The first of the Kristen Maroney novellas starring a seaside boutique owner, "Tropical Temptation" brings alive a cast of characters who live and work in a tropical fishing village cum resort. The principal character lives for the status quo. Her life couldn't be more peaceful, except that she can't resist sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong. When her friend's husband starts acting distant, she plunges in, asking questions that endanger her and everyone she cares about.
Tropical Temptation is a light, easy read for mystery lovers of all ilks. Kristen owns a resort and beach wear boutique in the seaside town of Placencia, in the tiny country of Costa del Oro. She dates a hot casino manager, buys beach and resort wear from the best collections, lunches with friends, and watches TV with her Labrador retriever.
But when her friend Amelia's husband starts acting strangely, Kristen can't resist sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong. Over the strenuous objections of her boyfriend Adam and her neighbor Liz, she asks questions all over town and before long she, ,Adam, and her dog Buster are in over their heads. Kristen must summon all her intelligence and courage to protect the financial and emotional well-being of herself and her loved ones.
EXCERPT:
Wednesday, September 5th
When I think back on it, the chain of events seems inevitable. But that’s only because it’s over, and I can see how each thing precipitated the next. At the time, life seemed to unfold in its usual unhurried way, with no particular place to go. Events occurred in random succession, except that every day had a morning, a noon, and a night. I sat in my shop and waited for customers, or left my assistant Belinda in charge and ran errands. I had dinner and stayed over with my boyfriend Adam every couple of nights, and I socialized with friends over a drink or lunch. At first, all I noticed was that my friend Amelia’s husband was acting strange. Little did I know.
My name is Kristen Maroney, and I own a beach and resort wear boutique in Placencia, a Caribbean town in northern Costa del Oro. We use Caribbean dollars, which are worth about 40 cents US, and we speak English, although Spanish is the official language. I’m happily divorced and living alone in a rented house in the hills above town, except for Buster, my Labrador retriever. I’m friends with my neighbor Liz who sits on her veranda and writes all day long. When I’m not with my boyfriend Conrad, Buster and I eat dinner on my deck, which has a decent view of the ocean. Or we go see Liz for BYO dinners. For his part, Buster’s in it for the handouts, but I don’t mind. It’s his nature.
I don’t have children and don’t anticipate any, though I sometimes wonder if I’m missing something. I like being around my friend Amelia’s kids but I’m probably too old to do it full time. Conrad is divorced and saddled with hefty alimony and child support payments, so there’s no pressure from that direction. My parents live far away in Las Vegas, and besides they gave up on me doing normal things like having babies a long time ago. They look to my sister for that.
I’m overweight with shoulder length curly black hair and brown eyes. Adam says I’m voluptuous, so I don’t worry about the weight, but I do color my hair every six weeks while I catch up on gossip at Nina’s Beauty Salon. What few clothes I need I order from designer overstock, a well-kept industry secret, and one of the few things I value from my fashion stylist days.
When I was married I lived in San Francisco and neither the city nor the marriage was much fun. I worked endless hours dressing women at Bacca da Silva and rarely got to enjoy the city. I dressed models for shows and customers for profit, and didn’t like any of them that I can remember. In the fashion industry, drugs and booze constitute the basic food groups, and a sizable chunk of my salary went in that direction. I had trouble tolerating my clients’ vanities and insecurities unless I was high.
My ex-husband Mark is a hottie, and he knows it. He sells real estate and models men’s clothing when he can get gigs. When we were first married, he proved attentive and romantic, but it wasn't long before he began making excuses for evening absences, and one afternoon I came home unexpectedly one and found him in the shower with another man. I packed a suitcase and left.
A couple of months later I moved to Costa del Oro and opened my shop in Placencia. I don’t do drugs anymore and I rarely drink, apart from a glass of wine or a bottle of beer over dinner. I’m no health nut, but I don’t relish sabotaging my body on purpose either.My shop is called Kristen del Mar, and I carry the same resort wear you’ll find in Myrtle Beach or Miami. One day when I came back from lunch, I found Jordan, the dive shop owner, lounging in my chair, shooting the breeze with Belinda. He wore his usual Santa Margarita swim shorts with boat shoes, and a black t-shirt that was thin with use and faded from the sun. His eyes were hooded and bloodshot. Jordan and his wife Claire like to fire up blunts at night, and because he smokes so much, he looks stoned even when he’s not. Thankfully he doesn’t do weed when he’s diving.
Tropical Temptation is a light, easy read for mystery lovers of all ilks. Kristen owns a resort and beach wear boutique in the seaside town of Placencia, in the tiny country of Costa del Oro. She dates a hot casino manager, buys beach and resort wear from the best collections, lunches with friends, and watches TV with her Labrador retriever.
But when her friend Amelia's husband starts acting strangely, Kristen can't resist sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong. Over the strenuous objections of her boyfriend Adam and her neighbor Liz, she asks questions all over town and before long she, ,Adam, and her dog Buster are in over their heads. Kristen must summon all her intelligence and courage to protect the financial and emotional well-being of herself and her loved ones.
EXCERPT:
Wednesday, September 5th
When I think back on it, the chain of events seems inevitable. But that’s only because it’s over, and I can see how each thing precipitated the next. At the time, life seemed to unfold in its usual unhurried way, with no particular place to go. Events occurred in random succession, except that every day had a morning, a noon, and a night. I sat in my shop and waited for customers, or left my assistant Belinda in charge and ran errands. I had dinner and stayed over with my boyfriend Adam every couple of nights, and I socialized with friends over a drink or lunch. At first, all I noticed was that my friend Amelia’s husband was acting strange. Little did I know.
My name is Kristen Maroney, and I own a beach and resort wear boutique in Placencia, a Caribbean town in northern Costa del Oro. We use Caribbean dollars, which are worth about 40 cents US, and we speak English, although Spanish is the official language. I’m happily divorced and living alone in a rented house in the hills above town, except for Buster, my Labrador retriever. I’m friends with my neighbor Liz who sits on her veranda and writes all day long. When I’m not with my boyfriend Conrad, Buster and I eat dinner on my deck, which has a decent view of the ocean. Or we go see Liz for BYO dinners. For his part, Buster’s in it for the handouts, but I don’t mind. It’s his nature.
I don’t have children and don’t anticipate any, though I sometimes wonder if I’m missing something. I like being around my friend Amelia’s kids but I’m probably too old to do it full time. Conrad is divorced and saddled with hefty alimony and child support payments, so there’s no pressure from that direction. My parents live far away in Las Vegas, and besides they gave up on me doing normal things like having babies a long time ago. They look to my sister for that.
I’m overweight with shoulder length curly black hair and brown eyes. Adam says I’m voluptuous, so I don’t worry about the weight, but I do color my hair every six weeks while I catch up on gossip at Nina’s Beauty Salon. What few clothes I need I order from designer overstock, a well-kept industry secret, and one of the few things I value from my fashion stylist days.
When I was married I lived in San Francisco and neither the city nor the marriage was much fun. I worked endless hours dressing women at Bacca da Silva and rarely got to enjoy the city. I dressed models for shows and customers for profit, and didn’t like any of them that I can remember. In the fashion industry, drugs and booze constitute the basic food groups, and a sizable chunk of my salary went in that direction. I had trouble tolerating my clients’ vanities and insecurities unless I was high.
My ex-husband Mark is a hottie, and he knows it. He sells real estate and models men’s clothing when he can get gigs. When we were first married, he proved attentive and romantic, but it wasn't long before he began making excuses for evening absences, and one afternoon I came home unexpectedly one and found him in the shower with another man. I packed a suitcase and left.
A couple of months later I moved to Costa del Oro and opened my shop in Placencia. I don’t do drugs anymore and I rarely drink, apart from a glass of wine or a bottle of beer over dinner. I’m no health nut, but I don’t relish sabotaging my body on purpose either.My shop is called Kristen del Mar, and I carry the same resort wear you’ll find in Myrtle Beach or Miami. One day when I came back from lunch, I found Jordan, the dive shop owner, lounging in my chair, shooting the breeze with Belinda. He wore his usual Santa Margarita swim shorts with boat shoes, and a black t-shirt that was thin with use and faded from the sun. His eyes were hooded and bloodshot. Jordan and his wife Claire like to fire up blunts at night, and because he smokes so much, he looks stoned even when he’s not. Thankfully he doesn’t do weed when he’s diving.
