Swept Away: A Squeaky Clean Honeymoon Novella (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 12) by Christy Barritt Page B

here you go. Eat up.”
    “You didn’t have to do this,” Riley said.
    “Course we did,” Larry said. “We start a rumor you’ve died and then you’re found starved in this condo? I want to spend my last days fishing, not in some jail.”
    “I can’t argue that,” I said.
    I pulled the foil back from the plate, and the scent of eggs, bacon, and homemade fries drifted up toward me. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
    “How did the rumor starting go?” Riley asked.
    Leonard nodded. “Not too bad. Everyone believes it right now. It won’t take long for people to start talking to Old Yeller, though. Then they’ll know the truth.”
    “Guys, are there any secluded houses on this island?” I asked. “Any places that are off the beaten path, probably bayside?”
    Larry thought about it a moment before nodding. “I suppose there are a couple of places that were purchased back before this was a retirement hotspot. I heard property used to be dirt cheap here back in the day. Anyway, there’s supposedly an old fishing cabin out by the Preserve.”
    “Where’s the Preserve?” I asked.
    “Midway on the island, bayside,” Larry said. “It’s mostly mangrove and banyan trees. But if you turn down this shell-lined driveway and keep going, you’ll eventually find what we call the Homestead.”
    “Does anyone live there?” Riley asked.
    “I understand you can rent it,” Leonard said. “Most people come here wanting luxurious. This place is anything but. Not normal for this community at all.”
    I turned to Riley. “We need to go there.”
    “It’s a bit far to walk,” Larry said.
    “Walking could be a problem anyway because we’re supposed to be dead,” Riley said. “We can’t exactly go get our car and drive there either.”
    “You can take my golf cart,” Larry said.
    “Your golf cart?” I repeated.
    He nodded. “Put some Hawaiian shirts on. We’ll give you a couple of fishing caps. Go fast enough and everyone in town will assume they’re seeing me and Leonard.”
    “Are you sure?” I questioned.
    Leonard nodded. “Mark our words.”

    * * *
    W e’d given strict instructions to Larry and Leonard that if we weren’t back in an hour to call Old Yeller and explain to him what was going on. Perhaps we should have called the police chief first, but since investigating that house last night had been a false alarm, I figured we wanted to be certain before crying wolf.
    I felt ridiculous in the oversized Hawaiian shirt that smelled like Brylcreem. I’d pulled my hair back into a fishing cap and donned some sunglasses. Riley had done the same—minus the hair. We were a sight.
    At least the loose clothing didn’t irritate my skin.
    “You really think Cheryl and Vivian could be here?” Riley asked as we cruised down the road.
    “We won’t know unless we look.” I pointed in the distance. “I think that’s where we turn.”
    The directions had been sketchy. Go past a big blue house then follow the woods past two palm trees, and you’ll find a small forest of banyan trees. Turn at the first driveway and travel until you reach the mangrove trees at the end.
    Not only was I potentially finding a bad guy, but I was also getting a botany lesson in the process.
    Riley slowed as we approached a small road that was hidden among the trees and other tropical vegetation I couldn’t identify.
    Leonard’s final warning echoed in my head: Watch out for rattlesnakes.
    Not comforting.
    As we saw a clearing at the end of the road, we slowed. Riley slipped the golf cart between some trees, and we started the rest of the way on foot. There was no need to announce our arrival.
    Finally, a small cabin came into sight. Larry and Leonard were right: the place was a dump compared to the rest of the homes on the island. Definitely one of the originals.
    “This could be the spot,” Riley muttered. “The wood on the outside walls looks the same as the photo of Cheryl, and even from here