Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) by Linda Lovely Page A

a mint,” Donna muttered. “I’ll give you twenty
bucks right now for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread.”
    “Hey, I don’t gouge,” the owner objected.
    “I’ll help you load groceries when our rescuer arrives,” I
offered.
    “Me too,” said a familiar voice at my back. I turned to see
Deputy Braden Mann. The duffle bag slung over his shoulder gave him a rakish,
vagabond air.
    “Glad to see you, Marley. I tried to call you earlier,” he
said. “How was the dinner?”
    “No one confessed.” I grinned. “But I can fill you in on
Dear real estate if that helps. You headed to the island?”
    “Yep. The sheriff wants at least one deputy stationed on
Dear until the bridge reopens. I was the logical choice. I live alone and have
island leads to follow.”
    Rita stood beside me, openly eavesdropping. “Where will you
sleep?” she demanded. “I’d put you up, but we just painted our guestroom and
the fumes are awful. Marley lives alone and has two spare bedrooms in her
rambler. Isn’t that right, Marley?”
    “Sure,” I fumbled, thinking about Dear’s wagging tongues.
Oh, hell, why not give the neighbors some juicy gossip? My Tae Bo routine had
lost its novelty.
    “Braden, you’re welcome to bunk at my house till things get
sorted out.”
    “That’s a generous offer. But the sheriff’s made other
arrangements.” He smiled impishly and leaned closer for a stage whisper.
“Knowing the county’s per diem, he probably arranged for a cot in the DOA
lobby. Maybe you can help me plan a jail break.”
    Did his joke have a subtext?
    Captain Hook’s “Ahoy” saved me from the need to frame a
clever response. “Hey, we’re in luck,” I said. “If anyone can deliver us safe
and sound, it’s Captain Hook and Tinkerbell.”
    Braden arched an eyebrow.
    I laughed and explained the charter boat captain was Tom
Hooker a.k.a. Captain Hook. The retired naval officer had named his sleek
vessel Tinkerbell. Every Halloween, he delighted kids by donning a pirate’s
costume. A camouflage rigging let him hide his sound right leg and clump about
on a peg, trickery he’d mastered years ago when Forrest Gump filmed on
location in the Lowcountry. Hook had provided aquatic support to the movie
crew.
    When the jolly captain got within fifty feet, he dropped
twin anchors to hold Tinkerbell’s position so her bottom wouldn’t scrape.
    He lowered a rubber dinghy and rowed to the ramp. “I can
only carry three at a time. And I’m afraid you’ll get your feet wet. Might want
to shuck any shoes and socks and roll up your pants.”
    As Hook finished his spiel, Bea Caldwell marched briskly to
the head of the makeshift line. “Surely you can get closer than this. You don’t
expect me to wade, do you?”
    Hook was not amused. “Lady, I’m a volunteer, not your
servant. Count yourself lucky I’m offering a ride. You can wade or swim to the
dinghy. I don’t care. Make up your mind while these good folks ahead of you get
on the boat.”
    Not accustomed to back talk from hired help, Bea got her
dander up. “I don’t think you understand. My husband expects me. I can’t go to
the back of the line. You might run out of room. Gator told me to take this
boat. You do understand? These are Mr. Caldwell’s orders.”
    “Well, ma’am, maybe ol’ Gator can tell you to piss up a
rope, but he can’t order me.”
    “How dare you speak to me that way?” she huffed.
    “I dare just fine. But don’t get your panties in a twist.
There’s room. You can board right after we load all these folks and the
groceries. Now that’s what I call important cargo.”
    The young woman’s face flushed beet red as everyone in line
snickered.
    “Way to go, Hook,” Rita whispered, as he handed her into the
dinghy. “Wish I had the nerve to give the witch her comeuppance.”
    “Not much Queen Bea can do to me,” our ferryman replied. “I
spend all my time aboard Tinkerbell and don’t give a flip about club
membership. But I’ll wager