After her parents' recent divorce, Shoes McIvey, the eleven-year-old Private Investigator Extraordinaire, will do anything to keep her 100% case-cracking record intact. But when the money needed to save the Florida Keys sea-turtle hospital is stolen, Shoes discovers her father isn’t the only life-ruining kumquat in her inner-circle and justice isn’t always as easy as pointing fingers at your sworn enemies.
THREE TIMES LUCKY & TURTLE IN PARADISE hang with DOLPHIN TALE
TROUBLE SKIDS INTO the Florida Keys by way of a bike-brake squealing tire-slide that stops a turtle’s hair before slamming into the tree in my front yard.
“You gotta help me!” Mak peers through the branches, twisting this way and that. “Shoes? You up there?”
Shoes. That’s me. Even though my real name is Jennifer, no one calls me that. Ever. Unless I’m in trouble.
No one calls me Margaret Millicent McIvey, Private Investigator Extraordinaire, either. No matter what I do.
I even painted it on the sign nailed to the trunk of my tree—which, coincidentally, has a nickname of its own: tourist tree. We call them that because their bark turns red and peels just like all the sunburned tourists around here. It’s really a gumbo-limbo tree, and if you ask me, that sounds made-up enough already.
Margaret Millicent McIvey, Private Investigator Extraordinaire. Altogether a proper name for a high-quality detective worthy of the old black-and-white movies Grams and I watch when Mom’s at work. Smoky backroom. Feet on desk. Detective’s wrinkled face hidden in shadows. A detective who, like me, is the sworn enemy of dirtbags the world over. The name’s the best I can do, being as I’m eleven, I don’t smoke, and I don’t have a desk. Like I said, I have a tourist tree. My office is on the third branch up.