Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery by Carolyn Haines Read Free Book Online

imagination had been teased by Angela Trotter’s stories of pirates, and my first thought was smugglers sneaking booty onshore.
    In this day and age, it wouldn’t be gold and jewelry. More likely drugs. And drug smugglers were far more dangerous than pirates any day of the week.
    A low growl slipped from Sweetie’s throat.
    “Easy girl, let’s take cover behind the dunes.”
    Using the drifts of sand to block us from the view of those on the shore, we made our way toward the lights. Before we could see anything clearly, I heard voices.
    “That’s one! Look, it’s headed straight into the water. It’ll make it.” The male speaker couldn’t contain his excitement.
    “Will they be okay if a storm comes up?” a young woman asked.
    “A storm won’t be good. Not for those in the water and especially not for the ones still hatching here on shore.”
    Instead of pirates or smugglers, I’d stumbled into a nest of biologists working with turtles. Abandoning the dunes, I walked toward them.
    “Hold up!” A tall, athletic woman in an insulated jacket held up a hand to stop me in my tracks. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll crush them.”
    Sweetie and I froze. The woman’s tone of voice made me feel as if I’d committed a capital crime. “What am I about to crush?”
    “Loggerhead turtles. The species is fighting extinction. We don’t need a big foot smashing them.”
    After my last case with a wacked-out academic who wore banana boats for shoes, I was a little sensitive about the size of my feet. “Now hold on. No cause for insults. I was merely out for a walk.”
    “If I had my way, you tourists would be shipped off this island, along with most of the residents. This place could be the finest habitat for aquatic reptiles along the Gulf Coast. But no, it’s just one more beach for people who have too much time and too much money.”
    A tall man approached and gripped her arm. “Dr. Norris! You can’t accost people. The city council will ban you from working with the turtles.”
    I could almost feel the heat of her anger, but she checked herself. Even in the dim starlight I could see her efforts to relax her shoulders and straighten her posture. “I apologize. These turtles struggle against so many predators, and man is the worst. Thoughtlessness kills eighty percent of the hatchlings. This is a very late nest, and the babies are finally trying to make it to the water.”
    “You’re obviously passionate about the creatures.” I could appreciate a person who defended the helpless. “It’s okay. I’m not offended. But, really, my feet aren’t that big.”
    She laughed, and it was a transformation. “I do apologize. My behavior was awful. I’m Phyllis Norris.” She reached out and took my hand. “Let me show you.”
    I followed her to an indentation in the sand. In the beam of a flashlight, the tiniest baby turtles crawled out of the nest and scurried down the beach. Several volunteers made a wedge-shaped human barrier to keep humans and other predators away and to give the hatchlings a chance to gain the water.
    “How many will make it?” I asked.
    “Not enough. This particular turtle is in danger of extinction. Climate change has impacted the nesting times. Late October is unheard of for hatchlings. That’s why we’re out here. I mostly believe in letting nature take its course, but the oil spill hit the turtles hard. Not to mention relentless development of the Gulf beaches.”
    She didn’t bother to hide her bitterness. Development on the beachfront was an ecological and insurance disaster. Yet the developers returned as soon as a hurricane knocked them down.
    “The Gulf Coast has been lucky this year,” I said. “No serious hurricanes, and the season is almost done.”
    “Don’t speak too soon. There’s a tropical storm off the coast of Jamaica. Good chance it’ll go into the Yucátan Peninsula, but if it veers into the Gulf and heads this way, it’ll be terrible for these nesting