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Chapter One
I stared at the monstrosity before me. My fingers trembled. Sweat broke out on my forehead. From the deepest depths of my soul, there was no doubt it was the embodiment of evil incarnate. The fact that it was lying on a plate, inert, didn’t lessen the revulsion. I had to close my eyes. My stomach churned at the horrific thought that somewhere, some insane person thought this abomination could be considered acceptable in a civilized society.
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Elmo. Be a big boy and do what you have to do.” Goob’s words carried the ever-present, kind tone the elderly shopkeeper was known for. They carried an unmistakable touch of impatience, though.
“All right. I’m a man of my word.” I opened one eye, then the other. The slice of Hawaiian pizza hadn’t magically disappeared. So much for praying for a miracle.
The absolute horror of pineapple combined with ham, marinara, and mozzarella cheese mocked me as I fingered the crust. A defeated sigh escaped me. There was nothing else to be done.
I bit into the pointy end of the slice. And chewed. The thin crust was crispy. The sauce, tangy with a few chunks of tomato to give it texture. The ham was tender and smoky, the result of it being cooked at the Riptide. The pineapple…
I shuddered as my taste buds made contact with the fruit. With an effort, I fought back a gag the pineapple’s cloying sweetness elicited. Then I swallowed. And took three more massive bites in rapid succession.
“Done.” I hopped away from the counter as if I’d just been shocked by a jolt of electricity from a faulty outlet. Something I’d experienced from time to time. I took a big gulp of my soda pop. The gathering cheered me on my accomplishment.
Except for one. Police Chief Susan Eikenberry shook her head as she slipped her phone in her pocket. “Your debt’s been paid, Simpson. However, if you ever insult Hawaiian pizza in my presence again, you will spend a night in a holding cell.”
“Fair enough.” We shook hands. “Any time you want, I’ll be happy to prepare you a genuine Indiana-style tenderloin sandwich. With the pork properly flattened to within an inch of its life, breaded, and then deep-fried. Served on a toasty bun with lettuce, tomato, onions, a dollop of mayo, and pickles on the side.”
This time, it was Susan who shuddered. It was common knowledge around the oddball town of Paradise Springs, Florida, that she loved ham and all pork products, except when it was deep fried. Which was a crime in and of itself, in my opinion.
“Let’s put a pin in that.” Her radio squawked and the dispatcher requested the chief respond to a call from the marina. “Duty calls. No rest for the weary.”
Late June was one of the busiest times of the year for the businesses of the Springs. It was the same for the police. The sugar sand beaches and crystal-clear waters of the Gulf Coast community made it a favorite for tourists who wanted the sun and surf but also wanted to avoid the crowds of larger cities like Panama City Beach, Pensacola, and Destin.
That didn’t mean the tourists were better behaved than anywhere else. From dustups in restaurants to alcohol-fueled disturbing the peace to general foolishness, the Paradise Springs police force had been running themselves ragged for weeks now.
With no letup until September.
Oh, and it was going to get worse the closer we got to the Independence Day holiday. Around my adopted hometown, July Fourth seemed to last for about ninety-six hours, not the standard twenty-four.
Like the cherry on top of a vanilla shake, the tourist crowds were bigger than ever in this little slice of heaven. A sensational murder case I’d gotten myself involved with earlier in the year had made a splash on the internet. My town was a hidden gem no more. The police, like most everyone else, were struggling to keep up with the increased crowd sizes.
With my debt paid, the dozen or so Paradise Springers who’d witnessed the affair drifted away. I returned to my stool and pushed the uneaten portion of the slice toward Goob.
“Good to see you survived.” He deposited the uneaten portion into a to-go box with the grace of someone a fraction of his eighty-plus years. Or ninety-plus. Nobody in town was sure. “I think some of them in the crowd were hoping you’d upchuck. Especially the ones with their phones out. That would have gotten you a lot of looks on social media.”
“Thank the stars above for that.” I leaned across the counter and lowered my voice so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Between you and me, I thought there was no way in the world I would lose that bet. I mean, I’m in good shape.”
The man smiled, his eyes sparkling with mirth behind his pink-rimmed glasses.
“That, my friend, is why you never, ever make a bet with Little Suzi. She’ll make you pay every time.”
I was about to ask the man how he got away with referring to the Springs’ top cop so informally when a customer walked in.
“Can you tell me where I can find Craig’s Cruises?” The man, who had two teenagers in tow, was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and had a large camera bag slung over one shoulder.
Goob handed the visitor a map of the marina. “When you go back outside, turn left. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. There’s a red, white, and blue sign. You can’t miss it.”
After the tourists left, Goob’s smile turned into a frown. “Craig’s Cruises. That operation’s nothing but trouble. I wish they’d have picked any other place on the Gulf than here.”
“You and me both.”
Craig’s Cruises arrived in Paradise Springs the previous March with so much fanfare that you would have thought the operation was single-handedly saving the town from financial ruin. With six pontoon-style tour boats and another dozen Jet Skis, the company’s owner, Craig Abbott, had promised good-paying jobs, environmentally friendly business practices, and never-before-seen recreational opportunities for the good citizens of and visitors to Paradise Springs.
Seemingly overnight, glossy trifold flyers touting the company’s offerings were all over town. Digital billboards, one on each side of town, informed passersby where to find Craig’s Cruises. The owner himself had appeared in a puff piece on the front page of the local news weekly, the Paradise Springs Palladium.
A lot of people were thrilled with the development, including Mayor Wil Crabtree, who never said no to a business development opportunity. Many others weren’t. I, along with Goob and a lot of the group of small and independent businesses, aka the Old Guard, was among the unhappy crowd. There were a lot of reasons why I’d opposed the new venture.
Craig’s Cruises was in direct competition with Paradise Springs Charters, the business owned and operated by my on-again, off-again girlfriend, Nicola Beecham. With whom I was happily back in the on-again stage.
“How’s your lady friend doing?” Goob wiped down the counter with a dry cloth instead of the normal damp one. Nic’s predicament had my old friend worried to distraction. He really was the godfather of the Springs’ OG.
The good kind of godfather. Not the scary Marlon Brando kind.
“She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s struggling. Losing Desiree was a tough blow. She’s been doing the work of two people, maybe three, for months now.”
Desiree LaFontaine had worked with Nic for nine years. She started out as deckhand and was promoted to first mate in 2019. Over the years, she’d become like a sister to Nic.
Within two weeks of Craig’s Cruises’ arrival, Desiree submitted her two-week notice and went to work as Craig’s Paradise Springs chief of operations. When Desiree told Nic how much the new position paid, Nic didn’t bother countering. It truly had been an offer Desiree couldn’t refuse.
Since then, the punches to Nic’s livelihood hadn’t stopped coming. Staffing shortages and equipment trouble had been constant headaches.
“I’d imagine. Sybil was in this morning. Told me Nicola and Craig got into a row at the Magnificent Marlin last night and almost came to fisticuffs. Is she okay?”
“First I’ve heard of it. I’ll swing by her place later.”
“Well, give her my love and tell her the next time she drops by, a grouper sandwich has her name on it. My treat.”
“Will do.” My phone buzzed, a reminder that I had an appointment for my critter removal business in twenty minutes. It was time to get going.
I gathered my things, but as I moved for the door, Goob draped his arm over my shoulder. “Rumor has it the Sea Breeze has a new owner. Someone local.” He winked. “Good luck on the new adventure.”
“Um.” So much for a witty denial. Good going, dummy. I’d been so careful. Or so I thought. Every step I’d taken toward the purchase of the Sea Breeze Resort, the largest private employer in the area, had been made with two thoughts in mind.
First, it needed to stay open. The previous owner was in jail. He was liquidating his assets to pay for his legal fees. I couldn’t bear the thought of the Sea Breeze being left rudderless until new ownership took control. I had the cash to make the purchase. So, I did.
Second, I wanted to maintain my low profile. The community didn’t need to know I was assuming control. All that mattered was that the new ownership was local and was committed to the resort’s long-term prosperity.
“Sorry, Goob. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was a better response than nothing.
My friend laughed. “Of course you don’t. My lips are sealed.”
As I exited the store, a disturbing thought came to me. Goob was a great guy. I’d trust him with my life. Not everybody in Paradise Springs was a kind soul like him, though. That begged the question.
If he knew about the purchase, who else did? And was there anyone among those in the know who wanted to cause trouble?
End of Excerpt
