Read The Turtle Mound Murder for Free Online

said, lifting the trash bag into the bucket. “This way,
if any of the packages break, the powder won’t scatter all over the
place.” I returned the bucket to its place and put the rag mop on
top.
    Back in the bedroom, Ruthie had started to
shift things around in the dresser in order to put the underwear in
its proper place.
    “Don’t bother—”
    “Yoo hoo,” Penny Sue called from the front
door. “I could use some help out here.”
    I grabbed Penny Sue’s clothes from Ruthie’s
hands and stuffed them into the bottom drawer.
    “Wait,” Ruthie protested, miffed at me for
screwing up her system.
    “It doesn’t matter.” I slammed the last
suitcase shut and swung it into the closet. “All this will be in
shambles the first time Penny Sue changes clothes.”
    Ruthie harrumphed, but didn’t argue. She
knew I was right. Underwear would be hanging from door knobs and
bras draped over lamps. That’s just the way Penny Sue was, not one
for details.
    * * *
    We finally made it to the beach a little
after two. Laden with cooler, boom box, chairs, and other sundry
comforts, we lumbered down the wooden walkway that protected the
dunes, looking more like an African safari than middle-aged women
on vacation.
    “Crap,” Penny Sue said, stopping abruptly. A
large square of sand was roped off at the bottom of the stairs.
“Another turtle nest. What now?”
    I put the cooler down and peered over her
shoulder. There was maybe a foot of space between the walk’s
railing and the staked off area. “We can make it. Here, give me
that.” I took the boom box and beach bag from Penny Sue. “Go
through and we’ll hand the stuff over the railing.”
    Penny Sue sucked up and sidled through the
narrow opening. Though she ripped a hole in her new
sarong—something she reminded us of all afternoon—we eventually got
ourselves and paraphernalia to the beach without disturbing the
nest, and thus committing a state and federal crime. The last thing
we needed was another run-in with Woody.
    The rest of the day proved pleasantly
uneventful. We took a leisurely walk on the beach, sunned
ourselves, gossiped, and generally acted like giggly college girls,
less mature than our own kids. True to form, Penny Sue took center
stage, entertaining us by comparing everyone who walked by to some
form of bird or beast. She was amazingly good at it, had a real eye
for the absurd. Of course, she never turned an eye on herself. Just
as well, she looked remarkably similar to a chubby flamingo in her
hot pink two-piece and feathered sun hat.
    We capped off the evening with dinner at The
Riverview, a picturesque restaurant on the Inland Waterway where we
ate outside on the deck that overlooked a small marina of expensive
boats. An imposing yacht named Ecstasy immediately caught Penny
Sue’s eye.
    “That cost a bundle,” Penny Sue said, waving
her wine glass in the boat’s direction.
    Ruthie agreed. “ Lifestyles of the Rich
and Famous did a show on yachts. That one must have cost
millions.”
    Millions for a boat? My house in Atlanta
Country Club wasn’t worth that much.
    “I like sailing,” Penny Sue said
wistfully.
    “It’s not a sailboat, Penny Sue. No sails,”
I said, pointing at the radar scope rotating on top of the
bridge.
    She looked down her nose at me. “Sailing,
motoring; it’s all the same if the captain is good looking and the
champagne’s cold.”
    “What about the Falcon and the Brave?” I
asked.
    “They’re in Atlanta.” Penny Sue fingered her
emerald necklace absently. “Ecstasy. Isn’t that the name of a
cruise line? I’ll bet the owner is a shipping tycoon. Greek, maybe.
Europeans are so interesting.”
    A busboy leaned forward to fill her water
glass. “He’s sitting at the bar over there.”
    “Pardon?”
    The young man straightened, looking
embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I overheard your
comment.”
    “Never mind interrupting, sugar,” Penny Sue
snapped. “Please repeat what you