The Bad Hair Day Mysteries Box Set Volume Two by Nancy J. Cohen

Author:Nancy J. Cohen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery collections, mystery anthologies, cozy mystery, mystery series, humorous mysteries
Publisher: Orange Grove Press
Published: 2021-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Siesta Key turned out to be exactly what its name implied, a sleepy island south of Sarasota. After veering off I-75 to head west for six miles, they crossed the north bridge onto the key and cruised south along Midnight Pass Road. Joggers trotted along a sidewalk bordered by tall shrubs. Marla wondered if they were year-round residents or snowbirds as she studied the facades of beachfront motels, high-rise condos, and apartment rentals. White sand beckoned by the beach, its quartz crystals glittering in the midday sun.

Her stomach rumbling, she eyed Granny’s Corner Café, which stood opposite Captain Curt’s Crab & Oyster Bar. She didn’t think Dalton wanted to grab a bite to eat yet. Like a bloodhound, his nose followed the scent of his quarry. He peered at the scrap of paper scribbled with Jenny’s beach-house address, then refocused his attention forward.

So much for our romantic interlude. Hunger wouldn’t divert him, neither for sex nor for food. When on the trail, he concentrated on only one thing—tracking a potential witness.

In a peculiar sense, that reassured her. While they often had diverging viewpoints about suspects, Marla respected his dedication to learning the truth. If he’d become jaded about the justice system, it wasn’t evident to her.

“Here it is,” Dalton said, pointing to a sign indicating Sara Sea Circle.

As they turned in, she scanned the curved driveway lined by single-story buildings in a tropical setting where lush foliage sucked moisture from the air. Coconut palms, spiky crotons, crimson and pink hibiscus trees, and banana plants shaded a maze of gravel paths. Tangerine-colored fish swam in a koi pond, part of a cascade of natural pools below a trickling waterfall.

Dalton parked in front of a lemon-painted duplex. A salty sea breeze ruffled the hairs on Marla’s arms as she emerged from his car. She grappled for her sunglasses and propped them on her nose before proceeding to the given address.

Knocking on the beach-house door and ringing the doorbell produced no response, so they tried the adjoining neighbor. Deadsville. The other owner must be a snowbird who had already returned north.

“I’d like to check the exterior for signs of forced entry before we use the key Jenny gave us,” Dalton said. “I’d rather not have any unpleasant surprises waiting inside.”

Marla swallowed, remembering the scene in Goat’s townhouse. That memory encouraged her to let him take the lead. Their trek through the yard yielded nothing remarkable, except that she gained some sticky green things on her sandals.

“You go ahead,” she told him when they returned to the front lawn. She waited until he called for her to enter.

Cushioned wicker furniture, potted silk plants, and Haitian paintings gave the house a completely different look than Jenny’s place in Mount Dora. What a fantastic hideaway!

A quick survey showed her that no one had brought any food into the kitchen recently. The beds were neatly made, and a stale, musty odor hung in the air. Tracking the hum of an air-conditioning unit, Marla found the thermostat set at seventy-eight.

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