Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 34

I felt the wind in my hair as I scootered down the drive, trees sweeping past in a green blur. The gate swung open as I neared it. I hit the accelerator hard.

About five miles or so later, I let off the gas. God, what a relief.

My thoughts turned to Danni Beranski. Little wonder she'd broken things off with Billy Ray. Who'd want Marshall Bower for a father-in-law, let alone sweet Georgia Lee as mother-in-law? And Junior? Could he have made a pass at her? Not hard to imagine.

Now, with Lisa pregnant, I could just picture Thanksgiving. Georgia Lee drunk off her ass, Lisa not far behind, Bower Sr., carving the turkey and spouting platitudes, Junior in the bathroom jerking off between doing lines of coke. Lisa's brat (or two or three) running around, wreaking havoc. Straight out of Norman Rockwell.

I aimed the scooter toward Berlin and Danni Beranksi. I had a few follow-up questions.

* * *

By the time I eased the scooter to the curb before Danni's old Victorian and marched up the steps, it was nearly 3:30. Where had the day gone? I rang the doorbell. No answer. After a minute, I tried again. The chime rang faintly and faded out. No answer. The trees made shushing noises in the yard behind me, as if the bell had disturbed them. Their limbs creaked like those of arthritic elders.

"Sorry," I said, aloud, smiling at my own silly thought.

I opened the screen door and knocked. I was pondering how people always knock after ringing the doorbell—like: answer now or I'll pound your door down—when someone behind me said, "Looking for me?"

I jumped and turned. Danni stood there, a shoulder bag slung diagonally across her chest. She held a plastic shopping bag in one hand.

"Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"That's okay."

"You look a bit pale."

"No, no. I'm naturally pale." And short of breath.

Danni invited me in and offered me water, iced tea, or lemonade. I went for the lemonade, which was fresh squeezed. Boy, was it good. She also helped herself to a glass.

We returned to the porch with our drinks. I took the rocker I remembered, and she took the porch swing again.

"Danni," I said. "Tell me about Junior. Also, anything you recall about Marshall Bower, Sr., and his family."

"Oh, my God!" She looked like she'd just sucked hydrochloric acid. "Just thinking about those people makes me sick."

"Yeah. I can understand."

"Horrible. They were all horrible."

"Did Junior ever, um, come on to you?"

"Good God, when did he ever not come on to me?"

Danni poured forth a long narrative about how every dinner at the House of Bower turned into an endurance test, in which she was required to fend off the under-the-table or in-the-other-room advances of her would-be brother-in-law.

"You'd think the guy was on a steady diet of Viagra and porn, the way he kept after me," Danni said. "Jesus!"

"Uh huh."

"I mean, I'd come out of the bathroom, and he'd ambush me and start humping my leg like a dog. You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I do."

Danni's eyes grew large. "No way was I going to marry into that family."

Smart girl.

"So, what can you tell me about Marsha?" I asked.