Chapter One
Darla held a glass of white wine aloft to examine its color against the light. She swirled it until the pinot grigio sloshed over the edge and brought the stemware to her nose. She inhaled like a vacuum, punctuating with a snort.
“I detect notes of oak and peach,” she announced with authority.
Her friend Mariska arched an eyebrow.
“I think you have to taste it to detect notes.” She took a sip of the glass in her hand and swished it around her mouth, sounding much like a clothes washer. “I detect notes of lavender and ear wax.”
“Hm. Really...” Darla sipped. “Yes, I see that...and day-old donuts. And...lizard feet.”
Mariska nodded solemnly. “Yes. That’s how they crush the grapes, you know. Trained lizards.”
“You don’t say?”
Darla held her serious expression a second longer and then gave up.
The women devolved into giggles.
It wasn’t their fault. They’d been at the wine tasting for a good hour.
Make that a great hour.
A notice promoting the wine tasting appeared on the Pineapple Port fifty-five-plus community bulletin board. They’d decided to go because the event benefitted a good cause—though they’d forgotten what it was.
They’d tried a dizzying array of bottles for ten dollars.
Not a bad deal.
The only downside was the function’s location was in a rented rustic barn—known as The Barn—a popular spot for weddings and corporate events. It made for a charming setting and a great place to collapse from heat prostration.
As a rule, local Floridians like Darla and Mariska did their best to avoid unairconditioned barns—unairconditioned anything, for that matter. They'd broken a rule attending the wine tasting, but an hour in, it seemed worth it, even if their grinning faces were shiny as a licked lollipop.
A breeze generated by one of the large standing fans cooled their cheeks, and the ladies turned toward it like petunias to the sun.
“I love that fan,” sighed Mariska.
“I’m going to marry it,” agreed Darla.
The lofty barn—all beams and weather-aged slats—had been swept clean and dotted with decorative haybales and a smattering of sawdust sprinkled around the tasting areas. Twinkling fairy lights covered tables, booths, and seating like a swarm of glowing locusts. Long tables draped with white tablecloths and topped with rustic floral arrangements lined the room's perimeter while people milled in the center, chatting, sipping, and sweating.
“They did a nice job with the barn,” said Mariska, fanning herself as the breeze from the fan meandered away. “It’s a real barn, you know—when they aren’t renting it.”
“I figured. It smells a little like horses,” said Darla.
Mariska motioned to the nearest wine station. “Have we tried them all?”
“Reds, whites, rosés, and back to white. Judging by the look that the last pourer gave us, I think we’ve been around once or twice.”
“What look?”
Darla shrugged. “Maybe it was less the look and more the way she said, you again.”
She could tell Mariska wasn’t listening by the way she scanned the tables. She was probably thinking about food.
“We should probably hit the cheese trays again,” murmured Mariska.
Darla nodded.
Yep. Food.
“The cheeses are long gone,” she said.
“Bread and olive oil?”
“Good luck. They were gone before the cheeses.”
Mariska pouted. “I should have taken some extra.”
Darla took the last sip of her glass.
“I think they frown on people bringing doggy bags.”
A short, older gentleman with a waxed mustache curled at the edges approached them. He wore a summer suit the color of a light Pinot noir.
“Ladies, hello. I’m Bernard Boyle. You can call me Bernie. Have you enjoyed the evening?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Even in the heat, he looked cool as a polar bear's toenails.
“We’ve had a great time,” said Darla, shaking his hand.
Even his palms weren’t sweating. It made her feel like a swamp critter by comparison.
“Maybe a few more fans,” suggested Mariska.
Bernie nodded. “It did turn out warmer than we expected.”
“Florida does that,” said Darla. “It’s what it does best, really.”
Bernie paused to take a sip of his wine.
“How did you hear about us?” he asked.
“We live in Pineapple Port. There was a flyer there,” said Darla.
Bernie pressed his lips into a grim line.
“Ah, we hoped to get a few more of you from there, but you two are the first I’ve met.”
Darla put her flat hand to the side of her mouth and leaned in to stage whisper.
“You made the mistake of not making everything free.”
She tittered, and when Bernie didn’t join her, she worried she’d been too bold with the little man. Then he cocked his head like a robin eyeing a worm, and she realized his mind had wandered elsewhere. Maybe he was obsessed with the missing cheese, too.
“I don’t suppose you two know anything about that detective agency on the outskirts of Pineapple Port, do you?” he asked.
“Do we?” asked Mariska, her chest puffing. “It’s owned by our Charlotte.”
Bernie’s eyebrows bounced upward. “Your Charlotte? Granddaughter? Daughter?”
“Neither, but we raised her when her grandmother died. It was a community effort,” said Darla.
“She stayed in her house, mostly, but we were there every step of the way,” said Mariska.
Bernie pursed his lips. “Isn’t Pineapple Port a retirement community? They let the girl grow up there?”
Darla scoffed. “We made sure she stayed. My husband’s sheriff.”
She eyed Bernie as he nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t found the nerve, and she wondered if he planned to turn them in for keeping Charlotte out of the orphanage twenty years ago.
She took a phantom sip from her empty glass to keep her hands busy.
“What did you want to know about Charlotte?” asked Mariska.
Darla heard annoyance in her friend’s tone. She’d also noticed Bernie’s odd behavior and shifted into Mama Mode.
“Oh, nothing...” he said, taking another sip.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” pushed Darla.
Bernie sighed. “I have a problem.”
“The sort that requires a detective?” asked Mariska.
He nodded. “Maybe. Increasingly, I think so.”
Darla slapped her hand on her chest, relieved the little man’s pained expression wasn’t trouble, and he might be a customer for Charlotte’s new Charlock Holmes Detective Agency.
“I’m sure Charlotte can help you,” she said.
“You can’t do better than Charlotte,” gushed Mariska. “She’s the best. She’s partners with her fiancé, Declan, and he’s no slouch either.”
“And he’s handsome,” said Darla.
Mariska looked at her.
Darla shrugged. “Well, he is. I mean, not for me, I’m a thousand years old, but for Charlotte...”
Mariska frowned. “I don’t think that’s what makes him a good detective, though.”
“No. Mostly not.” Darla bobbed one shoulder. “Maybe a little. Good looks never hurt.”
Mariska turned her attention back to Bernie. “Do you have a case for them?”
“I do. I think.” He pulled at his mustache and then leaned in to whisper. “It’s sensitive.”
“Charlotte’s very sensitive,” said Mariska.
Darla agreed. “She’s a girl. I mean a woman. We’re better with sensitive things. In general.”
Bernie seemed interested.
“Do you have a card for her?” he asked.
“I do.” Mariska put her empty glass on a wine barrel table and rooted through her purse. She removed a chunk of baguette and placed it next to her glass.
Bernie scowled at it.
“I brought that from home. Just in case there weren’t snacks,” she said.
He nodded and sipped his wine as Mariska pawed through her bag.
Darla motioned to his glass.
“What do you taste?”
Bernard smacked his lips.
“A flirtation of black cherry and... pencil shavings?”
Darla nodded. “You’re good at this.” She glanced behind her. “I should get some more...”
Mariska pulled a business card from her purse. “Here it is.”
She handed the card to Bernie.
“Thank you,” he put the card into his pocket.
“You can’t tell us what it’s about?” she asked.
He grimaced and took the last swallow of his wine. “I own an assisted living manor. There’s been some...oddities.”
“What sort of oddities?”
“People have been—I mean, they’re supposed to die. They’re old, but...”
Darla straightened. “You think someone’s bumping off your residents?”
His eyes popped wide, and he scanned the area as if looking for eavesdroppers. “Whoa, I didn’t say that—”
“Why else would you need a detective?”
Bernie cleared his throat. “I, uh, it was nice meeting you.”
He grabbed Darla’s hand, shook it, shook Mariska’s, and hurried away in a less-than-straight line.
Mariska slapped Darla’s arm.
Darla snapped her attention to her.
“Ow.”
“You scared him away.”
“No, I didn’t, and what’s up with that bread? I thought you forgot to steal some for later.”
Mariska shrugged. “It’s not as good without the cheese.”
Darla stared off in the direction Bernie had left and clenched a fist. “We have to get Charlotte that job.”
“We definitely do, especially now that you maybe ruined her chances by being so nosey.”
Darla gaped. “I did not.” She huffed and then had a thought that smoothed her bunched shoulders. “Hey, I think she needs our help for this one.”
Mariska scoffed. “I don’t know if she wants our help.”
“That’s just it. Normally, she’d be afraid to let us help, but we’re naturals for this one.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Mariska, scowling like she was processing long-division.
Darla held out her hands, her wine glass dangling between two fingers. “Isn’t it obvious? We’ll pose as residents. Get the inside scoop.”
“You want to pose as residents in an assisted living home where people are being murdered?”
Darla brushed away her concerns. “He’s imagining it. They’re just old. Charlotte will get paid for putting his mind at ease.”
Mariska tapped the edge of her empty glass against her chin. “It does sound like fun—”
Darla produced her phone and started a search. “I’ll look up local nursing homes and people named Bernard Boyle and figure out which one he owns.”
“Smart. Good idea. Ooh, look at that,” said Mariska peering at a large white mansion on Darla’s phone screen. “That’s pretty. Is that it?”
“I think so. Elderbrook Manor—yep, here’s his name. This is the one.”
Mariska grabbed for the phone.
“I want to check out the dining facilities. Oh—look at that carrot cake.”
Darla groaned. “I love carrot cake. I could use some right now. It would go really well with that playful, fruity white we had over there at that booth.”
Her attention drifted through the open barn doors.
What the—
She gasped and pointed with all the urgency of a little girl spotting a live unicorn.
“Look—there’s the jitney. Let’s go. We have work to do.”
“We have to get a carrot cake,” muttered Mariska.
They hustled outside to catch their ride and groaned with pleasure as they entered the air-conditioned jitney.
“Bernie’s place looked really nice,” said Mariska as they took seats. “Though, I don’t know if carrot cake is worth getting murdered for.”
Darla shrugged.
“Depends on the icing.”
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