Vikki Hill gasped. She’d been to the beach, lots of times, mostly the Jersey Shore back home. But this was different. She left her shoes on the grass and walked out onto the sugary white sand, letting her toes sink into it. The water was like a magnet. She drew closer, stopping to study the waves lapping at the shore. Huh. She ventured closer, bracing herself for the shock of cold, but the water was surprisingly warm. She wiggled her toes, and something beneath them wiggled back. She stooped down to see that there were millions of tiny multicolored clamlike seashells strewn along the waterline. She smiled despite herself.

“They’re called coquinas.” She jumped, startled. An elderly man, shriveled and bald with skin like an old Samsonite suitcase, stood only a foot away on the hard-packed sand. His white T-shirt was shrunken with age and he wore baggy knee-length shorts, black socks that came to his mid-calves, and white tennis shoes.

“Excuse me?”

“Those shells you’re looking at. They’re co-qui-nas.” He pronounced it slowly, like she was hard of hearing, or stupid, or both.

“Huh. So these are like what, babies? Do you eat ’em?”

“Only if you’ve got a really tiny knife and fork.” He guffawed at his own joke, then stuck out his hand as if to shake. “Oscar Jensen. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

She ignored the outstretched hand. “Yes.”

“Just come in, did you?”

“That’s right.”

“Couldn’t pick better weather.”

He was a chatty old bastard. So far, everyone she’d encountered down here was overly friendly and super chatty. Annoying. Her usual tendency would have been to blow him off, but since he seemed to be the self-appointed welcome committee here, maybe she should break her own rules.

“The weather’s pretty good,” she said. “Have you been coming here very long?”

“Oh yeah. Started coming down in the nineties, I guess, me and my wife, Sue. She passed, so now it’s just me. We don’t get a lot of new folks here at the Surf. All us regulars, we’ve been coming here for a real long time. I’m guessing you’re staying in the efficiency?”

“That’s right. How’d you know?”

“Like I said, I know everybody here, and we all always stay in the same place. Until somebody dies or quits coming. I figure you’re here because Harry Bronson had a heart attack. Him and the wife headed home Monday, which meant their unit was available. It’s one of the nicest ones here, got a great little patio with a Gulf view. Merwin, he thought he and Trudi would move over there, but Ava went and gave it to Letty. So she moved out of the efficiency, which meant that was vacant. See?”

Vikki tried not to act too eager. “Who’s Letty?”