Sweet Paradise, Gene Desrochers [cat reading book txt] 📗

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Boise Montague

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Table of Contents

Also By Gene Desrochers

Sweet Paradise (Boise Montague, #2)

Sweet | Paradise

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

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Acknowledgements

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PRAISE FOR SWEET PARADISE

“Boise Montague, intrepid St. Thomas, V.I. private investigator, returns in SWEET PARADISE. Talented author Gene Desrochers delivers a suspense-filled tale overflowing with duplicitous characters and greed-driven agendas in lushly authentic Caribbean environs. A mature generation is determined to hold tight to the empire that provides them with every luxury, while the next generation attempts to fulfill its dreams ... Others will compromise all that is decent. And Boise Montague will do what he does best as he separates the winners from the losers and the innocent from the guilty. A 5-star read.”

—Laura Taylor - 6-Time Romantic Times Award Winner

“Boise is back! Gene Desrochers returns his readers to the island paradise of St. Thomas. You’ll feel the warm tropical breeze as Private Investigator Boise Montague must discover [what happened to] the matriarch of a wealthy island rum producer. The deeper he digs, the closer he gets to his own mortality. Wandering and sometimes stumbling through his investigation, Boise learns about family secrets—and they could kill him. Outstanding writing and the vivid setting will keep you transfixed.”

—R. D. Kardon, award-winning author of Flygirl and Angel Flight

Sweet

Paradise

Gene Desrochers

FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.

Sweet Paradise

First Edition

Copyright © 2021 Gene Desrochers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author.

For information, address Acorn Publishing, LLC, 3943 Irvine Blvd. Ste. 218, Irvine, CA 92602

Cover design by Ebook Launch

www.acornpublishingllc.com

This story is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

ISBN-13: 978-1-952112-38-6 (Hardcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-952112-37-9 (Paperback)

For The Drunken

Chapter 1

Christina’s World occupied my attention a lot these days. A replica of the painting, framed to appear more authentic, hung in the passageway outside my room at The West Indian Manner. It depicted a stark, drought-ridden swath of midwestern farm in golden-browns. A distant, unpainted farmhouse appeared ravaged by the dust bowl or some other agricultural tragedy. The odd way the field closer to the house looked neatly sheared contrasted with the unkempt tentacled weeds where Christina sprawled.

Christina was alone.

The painting matched nothing you might expect from Caribbean décor: palm trees, beaches, waves, perhaps a fish. Perhaps a literary something featuring a schooner from the nineteenth century cresting a wave, or a trite sailboat on tranquil waters bathed in light from a glorious setting sun.

Yet here I stood, on the top floor of a Caribbean guest house. The owners, Marge and Lucy, displayed a strange sense of interior design. Antique furniture, scary Indonesian masks, assorted things that instilled a feeling of dread. I was comfortable with dread or I wouldn’t have continued living here for the past six months. The Caribbean had welcomed me back from Los Angeles in March 2015 with murder.

To most eight-hour cruise ship visitors, St. Thomas was all positives. The best harbor in the Caribbean. Water so calm and clear you felt like you were floating in weightless space when snorkeling. Tropical breezes and a treasure trove of taverns where you could sample every kind of liquor known to man. Charlotte Amalie was everyone’s lover, but no one’s wife.

In St. Thomas, you were either a native, a tourist, or someone seeking anonymity. Smugglers avoiding the more chaste and heavily-policed British ports. The buccaneers of yesteryear pirated goods from legitimate British, French, or Spanish ships laden with gold, silver, sugar, coffee, and rum, then came here to hock what they’d stolen. Not nice people who followed the rules. Constant trouble. Titillating excitement.

Once outside, I trotted down the endless brick steps, pausing at the halfway point to inspect my favorite avocado tree. Medium-sized, it was barren of fruit in early fall. The waxy-green leaves glistened in the clear morning. From the crowded street at the bottom of the hill a car horn bleated like a dying goat. Everything appeared hunky-dory, except for one thing: the bulbous protrusion in the crook of the two largest branches.

To the untrained eye, the small brunette tumor might appear to be nothing more than a harmless anomaly. Some natural growth that enhanced the bark’s defenses. I recognized it for what it was. A killing blow. The harbinger of infestation, devouring from the inside out.

I picked up a stick, stretched up and prodded the nest. Brown clumps tumbled to the ground. Irritated termites swarmed out. It smelled clean, like sand on the beach or sawdust in a mill.

I dragged the stick over some of the enclosed termite highways