Free Lowcountry Bombshell (A Liz Talbot Mystery) by Susan M. Boyer

sand I think how blessed I am to live in this magical place.
    My family has lived on this island for generations. Between college, my unfortunate marriage to Scott, and avoiding home because Michael was married to Marci, I’d spent the last thirteen years in the Upstate, the South Carolina foothills. It had taken Gram’s death and the need to solve that crime to get me home. I’d moved into the sprawling, yellow-and-teak, tin-roofed beach house she left me and took over her seat on the town council. Someone had to fill the void she’d left and protect our island home from developers. In some ways it felt like I’d slipped out of my life and into Gram’s. Fortunately, my career in solutions consulting is portable.
    Rhett and I turned around at Heron Creek and retraced our route past the marina and back around North Point. As I pulled the salt air deeply into my lungs and pushed it out again, it felt as though I was one with the island coming into sharper focus in the rising sunlight. I passed the house and ran south towards town. After I passed The Pirates’ Den, the top of the white dome of Calista’s house came into view.
    From the beach, you could see only the top half of the house over the dunes. I decided to take a detour and see if Calista had exterior security installed. Rhett and I climbed her steps and headed down the walkway towards the house. Unlike mine, Calista’s wooden path led to a wide pool deck. The amoeba-shaped pool had a waterfall at one end and a hot tub at the other. An outdoor bar with high stools stood at the right edge, next to the waterfall. A pool house with guest quarters sat adjacent to the bar. I rounded the pool house and took the steps down to the sand. I was looking for motion detectors and cameras. Either they were well-hidden, or Calista hadn’t had them installed.
    I walked around the house and down the length of the driveway, checking trees and bushes. When I was almost to Ocean Boulevard, I noticed a tan Toyota Camry across the street. I could see the top of a brown head in the driver’s seat. Rhett sounded a warning bark.
    “Shhh. Be still, boy.”
    He muffed out an indignant noise in response.
    The driver started the engine and the car rolled forward. Whoever it was could not have seen where he was going over the dash as low as he, or she, was slouched. Clearly, the driver did not want to be seen.
    Since he or she had obviously seen me, I dashed out into the street to get a tag number. When the car was a few hundred feet away, the driver sat up and the car shot away.
    The Camry had California plates.
    I skipped my usual morning skinny dip in the ocean and ran straight back to the house. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee welcomed me as I opened the back door and stepped into the sunroom.
    “Nate?”
    “In here,” he called from the kitchen.
    I followed his voice. Oh. My. Stars. There he stood, six-foot-three of prime Southern male, barefoot and bare-chested, in just a faded pair of blue jeans. I had trouble focusing on what I’d had on my mind when I came in the back door.
    He grinned. “Coffee?”
    “Yes, please—thank you.” Did he know the impact he had on me?
    He put three Splendas in a big mug, filled it with coffee, and added just the right amount of cream. Nate and I had been bringing each other coffee for years. Of course he knew how I liked it. But that morning it felt very intimate, significant.
    “Thanks.” I smiled.
    “You should’ve woken me up. I’d’ve run with you.”
    “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
    “The sight of you in those running shorts disturbs me.”
    “Does it now?”
    “It disturbs me to think how gazing upon that much of your long, lovely legs might disturb any red-blooded male you pass.”
    I smothered a grin. “I didn’t see a soul.” I remembered why I’d come in early, shook my head to clear it. “Well, except I’ve got to check out a license plate.” I headed out of the kitchen, down the hall towards my