As I wrote last year, I entered a story to the Cannon Beach Library as part of their 5th Annual Writer's Read event. My piece was accepted last year and I'm happy to say they accepted my entry for this year as well. The folks out there on the windy Oregon coast are a great group, dedicated to reading and to writers.
I thought I'd share the story, based on the library's theme of "Beach Noir". I'm not a huge detective story fan, but I know enough to write a parody. I love writing parodies — half the work is done for you, Just follow the tropes and insert the jokes. So here it is, my "Beach Noir" story...
Farewell, My Sandcastle
The grimy black telephone on the sandy desk in my grubby office rang like a drum corps banging on cookpots. The ancient office chair squealed in complaint as I sat up, groggy from a hot cocoa induced nap, grumbling a curse as I grabbed the handset.
"Hayward Rock, Beach Detective" I growled, "lost cellphones spotted, kite nappers nabbed, dog walkers derelict in doody duty duly dunned."
"Mr. Rock, this is Annabel Elk." Her voice was smooth and warm like a shot of good cocoa. "I'm with the sandcastle contest committee and we need your help."
"What'sa matter? Somebody bury grandma? A beach pail not regulation size?”
"Nothing that exciting. But we believe one of the contestants may have used AI for their entry."
I chuckled. "That seems unlikely, Missus Elk—"
"Miss. Miss Ann Elk"
"Sorry. Miss Elk. It's just that for all the hype and hoopla about AI, push comes to pull, algorithms are too stupid to pound sand."
"That may be so Mr. Rock, but we'd really like you to come down and see for yourself."
"A sawbuck per diem, plus expenses. And fair warning, I drink a lot of cocoa."
Miss Elk agreed too easily. Half the folks who ring my bell bail when talk turns to my fee. But everybody gotta make a living, and a seaside shamus with my experience and beach smarts commands top sand dollar.
And I wasn’t lying. I drink a lot of cocoa.
I stopped in at Sleepless Sam’s for a cup of his best. He spots me a tab and doubles up on the whipped cream. By the time I got to the beach I was sporting a Kris Kringle mustache, so I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my cheap, knockoff Guayabera shirt and spotted a woman walking toward me, waving. I raised the cup in salute and sandaled her way, sneaking a long sip of my now tepid ambrosia.
She was tall for a dame, lanky like a thoroughbred, draped in one of those handkerchief hem beach dresses that made it clear her legs went all the way to the ground as if God made them to do exactly that. Tanned, of course, but it wasn’t from a bottle or a bed. Just her and Old Sol spending lots of quality time together.
“Mr. Rock? I’m Ann Elk.”
“You are? Well, then, just give me a minute to put on my antlers.”
She tilted her head like the RCA Victor dog. “I’m sorry?”
“Never mind. Bad joke. Where’s your simulated sand sculpture?”
She led me past several contestants, crews putting finishing touches on castles and crabs, lobsters and limpets, pyramids and porpoises.
She stopped and pointed to a roped off area. “This one, Mr. Rock.”
I looked it over and nodded my head, a ruse that makes me look like I know what I’m doing when I’m stumped and speechless. I took a sip of my cocoa to stall longer and nodded again.
“This?”
“Yes.”
I nodded one more time, knowing that was the last stall I could pull off. “Um, hmm” I mumbled.
The design was typical of a sandcastle school you might call “Beach People Realism.” A boy running along the strand getting his kite off the ground. Realistic, yes.
But the boy looked in three different directions from three eyes, the hands holding the kite line were twelve-fingered and the kite was an uncannily accurate sculpture of a dead albatross.
“It’s… imaginative” I said.
“Yes” she said. “Hallucinatory.”
Blatant Self Promotion Section
My first novel, Where You Will Die, is available now exclusively on Amazon in Kindle and paperback.
"This philosophical mystery will captivate readers thanks to a winning cast and setting."- Kirkus Reviews
"Quirky, engaging whodunit." - Rick George, author of Sinister Refuge
"The story is beautifully written and is compelling and gratifying." - Alma Boucher for Readers' Favorite
Haha. Love your short story. I'm sorry I'm not saying this sooner. I opened your newsletter from my phone, promising myself I would read it fully on the computer. And then other mail came barreling in and buried it.
It was great. When is your next book launch?