Free Murder At Tropical Cove Marina (Cozy Mystery) (Sea Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Crystal Winters Page A

known me long enough to know that when he hears that tone that I was just about out of patience. He gave in.
    “You know Robert Clive?”
    “Yes, of course,” I replied. “He comes every year. Him and his wife.”
    Ethan laid a hand on my shoulder. “Well, he’s dead. He—“
    “Dead? Wait. What?”
    Ethan continued, “He was found dead on his boat less than half an hour ago.”
    My knees felt weak. Maybe I swayed a little, because Ethan dropped his other hand to my other shoulder, as if to keep me from toppling over.
    “What…what happened?” I stammered. “I mean, what—“
    “Listen, Maddie.” Ethan gave me a tiny shake. Just enough to get my brain back in gear. “Could you please call Dusty? Now?”
    I got a grip on my thoughts, and pulled out my cell phone. “Got it. Dialing now.” As the phone was ringing I caught a glimpse of Robert. He was lying on his back in the cockpit of his sailboat, one spindly leg up on the seat and the other stretched along the deck. His skin was blue-gray, so different than the ruddy tan that I was used to seeing. His blue-and-red checkered shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, showing his hairy chest and chubby beer-belly to full advantage. The grizzled hair of his chest was wet with a tan, foamy liquid, which looked, from where I was standing, to be vomit. He was also wearing his light tan cargo shorts which I noticed had several dark spots on them which looked to be paint or stain of some sort. Still perched on his head was the big straw hat that he was fond of wearing. It was his favorite hat for sailing because it would not blow off on windy days due to the string that ran under his chin. The string was still tied under his chin, only now it was encrusted with drying vomit. Robert was approximately mid 60’s and a Snowbird from Canada. He and his wife, Carol, would come down in October and stay through March. That way they could avoid the brutal winters of Canada and the hot, sweaty, and humid Florida Summers. They could have the best of both worlds. “ Poor Robert,” I thought. He was just so limp, lifeless, so much opposite of his bubbly, charming, and friendly personality.
    I tore my eyes away from someone that I had considered a friend, and asked, “W-what happened. What do you think happened?”
    “I don’t know, Maddie.” He scribbled something in a small notebook. “We need to investigate further.”
    “I know, but—“
    Please, Maddie,” he interrupted. “That’s all I can really say for now. I’ll try to let you know the details as soon as I can.”
    My call finally connected. “Dad. I—“
    “ This is Dusty. Sorry I am unavailable right now, but please leave a message at the beep .”
    Argh. “ Why is he not picking up ?” I thought.
    Dustin Ritchfield is my father, and sometime during the decades he worked for UPS he acquired the nickname Dusty. He retired 10 years ago, ready to live a life of leisure, but he was never one of those old codgers that could sit around all day watching the cable news networks and stuffing his face with potato chips. He was already getting antsy before my mother passed away, and after she died he decided to invest in Tropical Cove Marina. That was ten years ago, and ever since then he has been enjoying his position as Dockmaster and owner of the marina. The boating community has always been a very close-knit and friendly group, and has provided my father with a wonderful social outlet for him.
    I’ve worked as his assistant and all around gopher, allowing him to go fishing and take vacations with his buddies. I’ve always enjoyed working here. Until today, that is.
    “Well, he didn’t pick up,” I declared. “I left him a message, so I hope he calls back soon. I hope he’s O.K. Usually he picks up right away.”
    “Where’s he camping?”
    “He went kayaking and camping down in the Everglades.”
    Ethan smiled. “He probably just has poor cell phone reception. I know when I’ve been down there,