The Corpse in

the Cabana

Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries:

Book One

Shéa MacLeod

The Corpse in the Cabana

Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries: Book One

Text copyright © 2016/2020 Shéa MacLeod

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

Cover design by Mariah Sinclair/

www.mariahsinclair.com

Editing by Janet Fix of www.thewordverve.com

Proofing by Jenx Byron

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Also by Shéa MacLeod

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Nothing Tastes As Good

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A Stitch In Time (A Cupcake Goddess Novelette)

Dragon Wars Boxed Sets

Dragon Wars - Three Complete Novels Boxed Set

Intergalactic Investigations

Infinite Justice

A Rage of Angels

Lady Rample Mysteries

Lady Rample Steps Out

Lady Rample Spies A Clue

Lady Rample and the Silver Screen

Lady Rample Sits In

Lady Rample and the Ghost of Christmas Past

Lady Rample and Cupid's Kiss

Lady Rample and the Mysterious Mr. Singh

Lady Rample and the Haunted Manor

Lady Rample and the Parisian Affair

Lady Rample Box Set One

Notting Hill Diaries

To Kiss A Prince

Kissing Frogs

Kiss Me, Chloe

Kiss Me, Stupid

Kissing Mr. Darcy

Sugar Martin Vintage Cozy Mystery

A Death in Devon

A Grave Gala

A Christmas Caper

Sunwalker Saga

Kissed by Blood

Kissed by Destiny

Sunwalker Saga: Soulshifter Trilogy

Haunted

Soulshifter

Fearless

Sunwalker Saga: Witchblood

Mistwalker

Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries

The Corpse in the Cabana

The Stiff in the Study (Coming Soon)

The Poison in the Pudding (Coming Soon)

The Body in the Bathtub (Coming Soon)

The Venom in the Valentine (Coming Soon)

The Remains in the Rectory (Coming Soon)

The Death in the Drink (Coming Soon)

The Ghost in the Graveyard

Write Novels Fast

Write Novels Fast: Writing Faster With Art Journaling

Write Novels Fast: Down and Dirty Draft

Standalone

Ride the Dragon: A Paranormal/Science Fiction Boxed Set

Angel's Fall

Watch for more at Shéa MacLeod’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

A Note From Shéa MacLeod

About Shéa MacLeod

Other Cozy Mysteries by Shéa MacLeod

Non-Cozy Mysteries by Shéa MacLeod

Other Books by Shéa MacLeod

Dedication

This one’s for my mom. I promised I’d write a book you could read. One without scary vampires and whatnot. Well, here it is.

Acknowledgments

With a HUGE thanks to Cheryl Bradshaw and Diane Capri who insisted over cocktails that I really should write that cozy mystery I’d always wanted to write.

Also thanks to the Big Girl Panties who have cheered me on through the whole process.

Thanks to my inspiration, Dame Agatha Christie, for penning such wonderful tales of mayhem and murder. If you’re out there somewhere, you changed my life.

To my marvelous critique partners, editors, and proofreaders who make every book shine.

And to A for putting up with my crazy. I love you.

Chapter 1

The Second Most Haunted Building in Florida

“IF YOU LOOK OVER THERE on your left, you’ll see the Don CeSar Hotel. It’s the second most haunted building in all of Florida,” the taxi driver declared proudly, as if he, personally, was responsible for the ghosts and their shenanigans.

“The pink one?” Cheryl Delaney, my best friend and fellow author, craned her neck to see out the window. We were on our way to the Fairwinds Resort for a writer’s conference, and I was feeling more than a little punch drunk from the travel. The flight from Portland, Oregon, took nearly eight hours, and I was still drowsy from the airsickness medicine. “Yep. That’s the one,” the driver said cheerfully. He adjusted his sunglasses on his ruddy nose and ran a hand through thinning hair.

I peered around Cheryl to see an enormous art deco-style building looming against the harsh, blue sky. Sure enough, it was pink. Pepto-Bismol pink, to be exact. I half wished we were staying there, ghosts or no ghosts. At least the place had character, unlike the rest of the resorts marching their way down the coast of St. Petersburg, Florida. They looked like something out of a bad sixties sci-fi movie, their ugly “futuristic” hulks hovering over the water like spacecraft.

I didn’t expect a haunted mansion to be painted Pepto-Bismol pink. Like most people, I expected a haunted place to be gloomy, dark, and atmospheric. The Don CeSar Hotel was not your usual haunted mansion.

“I know all kinds of people who’ve had run-ins with ghosts there,” the taxi driver continued. “They say the ghost of the first owner still walks the grounds.”

“Oh, how exciting,” Cheryl said with a shiver. “Maybe we’ll see him.”

I might be a lover of murder mysteries, but I draw the line at ghosts. Cheryl could ghost hunt all she wanted. I was staying away from anything remotely spooky.

“GET A LOAD OF HER.” Cheryl Delaney nearly dumped her wine all over the polished marble floor as she gestured wildly at one of the women on the dance floor. It was the kickoff party for the Novel Writers of America conference. Being writers, half the NWA Conference attendees were already three sheets to the wind, even though it was barely nine o’clock. “She does know she’s old enough to be his mother, right?”

I tracked the dancers as they glided, bobbed, and lurched across the polished wood dance floor. Above them bobbed blue and silver balloons filled with helium while an ’80s number thumped over the loudspeakers, loud enough to make my head throb. We’d just flown in from Portland mere hours before, and what I wanted more than anything was a nap. Instead I was stuck at a meet-and-greet.

I finally found the woman Cheryl was pointing to. She was at least in her early fifties, although well preserved and expensively dressed, and was draped drunkenly on a man at least half her age. Wasn’t the first time I’d seen such behavior at a writer’s conference or from the woman in question. I snorted. Partially in amusement, partially in derision.

“Natasha Winters is a lush.” I kept my voice low. Gossip spread like wildfire among writers, especially those of the romance variety. The last thing I needed was Natasha

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