Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

have to die and leave me all alone? she thought. We were supposed to be together forever.
She swatted away her tears and scolded herself for being angry at Pete. The crash had been an accident, though the police had never been able to explain why he had lost control. Cassidy breathed deeply and dipped into her usual visualization: walking with Quinn on a beautiful, white sandy beach. She imagined the crunch of the sand and the sound of the gentle waves, the smell of the sea and the honey-scented flowers growing on the trees at the edge of the shore. It took a moment, but the exercise helped her shift back to herself. Or what was left of it.
Knowing that further sleep would elude her, Cassidy got up and turned off the air conditioner, put on the robe, and went to sit on her stoop.
The quarter moon hung low in the sky, and she could hear the surf crashing against the shore. Insect hum filled in the gaps between waves. She went back for her hairbrush and returned to untangle and plait her long, honey-brown mane. Might as well get ready, she thought.
The water was warmer than at Witch’s Rock the day before, but still felt cool against her skin this early in the morning. A yellow blush was spreading across the horizon by the time she paddled out at La Casita, first wading through the sandy shallows, then paddling hard for the outside. The fish-shaped surfboard felt a bit squirrelly under her, but she knew the two of them would bond soon enough.
She had never intended to be a surfer. Growing up in Boise, Idaho, she spent her summers outside riding her bike and playing in the creek, and her winters skiing. Back then her favorite activity was ballet, and she was on track to become quite good at it. But five years after her mother passed away, her father had reconnected with his high-school sweetheart and moved them to California. Cassidy didn’t take well to the move. She quit ballet after a year of classes in her new town—her southern California classmates were unbearably cruel, and the snooty ballet mistress had called her footwork “sloppy.” Without ballet to anchor her, she drifted and not in a positive way. By eighth grade, she had fallen in with the shady crowd that did things like vandalize people’s houses, smoke pot, and skip school. But one of her boyfriends was a surfer and offered to teach her. In a way, she knew surfing had saved her, though it had made her even more of an outsider.
Reeve had been a surfer too, though he preferred using swim fins and his body to a board. The activity had bonded the two of them for a while, and Cassidy harbored some peaceful memories of their blended family at the beach, she and Reeve surfing while Quinn tried to pick up girls and Rebs worked on her tan while speed-reading romance novels. Most of the memories she had of Reeve weren’t as favorable.
The waves at La Casita were shoulder high and a little scruffy, but fast and fun, folding into little crash barrels that she tucked into after getting the feel of the board. She was starting to enjoy herself when three Ticos paddled out, bantering back and forth in their rapid Spanish. The sun had almost peeked over the hills behind them, and the shadow of the land was receding quickly.
The first Tico out gave her a nod, and then waited while she caught the next wave. So, etiquette is alive and well in Costa Rica, she thought. As she paddled back out, she watched the first Tico paddle for a wave and drop in, using the curve of water like a skate ramp, riding it up and down until it crumbled, and he flew over the back. She settled in to wait her turn next to the other two Ticos, who each gave her a nod. They traded waves in this way for a while until she and the first Tico, his skin the color of chocolate and his tangle of curly brown hair sparkling with seawater, were paddling back out side by side.
“Where you from?” he asked in adorably accented English, his smile open and friendly.
“Oregon,” she replied.
“Ah,” he said, though she wondered if he had any idea where that was. “How long you stay?” he asked.
Cassidy thought quickly. “A few days.”
“Bueno. Tomorrow we have olas más grandes,” he said, his deep brown eyes sparkling. “You should go to Playa Grande,” he added. They reached the lineup and both sat up on their boards. The two other Ticos had taken waves, so it was just the two of them.
“I might be going to Nicaragua,” she said to her surprise. Until that moment, she hadn’t made a decision.
The Tico’s eyes lit up. “A dónde?” he asked.
“I’m not sure where exactly,” she said. “Do you know Bruce?”
“Cap-tain Kee-o!” he said in a husky-sounding chant, then paddled off for a wave and disappeared. The other two returned to the lineup, and Cassidy noticed a handful of other surfers getting ready to paddle out.
“Here come the crowds,” one of the Ticos nearby muttered when she turned back to the horizon.
“You guys work at the camp?” she asked.
“Yes. I am surf guide,” he said with a hint of pride. “Rico is instructor,” he added, tilting his head toward his friend.
“And him?” Cassidy asked, nodding toward the Tico she had talked to first.
“He is surf guide too,” he answered. “You stay at the camp?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He pointed to himself and said, “Macho.” Then he pointed to the surfer to his left, who was paddling into a wave. “Rico.” Then the third Tico paddled up. “Eddie.”
“Mucho gusto,” Cassidy said with a nod of her head. “Cassidy.”
“Mucho gusto,” Eddie and Macho chorused.
Cassidy’s stomach was growling, and the number of surfers bobbing in the lineup had increased their group to almost a dozen. It was time to go.
“Adios, Cassi-dee. You take