Article 3: Researching the Dangerous Beauty of South Florida’s Tropical World in the 1930s
One of the things that makes South Florida such a fascinating setting for historical mysteries is that the landscape itself can feel mysterious. Long before towering condominiums and endless development reshaped the region, much of South Florida was dense, humid, and unpredictable. Exotic plants flourished in the subtropical climate, many of them brought here by explorers, botanists, and early horticulturalists who believed South Florida could become a paradise unlike anywhere else in America.
In many ways, they succeeded.
Even today, walking through parts of Palm Beach or Miami can feel like stepping into another world. Banyan trees spread across entire blocks. Royal poinciana trees burst into brilliant color during the summer months. Orchids cling to trunks and branches. Towering palms sway beside narrow roads that once cut through mangrove swamps and dense tropical growth.
For a writer of historical fiction, the environment becomes more than scenery. It becomes part of the story itself.
While researching the Drake Marlow mysteries, I’ve often found myself exploring subjects I never expected to study in depth. One week I may be researching rum-running operations along the Florida coast. The next, I’m reading about poisonous tropical plants, early botanical expeditions, or the strange species introduced into Florida during the early twentieth century.
That was one of the surprising discoveries about old South Florida. Wealthy developers and collectors were eager to import exotic plants from around the world. Influential botanists helped transform parts of the region into living laboratories filled with unusual tropical species. Their influence can still be seen throughout Miami and Palm Beach today, where plants from the Caribbean, South America, Asia, and Africa continue to thrive in the warm climate.
Of course, not every beautiful plant is harmless.
Some of the most fascinating species growing in South Florida possess dangerous qualities that sound almost fictional. Certain plants contain toxic sap. Others produce irritating oils or poisonous seeds. A few have histories tied to folklore, indigenous survival knowledge, and even accidental poisonings dating back centuries.
That kind of research naturally sparks a mystery writer’s imagination.
For Drake Marlow, danger rarely arrives in obvious ways. Sometimes it comes from a revolver in a dark alley. Other times it may be hidden behind the polished gates of a Palm Beach estate, concealed beneath wealth, glamour, and carefully maintained appearances. The tropical landscape surrounding him often reflects that same contradiction—beautiful on the surface, but occasionally concealing something far more dangerous underneath, like what he discovered in Isabella, the third book in the series.
What I enjoy most about researching South Florida history is discovering how unusual and untamed the region once felt. During the 1930s, much of the state still carried an air of isolation and mystery. Beyond the growing cities were stretches of jungle-like terrain, remote islands, dense mangroves, and quiet roads disappearing into unfamiliar wilderness. For someone like Drake Marlow, whose investigations often lead him into places he’d rather avoid, the setting becomes an active part of the suspense.
Historical research constantly reminds me that Florida has always been a crossroads of cultures, climates, and ambitions. Explorers, smugglers, developers, socialites, and adventurers all helped shape the strange world Drake inhabits. The deeper I research, the more I realize that some of the most intriguing elements in the series are rooted in real history.
And sometimes the most dangerous things in South Florida are also the most beautiful. Including people.
