Murder on the Emerald Coast

By Blair Burns

Beautiful Honey Jennings is found dead in the Gulf Winds Real Estate office in Destin, Florida. There is no doubt it is homicide because she has been bludgeoned to death by a blow to her head. But who committed the murder? Ann, Elle and Julie, who worked with Honey, must continue their jobs as detectives investigate.

When it comes to light that recently divorced Honey was having an affair with wealthy, sleazy, attorney, Vick Napoli from New Orleans, who is also a major investor in Gulf Winds Real Estate properties, he becomes a suspect.

The murderer is still at large when the real estate team sell a condo project in Perdido Key. One of the agents, Charlie Davis, is missing on the day of the sales launch. Two days later his body is found in the condo pool. Was it suicide or an accident or was he murdered too? What crime was Charlie answerable to that caused him to end up dead?

Vick Napoli is subsequently charged with the murder of Honey Jennings, while Charlie's killer is still at large. When Vick's trial is held and he is represented by a flamboyant, top-notch criminal lawyer, will he be found guilty or innocent?

The unexpected outcome of the trial surprises not only Ann, Elle and Julie but others who are caught up in the lust, love, greed and danger that surround the small town real estate office.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Burns
• Release date: Mar 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215480854

Blair Burns

. Blair Burns has lived along the Emerald Coast of Florida since 1955. She has seen the changes from a sleepy fishing villages  to a booming tourist area along 30A. She writes about the people and places from Pensacola to Apalachicola. She writes love stories and murder mysteries. She enjoys painting, writing, gardening and taking her read therapy dog to see the children at the library and elementary schools.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The occasion called for Dom Perignon, and the three of us always rose to the occasion.

Maybe the Upstairs Wine Bar in Apalachicola, Florida, isn’t where you would expect Julie, Elle, and me to toast our new real estate investment. The exterior was salt-weathered, and the table was beer-weathered. It felt sticky and spongy under our champagne flutes. But Dom was on the wine list, so we ordered it.

To you, Ann Pennington, Julie said, raising her glass in a toast to me. Thanks for discovering our new beach house. Julie is the most gorgeous one among us. She is five feet eight inches with blonde hair and pale-blue eyes. She always wears the latest fashion in clothes and jewelry. She has more shoes and purses than a boutique shop. Originally from New York, she had been a model, and was in the night-club business. When her husband became the sales manager for the Gulf Winds Resort, they moved to Destin. Julie is the reason I have a job at Gulf Winds Real Estate.

Elle, also known as Eleanor Richards, gave Julie and me her trademark down the nose stare. Eleanor is a five-feet-ten-inch stately brunette with flashing brown eyes who always dresses beautifully and wears her gold jewelry to make a statement. She is from Pennsylvania and a graduate of Penn State University. Before she moved to Destin, she was a social worker on the outskirts of Boston. It was a fluke that she ended up in Destin with her husband, Bill.

Both of my friends are now divorced like me. That’s why we can buy a beach house without consulting any husbands.

Really, I can’t believe you two talked me into buying that place. Elle was taller than either Julie or me and used that height to her advantage. My parents did not send me to Penn State to live in a dump. It’s horrendous. Ann, I don’t know how you talked us into this.

It looks bad now, but we can see past the ugliness, I said. My red hair gave me an undeserved reputation of being quick to rush into a decision. I like to think I just move faster than most people; pick up on things more quickly than they do. We can make it fabulous. Just imagine waking up and strolling a few feet to the white sand, watching the seagulls, and dipping our toes into the Gulf of Mexico. I’m not stately like Elle, rather short compared to her and Julie. I do have sparkling green eyes and thick hair. I keep it shoulder length and can pull it back in a ponytail when it’s hot.

Don’t pretend to be such a snob, Elle. Our plan to fix it up and then rent it out is solid. Just a photo of the screened porch alone will have renters lining up. We’re all realtors. We can recognize the value. Paint is always the cheapest part of any property purchase, Julie added.

If only it were just paint that it needs, Elle replied. Oh, what did I get myself into with you two?

We didn’t take her comments seriously. We all worked in the pressure-cooker environment of Gulf Winds Resort Real Estate in Destin. Folks call it La La Land, but to us, the pressure to achieve and produce is very real. Luckily for us, 2003 was shaping up to be a boom year for real estate, with multiple new projects coming online at the resort. The resort is in Destin, Florida along the Emerald Coast. The condos are on the south side of Highway 98 and the golf courses and cottage homes are on the north side. There is also a country club area at the tip of the north side.

The Mexico Beach house would be our getaway from La La Land, as well as a money-making investment. I’d been coming to this small town on the Forgotten Coast, as it is called, since I was twenty-two years old. I, for one, hoped it would remain mostly forgotten, devoid of high-rise condos, traffic and tacky shops selling inflatable beach toys. Mexico Beach was an unsophisticated, small town, with just a few stores and eateries. Saltwater anglers from all over the south came to fish the bays, the bayous, and the Gulf of Mexico.

Hey, what will we name her? Julie asked.

What about Sassy Mermaid or Salty Mermaid, I suggested.

Or Siren’s Song? It’s a fitting encore to our big win last year at the Mardi Gras parade through the resort in our mermaid costumes and red wigs, Elle said.

Thank God we didn’t stuff the top of our costumes or wear those ridiculous white majorette boots, I said, before I took another sip of champagne. All the women in the Gulf Winds Real Estate office had been quick to join us in our Mermaid Mardi Gras parade plans. At least our costumes made us look thin. It was a shame that we didn’t realize you could see right through them until the lights shined on them, I added.

That’s why we won, Elle replied.

Of course, we won! Julie said. We’d been practicing our dance routine for days. But the crowd really went crazy when we jumped out of the convertible and the headlights hit our costumes. We laughed at our costume failure.

Yet another example of the fine clientele the resort attracts, Elle said with a sneer.

The buzz of Elle’s mobile phone interrupted our reminiscing. It’s the office, she said with a deep frown. She answered the call, blanched, and then pushed her chair back from the table and stepped out the door onto the restaurant’s front porch. We could see her pacing back and forth.

Oh God, I hope that’s not one of her customers canceling on the new condo building we just sold. Julie looked worried. Although Julie Jeffcoat was the one of us who had been a cheerleader, homecoming queen and even a model in New York, she was the opposite of what people expect from someone who turns every head when she walks into a room. She was always the first to worry about others. That’s the last thing we need when we’ve just bought the house.

Elle returned to the table, visibly shaken. She took a deep breath. That was Jake.

He may be our boss, but why is calling you when he knows you are out of town? Jake Carpenter was six feet two inches of muscle, black hair and piercing brown eyes that were almost black. He was an ex-pro football quarterback who was now the sales director at Gulf Winds Real Estate. He knew he had plenty of advantages—and used every one of them. Let’s just say he was not my favorite. And I was not his.

Just hush. Elle turned to me. Jake called to tell me they found Honey dead in the office this afternoon, she stammered. Her face was white.

Dead? Julie and I repeated in unison.

Yes, apparently they found her after the office closed. She shut her eyes for a moment and exhaled a ragged breath. And it gets worse. They think foul play might be involved.

Foul play? You mean like murder? Julie’s voice had risen to a squeal.

Shhhh! Yes, like murder, Elle said.

Oh my God! Oh my God! I couldn’t get my head around the idea that someone had murdered Honey Jennings ... and in our office. I only just got to know her. And oh Lord, she has two little children. Tears welled up in my eyes and were poised to roll down my cheeks.

Do they know who did it? Julie asked.

Elle shook her head. I don’t know any details. Jake didn’t want to talk. He just said we should get our asses back to the office immediately. The sheriff wants to question everyone at Gulf Winds Real Estate.

But we were here, Julie yelped. How would we know anything about a ... she trailed off. It was too soon to say the word murder aloud.

I told him we couldn’t get back until tomorrow, Elle said. We’ve all been drinking and none of us should attempt that three-hour drive.

Are they sure someone k-k-killed, Honey? I asked, using my napkin to wipe my eyes. I mean, could she have just ... Jesus, I don’t know—fallen or had an accident.

Elle had recovered enough of her usual aplomb to give me a look that said I had possibly lost my mind. Really, think about it. If they thought Honey had some kind of accident, would they be calling us back to the office to speak with the sheriff? Sometimes, it seems unbelievable that Elle had been a social worker in one of Boston’s most downtrodden neighborhoods before she and her ex-husband came to Destin on a whim. Now my tears were really flowing. Julie put her arm around my shoulders. Let’s get out of here, she said. Let’s head back to the inn.

The Gibson Inn was built in 1907 at the peak of Apalachicola’s reign as a center for lumber and shipping. It had been renovated many times over the years but has kept its Victorian charm. In the past, we enjoyed the outside porch to read and relax after a day of shopping. We’ve spent many evenings downstairs at the bar before having dinner in the dining room. The Gibson Inn is a blend of everything that is Apalachicola; historical, delicious seafood, wonderful music, and local fun. But tonight, all we can think about is Honey.

Because real estate times were good, we shared the inn’s largest suite. We opened a bottle of wine and sat on the brocade sofa and green velvet chairs, as we tried to understand how someone we knew and worked with had been murdered. With no details, this made the situation worse.

Honey had only recently gotten her realtor’s license, Julie said. She was Bobby’s assistant, and he really encouraged her to sit the exam. Bobby had worked at Gulf Winds Real Estate for ten years. Our sales director, Jake, made sure he had his own assistant because Bobby brought plenty of high-roller customers to the brokerage. A number of them seemed a little slimy to me, but I was just a small-town girl from Milton, Florida. What did I know?

The wine had helped us calm down—a bit. I was really proud of Honey, I said.

Elle rolled her eyes. Well, she certainly needed to do something with herself. When Julie and I began to protest, Elle interrupted us. "Now, wait a minute. You two had nothing nice to say when she started, and her idea of business casual was wearing half a skirt and a top that could have been a bathing suit. And all that cheap jewelry. I didn’t tell you, but I went to Jake and asked why he hired her. He accused me of being jealous and laughed me out of his office."

Jake doesn’t like you or anyone else questioning his decisions, Julie said.

Remember that day he actually had to send her home because even he couldn’t fail to notice that her low-cut dress, pushed-up boobs, short skirt and four-inch-heels were not office appropriate? Elle said.

It didn’t feel right to be talking about Honey like that. That was the day I became her friend, I said. Honey was a hairdresser from some little town in Tennessee who had been brave enough to take her two kids and move down to the beach after her divorce. That meant we had a lot in common. I had lived through the disaster of a divorce with two small children.

You all remember when I first started at Gulf Winds Real Estate, I didn’t have the right clothes or jewelry or hairstyle, I said.

Well, you certainly didn’t wear those see-through kinds of clothes, Elle replied.

I’d been a banker and a car salesperson before I started at Gulf Winds, so I knew better, I replied. But I still didn’t fit in at first. You were all dressed to the nines, and I really felt out of place.

I was worried that you wouldn’t fit in with those bright-colored, polyester pants and outlet shoes and that horrible pink lipstick that was awful with your red hair. But Julie cornered me and told me in no uncertain terms that we were going to help you and accept you, Elle said.

That’s right, Julie added.

You all are good friends, I said, with a sniff. I am one of those redheads who does not look good when I get teary-eyed. My nose turns red and runny, and my skin gets blotchy. "But admit it; we had fun