The sheriff’s cruiser drove past Ivy’s apartment building on Guava Avenue, then stopped for several minutes. Once upon a time her building had been a 1950s-style Keys motel. But every new owner forgot to restore the joint, so it was rapidly closing in on being a dump. Her building was not on the ocean, either, not even an ocean view. It sat back a couple blocks.
Easier than a commute to Homestead, she told friends. What she didn’t say was that she felt, if she moved to Homestead, she no longer lived in the Keys. And that was tantamount to giving up on finding Justice.
The road patrol deputy inside the cruiser noticed her mailbox lid was up. He left the idling cruiser, walked over, looked inside, and then closed the mailbox lid. He returned to his cruiser and reluctantly continued his patrol.
Best wishes,
Fred Zackel
author of ...
COCAINE & BLUE EYES
CINDERELLA AFTER MIDNIGHT
CREEPIER THAN A WHOREHOUSE KISS
A DEATH IN KEY LARGO
TOUGH TOWN COLD CITY
&
MURDER IN WAIKIKI
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