Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves Read Free

to her. “We’re here for bird sightings.”
    Dressed similarly to Angela, the birder duo had further accessorized themselves with sun-protective hats that looked like
something out of the French foreign legion, hiking shorts, and
binoculars dangling from thin leather straps around their necks.
    “And I’m Charley.” He waved a wrinkled, age-spotted hand
and then held up a cane. “It’s a hiking stick-I don’t really
need any help to walk.” Uh-huh. He, too, wore binoculars.
    “Are you also a birder?” I inquired.
    “Yup.” He thumped his chest in pride. Unfortunately, he
must’ve used too much force, because the blow caused a coughing fit that almost doubled him over. Angela slapped him on the
back a couple of times, and he straightened again.
    “Now that we’re near to kin to one another, let’s kick up
some sand and get moving.” Our intrepid Dixie Chick trail
guide handed each of us a small green brochure. “As you can
read, the trail is almost three miles-“
    “What?” Now it was my turn almost to double over, but in
shock. Sure, I’ve been doing Tae Kwon Do a couple of nights
a week, but a three-mile walk in Keds? No way. That was close
to inhumane treatment. And in late June, with the heat and insects? Downright torture.
    “You’ll be fine. Just give yourself a good dousing with bug
spray.” Angela dismissed my concerns and pointed at her
brochure. “Listen up, everyone! As we’re hiking, follow along with the pictures and the explanations. They explain some of
the wonderful sights we’ll be seeing.”

    My three elderly companions all nodded in happy anticipation.
    “I didn’t bring any insect repellent,” I protested.
    “Here you go, my dear.” Charley passed me his can of Bug
Off!, and I layered it onto my arms and legs. The pungent
smell of pine and tar assailed my senses.
    “Whew. This stuff is strong,” I mumbled, trying to hold my
breath. I looked down at my attire in cautious hesitation. Since
I’d had no idea I’d be on a sweltering, bug-infested trail walk
when I dressed that morning, I had worn my standard uniform
of denim shorts and T-shirt. My pale, freckled legs would be
exposed to sun and bugs. I cursed Bernice under my breath.
    “Mosquitoes come up like a bad cloud this time of year on
the island,” Angela added in a chipper voice. “But they have to
live like every other creature, and I reckon we should respect
them.”
    “As long as they’re not sucking every drop of blood out of
us,” I quipped. Charley blinked. Mae and George shook their
heads. Angela snorted. I sighed and accepted my fate.
    As added protection, I gave myself one last douse of spray.
    “I think you might need this too” Mae passed me a bottle
of SPF 15 sunblock. It wasn’t high enough, but I slathered it
all over my freckled face anyway in the vain hope of not getting sunstroke. I knew I probably looked like a kid pretending
to be a ghost at Halloween, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
My skin fried under a forty-watt lightbulb.
    “Once again, let me welcome y’ all to Little Coral Island,”
Angela began. “This is a coastal wetlands area with a salt
marsh and mangroves-“
    Just then a large black Mercedes drove up, and two young
women alighted, talking and giggling.

    “Thanks, Dad.” A leggy blond leaned into the driver’s side
window and placed a peck on the man’s cheek.
    He gave her a brief smile and an arm pat. “Have fun, girls,”
he said. “Don’t forget to call on your cell phone so I know when
to pick you up”
    “Will do.” The blond tucked her hair behind her ears and
sauntered over with her friend. Daddy drove off, tires grinding on the shell road.
    “Are we too late for the tour?” her friend asked. She was
striking, too, but in a different way. Raven-wing hair, brown
eyes, and honey-colored skin. And lots of curves. Both girls
wore T-shirts, cotton Capris, and high-heeled leather boots.
Island hotties, for