The Corpse in the Cabana
The Corpse in
the Cabana
Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries:
Book One
Shéa MacLeod
The Corpse in the Cabana
Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries: Book One
Text copyright © 2016/2020 Shéa MacLeod
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Cover design by Mariah Sinclair/
www.mariahsinclair.com
Editing by Janet Fix of www.thewordverve.com
Proofing by Jenx Byron
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Also by Shéa MacLeod
Cupcake Goddess
Be Careful What You Wish For
Nothing Tastes As Good
Soulfully Sweet
A Stitch In Time (A Cupcake Goddess Novelette)
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Dragon Wars - Three Complete Novels Boxed Set
Intergalactic Investigations
Infinite Justice
A Rage of Angels
Lady Rample Mysteries
Lady Rample Steps Out
Lady Rample Spies A Clue
Lady Rample and the Silver Screen
Lady Rample Sits In
Lady Rample and the Ghost of Christmas Past
Lady Rample and Cupid's Kiss
Lady Rample and the Mysterious Mr. Singh
Lady Rample and the Haunted Manor
Lady Rample and the Parisian Affair
Lady Rample Box Set One
Notting Hill Diaries
To Kiss A Prince
Kissing Frogs
Kiss Me, Chloe
Kiss Me, Stupid
Kissing Mr. Darcy
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A Death in Devon
A Grave Gala
A Christmas Caper
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Kissed by Blood
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Sunwalker Saga: Soulshifter Trilogy
Haunted
Soulshifter
Fearless
Sunwalker Saga: Witchblood
Mistwalker
Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries
The Corpse in the Cabana
The Stiff in the Study (Coming Soon)
The Poison in the Pudding (Coming Soon)
The Body in the Bathtub (Coming Soon)
The Venom in the Valentine (Coming Soon)
The Remains in the Rectory (Coming Soon)
The Death in the Drink (Coming Soon)
The Ghost in the Graveyard
Write Novels Fast
Write Novels Fast: Writing Faster With Art Journaling
Write Novels Fast: Down and Dirty Draft
Standalone
Ride the Dragon: A Paranormal/Science Fiction Boxed Set
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Watch for more at Shéa MacLeod’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
A Note From Shéa MacLeod
About Shéa MacLeod
Other Cozy Mysteries by Shéa MacLeod
Non-Cozy Mysteries by Shéa MacLeod
Other Books by Shéa MacLeod
Dedication
This one’s for my mom. I promised I’d write a book you could read. One without scary vampires and whatnot. Well, here it is.
Acknowledgments
With a HUGE thanks to Cheryl Bradshaw and Diane Capri who insisted over cocktails that I really should write that cozy mystery I’d always wanted to write.
Also thanks to the Big Girl Panties who have cheered me on through the whole process.
Thanks to my inspiration, Dame Agatha Christie, for penning such wonderful tales of mayhem and murder. If you’re out there somewhere, you changed my life.
To my marvelous critique partners, editors, and proofreaders who make every book shine.
And to A for putting up with my crazy. I love you.
Chapter 1
The Second Most Haunted Building in Florida
“IF YOU LOOK OVER THERE on your left, you’ll see the Don CeSar Hotel. It’s the second most haunted building in all of Florida,” the taxi driver declared proudly, as if he, personally, was responsible for the ghosts and their shenanigans.
“The pink one?” Cheryl Delaney, my best friend and fellow author, craned her neck to see out the window. We were on our way to the Fairwinds Resort for a writer’s conference, and I was feeling more than a little punch drunk from the travel. The flight from Portland, Oregon, took nearly eight hours, and I was still drowsy from the airsickness medicine. “Yep. That’s the one,” the driver said cheerfully. He adjusted his sunglasses on his ruddy nose and ran a hand through thinning hair.
I peered around Cheryl to see an enormous art deco-style building looming against the harsh, blue sky. Sure enough, it was pink. Pepto-Bismol pink, to be exact. I half wished we were staying there, ghosts or no ghosts. At least the place had character, unlike the rest of the resorts marching their way down the coast of St. Petersburg, Florida. They looked like something out of a bad sixties sci-fi movie, their ugly “futuristic” hulks hovering over the water like spacecraft.
I didn’t expect a haunted mansion to be painted Pepto-Bismol pink. Like most people, I expected a haunted place to be gloomy, dark, and atmospheric. The Don CeSar Hotel was not your usual haunted mansion.
“I know all kinds of people who’ve had run-ins with ghosts there,” the taxi driver continued. “They say the ghost of the first owner still walks the grounds.”
“Oh, how exciting,” Cheryl said with a shiver. “Maybe we’ll see him.”
I might be a lover of murder mysteries, but I draw the line at ghosts. Cheryl could ghost hunt all she wanted. I was staying away from anything remotely spooky.
“GET A LOAD OF HER.” Cheryl Delaney nearly dumped her wine all over the polished marble floor as she gestured wildly at one of the women on the dance floor. It was the kickoff party for the Novel Writers of America conference. Being writers, half the NWA Conference attendees were already three sheets to the wind, even though it was barely nine o’clock. “She does know she’s old enough to be his mother, right?”
I tracked the dancers as they glided, bobbed, and lurched across the polished wood dance floor. Above them bobbed blue and silver balloons filled with helium while an ’80s number thumped over the loudspeakers, loud enough to make my head throb. We’d just flown in from Portland mere hours before, and what I wanted more than anything was a nap. Instead I was stuck at a meet-and-greet.
I finally found the woman Cheryl was pointing to. She was at least in her early fifties, although well preserved and expensively dressed, and was draped drunkenly on a man at least half her age. Wasn’t the first time I’d seen such behavior at a writer’s conference or from the woman in question. I snorted. Partially in amusement, partially in derision.
“Natasha Winters is a lush.” I kept my voice low. Gossip spread like wildfire among writers, especially those of the romance variety. The last thing I needed was Natasha