I nodded. “You’ll have to come back next year.”
“Will you be here?”
“You never know. I’ve been thinking I should visit more.” I was a little surprised to find that I really meant it.
She gently squeezed my arm. “Your mother would appreciate that.”
I nodded then watched as she rolled her suitcase toward the porch steps.
Then a new voice spoke, grabbing my attention. “Now don’t you let that sheriff get away.” I turned to meet Maria Franelli’s peacock-shadowed eyes. “Men like that don’t just fall off the truck every day.”
“We’ll see,” I said with a laugh. “It’s complicated. I live in Chicago.”
“Honey,” she said. “I’d move to the moon for the chance to see that man naked.”
My mother cleared her throat.
Maria cringed. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.” She turned to face my mom. “I no longer make any life decisions based solely on my relationships with men.” She turned back to me and mouthed the words, I’m lying. Right to the moon. She then simulated a rocket taking off with her index finger.
I smiled and watched her follow Susan down the steps toward the gravel path.
Suddenly an arm linked through mine. Lydia Morgan.
“Lydia,” I began, “I really would like to say sorry for what happened on the ropes course and—”
“Bup! I said no apologies. I had a wonderful time.” She gave me a quick squeeze then walked toward the steps. After stepping down the first two, she turned back and gently wagged a finger at me. “And maybe you should consider taking some psychology classes. It doesn’t take that long to get certified as a counselor in some fields. You might have a knack for it. I get a feeling about these things sometimes.”
I scratched the side of my forehead. “Otter Lake does have a way of bringing out people’s inner psychics.”
My mother moved to stand beside me as we watched the women descend the log steps toward Red’s pontoon. He was already moving up the stairs to give them a hand with their suitcases. Once he got them to the mainland, they’d meet up with a driving service my mom had hired to take them to the airport.
After a few minutes, I took another deep breath and said, “Mom, I have to go soon. I want to try to see Harry before I catch the bus.” Grady had called with the news that Harry was allowed visitors. Apparently he was already asking about medicinal marijuana, so I was guessing things were pretty much back to normal. “But before I do, I would like to say something.”
“Of course, dear,” she replied, eyes still on the lake.
“And this may be hard for me, so don’t say anything until I’ve finished.”
I felt her snap her gaze over to my face, but I couldn’t quite turn to look her in the eye just yet.
“I’ve realized something,” I said, pausing to roll my jaw a few times. “I think … I think maybe I’ve had it all wrong about the women who come here.” I stared out at the departing pontoon over the tips of the trees. “I never really stopped to think that when they come here … they are at one of the worst times in their lives. Divorce. Death. Serious stuff.”
My mother made a noise of agreement, but, as promised, didn’t say anything.
I shook my head. “Then they’re gone. That’s all we really see of them. They go back to their lives, probably just to pick up the pieces and move on.”
I paused a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. I caught a glimpse of Caesar sleeping in a patch of sun at the far end of the porch. He almost looked … cute.
“My entire life, I never really thought about what happens to them after they leave.” I wrapped my arms around my torso, lightly shaking my head. “For the most part, they’re probably just really normal, average people.”
My mother cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, dear, but I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’ll get there. Give me a second.” I took another steadying breath. “I am more than who I was that night of the social standing on the stage with Betsy.”
“Good. Yes.”
“And so are they.” I gestured toward the boat. “I could have treated them—”
“Honey, you’ve been under a lot of stress.”
I waved that away. “And I realized something else. The women that were here at this last retreat … even though their personal lives were in chaos, they still wanted to help me.” I moved my hand to my chest. “Even though I wasn’t particularly nice to them.”
I let the words hang in the air. I felt my mother go still.
“And I realized that was all because they wanted to help you.” I turned to face my mother. “And … and that must be because you really helped them.”
I saw a sparkle come to her eyes.
“You do something good here, Mom.” I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.”
My mother’s thin frame started to tremble. Not quite in an about-to-cry sort of way. It was more like … excitement.
“Are you okay?” I asked carefully. She looked near ready to burst, but her lips were pinched shut. “You … you can say something now if you want.”
My mother lunged forward and wrapped me in her arms. “I knew you were moving home!”
“Wait … what?” I asked through her mounds of hair.
“Oh, Erica, I’m so happy,” she said in my ear. “I always knew, if I was just patient, you’d understand … you’d get the call to uplift your fellow sisters.”
I tried to pull back, but she had me in a vise grip. “How did you get that from … what is going on right now?”
“We can fix up your room if you like and—”
I blew a curl from my mouth. “Mom, I’m not moving home. I was thinking I could probably visit a little more. Maybe next long weekend. I’ve got some vacation time, and—”
“And you can help with the cooking now that Laurie’s gone!”
“Seriously, Mom, slow d—”
“Think of the midnight swims and the sunrise meditations!”
“Mom—”
“And what do you think about our hosting a sweat lodge for a group of nudists? A really nice colony contacted me, and I thought—”
“Mom!”
Coming soon…
Don’t miss the next novel in the delightful Otter Lake mystery series
Pumpkin PICKING With MURDER
Available in September 2016 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Acknowledgments
First, I would like to express my gratitude to Holly Ingraham at St. Martin’s Paperbacks and to my agent, Natalie Lakosil, for making a home for Erica Bloom. Thanks to my parents, friends, and extended family for their day-to-day support—with a special shout-out to my sister for her social media gusto and to Christine for taking the time to turn her ever-watchful eye in my manuscript’s direction. I would also like to send my undying gratitude to Andrea. After all, nothing much happens without Andrea—she’s the one who coaxes me out from under the bed when it all seems too much. And finally, to my husband and three children, you always have my deepest love and appreciation. You guys are the best.
About the Author
Auralee Wallace has played many roles in her life, including college professor, balloon seller, and collections agent. When this semi-natural blonde mother of three children (and psychiatric nurse to two rescue cats) isn’t writing humorous novels about quirky characters, she can often be found pontificating about the Golden Age of soap operas or warring with a family of peregrine falcons for the rights to her backyard. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
&
nbsp; Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SKINNY DIPPING WITH MURDER
Copyright © 2016 by Auralee Wallace.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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eISBN: 9781466889934
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / March 2016
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Skinny Dipping with Murder Page 26