BooksBarbecue
Back Sunset Beach Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. Epilogue
  71. Also by Mary Kay Andrews
  72. About the Author
  73. Newsletter Sign-up

“Yeah, Mom wasn’t much into interior design,” Drue agreed. “Most of the pieces I took I remembered from when Nonni and Papi were alive. I got a bunch of boxes of kitchen stuff too, which will really come in handy.”

“I’m glad,” Brice said. “I should just donate the rest of that crap in the unit to charity for a tax deduction. No way Wendy’s ever gonna let any of it back in the house.”

Drue allowed herself a wicked smile. “Can’t say I blame her. That was some seriously bat-cave-looking furniture you had going there.”

“From my BW days,” Brice agreed. “‘Before Wendy.’”

“Hey Dad,” Drue said suddenly. “Who was Colleen Boardman Hicks?”

“Who?” Brice took a gulp of his martini.

“Colleen Boardman Hicks. I found some old newspaper clippings Mom had apparently saved about her disappearance from way back in 1976.”

For some reason, she deliberately avoided mention of the case binder she’d also discovered.

Brice repeated the name aloud, slowly. “Wow, I haven’t thought about her in a long, long time.”

“Why would Mom have saved those old newspaper stories?” Drue asked. “Was she a friend of hers? Did you guys know her?”

Her father helped himself to another slice of pizza. “I knew Colleen from high school, but I don’t think your mother ever met her.”

“Weird. She disappeared while you were still on the police force, right? Was that a case you worked on?”

“Me? No. I was never a detective. Just a lowly street cop.”

“Whatever happened with the case? Did she ever turn up?”

“Not that I know of,” Brice said.

He checked his watch. “You want another glass of wine? If not, I should probably be getting home to look after Princess.”

“I’m done,” she said, then hesitated. “Speaking of cold cases, Jazmin Mayes?”

Brice’s expansive mood darkened. “Christ! That again. If you’re going to get emotionally attached to every hard-luck story that comes down the pike, maybe you better cut your losses now and find another line of work.”

“Emotionally attached? Is it wrong to feel empathy for somebody who’s obviously been injured—or killed—through no fault of their own?”