Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise by Marty Ambrose Read Free Book Online Page A

let’s start with the actual murder. I know
Hillman was knifed. I saw the wound in his chest.” I
swallowed hard at the memory.
    “All I can tell you is that Hillman was killed somewhere between five and seven P.M. The murderer
must’ve been someone he knew because there was no
sign of a forced entry. Also, it wasn’t a robbery because nothing seems to be missing.”
    I was writing as fast as my fingers could move.
“Murder weapon?”
    He shook his head. “Can’t say”
    “Suspects?”
    “A whole island.”
    “Who is going to be questioned-“
    “That’s all I can say right now. As the investigation
proceeds, I’ll give out information on a need-to-know
basis.” His phone rang and he took the call. After a few
short, clipped sentences, he hung up. “Gotta go”
    “Is it something pertaining to the murder case?”
    He stood up, but said nothing.
    “Okay, I get the message” I tossed the notepad and
pen in my canvas bag and heaved it over my right shoulder. “I’ll be in touch”
    As I made for the door, he said, “Wait a minute. I had
something else I wanted to ask you.”
    I halted and turned my head in his direction.

    “Is your hair naturally that color?”
    “Yeah.” I grinned. “I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
    “I didn’t.”
    A tiny glow lit inside me as I left his office. I might
not have an ally in Detective Billie, but at least he
wasn’t an enemy.

     

The glow lasted all the way back to the Observer
office where I found Anita absent-gone to lunch-and
Sandy at her desk devouring a low-carb, low-cal meal
supplement bar. She was just hanging up from yet another call trying to persuade the Coral Island Shrimp
House to buy advertising. From the look on her face,
the pitch had been less than successful.
    “You had a call,” Sandy said between bites.
    She handed me the message and I saw a familiar
name: Chrissy Anders. I phoned her immediately and
she told me the writer’s group was convening at the
Starfish Lodge, the island’s only hotel.
    I made it there in record time-not just because I
wanted to talk to the writers, but I hadn’t eaten anything
in my rush to finish the bike path story this morning. The rumbling in my stomach was a distinct sign that I
needed sustenance.

    The Starfish Lodge had opened about a month before
I arrived on Coral Island. It was located on the south
end of the island on an isolated patch of land surrounded
by mangroves on one side and Coral Island Sound on
the other. A long building with a flat roof, it had only
eight rooms, but all of them faced the Sound and were
furnished with antiques. The Lodge also had a small
restaurant with heart of pine floors and a coral rock
fireplace with running waterfalls on either side. The
building wasn’t new. Anita told me it had been built at
the turn of the century as one of those experimental
utopian communities where everyone was supposed to
live in harmony with nature and each other.
    The commune ended when the leader mysteriously
disappeared one night with the group’s savings, and the
building changed hands a dozen times before a developer renovated it last year and turned it into a small hotel. So much for peace, love and brotherhood.
    I strolled into the restaurant-Starfish Lounge-and
found the writers huddled around a table near the back
of the room.
    As I approached, I could tell from Chrissy’s redrimmed eyes that she’d been crying. Surprisingly, she
threw her arms around me.
    “Oh, Mallie, isn’t it just awful? We heard the news
this morning when we showed up at Jack’s house.” She
pulled back and raised a tearstained handkerchief to her face. “The police met us at the door and told us he
was … dead”

    “Do you know what happened?” Burt motioned for
me to sit next to him and Betty who were already working on a couple of Bloody Marys. “Rumor has it you
found the body.”
    “It’s true” I sat down and plopped my bulky bag near
my feet.