Scottsdale Squeeze: a romantic light-hearted murder mystery (Laura Black Mysteries Book 2) by B A Trimmer Page B
Authors: B A Trimmer
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desert opened up before us. This part of the Sonoran desert is especially severe, consisting entirely of sand and dirt with almost nothing growing, save for an occasional creosote bush or clump of desert grass.
Driving in the desert always gives me time to think. Unfortunately, when I think, I usually think about my pathetic love life, then I think about sex, and then I think about how horny I am.
Having Reno back in my life, at least partially, seemed to help at first. We had spent a hot night together and then a few times since then. But now I had actually started being with a man again, my body seemed to wake-up. I crave sex all of the time, which unfortunately isn’t happening. As a result, my libido is higher than ever. Since Reno and I are only together occasionally, I’ve been left in a state of constant frustration.
~~~~
At about one o’clock, our destination came into view in the distance. Although the name on the map is Puerto Peñasco, everyone from Arizona just calls the town Rocky Point. I’ve always assumed it’s named after the mountain sized rock located at the end of the three-mile long peninsula on the Choya Bay side of town.
Rocky Point is a beautiful semi-tropical fishing village sitting on the northern end of the Gulf of California, which the locals call the Sea of Cortez. The beaches here are bright white and the sea is a brilliant blue. The music is festive, the food is great, and the prices are reasonable.
In college, we would drive down to Rocky Point a couple of times a year. We’d lay out on the beaches during the day and hit the clubs at night. It was well known the bars would serve anyone old enough to walk up and ask for a beer. Spring break in Rocky Point was almost mandatory for all Arizona State University students. Everyone would have a crazy good time and if you didn’t get laid, it was only because you weren’t really trying.
Annie had said Jackie was leasing a house at Las Conchas, which is a loose community of beach houses about a mile east of town. I’d been here a couple of times before when a group of us would rent a house for the weekend. It’s a lot quieter than the hotels in town and the beaches aren’t nearly as crowded.
After several minutes of driving through the narrow and winding streets, Annie directed us to Jackie’s house. It was located on a small hill about a hundred yards up from the beach. The house was small but well maintained, painted the traditional yellow with orange accents. There were several fan palms along with bright green and red bougainvilleas planted around a large front deck that looked out over the sea.
As we climbed out of my car, I felt the warm humid air and heard the sound of the pounding waves coming up from the beach. Sea gulls circled and cawed in the distance. There was a slightly salty, slightly fishy, scent to the air that I’ve come to know and love.
Jackie’s car, a maroon Jaguar convertible, wasn’t visible anywhere near the house. We went up to the door but knocking produced no results. A quick peak in the front window showed someone was living there since some breakfast dishes were still on the table. We spent five minutes looking in windows before we had convinced ourselves Jackie wasn’t in the house.
“Jackie usually goes into town for lunch,” Annie said. “Then she stops by the fish market to grab things for dinner. We can probably catch her there.”
~~~~
The heart of Rocky Point consists of the harbor, where thirty, or so, shrimp boats dock. Next to the harbor is the main shopping district, which features a large fish market with maybe twenty concrete stalls, each one set up as an independent business. Here you can buy freshly caught shrimp, scallops, and fish at ridiculously low prices. Surrounding the fish market are a dozen restaurants, all specializing in the fresh seafood along with traditional Mexican dishes. Scattered among the restaurants are the tourist curio shops, which sell the ceramics,
Driving in the desert always gives me time to think. Unfortunately, when I think, I usually think about my pathetic love life, then I think about sex, and then I think about how horny I am.
Having Reno back in my life, at least partially, seemed to help at first. We had spent a hot night together and then a few times since then. But now I had actually started being with a man again, my body seemed to wake-up. I crave sex all of the time, which unfortunately isn’t happening. As a result, my libido is higher than ever. Since Reno and I are only together occasionally, I’ve been left in a state of constant frustration.
~~~~
At about one o’clock, our destination came into view in the distance. Although the name on the map is Puerto Peñasco, everyone from Arizona just calls the town Rocky Point. I’ve always assumed it’s named after the mountain sized rock located at the end of the three-mile long peninsula on the Choya Bay side of town.
Rocky Point is a beautiful semi-tropical fishing village sitting on the northern end of the Gulf of California, which the locals call the Sea of Cortez. The beaches here are bright white and the sea is a brilliant blue. The music is festive, the food is great, and the prices are reasonable.
In college, we would drive down to Rocky Point a couple of times a year. We’d lay out on the beaches during the day and hit the clubs at night. It was well known the bars would serve anyone old enough to walk up and ask for a beer. Spring break in Rocky Point was almost mandatory for all Arizona State University students. Everyone would have a crazy good time and if you didn’t get laid, it was only because you weren’t really trying.
Annie had said Jackie was leasing a house at Las Conchas, which is a loose community of beach houses about a mile east of town. I’d been here a couple of times before when a group of us would rent a house for the weekend. It’s a lot quieter than the hotels in town and the beaches aren’t nearly as crowded.
After several minutes of driving through the narrow and winding streets, Annie directed us to Jackie’s house. It was located on a small hill about a hundred yards up from the beach. The house was small but well maintained, painted the traditional yellow with orange accents. There were several fan palms along with bright green and red bougainvilleas planted around a large front deck that looked out over the sea.
As we climbed out of my car, I felt the warm humid air and heard the sound of the pounding waves coming up from the beach. Sea gulls circled and cawed in the distance. There was a slightly salty, slightly fishy, scent to the air that I’ve come to know and love.
Jackie’s car, a maroon Jaguar convertible, wasn’t visible anywhere near the house. We went up to the door but knocking produced no results. A quick peak in the front window showed someone was living there since some breakfast dishes were still on the table. We spent five minutes looking in windows before we had convinced ourselves Jackie wasn’t in the house.
“Jackie usually goes into town for lunch,” Annie said. “Then she stops by the fish market to grab things for dinner. We can probably catch her there.”
~~~~
The heart of Rocky Point consists of the harbor, where thirty, or so, shrimp boats dock. Next to the harbor is the main shopping district, which features a large fish market with maybe twenty concrete stalls, each one set up as an independent business. Here you can buy freshly caught shrimp, scallops, and fish at ridiculously low prices. Surrounding the fish market are a dozen restaurants, all specializing in the fresh seafood along with traditional Mexican dishes. Scattered among the restaurants are the tourist curio shops, which sell the ceramics,
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