Read Online Linda Lovely - Marley Clark 02 - No Wake Zone by Linda Lovely - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Lovely
Ads: Link
When Jake’s muscles failed, his lungs quit. No air. Asphyxiation.”
Ross tugged on his moustache. “Would a dose of pure cyclogel
have killed someone who didn’t have MG?”
May shook her head. “Doubt it. The killer must have known
about his illness.”
My stomach clenched. That narrowed the suspect list.
“Darlene said Jake was rabid about keeping his illness a secret.”
May’s eyes narrowed. “Someone could have taken a gander at
his medical file, or Jake might have confided in a Jolbiogen researcher looking
into autoimmune disease research.” She lasered me with her baby blues. “Then
again, Marley, your long-lost friend could be involved.”
She held up a hand, anticipating my protest. “People change.
I’m not saying Darlene did it, but you need to butt out. You’re tempting fate
spending time with her before Sheriff Delaney looks into this mess. Even if
she’s innocent, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts someone in Jake’s family of vipers
is guilty as sin.”
I was sorely tempted to blurt out that Delaney’s suspect
list included me. Maybe that little tidbit would remind Aunt May suspects are
innocent until proven guilty. I kept my mouth shut. No point arguing. I’d yet
to change one of May’s opinions. Not that I wasn’t equally pigheaded. Darlene
needed a friend. End of story. I’d keep our afternoon date.
May lowered her recliner footrest and pushed to her feet. “I
know that look, Marley. You’re going to ignore me so I won’t beat a dead horse.
But it’s less than two weeks to my birthday and our overdue family reunion. Can
you still drive me to Gull Point and take a look at the banquet menu before you
go gallivanting off to the Olsens?”
“You bet.”
Ross saluted his mom. “Guess I’m dismissed. I need to get
cracking on our Antique and Classic Boat Show. We’ve signed one hundred entries
and I need to figure out what boat goes where.” He cut me a look of devilish
glee. “Every one of them deserves the red carpet treatment reserved for ye old
mahogany missionaries.”
I returned his grin. “Yes, I remember your motto—‘If God had
wanted plastic boats, he’d have grown plastic trees.’”
“Right you are, Cuz. I fully intend to bamboozle the winners
into showing off their wooden darlings in a rotating permanent exhibit.”
Aunt May sighed. “Lord help me, I suckled an idjit. How in
blazes can you shoehorn more boats in that museum? You have to leave room for things
women like—old photos, swimsuits, antique beach toys.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, that’s why they pay Captain Ross the big
bucks. We just need a new exhibit wing.” He paused half way out the door. “Say,
I promised Eunice to remind you both about dinner at the Outrigger. Six o’clock okay?”
“I can’t swear I’ll make it,” I answered. “I’m due at
Darlene’s late afternoon. I may not finish by six.”
Aunt May rolled her eyes. “A mistake,” she grumbled. “You’re
being a danged fool.”
***
Assuming my customary chauffeur duties, I headed May’s Buick
toward West Okoboji and Gull Point State Park. The midmorning sun beamed at
full wattage, boosting the temperature inside the vehicle to broil. May jacked
up the air. Not a day for rolled-down windows. Strong gusts shook the car. The
arms on the town’s Picasso-esque windmills twirled in a blurred frenzy.
Ross seized on blustery days like this to educate tourists
about Spirit Lake’s perch atop a Great Plains ridge. The location makes the
Iowa Great Lakes nirvana for summer sailors and a boon to insulation
contractors come November. The area’s windy status also helped secure grants
for two of Iowa’s first windmills.
Today’s westerly blasts were not auspicious. A big storm
brewed over the plains. That meant we were likely to be watching natural
fireworks come dusk.
As we turned on Highway 86, I glanced at May. A comment
Darlene made about her first husband troubled me. Maybe I should ask another
widow’s
Ross tugged on his moustache. “Would a dose of pure cyclogel
have killed someone who didn’t have MG?”
May shook her head. “Doubt it. The killer must have known
about his illness.”
My stomach clenched. That narrowed the suspect list.
“Darlene said Jake was rabid about keeping his illness a secret.”
May’s eyes narrowed. “Someone could have taken a gander at
his medical file, or Jake might have confided in a Jolbiogen researcher looking
into autoimmune disease research.” She lasered me with her baby blues. “Then
again, Marley, your long-lost friend could be involved.”
She held up a hand, anticipating my protest. “People change.
I’m not saying Darlene did it, but you need to butt out. You’re tempting fate
spending time with her before Sheriff Delaney looks into this mess. Even if
she’s innocent, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts someone in Jake’s family of vipers
is guilty as sin.”
I was sorely tempted to blurt out that Delaney’s suspect
list included me. Maybe that little tidbit would remind Aunt May suspects are
innocent until proven guilty. I kept my mouth shut. No point arguing. I’d yet
to change one of May’s opinions. Not that I wasn’t equally pigheaded. Darlene
needed a friend. End of story. I’d keep our afternoon date.
May lowered her recliner footrest and pushed to her feet. “I
know that look, Marley. You’re going to ignore me so I won’t beat a dead horse.
But it’s less than two weeks to my birthday and our overdue family reunion. Can
you still drive me to Gull Point and take a look at the banquet menu before you
go gallivanting off to the Olsens?”
“You bet.”
Ross saluted his mom. “Guess I’m dismissed. I need to get
cracking on our Antique and Classic Boat Show. We’ve signed one hundred entries
and I need to figure out what boat goes where.” He cut me a look of devilish
glee. “Every one of them deserves the red carpet treatment reserved for ye old
mahogany missionaries.”
I returned his grin. “Yes, I remember your motto—‘If God had
wanted plastic boats, he’d have grown plastic trees.’”
“Right you are, Cuz. I fully intend to bamboozle the winners
into showing off their wooden darlings in a rotating permanent exhibit.”
Aunt May sighed. “Lord help me, I suckled an idjit. How in
blazes can you shoehorn more boats in that museum? You have to leave room for things
women like—old photos, swimsuits, antique beach toys.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, that’s why they pay Captain Ross the big
bucks. We just need a new exhibit wing.” He paused half way out the door. “Say,
I promised Eunice to remind you both about dinner at the Outrigger. Six o’clock okay?”
“I can’t swear I’ll make it,” I answered. “I’m due at
Darlene’s late afternoon. I may not finish by six.”
Aunt May rolled her eyes. “A mistake,” she grumbled. “You’re
being a danged fool.”
***
Assuming my customary chauffeur duties, I headed May’s Buick
toward West Okoboji and Gull Point State Park. The midmorning sun beamed at
full wattage, boosting the temperature inside the vehicle to broil. May jacked
up the air. Not a day for rolled-down windows. Strong gusts shook the car. The
arms on the town’s Picasso-esque windmills twirled in a blurred frenzy.
Ross seized on blustery days like this to educate tourists
about Spirit Lake’s perch atop a Great Plains ridge. The location makes the
Iowa Great Lakes nirvana for summer sailors and a boon to insulation
contractors come November. The area’s windy status also helped secure grants
for two of Iowa’s first windmills.
Today’s westerly blasts were not auspicious. A big storm
brewed over the plains. That meant we were likely to be watching natural
fireworks come dusk.
As we turned on Highway 86, I glanced at May. A comment
Darlene made about her first husband troubled me. Maybe I should ask another
widow’s
Similar Books
