Damaged goods 03- Cure or die by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: spa
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

T

to Marathon from Key West took a little under an hour and Logan barely said a word. Dressed as I was in his boxers and a t-shirt, I was feeling highly self-conscious and though I didn’t want to admit it to him, nerves got the best of me. I shifted in my seat as we grew closer to our destination, and I scratched my scalp in irritation.

Logan glanced over at me. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I scratched a little more vigorously. “What if he’s not there?”

“Then we keep looking.” He was glaring at me. “You sure that dog doesn’t have fleas?”

Sasquatch lifted her head and whined. I sucked in an outraged breath. “Of course she doesn’t. I took her to the groomer when we first adopted her and they gave her a flea bath and we’ve kept up with her treatment ever since. You owe her an apology.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I’m sorry, Sasquatch. It’s just your mistress is twitchier than usual.”

I scratched again. “I have sand in my hair or something. That crappy shampoo at the house isn’t effective. Next time you abduct a woman, be sure to bring her toiletries.”

“Noted. Is this the place?”

I looked up at the sign. “Breezy Shores, yup, this is it. Oh hell, look. It’s a fifty-five and up community.”

Logan frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Basically, our chances of finding Estaban here just went into one of his fermenting pails. Even if his mother wanted to let him stay here indefinitely, she couldn’t without risking a breach of her own lease.”

“Still, she might know how to contact him.” Logan pointed out. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

The community was basically a cluster of mobile homes fanning out from around a community house that boasted a private pool and a boardwalk leading down to a well-maintained strip of beach. There was a shuffleboard court on one end of the expansive deck and a juice bar on the other. A group of elderly people doing sun salutations were visible down by the water.

“Cripes,” Logan said. “It’s like Club Fogey up in here. Mom and dad would plotz.”

“Celeste and John, too. Although no porkin’ way would you catch him on a yoga mat.” I intentionally lowered my voice to Big John’s southern drawl.

Logan groaned. “I think that image has been permanently burned into my brain, so thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” I clipped leashes on my furry friends.

“You’re not taking them with us?” Logan frowned.

“The hell I’m not. People who leave their animals in the car in hot weather ought to be drug out to the street and shot.” I popped the door to the truck and led them out into the sea breeze.

Mrs. Martinez’s trailer was the third from the end, painted a sherbet orange with a blue and white striped canopy extending over a whitewashed deck. The typical Keys greenery encroached on either side of the home, giving the place an enclosed feel.

A large woman wearing an oversized sunhat and floral print muumuu sprawled on a plastic lounger beneath the awning. She

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