Don’t you ever stay out of trouble?

I get that question a lot. It’s fair—weirdness and nutjobs cling to Tarpon Cove like seagrass in a tangle of mangrove roots. And a dead body found near The Cottages is an excuse to line up the lawn chairs, pass the margaritas, and indulge in the Cove’s favorite pastime—speculation.

But this time trouble has followed me home. My own husband—Creole. They said the head injury he suffered when he was kidnapped might change him. Getting him back won’t be as easy as partnering up with Fab to find a purloined pooch or repo a not-exactly-stolen car.

What am I saying? Somehow the simplest jobs wind up going south in a hurry. Sometimes the easy answer is the right one.