The Margaritaville Strangler Day!
It was supposed to be just another summer looking after the locals as they butt heads with those tourists covered in oil. But somebody went berserk.
THIRD GIRL FOUND ON THE ROCKS, MARGARITAVILLE STRANGLER BLAMED, screamed the Friday morning headlines.
You spent all of Friday on the jetty, sifting through the remains that weren't already carried away in the beaks of the gulls fluttering about. Barowners and shopkeepers have been breathing down your neck to save the rest of the summer and capture the psycho who wasn't content to waste away nibbling on spongecake like everybody else. Somebody in Margaritaville has it out for young girls.
"He ain't no tourist, Sheriff," your deputy concluded on Friday. "He knows his way around too good. We'd have caught him by now."
"This used to be a place of God," you told your deputy. "A pious town, where people could feel at home in the lap of God."
"Boss?" your deputy asked. He looked at you funny.
"These tourist girls don't even look like they seen seventeen," you said, looking down into the victim's one open eye. "They taunt good men. They flaunt their sin."
The deputy was shivering. "You claim…? The girls aren't to blame Sheriff."
You said too much. The deputy's gonna come up the walk within the hour. If he's alone, he's just coming up to talk. If he's got the mayor with him, they're onto you. Either way, you can't just leave that razor wire out on the kitchen counter like that. Those stains are plain as day. You fixing to get caught?
Happy The Margaritaville Strangler Day!
