The Empty Easel by Rachel McLean, book 2 in the Jurassic Coast Mysteries series - Chapter 1

Annie Abbott stood barefoot on the pebbles, her dry robe fluttering in the breeze as she sipped her coffee. She’d put off her first caffeine hit until after the morning swim, knowing it added to the pleasure.

She adored swimming in Lyme Regis bay, in that sheltered sweep between the sea wall and beach. But even in July the water was cold first thing and she had to admit that, more than the swim itself, she enjoyed having swum.

This was her favourite time of day. She could relish completing her swim, look forward to time with her grandchildren – Poppy, Louis and baby Daisy – and right now she had coffee from the Kiosk, the Dorset sun shining down and the company of the other early morning swimmers.

“Cakes!” her young friend Figgy declared.

A plastic tub appeared, and the purple lid was peeled back.

Annie peered inside and examined the uneven icing. Definitely home made. “What are these?”

“Coffee and walnut cakes,” Figgy replied.

Rosamund raised an eyebrow. “Cake for breakfast?” She cherished the group’s company, especially since her husband had run off with his PA, but her judgemental tone and piercing blue eyes could be chilly.

Figgy’s smile dropped.

“Never turn down good cake,” Annie said, taking one from the box. “It’s always tea time somewhere in the world.” She thrust it into her mouth.

Wow. It was moist, light and delicious. Figgy’s kitchen might be the cramped corner of a static caravan, but that didn’t stop her being a fine baker.

Helen leaned in and grabbed a cake. “When I was in Brazil it was bolo de fubá with coffee every morning.”

Annie rolled her eyes. Typical Helen.

The plastic tub went round. The elderly twins, Sally and Peg, took one each, Sally declaring that despite her diabetes she could have it because she’d ‘been good this week’.

When the box reached Juniper, the young Australian waved it away. “No can do. Coffee and walnut. Allergic to nuts, mate.”

“I didn’t forget you.” Figgy delved into her bag and pulled out a smaller box. “An individual lemon drizzle cake.”

Juniper took it and looked inside. “Oh, lovely.” She peered at the lid. “Figgy Edmunds 7B. Cute.”

The words were painted in what looked like nail varnish.

Figgy grinned. “My old lunchbox from school. My grandma did it. Never scraped it off.” She glanced at Annie, who gave her an encouraging smile. Figgy still missed her gran.

Juniper closed the box and put it down. “Thanks, Figgy. I’ll have it later.”

She raised her hands over her head and began post-swim stretches. She was one of the few who treated the swim as serious exercise, doing laps at speed from the beach to the Cobb harbour wall. Thirty minutes of hardcore swimming and then she’d stand on the beach in just her cossie, stretching.

Annie preferred a quick, invigorating dip and then getting wrapped up in her dry robe. This was the Dorset coast, not Bondi Beach.

But then if Annie was a tall, willowy twenty-something, maybe she’d do the same. Annie wasn’t ashamed of her physique, which was baggy and loose at the seams, but she lacked the confidence of someone who could have stepped off a Paris catwalk.

“This is very good,” Rosamund said, chewing.

“Thanks,” said Figgy, her smile fully restored.

Annie breathed in, leaning against the sea wall and drinking the last of her coffee. The sun promised a warm day, not always guaranteed in July.

At this time of year, Lyme Regis’s narrow streets became gridlocked, especially during Lifeboat Week. Annie’s old friend Tim Cromwell, who ran the lifeboat station, was working non-stop on the upcoming event. She’d offered to help with organising tombola prizes.

The holidaymakers were the town’s lifeblood. But locals wanting peace either needed to be out early or to seek quiet spots away from town. Tourists flocked to the beaches or the Cobb, where a wide path on top of the rock harbour wall stretched into the sea.

The Cobb was quiet now, just a few morning walkers visible on its top. At the very end was Clifford Muldoon, the local painter who sat there with his easel every day, rain or shine, mustard-coloured scarf wrapped around his neck.

“You reckon he gets lonely?” Annie mused.

Helen followed her gaze and tutted. “Not all of us need to fill our days with chaos and noise.”

Juniper grunted. “That man loves his own company.”

As an art student with a flat and studio at the end of Muldoon’s garden, Juniper knew him better than most, except perhaps Helen who displayed his canvases in her gallery.

Annie licked cake from her thumb. “Good cake, Figglington.”

Figgy giggled. Annie loved it when Figgy giggled; it made her feel like their friendship was helping the younger woman come out of herself.

“Makes me want another drink,” Rosamund said, squeezing her empty cup.

Annie nodded, looking around the group. “Coffee? Coffee?”

“Mocha for me,” said Figgy.

Juniper turned towards the Kiosk. “I’ll go. I need to talk to Cam anyway.”

She typed their orders into her phone from memory, then strode barefoot along the sand to the Kiosk café.

“Anyone want another?” Figgy asked, her gaze shifting from her friends to the Kiosk and back again.

Sally began to raise her hand, but her twin sister forced it down.

“I might take a piece over to Tim at the lifeboats,” Annie said. “That man always looks like he could do with feeding up.”

The swimmers began gathering their things, drifting off to start their days. Annie loved that she could set about her day knowing she’d already achieved something. Soon, just a handful of them remained against the sea wall, enjoying the waves, the wheeling seagulls and the warmth of the morning sun on their legs.

“Right,” Annie said. “I’m off to the lifeboat station. If you don’t mind me taking Tim a slice, Figgy?”

Helen nudged Figgy. “See how she’s making excuses to visit Tim?”

Annie stuck out her tongue. “I don’t need excuses. I’m a grown woman.”

“That’s debatable.”

Annie laughed and headed for the promenade. The morning was still quiet; Breaststrokes café-bar raising its shutters, the Cobb Arms not yet open.

The harbour curved in its uneven horseshoe, with the lifeboat station nestled at the mouth of the Cobb. The building’s chapel-like sloping roof reflected Tim’s meticulous maintenance.

Annie patted Wellington, the wellie-boot dog statue, before entering the visitor centre. Inside, model boats and RNLI merchandise lined the shelves. Tim stood behind the counter, organising pens. His weathered face along with his woollen jumper and round cap gave him the perfect look of a traditional sailor.

He looked up and smiled. “Good morning,” he said in his strong Dorset accent. “Thought I’d have a minute before visitors arrived.”

“I can come back later.”

“Don’t you dare, Annie Abbott.” He set down the last pen. “I’m just preparing for a busy day.”

She smiled and held out the cake box. “I brought cake. Home-made by my friend Figgy.”

His face lit up. “Cake. Now that’s the best way to start a summer morning I can think of.”

She shook her head. “A swim and a coffee.”

He laughed. “I see you and your friends out there every morning. It looks fun.”

Fun wasn’t exactly how Annie would describe the freezing water of the early morning harbour, but she nodded anyway. “I like it.”

“Good for you.” He took a cake and bit off a large chunk. “Oh, this is good,” he said through a mouthful.

She watched as he chewed, admiring his laughter lines. She liked a man with laughter lines.

At last he swallowed the last of the cake. “Tell Figgy it was delicious,” he said. “Very moist.” He held out the cake box for her to return.

“I will,” she said. “And…”

He raised an eyebrow. “That art class you were telling me about.”

He’d remembered. “Yes,” she said. “Would you be interested in joining me?”

Why was her stomach turning somersaults like she was thirteen again? She hadn’t been like this since she’d met her late husband.

He tilted his head. “My diary’s pretty empty. Apart from Lifeboat Week prep, of course.”

“Well, in that case⁠—”

Tim’s hand shot up, cutting her off. His expression shifted to a frown.

She shifted between her feet. “I can⁠—”

He pressed a finger to his lips and strode past her, out the door.

Annie looked past him, out of the door. She heard shouting and followed Tim outside.

A woman ran along the highest path of the Cobb, her arms waving.

“In the water!” she shouted. “In the water! There’s someone in the water!”

Annie felt her stomach flip. The butterflies had gone and been replaced with a chill.

Tim started moving, breaking into a run along the lower section of the Cobb. Annie stared after him, open-mouthed.

Someone in the water.

She shook her head.

Please… Not again. Not for Tim.

The morning visitors stood frozen, staring. Annie regained her senses and ran after Tim.

As she reached the wall of the Cobb, she saw it. Inside the curve of the Cobb, across the harbour. Floating.

She plunged a fist into her mouth. Tim was there now and had stopped running.

Annie didn’t stop till she was next to him. They stood at the end of the Cobb, staring across the water, unable to move. Annie knew she wasn’t a strong enough swimmer, and Tim… well, he didn’t even swim.

She stared across. A figure, face down in the water. And not a swimmer.

A fully clothed body floated face down in the harbour. And Annie knew who it was.