Body On The Beach.

This was suppose to be my submission for the June dangerouslove contest but I didn't finish it in time. I hate having unpublished drafts on this account just for the simple fact it creates clutter. So here is my unfinished, five months late contest entry. Enjoy... or not, I guess. :)

1968, Lavarna Beach in California

With gloomy eyes and a resentful heart, the whispers could only be true. Her signature scarlet red lipstick had been found on the body. Detective Brommers, who had only made her acquaintance minutes ago, could deduct as much. But a smudge of lipstick and some nasty rumors wouldn't hold up in a court, he knew enough.

1:49 a.m. a body was recovered on the east side of Lavarna Beach face down in the sand. Male, approximately 5' 11", 175-180 lbs, Caucasian, black hair, blue eyes. The victim was found naked face down in the sand with abrasions on his wrists and ankles, and a large contusion on the back of his head consistent with being struck over the head with a large blunt object. Identified by the local coroner as being Nicolas Maraschino, aged 34. Suggested to be a Wallstreet businessman on vacation with his wife.

As he read the notes accumulated over the last day in silence, his eyes still took glances at Mrs. Maraschino, who sat calmly staring back. For a woman who had just discovered her husband's tragic departure from this world, she looked about as shaken as a Black Russian.

Yes, the man washed ashore on the local beach with his face in the sand was her husband.

Yes, they were entrapped in a dysfunctional and dangerous relationship or so the rumors go.

Detective Brommers just didn't know how to connect the murder to the emotionless woman sat across from him. Wearing a tight-fitting crimson gown with a sly red smirk flashing back at him, it's no wonder the older balding man was left scratching his head. Here sat this modern day woman with her loose morals and unconventional marriage, Detective Brommers just couldn't get past his prejudices long enough to use his male ego-centered brain.

"How about I save you the time, Detective? I'll admit to what I've done, on one condition." Her husky low voice from years of abusing tobacco products didn't diminish her sensuality with an accent like that.

The woman sounded like a 45-year-old Italian woman but had the curvaceous body of a 24-year-old.

"And what's that, Mrs. Maraschino?" His eyes no longer rested on her face rather the view below her neck as she shifted in her seat.

"It's Ms. Maraschino, now. Let me tell my tale. That's all I ask."

"Normally, that's how it goes, Ms. Maraschino. Why?" His bushy brows furrowed in confusion at her unusual request.

The stone-faced detective no longer seemed so icy in her eyes as he left his emotions come through.

"It's important someone knows the truth, the whole truth. I need it."

"I suppose I can find the time."