A cup of coffee on my beach house deck, an ocean breeze, and the glittering Atlantic—my usual morning of Zen. Never believe the old adage: you can’t go home again. At the age of twenty-eight, after ten years of living in Manhattan, I am thrilled to be back in the loving arms of my father and great-aunt at our almost hundred-year-old family-run inn on an island in central east coast Florida—the Indialantic by the Sea Hotel. Not that I had a choice but to return to Melbourne Beach after a scandal rocked Manhattan’s literary community, with me and my ex at its center, our faces plastered on page-six in the tabloids–not to mention a night of terror that resulted in a four-inch scar on my right cheek.

The Indialantic is the perfect place for healing and writing. Although, even with the tropical paradise outside my office window, I still haven’t found my muse. I’ve barely written a word of my contracted second book, ignoring my agent’s calls. I send her short texts saying, “I’m too busy to chat.” Yes, I’m busy. Busy helping the hotel’s eighty-one-year-old chef and my surrogate grandfather, Pierre, prepare gourmet meals for the hotel’s residents and guests; busy helping my octogenarian great-aunt run the hotel; busy helping my semi-retired father with his law cases and paperwork, and per my therapist’s advice, busy reading every Agatha Christie book, play, and short story written. Wise therapist. However, I’m not busy writing, seeing all I have is a title, An American in Cornwall.

Here comes Aunt Amelia, hopefully bearing beignets stuffed with orange cream cheese prepared by Chef Pierre. “Such a glorious day,” she says, slightly out of breath from making the short walk from the hotel. She places the tray on the table between us, then sits on the chaise with a Humph! Her flowing, paisley-print caftan in shades of violet, green, and turquoise is in perfect harmony with her trademark baby-blue eyeshadow, black eyeliner that extends above her sea-green eyes in true ‘60s style, and flame-red hair coifed on top of her head in soup-can curls. “I hope the weather holds for the Spring Fling by the Sea,” she says. The Spring Fling is Aunt Amelia’s idea to promote the recent opening of the Indialantic by the Sea’s Emporium shops. Following my grandfather’s death, my great-aunt was left in charge of the rambling once-grand resort which opened its doors in 1926. Now, most of the upper level guest suites are a refuge for Aunt Amelia’s “strays,” usually senior citizens with small Social Security checks and small pets—the exception being Captain Netherton’s Great Dane, Killer.

Sorry, I’m late,” she says, out of breath. “I was watching an episode of My Three Sons in my screening room. The one where Ernie raises money for a charity event at school, spends some of the proceeds on a candy bar, then is called into the principal’s office. I was inspired to watch the episode because of your suggestion that we donate a portion of our sales from the Spring Fling to the Barrier Island Historical Society.”

“Let me guess, you played Ernie’s principal?”

“Nope. The school secretary. Complete with cat-framed glasses on a pearl chain and an angora twinset that had me sneezing from all the little rabbit hairs I inhaled. It took eight takes for a one-line speaking part.”

Aunt Amelia was a prolific 1960s television character actress with over fifty roles listed on IMDB, and many more uncredited, not to mention a slew of mid-century TV commercials. She’d also had a reoccurring role on the ‘60s daytime soap opera, Dark Shadows.

“Oh, Lizzie. Guess what?” She leans toward me, the strands of glass beads on her necklace clash against each other in harmony with my windchimes. “I booked the Oceania Suite. With the rent from the emporium shops, a successful Spring Fling, and our first paying guests in weeks; we’ll be able to do those repairs we’ve always been talking about.”

Black clouds blanket the sun. A turkey vulture lands on the sandy white beach in front of us. He starts pecking at some poor dead sea creature.

An omen? I ask myself, before taking a bite of my beignet. Naw.

How wrong I turned out to be.

You can read more about Liz in Death By The Sea, the first book in the NEW “By the Sea” mystery series.

National bestselling author Kathleen Bridge presents a delightful new series set on a barrier island where waves meet sand—and mayhem meets murder . . .

The Indialantic by the Sea hotel has a hundred-year-old history on beautiful Melbourne Beach, Florida, and more than a few guests seem to have been there from the start. When Liz Holt returns home after an intense decade in New York, she’s happy to be surrounded by the eccentric clientele and loving relatives that populate her family-run inn, and doubly pleased to see the business is staying afloat thanks to its vibrant shopping emporium and a few very wealthy patrons.

But that patronage decreases by one when a filthy rich guest is discovered dead in her oceanfront suite. Maybe this is simply a jewel theft gone wrong, but maybe someone—or many people—wanted the hotel’s prosperous guest dead. Only one thing is sure: there’s a killer at the Indialantic, and if Liz lets herself be distracted—by her troubled past or the tempting man who seems eager to dredge it back up—the next reservation she’ll book could be at the cemetery . . .

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About the author
Kathleen Bridge is the author of the By the Sea Mystery series and the Hamptons Home and Garden Mystery series, published by Berkley. She started her writing career working at The Michigan State University News in East Lansing, Michigan. A member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, she is also the author and photographer of an antiques reference guide, Lithographed Paper Toys, Books, and Games. She teaches creative writing in addition to working as an antiques and vintage dealer in Melbourne, Florida. Kathleen blissfully lives on a barrier island with her husband, dog, and cat. Readers can visit her on the web at kathleenbridge.com.

All comments are welcomed.