Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

named Jesus, they set out for a sunset surf session at Witch’s Rock. The afternoon sun pierced Cassidy with its harsh glare, but once they were underway, she went up to the deck to feel the breeze. Half of the women were drinking beers, and all were busy donning sunscreen and zinc or taking photos. Cassidy jumped in to help get a group shot of them on the bow. The wind made small talk too awkward, so Cassidy settled in for the ride, watching Witch’s Rock transform from a tiny lump on the horizon to a haunting square of solid rock—like a giant’s pale yellow tooth poking out from the depths.
Once they arrived, Bruce idled outside, watching the sets carefully, while the women evaluated the surf. In the low light, waves exploded into piles of fluffy, white spray, each droplet turning into tiny shimmering pearls. The waves looked bigger than on her previous trip, but the low light and being outside of the waves made size difficult to evaluate.
“Yeeeeew,” someone belted out when a set broke.
“Let’s do it!” someone else added, and just like that, the women were grabbing their boards and jumping over the side.
Cassidy was quick to follow, and caught up with Benita.
“Last time it was world-class, man, we got some incredible barrels on that trip. The other times, well, it was pretty good. Another time the winds were so strong we couldn’t paddle into the waves.”
Cassidy reached the end of the lineup and pushed up to a sitting position.
“What about you?”
“I was here a few days ago. It was really good,” she replied. “But before that, I’d never surfed in Costa Rica.”
Benita raised her eyebrows.
Just then Jillian charged a set, and the peanut gallery went wild with hoots and cheers of encouragement. Cassidy watched Jillian disappear, and the wave rear up behind her, blocking Jillian from view. Libby was next, followed by Marissa, the only longboarder, then Taylor.
They waited through a lull. Benita eyed Bruce’s boat. “Why isn’t Bruce out here?” she asked.
“Is it too big for bodysurfing?” she wondered.
Benita raised an eyebrow. “Nah, that guy will take on anything. My son is the same way—he surfs the Wedge. Talk about nuts.”
Cassidy stayed quiet, realizing that she would soon have to share parts of her life with these people.
“You want this one?” she asked Cassidy as a set approached.
“Go ahead,” Cassidy replied, already maneuvering for the wave behind it. Benita paddled forward with the incoming wave and dropped in. Cassidy, paddling north a few strokes to meet the bump’s rising peak, spun and began paddling forward. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other surfers paddling back out. One of them let out a hoot as she stroked into the wave.
The wave gathered power upwards, forming a steep curve. Cassidy’s board leapt into space, her arms flying from her sides as the ocean fell away. Landing the drop and pulling up, towards the center of the wall, she kept her eyes ahead where the wall formed an endless slope of dazzling, sapphire blue. Her hips swiveled, and she carved a swooping turn, springing her energy off the crest and then soaring back down the speeding slope of the wave again. Reaching the trough, she swung her body in a smooth arc and aimed for the pocket. Once there, the clean wall still forming, building, thinning as she raced past, she trailed her hand in the wave, its warm, silky texture weaving through her fingers.
Feeling an awed sense of joy surface within her, she sped low again, this time leaning far into the bottom turn, slapping the water in the trough as she came around and soared towards the lip. Yes! Zipping past its fluttering crest, she carved down the wave at an angle. The channel was near; she could tell by the way the wave was dying, its slope tapering. In a smooth arc, Cassidy zoomed over the lip, the offshore wind blasting at her back as she flew over the crush of whitewater and rejoined the sea.
“Nice one!” one of the women said when she returned to the pack.
Cassidy exhaled a nervous jitter.
And so it went, with the women trading waves, complete with hoots and cheers, telling inside jokes and sharing plenty of laughter. Cassidy stayed quiet, not wanting to intrude or stand out. They did their best to include her but didn’t force her to participate. By the time they paddled in, the sun melting into the distant ocean, Cassidy was feeling relaxed and pleasantly tired.
After a grilled fish dinner and several bottles of wine anchored outside of Ollie’s Point, the group lingered on the back deck. Marissa and Taylor were sipping beers at the edge of the swim deck, talking quietly. Libby and Jillian were in the throes of an intense discussion at the other end of the table. Benita looked like she was in a food coma. They had all eaten like queens, but Benita was so tiny, Cassidy had no idea where it had all gone. Cassidy was about to get up and tiptoe off to bed when Benita leaned in.
“I didn’t get much out of Bruce,” she said, “other than he had someone to fill our empty berth.”
“Um, yeah. I didn’t get the chance to square up with you,” Cassidy replied, relieved to get this awkward piece out of the way.
“Everything’s already paid for,” Benita replied with a wave of her hand. “You can pick up the tab in San Juan. We’ve only paid deposits on the rooms, and we’ll probably run up a good bar tab. If that doesn’t take care of it, we can work something out.”
Cassidy would rather just pay the group and be done with it, but she understood that this was impractical on the boat. Even back at the bar, what would have she done? She didn’t travel around with a wad of U.S. bills. “Sure,” she said.
The stars looked like pinholes in a black canvas and, with no city lights to