Death in Four Courses: A Key West Food Critic Mystery by Lucy Burdette Read Free Book Online

party—I look for the food blogger.
    —Nick Fauchald
    Half an hour later, I was back on my scooter, heading up the island to the Tarpon Pier Marina where I lived in a tiny second bedroom on my friend Miss Gloria’s houseboat. The moon laid a silvery path across the water of the bight, which slapped gently against the dock. A whiff of fish floated from the cleaning table on the other side of the walk as I locked up my bike.
    Miss Gloria’s snores were rattling through the living room by the time I reached our home. Seventy-eight and an early riser, she was often lulled to sleep by her boat’s motion before the ten o’clock news. My nerves tightly wound by the disaster with Jonah, I’d be lucky to get any sleep at all. I considered popping down to have a nightcap with my former roommate Connie, acouple of boats up the finger. She’d suffered with me through the aftermath of the first murder I’d witnessed, and our friendship had only improved since I’d moved out of her place and into Miss Gloria’s. Just as I decided to go, her lights winked off. So I settled down in my bunk, my gray tiger, Evinrude, beside me. I ran my hands over the curves of his head and neck and buried my face into his dense fur. His motor sputtered and caught.
    Maybe I should have called Detective Nate Bransford instead. He’d led the investigation of a murder late last fall in which I’d been one of his “people of interest.” Once the case was settled, it was clear we were both interested—in each other. In fact, we had a date for dinner tomorrow night. I hit his number on redial before I could start obsessing whether it was too late for a social call or inappropriate to discuss business after hours.
    “It’s Hayley,” I said. “I figured you were up—they say crime doesn’t sleep. So I guess the cops aren’t allowed to either?” I snorted with nervous laughter. “I suppose you heard what went on at the literary conference?”
    “I heard,” he said. “Why was I not surprised to see your name in the report?”
    Which hit me in an entirely bad way—if there was a good way—because it had been a long, stressful day and I was hoping for some empathy. I had a choice of getting mad or starting to cry. And one of my New Year’s resolutions was to cry less and speak up more. I hated to ruin a perfectly good resolution this early in January.
    “And why was I not surprised to be treated like public enemy number one when all I did was find the guy and try to save him?” My voice trembled in spite of the resolution.
    “Look, Hayley,” said Bransford in his most soothing way—which wasn’t all that soothing once you had been under the microscope in one of his cases—“they’re only trying to figure out what happened. And you found the body. It’s quite possible that you noticed things you weren’t even aware of seeing—and it’s their job to dig for these details. My guys were trying to cover all of the bases.”
    “One was a woman, not a guy. And she was a bigger jerk than Officer Torrence.”
    Bransford heaved an impatient sigh. “Torrence is the best investigator we have on the force. Besides, your information was not particularly reliable. The alleged murder weapon was not where you said it would be.”
    “That stupid bird,” I said. “I knew your cops didn’t believe me.”
    “You said you left it next to the pool, but it wasn’t there,” said Bransford.
    “So you’re suggesting that I’m lying?”
    “I’m suggesting that perhaps you misremembered where you saw it.” He paused, his voice carefully emptied of expression. “If in fact it was actually there.”
    “It was there all right,” I said. “How should I know what happened to it? Maybe someone kicked it into the bushes? Or the staff saw it was broken and threw it in the trash? Or maybe the guy who really hit Jonah carried it off. And I can assure you that it wasn’t me.”
    “Come on, Hayley. Don’t get your hackles up. My guys have to do