Crispin's Crazy Beach Mysteries

THE GOLDEN GIFT: PART 1
 
Crispin’s day started pretty much the same way it usually did these days, and while that may seem mundane to some it was just fine as far as he was concerned. Crispin preferred the predictable routine over the chaos of the life that he used to have. His days of screaming out the door to miserably ride crowded subways only to barely make it on time just to be yelled at by a boss that also didn’t want to be there either were now a distant memory. Sad reflections that were now in the rear-view mirror and happily left behind. Crispin’s day now started with the sound of the waves crashing in beaches, and usually with the sun beaming light over the massive ocean that was his favorite neighbor.

After having a cup of Chai and guacamole toast, Crispin put on some sandals, and casually strolled over to the shop only wearing a dress shirt and khakis shorts. The surf shop was owned by his roomie, Gary, who preferred to be referred to as Smasher for his love of smashing the waves. Smasher could always be found at the beach this time of the morning, hitting the waves before anyone was even up. As a part of their rental agreement, Crispin agreed to open the surf shop for Smasher every morning and would run it for the first few hours of the day while waiting for Smasher to return. Once the surfer returned from the beach, Crispin would be free to retreat to his own office for the rest of the day. At the back of the surf shop was where Crispin’s real job resided, as there was a small office that he used to run his own business as a private investigator. After being in operation for more almost a year, Crispin never had a client arrive before eleven which allowed Smasher to come up with their current agreement. This allowed the owner to take in some waves every morning and in return Crispin paid considerably less rent for his office, which helped greatly during his first several months as a P.I. by the beach.

While he was at it, Crispin would also clean up the shop and reorganize the shelves, as he preferred to earn his discount rather than just vegging out in an empty shop reading magazines about surfing. He also liked to organize the surf boards by color, which always upset Smasher because he had his own way of organizing them. Smasher always hated to arrive and see his wall of boards look like a rainbow and would occasionally put them back the way he wanted when he felt like it. It was a battle of wits that Crispin felt he was slowly winning as Smasher was not putting the boards back as often as he used to. That morning Crispin didn’t bother to organize the boards, as he was using the internet to look up information on a mark he was tracking, and that’s when she strolled into the shop.

“Can I help you?” Crispin asked without even looking up.

When he eventually did glace at her, this was the last person one would expect to see in this kind of surf shop. The lady was older than he was, at least mid-fifties, and was wearing designer clothing that no respectable surfer would ever be caught dead in. This led Crispin to assume this client might be for him but preferred to wait and see what response the lady gave to his open inquiry.

“My name is Addison Jones,” she calmly replied, “And I think I might be in the wrong building.”

“Who are you looking for?” Crispin asked her.

“I’m looking for a private investigator,” Addison replied.

“Then you’re in luck,” Crispin said, gesturing the back room. “My name is Crispin Mills, and I run a private investigating agency out of an office in the back, which will actually open up in less than an hour.”

“Oh, I see.” Addison said, checking her watch. Something Crispin didn’t see much of these days thanks to current technologies. “Do you mind if I wait in the back? I don’t feel like browsing around. No offense.”

“None taken,” Crispin replied, “The door is already open. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Addison said, as she walked towards the back area and into the office through the open door that Crispin had referred to. Now Crispin just had to wait for Smasher to show up so he could get back to his real job.

THE GOLDEN GIFT: PART 2
 
While Smasher returned somewhere around his usual time, it always felt longer to Crispin whenever he had a client waiting to see him. The big lug could sense the air of impatience as he strolled into the shop with his board. He put his board away and started to stroll over to the counter where Crispin was eagerly waiting.

“You alright, man?” Smasher asked.

“I’m fine,” Crispin said, “How were the waves?”

“Totally rocking, man.” Smasher said, with a smile. “I hated to leave them.”

“Sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you did,” Crispin said, tossing him the keys. “I gotta jet. There’s a potential client waiting for me in the office.”

“Really?” Smasher said, rather surprised. “This early?”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Crispin said, as he was walking backwards to the office. “We’ll catch up over lunch, and it might be my treat this time!”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Smasher replied, rather smugly.

Crispin disregarded the comment as it was a well-deserved jab, as Smasher covered enough lunches to earn the right to be skeptical. There was on the other hand something more deserving of his attention, and the prospect of work showing up this early in the day excited Crispin enough to not let any barbs get to him. Addison Jones was on her smart phone checking something when Crispin strolled into the room and closed the door behind him. It was a typical office set up with a big desk, and two chairs in front of it for clients to make themselves comfortable. Addison had already parked herself into one of the chairs, but put her phone away when he arrived, and looked ready to discuss business immediately.

“What brings you to my office, Ms. Jones?” Crispin casually asked.

“It’s Mrs. Jones, actually,” she corrected him. “I may no longer be married, but I prefer it out of habit.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Jones,” Crispin said, taking a breath. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s my son,” she answered, “William is my youngest of three boys, and he’s been in and out of rehab with dreadful drug issues. While I’m happy to have him home for the holidays, something has recently happened that concerns me a great deal.”

“Tell me what happened,” Crispin asked, despite having an idea. He wanted to give her a chance to get it off her chest. Hearing it in her words was also very important to him.  

“A few expensive pieces of jewelry have gone missing from my bedroom,” Mrs. Jones replied, “I can’t help but fear the worst, and it’s upsetting me a great deal.” 

“You’re afraid he stole them to get drugs,” Crispin said, “And you want me to look into this to confirm it?”

“Not exactly,” she said, wiping a tear away. “I’d like you to find out if its true or not first. I don’t want to confront him if there’s a chance someone else stole them. Find out where my jewelry went, and if it turns out to be my son, then I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.”

“I think I understand,” Crispin said, offering her a tissue, “You don’t want to make accusations without credible independent evidence to back the charge. You want to be sure before you confront him.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Jones said, wiping her cheek, “Find out what happened to them, and then I can deal with it. I actually hope it isn’t him, because I was looking forward to our first Christmas together in over a decade. This was the last thing I wanted to deal with. I might actually celebrate if you find out it was the pool boy or some common thief.”

“Have you filed a police report?” Crispin asked.

“No, not yet,” she answered, “I didn’t want to put William in that position.”

“Fair enough,” Crispin said, “Do you have any pictures of the missing jewelry so that I can try to find them for you?”

“Yes, I brought a few.” Mrs. Jones said, as she dug into her purse and fished out a few pictures of the missing pieces. “There’s also a recent picture of my son. I’m not trying to be materialistic bitch, Mr. Mills, I’m more concerned about my son. I want to make sure he’s alright and not fallen off the wagon and is using again.”

“Fair enough,” Crispin said, “I’ll do my best to recover them, but at the same time I’ll identify the thief and bring anything I find to you first before going to the police.”

“I appreciate that,” Mrs. Jones said, and as she stood up, she pulled a small brown envelope and held it out for him. “Here is payment upfront. I can and will pay more at the end of your investigation if I’m satisfied with your work.”

“Thank you,” Crispin said, taking the envelope. “I’ll get to work on it immediately.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mills,” Mrs. Jones said, “I’d like to know the truth before the holidays so that it doesn’t ruin them for the entire family. Everyone has been looking forward to the whole family being together this year.”

“That’s less than a week away,” Crispin reminded her, “But I don’t think I’ll need that much time to figure this out. I should have little trouble meeting your deadline.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Mrs. Jones said, and without even saying goodbye, she strolled right out of the office and quickly for the shop’s front door.

Crispin took a moment to count the cash, which there was a lot of, and that confirmed to him that Mrs. Jones was more concerned about her son than her own jewels. She could probably afford get then replaced anytime she wanted, for she was clearly loaded. Her kids on the other hand, were irreplaceable. He respected her for that and slowly strolled out into the shop to see Smasher.

“Dude, did she hire you?” Smasher asked. Usually when clients stormed out of the shop like that, Crispin has usually done or said something to ruin the opportunity.

“She sure did,” Crispin said, showing him the envelope, “And she paid up front, which means lunch is on me after all.”

“Whoa,” Smasher said, as he felt his heart skip a beat. “Usually the miracles occur on Christmas, not before them.”

“You’re an atheist,” Crispin reminded him, “You don’t believe in miracles.”

“And yet here you are,” Smasher joked, “Money in hand, ready to buy me lobster rolls.”

THE GOLDEN GIFT: PART 3

Smasher wasn’t kidding about the lobster rolls, as he ate three of them with a side of onion rings and a few vodka coolers. Crispin was tempted to buy a few drinks and celebrate with him, but he was too focused to let drinks take away his focus. They had a decent lunch, but after walking Smasher back to the shop, Crispin started to hit pawn shops in an effort to look for the jewelry that once belonged to Mrs. Jones. Like most states, pawn shops were required to stash newly items purchased from anywhere from one to two months, just in case the police came looking for it. If not claimed within the mandated time period, the pawn shops were free to sell the items without penalty and conduct business as usual. Crispin had forgotten to ask Mrs. Jones when the items were stolen, but he was hoping the lady hadn’t waited too long to seek help and that they might still be stashed in someone’s backroom awaiting the time period to expire. He had already checked two shops that afternoon and neither had the jewelry he was looking for. Crispin believed them because the pieces in question were quite flashy and would be hard for any pawner to forget. It wasn’t until Crispin hit the third shop of the day when he hit pay dirt. He walked into the shop and the man he was looking for was at the cash and twiddling his thumbs as the empty shop suggested the man was having a very slow day.

“Artie!” Crispin said, as he walked up to the cash. “Happy holidays!”

“Humbug,” Artie said, not in the mood for playful holiday banter. “What the hell are you doing here, Mills?”

“Can’t a friend pop in to say hello?” Crispin countered.

“You could,” Artie said, “But I’d prefer if you were here to spend some money.”

“Fraid not, big guy,” Crispin said, “I’m on the clock and looking for stolen property.”

“Aw shit,” Artie said, aware of what was coming. “You think I got hot items here?”

“You might,” Crispin said, “I’m not here to bust your balls, Artie. Help me with this case and I might be able to make it worth your time.”

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Artie said, as he liked the sound of that. “What are ya looking for?”

“These,” Crispin said, laying down the photos Mrs. Jones gave him. The man behind the cash didn’t have to say a word as his face gave him all the answers Crispin needed. The jewels were here and as Artie had feared, they were as hot as the sun that beat down on their beautiful white beaches.

“God damn it,” Artie cussed, “I knew they were too good to be true.”

“Calm down, Artie,” Crispin said, taking the pictures back, “Are they still here?”

“Yeah, of course they are!” Artie said, slightly offended. “What kind of crook do you take me for, Mills?”

“Hey, settle down.” Crispin said again, “I’m just checking as I didn’t know exactly when they were stolen. As a matter of fact, the client hasn’t filed any reports. As far as the fuzz are concerned, they’re not hot. Not yet, at least.”

“Is that so?” Artie said, “That’s interesting, and it explains why a P.I. is asking the questions instead of a detective. Did your client steal them first?”

“I don’t think so,” Crispin said, amused by his imagination. “My client wants to know who it did first because she’s unsure if she even wants to press any charges at all.”

“Oh, alright.” Artie said, intrigued himself.

“So, how long have they been here?” Crispin asked.

“Almost four weeks.” Artie said, “I intended to put them out in a few days.”

“You still might be able to,” Crispin added, “Just tell me who sold them to you.”

“He was a pretty young fella,” Artie said, thinking about it. “I’d say mid-twenties but no older than thirty.”

“Alright,” Crispin said as he pulled out another photo, “Does this jog your memory?”

He had placed a photo of Mrs. Jones’ son on the counter. Artie looked at it long and hard but was unable to recognize it.

“I see a lot of people,” Artie confessed, “I just don’t know.”

“Well, I know you keep all your tapes.” Crispin said, “So give me the ones that were made the day these jewels were sold. I’ll bring it back after I’m done with it.”

“Alright,” Artie grumbled, “Gimme a sec to find it.”

The big man wasn’t kidding as he first had to lookup the receipts of when the jewels came into his possession and then use that date to find the tapes recorded that day. He always meant to go digital but was too lazy and cheap to do it. It was usually on days like today when he needed access to files, that Artie was reminded how fast and organized he could be if he took the time to upgrade. About a half hour later, Artie came back out with three video tapes and handed them over to Crispin.

“That covers the whole day,” Artie told him, “But I have no idea which one he’s on.”

“No worries,” Crispin said, taking the tapes. “I have a machine that can play them.”

“What about the goods?” Artie asked, “Do I keep them stashed?”

“Hang onto them for now,” Crispin said, “My client is very rich so let me check and see if there’s any sentimental value to them. Odds are you might be reimbursed and even get a reward on top of that.”

“That loaded, eh?” Artie asked, grinning. “She single?”

“Probably not,” Crispin said, “And if she was, you can get in line.”

“Ha ha,” Artie said, knowing his friend was full of crap.

“Just keep them stashed,” Crispin said, “And I’ll get back to you. Thanks for the tapes.”

“I want those back,” Artie said as Crispin started to walk out, “Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Crispin said, “See you around.”

THE GOLDEN GIFT: PART 4

When Crispin got back to the office, Smasher was talking to some potential clients, showing off some boards and trying to convince them to invest in one of them. Crispin has been around long enough to know that Smasher was telling these kids that surfing was the greatest rush a person could achieve, and that to connect with the ocean was a religious experience. He knew the pitch word for word and could recite it if he cared enough to pitch it to a potential customer, but he never did. Smasher knows the waves, and he wouldn’t even pretend to have any idea what it was like to paddle out there and take on mother nature himself. Crispin went straight to his office, set up the VCR, and started to play the first tape Artie had given him. Thankfully Crispin didn’t have to watch it in real time, as he could fast forward whenever Artie was all by his lonesome, only watching whenever a customer came into the picture. He had been watching for a few hours when Smasher showed up with supper.

“Here man,” Smasher said, passing him a bag with a chicken burger and fries. “I know you’re super busy, so I got the usual.”

“Cheers,” Crispin said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“What are you looking for?” Smasher asked.

“I found where the jewels were pawned,” Crispin replied, “These are the security tapes made the day they were sold. I’m looking for our thief. Once I have both answers, I can give the information to Mrs. Jones and let her decide what to do from there.”

“Ugh, one of those cases,” Smasher said, as he hated watching security video. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Thanks man,” Crispin said as he never stopped watching as his friend left.

Crispin has no trouble wolfing down his food as he kept watching the relevant parts of the videos, skipping to each customer who came in to do business. About an hour after supper, the truth finally revealed itself to the private investigator. Crispin paused the screen when the kid’s face came into view and stopped the feed.

“Son of a bitch,” Crispin cussed to himself, as the identity of the young man in the video was quite clear. It was William, Mrs. Jones’ son. He sold her jewelry to Artie, just as her mother had feared. The only question that had yet to be answered was what William needed the money for and where he eventually spent it. Mrs. Jones expressed fears about that as well, as her son’s drug history made for a quick assumptions. Crispin wasn’t in the mood to make assumptions, so he put his shoes and coat on and proceeded to leave the office.

“Where are you going?” Smasher asked. “Closing up already?”

“Not quite,” Crispin said, “I’m going to be out late, so I don’t know if I can open up tomorrow.”

“Bummer, but I understand.” Smasher said, “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“I’ll try not to,” Crispin said, as he made his exit.

Being a private investigator on a small island meant that after so much time you pretty much get to know everyone, and that included the bad people you’d rather not associate with, like drug dealers. Despite his angst for them, Crispin decided to visit every dealer that night, as Mrs. Jones failed to inform him what substance her son preferred to use whenever he relapsed. There wasn’t too many of them to look up, so Crispin just started knocking on doors. Each time he would repeat that he was only looking for someone and that his investigation wasn’t about their operation, and that made most of them co-operative. He had some lengthy, friendly conversations with some of the dealers, and when the time was right, he’d show them Willy’s picture and ask them if he had purchased anything from them. To Crispin’s surprise, none of the dealers could remember seeing or selling anything to the young man. They all repeated the same story, they would have remember selling anything to someone that high class. Crispin felt like his case was hitting a brick wall, but there was a chance that William hadn’t fallen off the wagon just yet, with yet being the key word.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Crispin said to the dealer he was speaking with.

“What’s that, homes?” the dealer said.

“If this kid does show up,” Crispin said, showing the pic again. “Call me and let me speak to him first. There might something in it for you.”

“Sounds dope,” The dealer said, “Leave your card and we’ll keep an eye out.”

Crispin had been out all-night chatting shop with every dealer on the island to the point where the sun was up, and Smasher had already opened shop by the time he was finished. Rather than head for bed, Crispin chose to grab some ice coffees and go back to the office instead. He could sleep on the couch and wake up if any clients walked in, rather than be at home and lose potential business. Smasher could see the look on his friend’s face as he walked in with the cold brews.

“Whoa, dude.” Smasher called out, “You were out all-night?”

“I was,” Crispin confirmed, putting the drinks on the table and grabbing his own and taking a long sip. “And it was a colossal waste of my time. Not a single drug dealer saw the kid I was looking for. Meaning he didn’t buy any drugs or there’s a new dealer in this town that I’m not aware of. Either way I’m going to need to keep looking so that I can get a clear answer for my client.”

Crispin slapped William’s picture down on the table with the other photos of the jewels in frustration and took another swig of cold brew. Smasher walked up to get his own cup when he stopped and looked at the picture. Crispin happened to notice his change of demeanor.

“What is it?” Crispin asked.

“That’s Willy!” Smasher said, “You’re looking for Willy?”

“His name is William,” Crispin said, “And yes, he’s the one I’m looking for.”

“He’s a good kid,” Smasher said, rather casually.

“Hold on, you know him?” Crispin asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Smasher.

“How??” Crispin demanded.

THE GOLDEN GIFT: PART 5

Unlike the previous night, Crispin went to bed very early and got a good night’s rest. The reason for his early bedtime was that he had set an early appointment with his newest client. He called Mrs. Jones before closing time and asked her to meet him at a certain location at eight the next morning. She asked why so early, and all Crispin could tell her was that he had broken the case and that everything would be revealed in the morning. So, the next morning Crispin went to a small café that was located right by the beach, ordered two cups of coffee and took a seat one of the café’s tables on the front deck that had a magnificent view of the ocean. When she finally arrived, Mrs. Jones didn’t look very happy to be there. Whether it was the early rise or being by the water was unknown, but Crispin has chosen their time and location for a reason, so he didn’t really care.

“Good morning,” Crispin said, offering her a cup.

“Whatever,” Mrs. Jones said, taking the cup. “What are we doing here?”

“It has to do with the case,” Crispin said, “I have everything figured out and I thought you’d like to know what happened to your jewelry.”

“Alright, but couldn’t we do this at the office?” she asked him.

“No,” Crispin answered, “This location is vital to the case.”

“Alright,” Mrs. Jones said, sitting down. “Let me have it.”

“Well, I come baring both good and bad news,” Crispin informed her, “Do you have a preference to which you’d like to have first?”

“I’m a eat your veggies first kind of lady,” Mrs. Jones answered, “Give me the bad first.”

“Alright,” Crispin said, taking a deep breath. “Your fears were pretty much spot on. William did steal your jewelry.”

“Damn it,” Mrs. Jones cussed, upset to hear the truth. “How did you find out?”

“I found the jewels at a local pawn shop,” Crispin explained, “And I saw your son on the shop’s security footage pawning off your jewelry. They can still be recovered if you want.”

“I don’t care,” Mrs. Jones said, “Where is he now? Is he getting high?”

“Well, that’s the good news.” Crispin said, “I hit every dealer in town, and none of them have sold anything to him. As far as I know, William hasn’t bought any drugs at all.”

“He hasn’t?” Mrs. Jones said, taken back by that development. “Then what did he do with the money?”

“It turns out William has found a new habit,” Crispin answered, “Something that is just as addictive but not as deadly as drugs.”

“What is it?” his client asked.

“Your answer is right over there,” Crispin said, pointing at the beach. “William is the one wearing the bright yellow trunks.”

Mrs. Jones turned to where Crispin was pointing and looked out at the beach. Out there in the waters were two men, on surf boards catching some waves. One of the men was her son William, in the yellow trunks, trying his best to stay on his board but falling off.

“Are you sure that’s him?” Mrs. Jones asked.

“I confirmed it with the other man,” Crispin said, “That is Smasher, the owner of the surf shop where my office is located. Turns out your son showed up three weeks ago to buy a board, and he asked my friend if he could teach him how to surf. William has been coming out here three times a week for lessons, and Smasher said he’s been doing alright.”

“So, it’s not drugs?” Mrs. Jones said, tearing up.

“It’s not drugs,” Crispin confirmed. “He’s just surfing.”

“Why didn’t he just ask me for money?” she asked him.

“Some habits die hard I suppose,” Crispin explained, “So while he’s off the dope for the time being, gathering money this way just seemed easier to him. It’s up to you if you want to press charges or not.”

“I don’t care about that,” Mrs. Jones said, as she never took her eyes off the beach and watched her son try to tackle the waves again. She was just happy to see him clean and doing something normal rather than being somewhere getting high. It was a better outcome than the ones she had been preparing herself for.

“This is amazing,” Mrs. Jones declared, clearly pleased with the result. “What do I owe you, Mr. Mills?”

“Considering your son spent all of his money at our shop,” Crispin said, as he stood up to leave. “I think we’ve taken enough of your money, Mrs. Jones. We’re good.”

“Thank you very much,” Mrs. Jones said.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Jones.” Crispin said, knowing this was the best gift she could have gotten from her son.

He walked away and left her alone to keep watching her son catch the waves with his instructor. As much as Crispin wanted to stay at the beach and enjoy the view, he had a shop to open up for the day.

MONSTER IN THE WAVES: PART 1

It was a typical sun-soaked morning by the beach, the kind that made you think of lazy waves and endless possibilities. Crispin Mills lounged at the front desk of Smasher's surf shop, sipping a cold brew coffee and thumbing through the latest detective novel. He was doing his usual morning routine of minding the surf shop while Smasher, the shop’s owner, hit the waves like he did every morning. There was the odd customer that straggled in to look around, but like most mornings only one or two items were actually rang through. This days was even slower than usual, which was par for the course for Crispin. Smasher knew the real clients came in the afternoon, so he always make sure he was ready to go and make up for the morning with a lot of sales in the afternoon and part of the evening. Smasher was a good salesman as he knew the products and believed in them, since he used them everyday himself. His authenticity was what would convince his customers to buy, as Smasher would ring up a boatload of sales every afternoon.

In the afternoons, Crispin would sit in the back with his private investigation agency, which also happened to be rather quiet that day too. Business was slow, but Crispin didn't mind. He know to enjoy the tranquility of the beach and the company of his old friend Smasher while he could because a crazy client would always come in sooner or later. Business always had a knack for picking up, and this day was going to be no different.

That afternoon, Smasher was in his element, as he was waxing boards and chatting with tourists when a distressed surfer girl burst through the door. Her sun-bleached hair was a mess, and her eyes were wide with fear. Crispin noticed her distraught demeanor and sat up, sensing a story was behind her panicked state. Her blonde hair was tousled and still damp from the ocean, and her wide blue eyes were filled with a mix of fear and urgency.

“Excuse me,” Crispin said, as he walked up to the young woman, who was actually shaking a little bit. “Are you alright?”

"No,” the young lady gasped, “I need help,"

She was clutching a waterproof camera to her chest, protecting it as if it were her child. Smasher glanced at Crispin, who nodded.

“Come on back,” Crispin replied, gesturing to the office in the back. He lead her to the small, cluttered office that doubled as his sanctuary. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” the young lady said, as she slowly sat down on one of the soft chairs.

“I'm Crispin Mills,” he introduced himself, “What's your name?”

“Kaylee,” she replied, taking a deep breath. “I... I think I've seen something. Something... that isn’t normal.”

Crispin raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Kaylee hands were shaking as she reached out and handed him the camera.

“I was out surfing early this morning, near the old pier.” Kaylee started to explain, “I always film my sessions, but today... I caught something. You have to see it.”

Crispin took the camera and plugged it into his laptop and opened the video file. He sat there and watched the footage, which showed Kaylee skillfully navigating the waves. Crispin was used to watch surfing videos as Smasher always made him watch his. Soon, the camera captured something beneath the surface. There was a dark shape, massive and serpentine, moving with an eerie grace. Crispin paused the video and looked at Kayla.

“Are you sure this isn't a trick of the light?” Crispin asked, “A shadow perhaps?"

Kaylee shook her head vehemently.

“I've surfed those waters my whole life,” She replied, “I've never seen anything like it!”

“I can’t see very much here,” Crispin admitted, trying to look harder.

“The video didn’t catch it,” Kaylee recalled, “But I remember seeing two bright eyes looking at me, and that scared me enough to get the hell out of the water!”

“You’re right,” Crispin replied, “I don’t see the bright eyes here.”

Smasher, who had come back to the office after serving his customers had been watching the video over Crispin's shoulder, and he
whistled.

“Looks like you've got yourself a sea monster, bro.” Smasher said with a grin.

Crispin leaned back, contemplating. He wasn't one for chasing mythical creatures, but there was something about the fear in Kaylee's eyes and the lack of clarity of the footage intrigued him. If he couldn’t figure out what was out there, the poor girl might never go back out there, and Crispin knew Smasher would never forgive him for the eventual lost income the shop would suffer. Kaylee was a good customer, and Crispin could tell by the look in his partner’s face that he wanted this mystery solved just as much as the scared young lady did. Crispin could easily tell that having any kind of monster in the waves wasn’t good for Smasher’s business, and no surf shop meant no office and P.I. Agency for Crispin.

“Alright,” Crispin said finally. “I'll take the case.”

Monster In The Waves: Part 2

    After a little research and debate, Crispin decided that this new investigation should begin with a visit to the old pier. So, the next morning Crispin and Smasher strolled down to the pier with Kaylee leading the way. Crispin examined the area as they walked over, and Kaylee pointed out to the areas where she would usually surf. The pier was decaying, as it was a relic of a bygone era, and the water beneath it was deep and dark and chipped away one crash at a time. It looked like team up was doing a real number on the pier and it looked dangerous to walk on let along use to watch for long periods of time.

    “Any strange activities around here lately?” Crispin inquired as he scanned the horizon.

    “Not that I know of,” Kayla replied, “But there are always rumors. Fishermen talking about missing nets and hearing weird noises at night.”

    “I see,” Crispin noted, as in his experience rumors often had a kernel of truth in them, “I’ll talk to them later when they boats get back from today’s run.”

    Crispin had decided to dig deeper, and before the fisherman returned he3 had enough time to hit the local library first. He would look into the town archives to see if there were any historical records of sea monster sightings in the area.

    The days turned into a week as Crispin slowly pieced together fragments of information. He interviewed old-timers, marine biologists, the fisherman, and even folklore experts. Each clue led him deeper into a web of mystery that spanned centuries. There were stories of a creature, which was a big part of local legend, that protected the bay. Sightings were rare but consistent and not that different from what Kaylee had described.

    Meanwhile, Kaylee continued to surf, hoping to catch another glimpse of the beast. She was determined to prove to Crispin that what she was real, and she also wanted to prove that nothing would scare her away from the waves. Smasher never needed an excuse to go surfing, but he would often join her to crash a few waves and also search for the mysterious monster. Crispin preferred to stay on land and so his research through books and records.
One evening, as the sun set over the ocean, Crispin and Smasher were poring over maps in the surf shop when Kaylee burst in again, this time with more footage. The sea monster was clearer this time, as its scales reflecting the sunlight as it glided beneath her board. Crispin's heart raced as this appeared to be no myth.

    “You see!” Kaylee squealed, “I told you it was real!”

    “I never accused you of lying,” Crispin informed her, “I haven’t spent all this time trying to disprove what you said, I’m trying to look for a pattern.”

    “Oh,” Kaylee replied, a little surprised, “Sorry about that.”

    The two surfers watched as Crispin checked his notes and discovered something rather interesting. He had logged the last time Kaylee claimed to have spotted her monster, and there were similarities to the current sighting.

    “This is interesting,” Crispin said, as he pointed something out, “Both sightings occurred on the same day.”

    “It did?” Smasher said, clearly interested. “Both sightings were on Tuesday?”

    “It appears that way,” Crispin confirmed, “So, that means we have a full week until our creature comes back. Now that we know this, we’ll be ready for him!”

    “So, now we wait?” Smasher asked.

    “No,” Crispin corrected his friend, “We go back to the beach and look around again.”

    As they made their way back to the beach again, Crispin couldn't shake the feeling that this was turning out to be more than just a simple case. The sea had always held its mysteries, but a sea monster could be denied after two sightings and the clear video Kaylee managed to capture this time. This was truly the stuff of legends and nightmares. Crispin also wasn’t going to take any chances, especially where Smasher and Kaylee’s safety was concerned.

    Once they were back at the beach, Kaylee led Crispin to a rocky outcrop overlooking the spot where she had filmed the creature. The ocean stretched out endlessly before them, making its surface deceptively calm.

    “It was right here!” Kaylee declared, pointing to the water.

    Crispin scanned the horizon, his keen eyes searching for any sign of movement.

    “Alright,” he replied, “I think we’re going to need to take a closer look. Do you have any diving gear?”

    Kaylee shook her head.

    “No,” she replied, “But there's a rental place down the beach. I know the owner and he owes me a few favors. Should not be a problem. Do you dive much?”

    “Enough to hold my own,” Crispin answered, “It’s been a while, but it still feels like I did it yesterday. Let’s get two set and get down there to take a look around.”

    As Kaylee ran off to fetch the gear, Crispin took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs. Despite his greatest efforts, this case was turning into another crazy beach mystery. He had no idea what awaited them beneath the waves, but one thing was certain: they was going to find out very soon.