By Carolyn Hart
Annie Darling's homicide secret cruise within the waters off her not-always-idyllic isle of Broward's Rock goes swimmingly -- till one of many revelers plunges overboard. And regardless of hubby Max's brave rescue test, fake homicide turns all too fast into real-life demise. because the physique count number rises over the following few days, the preferred proprietress of the demise on call for bookstall starts to suspect that each one the sufferers have been murdered so much foully, and they are all attached in a few unknown means. yet what intrepid crime solver Annie doesn't observe is that the killer she seeks is extra ingeniously effective than so much -- and the puzzle she needs to solve is, actually, a time bomb choked with an explosive mixture of arson, attack, kidnapping, theft ... and murder, naturally.
One fake step and Annie, Max, and their canny cohorts may be blown off Broward's Rock for good.
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His eyes squeezed in thought. “Yeah. Say she took a leap and her feet went out from under her so her head came down on the rail. ” His nod at Cole was approving. “Anyway, you didn’t see anybody near the spot where she went over. ” Cole rocked back and forth on his sneakered feet. ” Before Billy could answer, Annie clapped her hands together. “Caught her? ” Cole took another step back. One eyelid jerked in a tic. ” His voice shook. The question hung in the air. Annie looked at their startled faces.
The wind ruffled her blond hair, tugged at her blouse. Enthusiastic, happy, serious, hardworking, levelheaded Annie, who lighted up his life. And later tonight . . His grin was big enough to encompass Alaska. She lifted her arms, held her hands high above her head to clap vigorously. ” Max joined her, looked over the railing at the audience crowding near the raised platform near the bow. Henny Brawley swept off her hat, took a bow. Always fond of emulating favorite detectives, tonight she sported a brown fedora and rumpled, stained tan trench coat.
Annie spread out the words as if she were dropping diamonds on a velvet cloth, each one distinct and separate, hard and shiny and inescapable. “She . . came . . because . . she . . got . . a . . free . . ” Emma’s piercing blue eyes narrowed. Max glanced toward the still form on the table. Ben fingered his 52 Carolyn Hart bristly chin, pursed his mouth. ” Billy shrugged, unimpressed. The excursion boat’s whistle shrieked. Ben clapped his hands together. “Coming in. I’ll go see to the gangway—” Billy was abruptly official.