Tropical Scam

By Susan LaDue

If you work in the tourist industry in the Caribbean, summer is a time of too much heat and not enough money. In the seaside town of Placencia, boutique owner Kristen Maroney struggles to sell off last season's inventory when her friend Claire tells her that their mutual friend Flor has fallen prey to a shady real estate deal. Intending only to help Flor, Kristen uncovers an international real estate fraud ring that has bilked unsuspecting customers of millions. Before she can figure out what's going on, events escalate and her life hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan LaDue
• Release date: Jan 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301438129

Susan LaDue

Susan LaDue is an author and freelance writer living in central MA. Before becoming a professional writer, she was a tenured professor at the University of MA, then a human resources manager at a Fortune 100 company. She graduated Yale University with a Ph.D in French, and has lived and worked in Paris, New York, Boston, and San Francisco. She has published a fictionalized memoir, "The Veranda", as well as the Kristen Maroney Mysteries. All are available on amazon.com under "Books, Susan LaDue". Susan is an unrepentant dog lover. In addition to her writing, she owns The Doggie Den, a dog daycare and grooming facility in which she was the working manager for 13 years. She still lives and writes with her dogs beside her. www.susanladue.com

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Tropical Scam

A Kristen Maroney Mystery

By Susan LaDue

Copyright © 2012 by Susan LaDue

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Other Books by Susan LaDue

The Kristen Maroney Mysteries:

Tropical Temptation

Tropical Greed

Tropical Vice

and

The Veranda, A Fictionalized Memoir

Four Seasons Dog Care: How to Care for Your Dog as The Seasons Change

With thanks to my sister-in-law Diane, a good friend and an eagle-eyed proofreader.

1. Off Season Leisure

Like most people I know, I don’t have money if I don’t work. It’s not that I don’t budget for the lean times, I do. It’s just that the lean times, which in the tourist industry means the off season, tend to be thinner than the good times are fat. And that’s especially true in a recession whose beginning and end have both gotten lost in a fog of newly minted financial vocabulary. The more I watch the news, the less I understand the state of the world’s economy.

My name is Kristen Maroney. I’m forty-three years old, and I own a beach and resort wear shop in the town of Placencia, on the coast of Costa del Oro, which is a little known paradise squeezed in between Belize and Honduras. The official language is Spanish but everyone speaks English and most official documents come in side-by-side translations. Our currency is the Caribbean dollar and our life style can be summed up by the words go slow. It’s heavenly when you’re wandering around catching up on news; and it’s a nightmare when your plumbing breaks.

Once upon a time I was a San Francisco fashion stylist, but I left that identity behind, along with a slew of bad habits, like drinking and drugging. I came to Costa del Oro to enjoy "la pura vida" as they say in Costa Rica. I find that the climate; my business; my scrumptiously good looking boyfriend, Conrad; and my lovable Labrador retriever, Buster, keep me high enough without resorting to artificial stimulants. And of course, there are my friends.

But the friends, they’re a mixed bag. I treasure them, of course, but I also find that they get me into trouble. They tend to have problems, and their problems tend to be linked to other problems, and well, the truth is I just can’t seem to keep my nose out of things. Because at some level, it’s my business too. If your friend is being victimized, shouldn’t you do what you can?

So it was that one summer morning I set off down Magnolia Way, Placencia’s main street, thinking that I was simply headed for an overdue dye job and a mani-pedi. My destination was Nina’s Beauty Salon and the only danger I saw on the horizon was the size of my credit card balance. Income is minimal in July, but I was desperate for some girly time at Nina’s where the health of my boutique’s finances would be the last thing on anyone’s mind.

Buster limped along beside me, probably hoping for a vigorous game of fetch in the surf, and my assistant Belinda was minding the store with the help of her fourteen year old foster daughter, Elena. I was wholly without worries, apart from the little tug I always feel when I watch Buster limp. A while back some bad guys who wanted to teach me a lesson beat him, and I can’t quite get over it. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to remember a time when he didn’t limp. When we got to Nina’s door, he sniffed the air, sneezed loudly, and promptly abandoned me for the terrace of The Beach Buzz, a burger place a few doors down. I don’t know why I bother to feed Buster because he covers the basic food groups just cruising around town. He doesn’t have an off season.

When I opened Nina’s door, I wanted to echo Buster’s sneeze. Even with two air conditioners cranking at full blast, the air in the shop was uncomfortably humid and thick with chemical odors. That of sulfurized ammonia stood out, with various artificial scents doing their best to cover the unpleasantness. I was reminded of rotten eggs and dying roses. But before I could reconsider my decision to spend a couple of hours there, Nina sprang forward to embrace me.

Mi hija, where have you been? Look at those roots! What’s the matter, you don’t come see me? Without waiting for an answer, she whisked me into a chair and snapped a protective smock around my neck. Nina is a diminutive Guatemalan woman who looks like she needs a good meal and has the indefatigable energy of a humming bird. She always seems to be in motion, even when standing still. Her eyes are remarkable: beautiful coal-dark pupils rimmed in gold and surrounded by white. I’ve never understood how she can spend her days in a chemical fog without getting red eye, but she does. Her hands are dainty yet capable, and most of her upper body seems to be muscle. I’ve seen her prevent overweight women from stumbling over the equipment that litters her work area.

I’m fine, thank you, and you? I managed to say.

You’re not fine, look at you. Too much work, not enough beauty time.

Look who’s talking, I replied. She laughed and squeezed my shoulder.

I’m finishing Marietta’s perm, but Dahlia will mix your color. Marietta is a retired Miami school teacher who lives in town, and Dahlia is Nina’s daughter, who has worked at the shop since she graduated high school. Almost before the sentence was out of Nina’s mouth, she was leaning over Marietta at the sink next to me, rinsing the curling agent out of her hair.

Nina is always straightening curly hair or curling straight hair, a fact which never fails to amuse me. I was born with my hair the way it is, and apart from helping it stay black after I turned forty, I’ve never changed it. I wear it shoulder length and its natural curl has a tendency to frizz up in the tropical humidity. Conrad says its unruliness suits me and I agree. I thought so even as a little girl when my Gram used to try to plaster it into place with hair spray. Left to her own devices, she probably wouldn’t have cared, but I think she thought she was supposed to help me look like the other girls.

While I waited for Dahlia, I checked out the clientele. Amelia Chouan was getting her hair braided, and Alana the town librarian sat under a dryer leafing through a copy of Elle magazine. Alana looked up and smiled. How’ve you been, Kristen? she asked, turning off her dryer so we could