By day, Sandra plucks trash off Cocoa Beach, points tourists to the restrooms and sometimes discovers dead bodies. By night, she’s a cozy mystery author wannabe. Sandra has an aversion to cops, one homicide detective in particular. They have nothing in common except pheromones. She was eighteen the first time he kissed her and the last. Five years ago, he answered his cell and ran off to work, leaving her panting on the kitchen table with a hurricane looming.
Lieutenant Hottie is married to his career. He moved up the ranks early and engrossed himself in bringing murderers to justice. Serious relationships are out of the question, he’s too busy and not interested. The only woman he wants is off limits. He has built a wall around his heart and won’t let himself be hurt again.
Sandra is attending a writers conference aboard private rail cars. It was organized by the wife of a popular televangelist. The writers are traveling alongside devout Christians on their cross-country crusade. Sandra’s loving but hyper-critical mother has finagled a ticket to ride. The morning before departure, Sandra finds a dead sailor on the beach. On the train, Sandra must keep her lips off Lieutenant Hottie and unmask the murderer before another soul derails.