A Killer Retreat by Tracy Weber Read Free Book Online Page A

sat up and tried to catch my breath. Bella whined at the end of her leash, as if mourning the loss of her fur-covered breakfast. Michael rolled from his belly to his back, groaning. Brown muddy guck was smeared from his boots to his eyebrows. He lay on the ground, glowered, and grunted, like a foul-tempered hog wallowing in an unacceptable trough. I tried, unsuccessfully, not to giggle.
    â€œWhat’s so damned funny?” he snapped.
    I was saved by the bell—or at least by the ring tone. Bart Simpson’s annoying, nasal voice interrupted:
    â€œMy best friend’s calling me. My friend loves me. You don’t got a friend like this.”
    â€œWhat the hell?”
    â€œIgnore it, Michael. It’s Rene. She’ll leave a message.”
    â€œSeriously, Kate? Bart Simpson?”
    I shrugged. “Wasn’t my idea. Rene programmed my ringtones, and I can’t figure out how to change them. She picked this Bart Simpson one for her number. She thinks it’s funny.”
    If he didn’t like Bart, he’d abhor the “I’m too sexy” ringtone she’d chosen for him. I turned off the phone in case she’d added any other surprises that Michael might not appreciate.
    Michael tried to stand up, but his feet slipped in the wet grass and he fell on his rear, right back into the mud. He covered his face with his hands. “Can this trip get any worse?”
    I bit my lower lip to keep from answering. Now probably wasn’t the best time to point out that the muck on his thighs looked suspiciously like deer dung.
    The stranger-hero emerged from his cabin and rushed toward us, carrying two large bath towels. He handed one to each of us, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry about that. Bandit’s my wife’s dog, and she hasn’t trained the little monster.” His ears turned red. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm, but he’s definitely a handful.”
    This must be Bruce, the spouse the Beach Witch had mentioned on the phone last night. If so, they epitomized the phrase “odd couple.” He looked at least fifty; she at most thirty. He wore round wire-framed glasses and a poorly done comb-over that didn’t quite cover his prominent bald spot. She wore diamond earrings, expensive leather jackets, and waaaay too much makeup. I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Granted, I didn’t know him yet, but Bruce seemed like a nice guy, and from what I’d heard last night, I suspected his wife was cheating on him.
    I took the proffered towel, stood, and wiped the mud stains off my knees. Michael looked down at his pants, lifted his hand to his nose, and softly swore. The stranger took a tentative step toward us and cleared his throat.
    â€œLet’s start over. I’m Bruce. I don’t blame you two for being upset about what happened.” Michael and I both remained silent. He shifted uncomfortably and continued. “I’m sorry about my wife. She’s just so …” His words trailed off.
    Awful . I silently replied. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I smiled at him and said, “It’s OK. We’re Kate and Michael. I pointed toward the hundred pound welcome-dog whining beside me. “And this is Bella. Bella, say hello.”
    As taught, Bella walked up to Bruce, sat down, and offered him her paw.
    â€œWell aren’t you a sweet thing?” He shook Bella’s paw and ruffled her ears.
    Bruce looked up again. “Are you two here for Emmy and Josh’s wedding?”
    â€œNo,” I replied, then corrected myself. “Well, actually yes, sort of. I’m teaching yoga here this week.”
    His face broke into a huge grin. “Oh! You’re that Kate! Emmy told me about you. So nice to meet you, Kate.” He pumped my hand vigorously. “I’ve never done yoga, but I might have to give it a try this week. Emmy’s so excited to have a yoga teacher on site.