Dying for Murder: A Cordi O'Callaghan Mystery
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Cordi O’Callaghan is trapped on a remote island research station and in way over her head. While a hurricane rages, Cordi stalks a murderer ― or is it the other way around?
Zoologist Cordi O’Callaghan thinks she’s in for a relaxing birdsong study at a research station on Spaniel Island, off the coast of South Carolina. But, as usual, she can’t escape the chaos that follows her everywhere she goes. As a hurricane rages, trapping her and the rest of the researchers, the director of the station is found dead under troubling circumstances.
Unable to resist a mystery, Cordi sets out to investigate, and ends up getting a crash course on the life habits of bats, sea turtles, and rattlesnakes ― and a refresher on attempted murder.
waves.” “How do you know about this place?” I asked. “I have a cottage on the island. I just came back from there a couple of weeks ago. I’m sure I could get you accommodation at the research station. Failing that, there is room in my cottage for you, but it would be more interesting at the research station. I know they have a vacant cabin because a researcher had to back out just this week. Shall I call them?” Duncan was full of surprises. A cottage? On a barrier island? I looked at Martha,
exposed were our faces and Martha threw me a bottle of something called Skin so Soft to smear on my face — a perfume invented for attraction had become the arsenal for fending off biting insects. I remembered Sam on that first night and how I had thought he must have been a bit effeminate to be wearing it despite his enormous size. But ya do what ya gotta do to stymie the little devils. It was very dark when we mounted the trike and took off through the woods. I had been to the hatchery once
one percent of sea turtle hatchlings ever make it to maturity.” “Poor little guys.” “Did you know there are only six species of sea turtle? These guys are loggerheads. Caretta caretta.” “How did you know that?” “I did a paper once in high school.” We climbed the fence and found the marker for nest forty-two, a numbered stick planted right in the middle of the circular fencing. Martha wanted to remove the stick for better pictures but I said we’d better wait until we saw some action in case
the loud clanging noise a hideous beacon of where I was. I tried to dial 911 while the panic clawed its way into my mind, enveloping it and infecting it with its contagion. The sight of one dangling wire drilled its way into my brain and I dropped the phone, picked up the candelabra, and ran for the back door where I nearly tripped over him — Chili, lying on his side right in front of the door, as if guarding it for me. Too late. I could see that from the way his little neck lay at an unnatural
We could hear voices wafting on the breeze — the windows were all open. I was hot and sticky and cranky and feeling decidedly unenvironmental, and open windows meant no air conditioning. Stacey made way for Darcy and the trailer, with me still in it, and he pulled up in front of the stairs to the dining room. As soon as he stopped, in the still evening air a horde of no-see-ums descended on us and my skin began to itch all over. No-see-ums, punkies, sand flies — those irascible insects, with