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  KILLER BEACH READS

  a short story collection

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  Copyright © 2015 by Ellie Ashe, Diane Bator, Catherine Bruns, Christina A. Burke, Mary Jo Burke, Wendy Byrne, Tracy D. Comstock, A. Gardner, Janel Gradowski, Gin Jones, Gina LaManna, Leslie Langtry, Nicole Leiren, Patrice Lyle, Dane McCaslin, Kerri Nelson, Ellyn Oaksmith, Kelly Rey, Sally J. Smith, Jean Steffens, Anna Snow, Anne Marie Stoddard, Stacey Wiedower

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Scout Camp Murder (Merry Wrath Mysteries)

  by Leslie Langtry

  A Killing in the Market (Danger Cove Mysteries)

  by Gin Jones & Elizabeth Ashby

  One Red Cent (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries)

  by Ellie Ashe

  Brunettes Just Wanna Have Fun (Gilda Wright Mysteries)

  by Diane Bator

  A Spot of Murder (Cookies & Chance Mysteries)

  by Catherine Bruns

  Queenie Baby: On Location (Queenie Baby Mysteries)

  by Christina A. Burke

  Done in the Sun

  by Mary Jo Burke

  Hard to Control (Hard Targets)

  by Wendy Byrne

  Lesson in Fear (Schooled in Murder series)

  by Tracy D. Comstock

  Ice Cream Bombes & Stolen Thongs (Poppy Peters Mysteries)

  by A. Gardner

  Barbecue & Bad Juju (Culinary Competition Mysteries)

  by Janel Gradowski

  Fun to Fiasco (Misty Newman Mysteries)

  by Gina LaManna

  Heating Up the Night (Heroes of the Night)

  by Nicole Leiren

  Killer Conch Shell (Health Nut Mysteries)

  by Patrice Lyle

  The Pen is Mightier (Proverbial Crime Mysteries)

  by Dane McCaslin

  Backyard Bar-be-Feud (Working Stiff Mysteries)

  by Kerri Nelson

  Mr. Montana

  by Ellyn Oaksmith

  Motion for Misfits (Jamie Winters Mysteries)

  by Kelly Rey

  Mystic Mojo (Mystic Isle Mysteries)

  by Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens

  Blondes' Night Out (Barb Jackson Mysteries)

  by Anna Snow

  Caper at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries)

  by Anne Marie Stoddard

  48 Hours in New York

  by Stacey Wiedower

  FREE Ebook offer!

  SCOUT CAMP MURDER

  (Merry Wrath Mysteries)

  by

  Leslie Langtry

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  My worst nightmare had come true. Never in all my life had I been surrounded by something so terrifying, so alarming that I was seriously concerned for my life.

  "Fire!" the eight-year-old in front of me cried out with glee. At her feet were what I would loosely guess (and possibly exaggerate) to be at least a thousand matches.

  "Ava!" I shouted to get her attention, but she was vibrating in place on a sugar buzz that would horrify a PCP addict.

  "Stop lighting matches! It's time for Emily to try it," I said, barely suppressing a shiver.

  My name is Merry Wrath. I was once a CIA agent, active in the world's most deadly hellholes. But this place was worse. This was Girl Scout Summer Camp.

  To say that the girls were taking advantage of the situation would give a false impression. They were abusing the privilege of learning to start a fire as if they were pyromaniacs at a kindling convention in a forest that had suffered drought for ten years.

  Ten girls were on this trip with me and my very pregnant co-leader and best friend, Kelly. Some of the girls hadn't been able to make it, and right now I was wishing more had stayed home. Instead, I was surrounded by ten blazing, A-frame fires, each surrounded by a little ring of rocks. If there's a Hell, this is what it would look like.

  "We should have the girls start putting them out now," Kelly said.

  "I think they heard you," I said nervously as ten pairs of eyes narrowed in our direction.

  "You heard the pregnant lady!" I commanded, throwing my friend under the bus. "Time to practice putting them out."

  There was decidedly less enthusiasm for this task, but one by one, each girl shoveled some dirt onto the flames and carefully sprinkled water on the remaining embers. The mood shifted from uncontained glee to dark depression with each hissing ember.

  Kelly took them to wash up while I inspected each fire to make sure none of them would flare up while we were away. There were a lot of other troops here at camp for the week, and our troop had been assigned to Raccoon Fork—the most remote campsite in the place. We'd originally been in Dragonfly Pass but were asked to move farther away when the girls wouldn't stop screaming the first night.

  As a result, we had the farthest trek to the dining hall—morning, noon, and night. Why were they screaming? I still don't know the answer to that one. I think girls of that age are just programmed to scream for no apparent reason. I really hoped it would end soon.

  Raccoon Fork lived up to its name. We'd only been here one night, but that was enough to discover that after dark you needed a big stick just to walk to the toilets. About fifty raccoons invaded every night, pawing at our screens and chittering like they were having some weird rodent Burning Man at our campsite.

  I should've known. The Mika in Camp Mika is a Native American first name for "intelligent raccoon." In the last two nights, these creatures had managed to get into the garbage cans, storage bins, and more than one cabin—including mine (somehow they'd found out about my Oreo stash).

  Why would a Native American name a kid Mika, anyway? Was it born with a little black mask and a propensity for washing things? Last night I watched one of the beasts turn on the pump behind my cabin and wash a bunch of Oreos for twenty minutes before I chased it away.

  The girls came back from cleaning up and Kelly was leading them two by two in a line down the trail. I ran to catch up and listened as they sang some song called "Green Socks." This snappy little ditty was about a scout who, in the course of a week at camp, never washed her white socks. They turned green with filth, but she kept putting off washing them because, clearly, she was deranged.

  So as far as I can figure it, camp is about starting lots of fires, never doing laundry even if your clothes change color, and chasing off animals who want to steal your cookies.

  We reached the dining hall in fifteen minutes, once again for those of you who aren't paying attention, from the farthest point on the map. The camp counselors, who came from all over the globe, had lined up outside the door to the hall, and we rushed to join them.

 
This process we would repeat three times a day, before every meal, was to walk into the hall while the counselors sang to us. It was nice. I kind of liked it. It was like being serenaded by the "It's A Small World" ride at Disneyland, but without those annoying, brain-melting lyrics.

  Long rows of tables and benches filled the dining hall, and we found one with our favorite counselors, Reef and Surf, sitting there. Reef and Surf were the camp names of two surfer chicks from Australia, and they each had a great sense of humor. You needed a sense of humor with my troop. You really, really did.

  "Hey, girls!" Surf said with a huge grin. She was tall, thin, and tan with long, blonde hair in a sloppy ponytail and smiling, blue eyes. Reef was her polar opposite with a short and athletic build, very short brown hair, and green eyes. They ran all the aquatic activities, lifeguarding at the pool, and canoeing at the lake.

  Surf and Reef were immediately surrounded by ten girls, all trying to manage a group hug of some sort. The Aussies laughed out loud and hugged them back, and I briefly entertained the thought of sending my troop to Australia so that Surf and Reef could keep them. No really, it could work! I knew a guy with a B-52 who owed me a big favor.

  We sat down and began to pass the food around. Usual camp fare was hot dogs, chicken nuggets, cheeseburgers, or whatever was easiest. This was followed by some murky, purply drink called "Bug Juice" that tasted suspiciously like Kool-Aid.

  "What do you girls have going on after dinner?" Surf asked as she popped a french fry into her mouth.

  "Night hike!" two of the four Kaitlins in my troop squealed. "We're going to go to Ghost Badger Bridge!"

  Kelly sighed heavily. At six months pregnant, moving around wasn't so easy for her. I'd tried to talk her out of coming, but she'd refused. Still, I knew she wasn't looking forward to walking around on narrow dirt trails after dark.

  "Oooh!" Surf giggled. "That's a scary place! You sure you want to go there?" She added a wink to her adorable Australian accent.

  "Yes!" Inez shouted. "Tell us the story again!"

  Everyone at our table quieted down to hear the story we'd heard at opening campfire and every meal since. My girls never tired of it. To be honest, neither did I.

  Reef's eyes danced with delight as she began the story. "One hundred years ago, this whole camp was part of a farm owned by a strange German immigrant named Wolfgang. Now, Wolfgang didn't like people. He lived alone. Anyone came onto his property and he chased them away with a huge pitchfork."

  Surf cut in, "But at the nearest farm were a couple of naughty kids who liked to torment Old Wolfgang. They would play tricks on him and steal the apples off his trees. No one remembers their names, but they were rotten, horrible kids."

  Reef picked up the story line. "Everyone told the children to stay away from Wolfgang, but they didn't listen. One night, the two kids took things too far. They decided to burn down the little bridge on Wolfgang's property."

  At the mention of fire, my girls' eyes lit up. I made a mental note to search them all for matches before we left for the hike.

  "They took a torch from home and made their way onto the property and to the little bridge," Surf said. "But as they held the torch to the wood, the flames went out! It was very dark and quiet. There was no moon overhead to light the way. The kids, for the first time in their lives, were afraid."

  "Who's on my bridge?" Reef cried out with a terrible German accent. The girls jumped and then giggled. "The kids heard Wolfgang's voice but couldn't see him! They were terrified and huddled together in the darkness."

  Surf took over the story. "When they didn't answer, Wolfgang asked again, 'Who's on my bridge?' The kids were still afraid, but also angry now. 'We aren't afraid of you!' they cried. Wolfgang called out to them, 'You're just foolish, like little badgers!' And as he said those words…"

  "The children began to shrink and drop to all fours. Fur grew all over them, and claws grew from their fingernails!" Reef continued, impressively acting out the transformation. "The kids tried to call out, but only growling noises came from them. They looked at each other—they had been turned into badgers!"

  "They ran off into the night. No one knows where," Surf finished. "But every night at dusk, they say you can hear the two badgers weeping beneath the old bridge. And you can hear Wolfgang laughing as they cry!"

  I wondered how long it had taken these two to practice telling the story. I'd heard it five times already but never tired of it. Neither had my troop. They'd been looking forward to this evening's hike all day.

  Kelly and I'd been looking forward to it too—mainly because I was going to slip away during the hike, run ahead, and jump out at the girls when they got there. And while I couldn't really imitate a ghost badger, I figured just flying out of the darkness at them would scare them stupid.

  What could go wrong? Kelly was a nurse, so any resulting scrapes or bruises would be covered. As we helped clean up and stood through the flag ceremony after dinner, my co-leader and I giggled thinking about it.

  Which is how I found myself following the girls into the dark woods, bringing up the rear, later that night. I'd estimated it would be about a twenty-minute hike. The location of the bridge at Camp Mika was very remote, maybe because the screaming would've kept the other campers up. When we were about ten minutes away, I slid silently into the woods and carefully passed up the troop.

  A full moon lit the way as I came out on the trail ahead of everyone else. I turned on my flashlight and ran toward the bridge. I wasn't disappointed when I got there.

  The one-lane, wooden bridge was beyond spooky. This was going to be great! I looked around for a place to hide and decided that I would come up from underneath the bridge. About forty feet below the bridge was a small creek, and I carefully made my way down to the bank.

  This was going to be hilarious. All I needed to do was crouch down in a set of bushes and wait. After a minute or two I could hear the girls' voices carrying on the light breeze. I couldn't help smiling.

  Thud!

  Something crashed into the back of my skull, and I doubled over in pain. Did a branch fall on me? The second impact came quickly, making me see stars. Before I slowly slid into darkness, I saw a pair of black shoes standing in the mud next to me. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  I opened my eyes and found myself staring at ten little faces.

  "Is she dead?" one of the Kaitlins asked.

  "No." Inez gave a disappointed sigh.

  I started to sit up, but the jackhammer inside my head made me lay back down again. Where was I?

  "You're in the nurse's office," Kelly said, in that annoying way she mind-reads. "We found you on the ground, bleeding from the head. I called the ranger, and he drove you here."

  Oh right. Something had hit me from behind.

  "What happened?" I asked, my hand touching a lump on the back of my head that made me jerk in pain.

  "We were hoping you could answer that," Kelly said.

  "Someone tried to ice you!" Emily squealed.

  Kelly rounded up the girls and took them outside. When she came back, she told me that Surf and Reef were taking the girls to our campsite to put them to bed.

  "We looked to see if you'd fallen and hit a rock or something," Kelly said as she masochistically probed my head. Pain flared up like a bonfire set by my own troop. "We didn't find anything. Not even a fallen branch."

  "Someone clocked me," I finally said. "Twice." I looked around. "Where's the nurse?"

  Kelly studied me. "I let her go. She had a broken leg to set at the pool." I looked at her with interest, but she waved me off. "Why would someone out here hit you?"

  I shook my head, which turned out to be a very painful mistake. Something was vibrating. Probably my skull.

  "No idea," I said. "But at least I know it's not a CIA matter, or Riley would be standing over me." Riley had been my CIA handler for years…until I was outed by a vengeful politician and "retired."

  Kelly held out her cell. "He
's on the phone right now."

  I took it while glaring at her. My best friend had developed an irritating friendship with my former boss as of late. "Hey Riley. What's up?"

  "I should ask you," Riley answered. "How come you start trouble everywhere you go?"

  "I didn't," I snapped. "I'm just here with my troop at camp. I think it's probably unrelated."

  "Who's watching Philby and the kittens?" Riley's voice sounded a little worried.

  "Rex has them." Rex was my boyfriend and the hunky police detective who lived across the street from me. Right now, I was missing him and the cats.

  "As long as they're okay," Riley grumbled. Up until recently, he'd been grooming himself to be my boyfriend. For the record, he also thought he was Philby's mother. "Get better."

  Wait…he believes me that this isn't related? "So that's it? You aren't going to barge in here and take over with the subtlety of a rhino in a china shop?"

  "It's a bull in the china shop," he corrected.

  "I prefer rhino," I insisted. Any chance to annoy him was a win in my book.

  I could virtually hear him shrug. "I don't think this is agency related. You're on your own."

  "Roger that." I hung up before he could respond and handed the phone back to Kelly. "How did he know to call?"

  "I texted him. I thought he'd want to know." Kelly shrugged.

  "I suppose you're disappointed that no murder was involved," I accused, rising somewhat steadily to my feet.

  "No. I'm glad you're fine. But I do think you need to take it easy tonight. Maybe skip the pool tomorrow."

  We stepped outside to find the camp director, Pony (these camp names were a bit weird), waiting for us in a pick up truck. We stepped in, and she drove us to rejoin our troop at Raccoon Fork.