Free Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise by Marty Ambrose

steady it.
    “All right, I’ll tweak it some more. What about the
rest of the story?”
    “It doesn’t exactly stink,” she grudgingly admitted.
    “Thanks” Hatchet-face, I added silently.
    “Look, kiddo, I thought you wanted to be a journalist. If you do, you need to work on your writing. That
never ends. It’s always progress, not perfection.”
    I sighed and looked over at Sandy. She offered a
sympathetic smile as she downed her third lowfat yogurt of the morning.
    “We want the truth about Hillman in this article, but
play down the content about his early years as a security guard. No one cares about his experiences keeping the Coca-Cola factory safe for democracy” She hit the
scroll button. “The stuff on his literary fame and the
Writers’ Institute is okay. Then wrap up with Bradley
Johnson’s comments.”

    “He was about the only person I talked to who had
anything good to say about Hillman.”
    She shrugged. “Sometimes when you become famous, people get envious. It happens.”
    “Do you think that’s why he was murdered?”
    “Nope. Murder takes something stronger-hatred,
jealousy, greed-emotions that make your blood boil.”
    “His neighbor sure seems to hate him,” I said.
    “Everett?” She waved a hand dismissively. “He’s just
cranky. Been that way for as long as I’ve know him.
He’s threatened to sue practically everyone on the
island-including our paper.”
    “No way.”
    “Yep. Said we misquoted him on an interview about
the excavation of the shell mounds”
    “Did you?”
    Her thin mouth puckered in annoyance. “If there’s
one thing I know it’s how to quote a source. He was just
making trouble.”
    “I think he’s way beyond the `making trouble’ category when it comes to Hillman. Everett hates him.”
    “We’ll see. If he did murder Hillman, we’ll be the first to print it. Remember, follow the money,” Anita
cackled, as she gave me a swift pat on the shoulder.
“Back to work, kiddo. I’m going to call the coroner to see if he has any new information” She disappeared
into her office.

    I made the changes my hard-nosed editor wanted,
then decided to check the Internet for any other Hillman interviews. After researching for another hour, I’d
found only one other interview he’d given to the Miami
Herald during the South Florida Library Festival two
years ago. I scanned it and stopped in amazement about
halfway through.
    “Did you ever meet Jack?” I asked Sandy who had
finished her yogurt and was now carefully checking to
make sure the price tag was tucked into the short sleeve
of her soft lavender cotton dress. I eyed the latest addition to her endless parade of temporary clothes with
envy. The tag subterfuge provided some distinct advantages. My own meager salary hadn’t allowed me to purchase more than my usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans,
both of which I wore today.
    Maybe I was hallucinating from staring at the computer screen all morning, but she looked a bit thinner.
    “I met him several times.” She tossed the empty yogurt container in the trash can.
    “This article says he volunteered for Big Brothers/Big
Sisters and donated a sizable amount of money to help
open the Island Museum”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah, it’s all right here” I pointed at the screen. “He
was a Big Brother to an island boy named Todd Griffith
for six years … the kid’s grandmother later took him and his mom in, and he’s finishing high school in Miami now. And Hillman also contributed ten thousand
dollars to the Island Museum. Wow. He actually did
something nice.”

    “I guess.” Sandy shrugged. “It’s hard to be impressed
with someone who refuses to speak to you”
    “You mean he came by the office and ignored you?”
    “He sure did-once he got a look at me”
    “What are you saying?”
    “I’m saying he was prejudiced against overweight
women.” Her lower lip trembled, but she tightened it in
a firm line. “I know