My husband’s parents gave us a week of their time share for a wedding gift, but by the time we’d settled on a week and a place, all the upscale resorts were booked.  Instead of the all inclusive, on-the-beach resort on Nassau, we ended up at a Tiki lounge in Grand Bahama.

I’m fairly certain that this was the place to be around 1987. Now, though, the tourists have fled the island.  There is no restaurant here, no bar, no snack shack.  Instead they drive us to the grocery store three times a week.

There are only two other groups here:  a family of about eight doctors from Chicago, and two older ladies – one of whom has been coming here for about the last twenty years.

It’s the perfect setting for an Agatha Christie type novel.  One of the Chicagoans would be the victim – probably the older gentleman.  The lady who’s been coming here forever would be the amateur detective, of course, with her friend helping out.  My husband and I would complain that we weren’t allowed to leave the premises to go out to the nightclubs in Lucaya and be otherwise useless.

The murderer?  I’ll let you figure that out.  First one to guess gets a cookie.