Live and Lime Die: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 8 by Summer Prescott Read Free Book Online

when her doorbell rang. Would a
killer ring the bell? There was only one way to find out. Her fear and
adrenalin combining to form a rising anger, she strode to the front door with
trembling determination.
    “They
did it and ran. I saw them,” Tim said when Marilyn opened the door.
    “Who
did it, Tim? Did you see who it was?” she asked, flipping on the living room
light to discover that some kind of bundle had been thrown through her front
window, shattering it.
    “No.
It was too dark. He was short,” her neighbor stared at her intently, pushing
his coke-bottle glasses up his nose.
    “It’s
really late…were you awake?” she asked, wondering how he had seen the vandal.
    “I
don’t sleep usually. I was watering my ferns,” he replied, blinking at her.
    “Oh,”
she was at a loss.
    “What
is that?” he asked, raising his arm slowly to point at the bundle that had
flown under the coffee table after shattering her window.
    “I
don’t know, but I’m not going to touch it,” Marilyn replied. “The police need
to see this.”
    “They’re
here,” he observed, looking over his shoulder as a patrol car pulled up.
    “But,
I didn’t call them…did you?” she was glad to see the squad car, but was puzzled.
    Tim
mutely shook his head. Just when they thought things couldn’t get any more
surreal, the police car pulled up in front of Tim’s house instead of hers, and
they went to his front door. Her neighbor headed toward his place and,
barefoot, clad in her ratty fleece jammies, Marilyn trailed after him.
    “Excuse
me, you’re at the wrong house. The vandalism is over here,” she called out when
they were at the tree line between her house and Tim’s. The officers approached
rapidly.
    “I’m
so glad to see you,” Marilyn began. “About five minutes ago…”
    One
of the policeman interrupted her, staring hard at Tim. “Are you Timothy
Eckels?” he demanded, stepping closer.
    “Yes,”
Tim blinked at the officer, confused.
    “You’re
under arrest for the murder of Samuel Freed,” he said, taking the unresisting
man by the wrist and snapping on handcuffs. Marilyn gasped as they read him his
rights and moved him toward the police cruiser.
    Horrified,
and finding herself standing alone in the cool, breezy night, Marilyn slowly
headed for home. Careful not to step on any of the multiple shards of glass
scattered over her hand-scraped wood floor and tufted area rug, she peered at
the bundle that had been tossed through her window. It appeared to be a large
rock, with something wrapped around it. Knowing better than to touch it, her
curiosity killing her, she sighed and dialed 9-1-1 for the second time in 24
hours.
     

Chapter 13
    “Mr.
Eckels, I don’t think you grasp the gravity of this situation,” the rotund
detective, Donald Ferguson, who was called upon because Cort was in the
hospital, warned.
    “Forgive
me for making a mortician’s reference, but I can indeed see that this is a
…grave matter,” the corner of Tim’s mouth quirked, as though he were trying to
stifle a smile.
    “You
find the murder of a young man funny?” Ferguson’s eyes narrowed with contempt.
    “Of
course not,” Tim replied mildly. “In my line of business one learns to break
tension with a bit of levity. It’s a survival tactic for one involved with such
grim work – you might consider cultivating the habit,” he regarded the
detective innocently.
    “Tell
me what happened between you and the victim last night,” he ordered, his sense
of humor absent in the face of what he considered to be the worst kind of evil
– crime without remorse.
    Tim
sighed, realizing that there was no chance of civilized conversation with the
dogged detective. “I’m not certain who the victim is,” he stated flatly.
    Ferguson
slapped a picture of Sam down on the table in front of the former mortician.
Any other human being might’ve flinched at the photo of a corpse, but Tim was
immune to the sight of death, having dealt with