Chapter One of Keys to Death

The alligator lying on the boat ramp wasn't sunning itself. 

It wasn't an alligator, either.

Lynne Montgomery closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that when she looked again it would be gone, an apparition caused by too much reunion wine the night before in an unfamiliar tropical environment.

When she opened her eyes again, however, it was still there and it was still not an alligator.  Funny how quickly your perceptions could change.  Until yesterday in the Everglades,  Lynne had never seen an alligator outside a zoo.  Now she was wishing that one lay sprawled in all its ungainly reptilian splendor at her feet, because the alternative was even less desirable.

She moved warily toward the ramp.  Here on the shore of Little Sister Key, Florida Bay spread out before her, its crystalline blue waters stretching placidly toward the southernmost Florida mainland and the Everglades.  Sea birds swooped gracefully above, riding invisible air currents.  The morning glowed warm and balmy, a perfect tropical December day.

Except, of course, for the alligator.  The alligator that wasn't.

As Lynne reached the edge of the boat ramp, she could no longer deny what was lying there, half in and half out of the water.  Despite her wishful thinking, Lynne had known at first glance that she wasn't looking at any crocodilian.  This was a female homo sapiens lying here, face down on the concrete, the bay waters lapping at her legs.

She moved forward cautiously.  One motionless arm was stretched toward her.  She thought she recognized the woman but deliberately avoided looking at her face as she gingerly wrapped her fingers around the cold wrist, searching for a pulse.

No pulse. 

No warmth in the body, either.  The slim, tanned wrist wore a small gold watch rimmed with diamonds, but the chilly hand attached to that wrist was stiff and unyielding.  The fingernails were freshly manicured and polished in a cheery tangerine, with no signs of the damage that a struggle might have caused. 

Indeed, up close, Lynne could see no signs of violence of any sort.  No obvious blood or rips or holes in the fabric of the loose, flowing, dark green dress twisted and tangled around the woman's ankles.  Flimsy dark green sandals remained on her feet,  exposing tangerine-painted toenails.

Lynne had postponed confirming her snap identification as long as she could.  Now she steeled herself to back off and look at the entire picture, not merely its components.  She took a deep breath and moved away. 

There was no question, no doubt. 

This was Peggy's friend who had stopped by last night while they were having drinks and hors d'oeuvres.  She had popped in as they watched a glorious sunset outside the Parkers' bayside patio, apologized for interrupting—a bright and lively woman with silver blonde hair and skin tanned a warm gold.  She'd been wearing some kind of floral shorts outfit, had offered a cheerful smile and a brisk handshake, then left something for Peggy in a manila envelope.

Peggy had introduced them, and Lynne struggled now to remember the woman's name.  Sandy? Debbie?  It was one of those old-style cheerleader names like Barbie and Susie, names that nobody under forty had any more.

Darcy.  That was it.  Darcy.  Who had dropped off the schedule for a holiday tennis tournament, a tournament Darcy would not play in.

Welcome to the Keys.

All content © 2005-11 by Taffy Cannon.