping the beading water off the lenses, he continued. It’s true that most pirates were men, however a few were women.

Now you’ve got my attention, Loren said, leaning close to the desk.

Mind if I take off my coat, Prof. Bruhill said.

Let’s set at the table by the window. Coffee?

Professor Bruhill removed his coat and put it on a coat rack by the door. He left his umbrella on the floor nearby.

Setting down at the table, Loren brought him a cup of coffee. He accepted the cup and began his tale.

The pirate I’m looking for, he said, or I should say, I’m looking for evidence of, is a dark-haired woman by the name of Anne Hutchison. At the time she had this name, she wasn’t a pirate but the wife of a respectable business man named Ebediah Sutton.

Loren gripped her cup closer. Is it getting colder in here?

The professors voice dropped a few octaves as he proceeded with his tale. Anne and her husband Ebediah were successful at their business. They dealt with sugar imports from the West Indies as well as hemp rope and tackle they made special for ships coming into port. In the spring, they would pack barrels of salted pork and other food stuffs.

Loren looked down at her ebony skin and then back at the professor. Did they traffic in people? Slaves? she asked.

There’s no evidence. I think the only reason was because there was little profit in it this far up the coast.

She settled back in her chair and waited for the story to continue.

The spoon clinked in the Professors cup as he moved it from side to side turning the liquid a light brown.

Ebediah wanted to branch out and with their growing family — now numbering two boys and two girls — he thought they could afford an upgrade. The problem was the British navy was the biggest game in town and Ebediah was not on the list of favorable outfitters for the navy to use. A few bad investments and some hard times soon brought him to destitution. Anne encouraged him and helped in the store when she could. One night a fire broke out in a nearby bar. It spread quickly, taking out three quarters of the stores along the waterfront. Ebediah died fighting the fire but saved the store. Anne rushed to him when she heard, but it was too late. To support her family, she took over the store. It limped along but was never the same.

What happened to her? Loren said.

Professor Bruhill took out a handkerchief and blew into it. Clearing his throat, he closed the cloth and put it away.

Eyewitness accounts from journals of the time and some business records I’ve discovered, show she carried on using a small space she rented from a competitor. About six months after her husband’s death an outbreak of Small Pox swept through the region. It killed four out of five of the inhabitants of the coastal regions. Among the dead were all four of Anne’s children. Left with nothing, she became destitute and looked for a way out. That’s all we know of Anne the business owner.

But that’s not the end of the story, is it? Loren said.

No. It’s not. One year later, a pirate answering to Anne’s description showed up in the port of Wilmington. The sailors called her Annie Hutch.

A call came through to the switchboard, but Loren ignored it. They’ll call back, she said. Loren went over to the coffee station and pulled the decanter away from the holder. The machine let out a gentle hiss of steam. Refilling the cups, she returned to the table.

So Annie became a pirate? I’ve never heard of a female pirate.

Most of them hid the fact from everyone including their crew, but not Anne. Later, because of outbreaks of disease, and lack of good leadership, opportunities were made available for women. And some of them stepped up to the challenge. There are many cases of women taking on roles that society would have never imagined them capable of achieving. Many of those opportunities occur during hardships brought on from wars and disease.

Loren raised her cup to toast to that. Professor Bruhill seemed surprised. He picked up his cup and clinked it with hers.

She commanded a ship named after the youngest of her daughters. Beth, he said. "Ebediah was fond of calling the child Bloom, so she named the ship The Bloom. Annie created a whole persona around herself as the daughter of Satan. Her whole demeanor changed. Given to fits of rage, she would slaughter whole crews whether they begged for