Wild Lights: A Coastal Caribbean Adventure (Tyson Wild Thriller Book 35) by Tripp Ellis

Author:Tripp Ellis [Ellis, Tripp]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tripp Ellis
Published: 2021-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

30

“If you don’t get on that after this investigation is over, I am,” JD said on the ride home.

“Trust me, I will give that serious consideration,” I replied.

He dropped me off at the marina, and I told him we’d catch up in the morning. He zipped away, the engine howling into the night as I hustled down the dock to the Avventura. The stars were out in full force, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky.

I crossed the passerelle to the aft deck, and Buddy greeted me at the salon door. I leashed him up and took him out for a walk before crawling into bed with thoughts of missed opportunities. But that would have been more trouble than it was worth. At least, that's what I kept telling myself as I tried not to think about sheer black négligées.

Daniels called sometime before dawn. My phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand, and it took me a moment to realize that I should probably answer it. My hand snatched the device, and I swiped the screen. It was pitch black outside. I scratched out the words, “What is it?"

"It's a nightmare. That's what it is."

I groaned.

"That sicko Santa Claus struck again."

I cringed. "Where?"

"Taffy Beach."

"What exactly happened?"

"You’ll see when you get here. Call numb-nuts and get here right away."

I ended the call, dialed JD, and the phone went straight to voicemail.

I pulled myself out of bed, wiped the sleep from my eyes, and hopped into the shower.

I gave Jack another call after I'd gotten dressed. He finally answered with a groggy, annoyed voice. "You better be calling to tell me you went back over there and investigated Ms. West.”

“Not exactly.”

I filled him in on the situation.

"Does Daniels know what time it is?"

"It's 3:45 AM."

"This is criminal."

"Maybe we should just ban murders between the hours of midnight and 8 AM," I said dryly.

"That would be a good start."

"Are you getting out of bed, or am I handling this one alone?"

"I'm up," he said like a zombie.

"I'll call you back in five minutes, just to be sure."

"No need."

He hung up, and I hustled down to the galley and ate a bowl of cereal. I was out of breakfast burritos and had no time to fix a proper meal.

I called JD back.

"I'm on my way," he assured.

"You haven't left the house yet."

"I know, but I'm up. That's a start."

He showed up 15 minutes later, and we zipped to Taffy Beach and pulled into the parking lot. Brenda and the forensics guys were there. Red and blues from patrol cars flickered.

We hopped out and hustled down the beach to join the crew of first responders. There were a couple of people standing around gawking at the charred remains of two victims—one male, one female. At first glance, they looked like wood that had been in a fire—charred black, ashen, split and cracked like a dry lake bed.

The putrid stench of burnt flesh filled the air, and wisps of smoke still wafted from the remains.

"Do we know what happened?" I asked the sheriff as we arrived on the scene.

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