In Cold Chocolate by Dorothy St. James

Author:Dorothy St. James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

Chapter Nineteen

For a small town with everyone watching everyone else’s business, I was shocked at the lack of eyewitnesses for anything important lately. It seemed as if scores of islanders had seen Florence going in and out of Cassidy’s home. It seemed as if scores of islanders had also seen Fletcher Grimbal slap fighting it out with Cassidy. But no one had witnessed Cassidy’s murder? No one (save for Harriett) had seen Muumuu Woman or had a clue as to her identity? No one had seen the thief walking off with my salted sea turtles? And no had seen Althea’s turtle egg thief?

It was maddening. I needed an eyewitness.

“I don’t know why we didn’t think of this right away,” Althea said excitedly after we’d finished the turtle survey. She joined me as we walked down Main Street toward the marshy backside of the island. It was still quiet. Shops were dark. A few cars drove past as residents made their way into Charleston for an early start to the work week. Soon more cars would be on the road. But since it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, the streets felt empty. Peaceful. Safe.

Althea and I parted ways at West America Street. She went toward the Chocolate Box to have breakfast with her mother while I headed in the opposite direction down East America Street toward the hardware store.

On the way, I passed a fish store. Water lapped at the two shrimp boats that were tied up at the dock attached to the elevated shop that overlooked the Camellia River. The briny smell of seafood filled the air. Shrimpers shouted commands as they tossed baskets filled with their fresh catch to the dock. Men on the dock ran in and out of the metal building through a large set of double doors as they carried the baskets inside. On those trawlers, the day had started hours before the sunrise and wouldn’t end until well after dark.

Across the street from the fish store sat the island’s post office. While the main office hadn’t yet opened, lights were on inside. The island was starting to wake up.

Next door to the post office was my destination. The small hardware store, owned by one of Sunset Development’s smaller competitors, opened at seven every weekday morning to serve the needs of subcontractors who liked to get started on the endless stream of projects on the shabby island where it seemed impossible to keep up with the rust and rot that plagued even the newest structures.

I was reaching for the glass door when a prickling at the back of my neck made me pause. I looked around. Was someone out there watching me?

“I’m not asking anymore questions,” I shouted just in case someone was lurking in the shadows of the thick maritime forest, someone who wanted to do me harm.

The blaring bright lights of the hardware store immediately made me feel safe. The young man manning the front counter cheerfully pointed the way to the aisle where they kept the security cameras.

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