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breeze created by the moving golf cart until they reached the community center. The pool sat to the right of the large multi-purpose building. The pool was always clean and warm. Retirees possessed ample time to lodge complaints, so it was easier to do things right the first time.
    Mariska stopped the cart in front of the community bulletin board to look for news. A notice hanging from a thumbtack, printed on neon pink paper, announced a new committee.
    “Another club,” said Darla. “This place has more clubs than a deck of cards.”
    Charlotte read the note, her eyes growing wider with every word.
    “The Corpse Committee ! Committee to get to the bottom of the mystery behind the body found in the backyard of Miss Charlotte Morgan.”
    Darla looked at Mariska.
    “I guess we’ll have to join that one.”
    “I did this morning. I saw it when I walked Miss Izzy. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, though, Charlotte.”
    “Well, I don’t feel great being named as the benefactor of the Corpse Committee , but what can I do? I assume this is Penny’s handiwork?”
    Darla wrinkled her nose at the name of the community founder’s wife.
    “You know she has to get to the bottom of everything,” said Mariska. “Gossip, trouble…”
    “Glasses of scotch, her husband’s bank account…” mumbled Darla.
    Mariska giggled and slapped her friend’s arm. “You’re terrible.”
    The cart lurched forward and Charlotte clutched the sidebar.
     
    Charlotte walked to the pool and threw her towel and bag on her usual chair. For the most part, she loved being semi-retired at twenty-six. When her grandmother died, Charlotte had inherited her prefab community home. Estelle had purchased the house for fifteen thousand dollars in full, so she had no mortgage.
    Charlotte’s father had died shortly after her birth, killed in a fall while working construction. Her mother died of cancer when she was eleven. Though her family wasn’t rich, they had insurance, and with her modest needs, she knew she could live most of her life on her inheritance.
    She had a small land lease fee to pay every month, and easily made that amount doing work for an embroidery web site, DoodleSport.com, owned by Mariska’s son, Sebastian. On DoodleSport, people ordered different products with any one of thousands of animal and hobby designs embroidered on them. Sebastian and his wife Emily lived in Maryland, and had named the site after their Labradoodle, Gordon. When business increased, Emily and Sebastian offered to buy Charlotte an embroidery machine of her own and make her home their southeastern division. The giant machine sat in Charlotte’s shed and she spent two to ten hours a week stitching various critters on blankets and polos.
    Charlotte spotted her handiwork on every towel and bag at the pool. The local ladies weren’t shy about requesting items for themselves at the Pineapple Port discount of thirty percent off. At Christmas, Charlotte received so many orders from the locals that she barely had time to do her own shopping. She’d added a t-shirt heat press to her collection of hardware and spent weeks afterwards stamping pictures of grandkids.
    Only recently, the urge to find a calling had begun creeping into her subconscious. She couldn’t complain about her stitching work. With the industrial-sized embroidery machine tucked in her shed, there was no beating her commute to work. To ensure she never lost this gem of a job, she endeavored to find local sales as well. Being in Florida, she couldn’t count how many anchors, shells and boat names she’d stitched. In addition, everyone in Pineapple Port had a pet or knew someone with a pet, so she cranked out beach towels featuring West Highland terriers and cat-faced kitchen towels. She attended farmers’ markets and community yard sales to supplement the website orders.
    Still, she’d never actually dreamed of becoming an embroiderer. She felt like there had to be something better,