fingernails. I think she was a racy kind of woman, Charles. There was a little black spiderweb painted on the pinkie nail.” Though it was growing warmer by the minute on the lanai, Etta rubbed her bare arms as she finished relating what she had seen. “You don’t think this kind of thing happens around here much, do you, Charles? This is the type of thing we wanted to get away from up north.”
“Etta, we’ve been here almost a year now, and this is the most exciting thing that’s happened yet.”
“Exciting? How can you say it’s exciting? It’s horrible!”
Charles shrugged. “All right. Horrible. It’s a horrible thing, Etta, but I’m sure it’s not reflective of life down here. And, as a matter of fact, I wouldn’t say that we retired down here to get away from this sort of thing up north. McLean, Virginia, wasn’t exactly the inner city, dear. We came down here to get away from the cold and the gray winter days and because the kidshad moved out so there wasn’t any sense in having that big house anymore. Now we don’t have to rake leaves, shovel snow, or scrape ice off the car.”
Etta waved at her husband dismissively. “You know what I mean, Charles. I like to think of this as our little island paradise.” She looked through the screen out to the expanse of green water that led to the Gulf. A heron swooped gracefully across the sky. “I don’t want crime and ugliness to invade our world here, Charles. We’ve worked very hard, and now I want to sit back and enjoy life. I don’t want to worry about murder and someone lopping someone else’s hand off.”
“Who said anything about murder?” asked Charles. “Maybe the poor soul had an accident or committed suicide.”
Etta paused to consider her husband’s theories, but it wasn’t long before she was distracted. “What time is it?” she asked sharply.
Charles glanced at his gold watch. “Almost nine.”
“Oh. I have to get into the shower,” she said, forgetting the hand on the beach for the time being. Forgetting until she got up to the Ringling grounds and could tell the other volunteers who staffed the art museum, the circus museum, and Cà d’Zan, the former winter residence of John and Mable Ringling. Etta had hurried to get involved as soon as they moved down here. She worked at the gift shop or staffed the admission desk, and she was studying to become a docent. She looked forward to being able to give visitor tours and answer questions about the history of the Ringlingfamily and about John Ringling himself, the man who had forever linked the circus with Sarasota.
“You won’t forget to meet me at Dr. Lewis’s office at eleven-fifteen, will you, Charles?”
“Don’t worry, Etta, I’ll be there.”
Etta turned and went back into the town house and up the stairs as her husband rose from his lounge and walked slowly from the lanai through the living room and into the galley kitchen. He pulled a quart of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured himself a tall glass.
“Ahh,” he said to no one but himself. The orange juice just plain tasted better down here. So did the fruit and the vegetables and the chicken.
Charles shook his head as he went back into the living room and switched on the TV. He couldn’t believe how much time he spent thinking about the quality of his food these days. For four decades of his job as a contractor, he hadn’t cared what Etta served for dinner at night—as long as it was ready when he got home. Now, not only did he care but he was doing most of the shopping and cooking.
He had to admit Etta had been making more of a life for herself here than he had. Not only did she volunteer at Ringling but she had joined a book club and a garden club. She had made friends, and Charles had the distinct feeling that she could be doing more with her new pals if she so desired. He’d heard her turn down telephoned luncheon invitations many times. When he’d asked her why she was declining,
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