Paradise is Deadly - Now Available

An Anthology Collection from the Florida Gulf Coast Sisters in Crime

I am so please to have my short story, Small Craft Advisory, included in this anthology from the Florida Gulf Coast Sisters in Crime. This collection of short stories are all set in Florida and all profits from sales goes to this local chapter.

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“Florida Man,” one look at a headline beginning with those words sets up the expectation for a story that is … well, a story that could only happen in Florida. From Florida crackers to Ybor City mobsters, and touristy amusement parks to prehistoric native sites, the 20 talented authors of the Florida Gulf Coast Chapter of Sisters in Crime present a collection of crime fiction stories worthy of Floridians.

Paradise is Deadly takes readers on a romp along Florida’s Gulf Coast past and present.

“The stories range from creepy to terrifying to old-school whodunit to just plain fun. Their plots revolve around archaeological digs, murder for hire, and the accurate pricing of second-hand designer purses. All use the details that make this state stand out from the other forty-nine: the weather, alligators, Florida Man, and of course, a skunk ape.”
– Lisa Black, New York Times Best-Selling Author

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Small Craft Advisory

“You saved my life, Austin. I mean it. Swear to God.” Zach Williams sat on the live bait tank, staring sternward at his buddy, Austin Mercy, as they left the dock in Sarasota, Florida, amid a cloud of diesel smoke.
The single outboard motor buzzed like a chainsaw as Austin navigated the twenty-foot bay boat from the calm of the canal, into the chop of the bay waters. Above them, a band of storm clouds hung low over the gray water.
“We shouldn’t even be out here.”
Zach knew that. It was why he wasn’t here in his fifteen-foot skiff. The flat-bottomed boat handled the bay and could run in only eight inches of water, but it swamped in rough seas and the tropical depression qualified. The small craft advisories were up. But he figured they’d be in and out before the storm got really kicking. The salt spray told a different story.
He lifted the open beer can to his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the rotten chicken necks that clung to his fingers. He’d promised to supply the bait and he’d come through, even if he’d had to dumpster dive to do it.
“I don’t know why you can’t leave them until tomorrow,” Austin griped.
“Because the last time I did that, they got raided, and I need the money.” Zach crushed the empty can and dropped it into the live well, then returned to his seat.
“Quit those darn scratch-offs and you could pay off your bond.”
Leave it to good old Austin to bring up his arrest and the money he owed him in one sentence. After finding the boot on his truck, he’d tried to raise the cash to clear the fines. Instead, he got caught with his mitts in a commercial crab trap.
Stone crab claws sold for more than fifty-bucks a pound. Ten pounds and he’d make enough to pay Austin back. That left only attorney’s fees, court costs, the fine, child support, gas for his truck, and every other damn thing.
But Austin was the reason he wasn’t now sitting in jail. He owed him for that.
“Raiding that trap was stupid. I know.” Stupid because he’d gotten caught by Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation and charged with taking the contents of the owner’s trap. “Thanks for posting the bond.”
“Getting real tired of bailing you out.”
As tired as he was of having to say thank you?
“I hear you.”
“Do you? Because…” He stopped talking and pressed his lips tight, shaking his head.
Austin had always been in his corner. Until recently. Now he sensed a weariness that he recognized from wife number one. A kind of grimacing, begrudging tolerance.
Austin motioned with his chin, keeping his hands on the wheel. “Look at those idiots.”
Zach wiped the gritty salt from his face and turned. Two young men on jet skis zipped out of the marina at full throttle. It was wake speed only in the bay and channel. But these two were young and, judging from their pale skin, tourists.
With their passing came the scent of coconut suntan lotion.
“They should stay in the bay,” said Austin following the pair from Big Pass to the rolling waves of the Gulf of Mexico.
“Five bucks says they flip before we reach open water,” Zach said.
Austin’s frown deepened. “I don’t bet anymore.”
“It’s only five bucks.” Now they were both scowling.
“I nearly lost the house. The kids. Everything. I promised I’d quit.”
Zach waved a dismissive hand. “Okay.”
The boys buzzed past them, too close and still hollering like fools.
Austin ignored them, keeping the vessel in the center of the channel and reaching the Gulf twenty minutes later where he turned north toward their first buoy.
To the south, Zach spotted familiar blue flashing lights.
“Police boats.” He shaded his eyes. “Three of them. Wonder what’s going on.”

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