My sexual attraction to a suspect made me uneasy, but damn Rosa was hot, I thought.  Unlike Ruthie, who was more comely then attractive?

“My parents love all their children equally.  If you think any of us had anything to do with Ruthie‘s death…you’re dead wrong.”

“Now I didn’t mean it that way, but I’m a cop, and I think like one,” I said apologetically before pulling into the gravel driveway of the Islands Coroner, fifty year old Darvella Cook.

Like me and many locals, Darvella was descended from the mutineer sailors of the 1887 sailing ship, the HMS Bounty. Most Islanders were a combination of mutineer and Tahitian blood, with many taking the Surnames of the lead mutineer Fletcher Christian or the ships leaders Captain Cook, and Lieutenant Bligh.

“No matter how Ruthie lived her life, she didn’t deserve to be murdered,” said Rosa exiting the vehicle and walking toward the building.

“I agree,” I said following the curvaceous lady.  Once inside the dark and embalming fluid scented building, she burst into tears.  I cradled her in my arms.  Her skin was as soft and warm as wool, and her long hair smelled of strawberries.  It was a sensation I had never felt…should not feel…but welcomed whole heartedly.

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