The Turtle Mound Murder by Mary Clay

bisexual.
    Ruthie broke in, “Before or after the
murder?”
    Penny Sue stroked her forehead as if trying
to conjure up the memory the way a stranded castaway might summon a
genie from a bottle that washed up on the shore. Maybe that was the
answer to Penny Sue’s mind, I thought. There was someone else
inside her head!
    “In the middle, I think. Seems like the
murder had taken place, but everyone still thought Jim was
innocent.”
    “Was he as charming as they say?”
    Penny Sue smiled—that thin, crooked smirk
that said she was thinking of something devilish. “Absolutely. But
he had this friend, Attila, who was the master courtier.” Her smile
grew wider.
    “Come on, Penny Sue. What happened?”
    “I had on a particularly low-cut dress. That
was during the period when I couldn’t understand why Sydney wasn’t
more affectionate. I’d bought a lot of sexy underwear, wore tight
clothes, rented porno flicks—generally made a fool of myself trying
to get his attention. Little did I know Sydney preferred
three-piece suits. Anyway, my dress had a plunging neckline and I
had on one of those push up bras ...” She stopped, a wide grin
plastered on her face.
    “And ...” I prodded.
    “I guess Attila had had a few drinks. He
leaned over to kiss my hand, but licked my breast instead.” She
giggled. “That man was a real trendsetter. Before the night was
over men were licking women’s boobs left and right. One of the best
parties I ever went to.”
    “Which reminds me, I’ve got to call Party
Hearty to see if they have the invitations. Shirley was going to
have a high school student take them around to our neighbors. They
need to get them out. Two days isn’t much notice for a party,
though this is only cocktails. It’s not like a Jim Williams do.”
She turned to go into the house.
    The party. I’d forgotten all about it.
“Wait,” I called after her. “What are you going to wear to the
party?”
    She replied over her shoulder, wiggling her
fanny. “Something low cut.”
    * * *
    Every ocean resort has to have a few seafood
restaurants. New Smyrna Beach is no exception. On beachside (the
narrow strip of barrier island sandwiched between the ocean and
Intracoastal Waterway) there are two longstanding favorites:
Norwood’s Fine Seafood and JB’s Fish Camp. The names say it
all.
    The first thing visitors see when they hit
the island from the South Causeway Bridge is Norwood’s, a sprawling
stucco and stone structure with a tin roof nestled in a stand of
pines, palms, and oaks. Known for its extensive menu and 1,400
varieties of wine, Norwood’s is almost ways packed with patrons who
drive Buicks, Continentals, Mercedes and SUV’s. Further down
Highway A1A in Bethune Beach, JB’s Fish Camp is perched on Mosquito
Lagoon. It, too, is a sprawling building with a tin roof, though it
is known for its ample selection of beer. The parking lot is
littered with oyster shells (whole) and typically full of
motorcycles, pickup trucks, boat trailers and utility vans.
    We decided on JB’s for dinner. Penny Sue
wanted to go back to The Riverview (wonder why?), but Ruthie and I
convinced her it would look like she was chasing Lyndon and
desperate to boot. Desperate was the word that finally won her
over. Thank goodness. I, for one, had enjoyed about all the rich
food I could stand for a while. Plain, simple fare; that’s what my
system needed.
    And I got it. JB’s decor was old time,
fish-camp rustic. We sat at a picnic table covered in Kraft paper
with a roll of paper towels in lieu of napkins. Tartar sauce,
ketchup, and cocktail sauce in plastic squirt bottles rounded out
the traditional setup of salt, pepper, and hot sauce. Our wine was
served in plastic cups. Greasy fingerprints dotted the menus.
    “Food must be good,” Penny Sue observed.
    “How can you tell?”
    She held up her menu that was mottled with
thumb prints and streaks of a brown substance, probably cocktail
sauce. “The person who had this was