Pineapple Lies Read Free Page A

Pineapple Port, she was the most famous. Growing up in a retirement community made her the local oddity. If she purchased a different brand of coffee, within two hours, the whole neighborhood knew. Crime tape was overkill.
    She’d moved to Pineapple Port with her grandmother, Estelle, at age eleven, following her mother’s death from cancer. Estelle had died nine months later. Mariska and Darla were her grandmother’s best friends, and they conspired with Darla’s husband Sherriff Frank, and Pineapple Port’s founders, Penny and George Sambrooke, to allow Charlotte to remain in her grandmother’s home. She spent most of her time at Mariska’s, until her teens, when she officially moved back into her grandmother’s home. Though she lived alone, she had everyone in the community as foster parents, with Mariska and Bob, who lived directly across the street, as primary caregivers.
    Growing up in a fifty-five-plus community had pros and cons. The con was having endless other nosey grandmothers watching her every move. The pro was access to golf carts. Everyone in the neighborhood had a cart, some quite fancy. Access to souped-up golf carts was a child’s fantasy, and as a child, she’d dreamed of becoming a professional golf cart racer. She’d been horrified to discover there was no such thing. All other career options paled in comparison.
    As an adult the pros and cons of living in the Port shifted. The neighborhood scrutiny contributed to her lackluster love life. That was a huge con. The one time a man spent the evening at her home, she’d been greeted by winks or scowls by nearly everyone in the neighborhood the following day. In retrospect, she wished she’d worn a t-shirt that said, He got to second base and then slept on the sofa.
    On the pro side, she never wanted for jams, jellies or crocheted items of any kind. People without an endless supply of homemade jelly really didn’t know what they were missing.
     
    Charlotte returned to her kitchen and watched them dig, drinking the rest of Frank’s beer from her own coffee mug to calm her nerves. The Sheriff wasn’t the only one trying to avoid scrutiny. Frank looked through the window and she held up her mug in cheers. He reciprocated.
    As they enjoyed their beers, the forensic team removed and labeled each part of a skeleton. Charlotte watched a tech dust and place what looked like a toe bone into a baggie. She took another sip from her mug.
    “I’m her mother!”
    Charlotte’s head swiveled toward her front door. She heard arguing. She recognized one voice as that of the female officer guarding her front door. The woman had a terrible demeanor, and her sharp bark was undeniable. The other voices sounded more familiar, particularly the one claiming to be her mother.
    She drained her mug.
    Charlotte walked to the front door to find Darla and Mariska on her porch, their faces twisted in agitation. From the conversation, she deduced the two were attempting to gain entry by claiming to be her mother and grandmother, but they’d forgotten to agree upon who would play which role, and neither wanted to be the grandmother.
    “So, you’re both her mother?” asked the officer. “Or you’re both her grandmother?”
    Charlotte opened her door just as two other neighbors, Penny and Bettie, joined Mariska and Darla on her stoop.
    “Charlotte, dear,” said Mariska. “I was so worried for you. What’s going on? Tell Mama.”
    Darla glared at Mariska.
    “What’s going on?” asked Penny. “I demand to know what’s going on.”
    Charlotte knew she’d have to tell Penny everything. Pineapple Port’s matriarch ruled all the important committees and planned all the events worth attending. Those who disappointed her were doomed to a lifetime of weak bridge partners.
    “Your grandmother and I are very worried!” said Darla, stepping on Mariska’s toe.
    “Hi Charlotte!”
    Behind the three louder women stood five-foot-nothing Bettie “Bettie Giraffe” Dahl,