It’s the end of summer at the Jersey Shore. One more week of salt air, sand, and seagulls in Candle Beach. One more week before we head back to Etonville, New Jersey. This was my kind of vacation, spending a holiday at the shore. Basking in the sun, indulging my passion for seafood, no responsibilities to assume. Away from the Windjammer restaurant that I’d managed since my arrival in Etonville. Away from the on-and-off stage melodrama of the restaurant’s next door neighbor, the Etonville Little Theatre. And, even though I loved them all, away from my BFFs Lola and Carol and friends in my small but gossipy town where Bill, my current squeeze, serves as the town’s police chief.

We spent the day on the beach soaking up rays until the sun shifted in the sky signaling it was time to hit the tiki bar and order our favorite drinks: a gin and tonic for Bill, a creamsicle crush for me. I’m hooked on the OJ and vodka concoction. Swaying palm trees, Polynesian music, fried oysters, spicy shrimp. . . It didn’t get any better than this!

The night was warm and sensuous, my muscles limp, my skin tingling from the heat of sunbathing. We sat at the bar munching and sipping when I saw a man approach. He threw down some bills and ordered a round of drinks for a rowdy crew at a table nearby. I recognized that confident stroll, cocky grin, and golden tan.

“Vinnie?” I said. Vincent Carcherelli. Or Vinnie C as I knew him in the days before I moved north to Etonville.

Wow. . .something had changed in his circumstances. Vinnie had the polished façade of someone who’d been doing well for himself—a crisp white shirt that set off his tan, beige cargo pants, and an expensive watch with a gold bracelet band. This was not the Vinnie who had spent his days on a charter fishing boat with my ex-boyfriend Jackson in a tattered tee shirt and bathing trunks ferrying tourists up and down the shoreline. My attention was riveted on my old friend, as if he was a magnet drawing me back to the past. A light wind wafted through the open-air bar. I shivered. . .

We exchanged pleasantries and he moved back to the table, Bill and I moving on to the restaurant where we had a reservation. The Sandbar. Owned and operated by my old boss Grody. We went back a decade when he hired me to manage his first restaurant here in Candle Beach, the Jersey Shore town where I grew up, and when Hurricane Sandy wrecked his livelihood, we parted ways. He moved to North Carolina to regroup; I moved north to Etonville to manage the Windjammer restaurant. I was thrilled to see him back at the Jersey Shore.

By the end of the evening, wooed by gourmet seafood risotto, I agreed to help Grody with catering theme food for the opening night reception of the New Jersey Community Theater Festival. What were good friends for?

Still, on our walk back to the bungalow Bill and I had rented, I couldn’t get Vinnie’s changed appearance out of my mind. Or the way seeing him made me think about my previous life in Candle Beach. . . I laid my head against Bill’s shoulder. We crossed Ocean Avenue, entered Atlantic Street which ran perpendicular to the boardwalk. I saw our cozy bungalow, only a block from the ocean, with its large screened-in porch. Perfect for outdoor sleeping in this weather.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bill asked. “Let’s pop the cork on that champagne we’ve been chilling.”

That’s when I opened the screen door and my foot scraped a large object. That moved. I jumped and screamed!

A voice in the dark hollered, “Dudette!”

My heart banged in my chest. I knew only one person who referred to me as dudette. “J-Jackson?” I said, unbelieving.

In the dim light I could see a sleeping bag and an open backpack with clothes spilling out of it. My ex had made himself at home on our porch. Jackson said he missed the ocean and got fed up trying to sell tractors and combines in Iowa with his brother. Experiencing a negative cash flow, he had no place to stay. One night, I said. For old times’ sake. He agreed.

It was supposed to be a romantic end to our day, Bill and I under the stars. . . Guess that ship had sailed. My cell binged. Might as well check it. The night couldn’t get any worse. First Vinnie, then Jackson. . .It was my BFF Lola. The Etonville Little Theatre had been chosen for the NJ Community Theater Festival! We’re coming down the shore. Can’t wait to see u! she texted.

I groaned. Yikes!

You can read more about Dodie in No More Time, the fifth book in the “Dodie O’Dell” cozy mystery series, released July 23, 2019.

Death Takes A Holiday

Restaurant manager Dodie O’Dell has found her niche in the cozy New Jersey town of Etonville, creating menus that make a delicious double-act with the community theater’s productions. Now she’s ready for a vacation at the Jersey Shore town she called home before a hurricane hit. Sun, salty air, and seagulls make for a nostalgic escape from regular life—until a contingent from Etonville arrives to compete in a Jersey Shore theater festival.

Roped into helping her former boss cater the event, Dodie also gets a visit from her old flame, Jackson, who’s hoping to revive his charter boat business and is looking for a place to crash. Before Dodie can tell him that ship has sailed, Jackson’s partner is found murdered on his boat. Dodie knows her ex is a mooch, but she’s sure he’s no killer. But as she follows a trail of evidence that leads into her own past, Dodie stumbles on a dangerous conspiracy theory that could bring the festival to a shocking finale. . .

Purchase Link
# # # # # # # # # # #

About the author
Suzanne Trauth’s novels include Show Time, Time Out, Running Out of Time, Just in Time, and No More Time. Her plays include La Fonda, Françoise, Midwives, Rehearsing Desire, iDream, Katrina: the K Word, and Three Sisters Under the Hood. Her screenplays Solitaire and Boomer Broads have won awards at the Austin Film Festival, among other contests, and she wrote and directed the short film Jigsaw. She is currently a member of Writers Theatre of New Jersey Emerging Women Playwrights program. Ms. Trauth has co-authored Sonia Moore and American Acting Training and co-edited Katrina on Stage: Five Plays. She is a member of the Dramatists Guild, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime.

To learn more about Suzanne, visit her website at suzannetrauth.com.

All comments are welcomed.