The Sunset Witness Read Free Page A

Sarah's beach house.  The restrooms were at the entrance to the beach
parking lot.  A scruffy-looking man in ragged jeans and a soiled t-shirt with
the image of Mick Jagger on it walked out of the restroom and waited outside
while lighting a joint.  A younger woman wearing a camisole that revealed the
straps of her sports bra and tight cutoff jeans that ended right above the
curve of her lower buttocks joined him.  He took a drag on the joint before
handing it to the woman.  They headed toward the beach.  I was surprised that Sarah's
romantic beach house left me feeling exposed and wary.  The tea kettle
shrieked, startling me so much that my body lurched, ready to flee, and I
gasped and felt my heart racing.
    I locked the door behind me, poured the hot water
over my teabag, and let it steep while I fished for my phone at the bottom of
my purse.  Sarah had left another message.  She'd spoken in a loud whisper so I
could hear above the background noise without anyone hearing her.  She'd not be
driving to Sunset that night, after all.  I was disappointed but not surprised. 
I'd agreed to assume the lease on Sarah's beach house in Sunset after she found
a job as a graphic designer in Hoquarten and grew weary of the hour's commute
to and from it over the narrow, winding, two-lane highway.  She'd arranged for
me to take her job as a waitress.
    Sarah and I were still pursuing our artistic passions
while our thirty-something friends were rearing small clones of themselves. 
The prospect of being a waitress in Sunset while I wrote my great American
novel by the sea had sufficient allure so that, for once in my life, I'd not
agonized over every detail before I jumped at the chance.  Obviously, I hadn't
anticipated living next to the Sunset Beach Access that must attract suspicious
characters like a wrecking yard attracts derelict vehicles.  I made an effort
to stay positive and filed the scruffy-looking man away as a character in a
future novel.
    The first thing I did after listening to Sarah's
message was to remove the key from its hiding place under the loose brick. 
Before I did that, I scanned the parking lot to be sure no one would see me.  I
felt safer having the key inside with me.  I'd sleep better without wondering
if Sarah's hiding place had been compromised.
    The door to Sarah's beach house opened into a small
kitchen.  I lowered the shade on the door glass that provided a view to the
lower row of parking spots angling into the dense shrubbery above the beach. 
The only other window in the kitchen was over a four-foot drop leaf table
across from the counter.  That window faced southeast toward the upper row of parking
spots.  I was surprised to see the roof of Frank's house after recognizing the
brick-colored two-story house next to it.  Depending upon where I stood, I
could see the entire hillside of homes above Main Street.  The countertop
across from this window ran the length of the wall common with the living room
and was interrupted only by a large, stainless steel sink and built-in range
and refrigerator in white.  The cupboards were white and had been painted
several times.  Each layer of paint on the undamaged surface added thickness
that accentuated the shallow, scraped areas that had received only one coat.
    When I'd first entered the kitchen and filled the tea
kettle, I was startled to see a mural directly in front of me on the windowless
wall common with the next beach house.  It was so realistic that I'd tried not
to look at it.  The mural was framed by the same hemlock that was around the
real windows.  The window created by the mural started a foot from the front of
the refrigerator and ended a foot from the front of pine shelving that was next
to the drop leaf table.  The overall size was about three feet square.  The
view from this imaginary window was to the window of an imaginary apartment and
the near naked couple who was caught in a passionate and private moment.
    The