Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise by Marty Ambrose Page B

two days,”
she exclaimed. A pair of Yorkshire terriers positioned
themselves on either side of her and barked their own
greeting. We also had something else in common: our
love of canine companions.

    I climbed out of my truck and took the steps two at a time. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have an answering machine
yet. I only got a phone hook up two weeks ago” I
hugged her, savoring the warm feel of her strong, supple
arms. All of a sudden, though, they felt a little thinner to
me and I pulled back to get a good look at her. Thick,
gray hair worn in a braid and fierce blue eyes. Faded
freckles, now merged into the lines around her eyes. A
wide, smiling mouth. It was all comfortingly familiar.
    But her face did seem a little drawn compared to a
couple of weeks ago when I last saw her, the lines a little deeper. A twinge of guilt nagged at me. I hoped I
wasn’t the cause of those deep worry lines on her forehead.
    “So what do you expect?” she asked, as though
divining my thoughts. “I’m seventy-eight years old and
worried sick about my favorite great niece.”
    “You don’t look a day over sixty.”
    “Pfffft” She waved a hand. “Flattery will get you
everywhere” The dogs kept up their yapping. “Biscuits, Gravy, shut up”
    They instantly quieted down.
    “I guess I don’t need to ask whether or not you heard
about Jack Hillman’s murder,” I said.
    “Dreadful man.” Her mouth tightened into a thin
line. “I remember the last time he gave a talk at my
quilter’s group-right before the Mango Festival. He
went on and on about how the island was becoming too
commercial, that developers were ruining the Mounds, that the `real’ Florida was passing away. Hah. Like that’s
such a bad thing. I’ll give him `real Florida.’ I remember
when it took a whole day to walk to Mango Bay and we
had to wear bee veils the entire way because of the mosquitoes. Those vile creatures were so big you could put a
saddle on ‘em and ride ‘em. Bad roads, hurricanes, oppressive heat. You can have the `good old days.”’ She
threw up her hands in disgust.

    Did I mention that my aunt also possessed the “motor
mouth gene”? In fact, I probably inherited it from her.
    “Actually I’ve been doing some digging and I found out that he wasn’t a complete jerk after all. Did you
know that he sponsored a kid with Big Brothers/Big
Sisters? An island boy who’s in Miami now.”
    “I’d heard about him-Todd something or other.”
She didn’t look impressed. “I guess everyone has a soft
side.”
    “Anybody you know might’ve had a motive to kill
Hillman?”
    She cast an ironic glance in my direction. “The real
question is who didn’t have a motive for killing him.
Maybe you ought to start from there and eliminate all the
people who couldn’t possibly have committed murder”
    I sighed. “That would be a pretty short list just you
and me.”
    “Speak for yourself.”
    “You, too?”
    “After ticking off my quilter friends? You’d better
believe it, Carrot” A beeping sound went off inside her house. “Oh, just a minute, my cornbread is done. Did
you have lunch yet?”

    “Nope” I smiled at Aunt Lily’s nickname. She
christened me “Carrot” when I was a kid-for obvious
reasons-and she was the only one I’d let call me that.
    “Well, settle yourself down and I’ll rustle us up something. I know how you like your food.” She winked at
me and went into the house. Biscuits and Gravy stayed
on the porch, occupied with the complex task of unraveling a ball of white cotton yarn Aunt Lily had left out as
a playtoy.
    I slid into one of the high-backed wooden rockers,
listening to quiet chirping of two scrub jays that perched
on my aunt’s birdfeeder. They took their fill and then
flew off.
    A short while later, Aunt Lily reappeared with a tray
holding two enormous fruit salads and a generous helping of warm cornbread. She set it on a wicker table between the