Christmas in Key West. Cynthia Thomason

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       Chapter One

      REESE HUNKERED DOWN on one knee and burrowed his fingers into a patch of soft golden fur covered by a colorful neckerchief. “You have a good day, buddy,” he said to the Labrador retriever. “Take a couple of naps for me.” Giving the dog a goodbye scratch behind the ears, he walked outside and got into his patrol car. He’d already talked to the dispatcher on duty. The night had been a quiet one. Reese hoped the calm would continue at least for the next three days, at which point a new crop of tourists would descend upon Key West in the four-day Thanksgiving break.

      He’d just backed out of his driveway when a message came through on his radio. Instantly tuning in, he hoped the call from the station would be nothing more important than a request to stop for doughnuts. “This is Reese,” he said into the mic on his shoulder. He preferred using his real name instead of his official police-speak identity when he could. “What’s up?”

      His hope for continued calm evaporated when the dispatcher said, “It’s Huey Vernay, Reese. He’s at it again.”

      Reese gripped the steering wheel in response to the coiling in his stomach. Anything to do with Huey, his trinket business or the happenings at Vernay House produced this reaction. “Did we get another complaint from a tourist about his attitude?”

      “Nope. This is worse.”

      The coiling resulted in an all-too-familiar pain in his neck. “What’s he done now?”

      “Edna Howell just called. She said Huey started another fire in his backyard and the smell came over her fence. She claims that if she opens her windows, she’ll suffocate from toxic fumes.”

      “Here we go again,” Reese muttered as he turned onto Duval and headed toward Southard Street, where the ten-room Vernay House had stood since the late 1850s. He leaned out the window, caught a whiff of burning rubber. “Shit.”

      “What’s СКАЧАТЬ