Dressed To Kill (A Tourist Trap Mystery, #4)

“Nice, huh?” He leaned back, stretching his neck. “I needed this break.”


Cuddling closer to break the chill of the wind the boat was creating, I put my head on his chest. “I’m glad you invited me.”

“Made you come with me, you mean.” He stroked my hair. “Sherry hated outings like this, so Jim and I usually went alone.”

“No wonder he wasn’t happy to see me.” The marina lights were almost dots now. “Sherry called me Friday night to warn me she’s taking you back.”

“Typical Sherry.” He pulled his head away and tilted my head up so he could see my face. “You told her to bring it, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Kind of. She woke me up and I didn’t know who had called for a while. I guess that ticked her off. Then when she said she was going after you, I laughed.”

“Well, she visited me at the station yesterday. All dressed up with nowhere to go.”

I pushed aside the bit of worry that hit my stomach. “So what did she say?”

“Oh, some sort of crap about rekindling our friendship even though we weren’t together anymore.” A grin curved his lips. “So I invited her to join us today.”

“You what?” Jim stood over us. I hadn’t noticed the boat slowing, but now we sat still in the water, the engine idling. “She hates anything outdoorsy.”

“You don’t see her here, do you?” Greg laughed. “I knew she wouldn’t come. But the invitation got her out of my office and quick. She claimed she’d promised Pat they would go over the monthly accounts for Vintage Duds today.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s giving up,” I pointed out.

Jim scowled. “Marriage should be forever, but I swear, Sherry makes it hard for me to support her.”

I turned to look at Jim and for the first time, I saw compassion for me in his eyes. Maybe this trip had been a good idea. I felt Greg’s arm tighten around me.

“Don’t worry, I’m a one-woman man.” He laughed. “Jim, do you remember the weekend we took off to camp at Lake Tahoe?”

Jim sat on the bench across from us and poured a cup of coffee. “Yep. We got to the spot where we were pitching our tent and Sherry threw a fit. She tried to call a taxi to take her home.”

“I didn’t know national forests had taxi services.” I smiled at the image.

“They don’t. But she made our weekend miserable.” Jim nodded to the pan of cinnamon rolls. “You mind if I have one?”

“I’ll dish one up for all of us.” I started to stand, but Jim waved me down.

“No need, I’ll get them.” He carefully unzipped the container and served us each a still warm roll. After he sat back down, he paused before he took a bite. “Elizabeth used to bake these every Sunday before we went to church. I haven’t had one since she passed.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Jim shook his head. “It’s a good memory. No use apologizing for something that brings back the good times.”

We ate our breakfast in silence. And when we were done, Jim stood and wiped his eyes. “Thanks for bringing food.”

As he walked toward the cabin, Greg called out, “We fishing here?”

“That’s what we came for,” Jim called back as he brought back three poles.

I watched the men prepare the lines for each pole and thought about the power of food. It could bring back memories and maybe, just maybe, heal a pain. And for once, I didn’t feel like Jim hated me for being the other woman. Maybe Greg’s plan to get his brother used to me by proximity was working. All I had to do was get through the day. And learn to bait my own hook with what smelled like dead, rotten fish.

I put down my cup and went to watch the process, willing to learn.





Eight hours later, we were back at the marina. Jim and Greg, who had ignored my multiple offers of sunscreen, were red as a Maine lobster. My skin felt tight, but I hoped my repeated slathering of the coconut-scented lotion had allowed my winter-white skin to tan rather than burn. The last time I’d tried to douse my arms in the sunscreen, Greg had taken it away from me with the comment, “You smell like a woman working a tiki hut.”

I figured that was a bad thing.

“Well, we weren’t skunked.” Greg kept his voice bright. There was one lone fish in the cooler. A tuna that had somehow landed on my line while the men got a few bites, but nothing sticking. Greg had been supportive, talking me through reeling the catch in, but I could see the looks they gave each other.

“Beginner’s luck,” Jim grumbled, but his lips had curved into a tiny smile. At least I hoped so. “I’ll take it and get the thing cleaned and packaged up. I can drop it off tomorrow at the shop if you’d like.”

“The store’s closed so I’ll be home. You can come by there.” I dumped the leftover coffee from the mugs into the carafe and threw all of the items into a tote I’d brought.

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