Skinny Dipping by Connie Brockway Read Free Book Online Page A

great-aunts,” she said. “Everyone knows, but no one says anything. No, no,” she said as he withdrew his poised fork. “You can’t put it back! She’s watching. You don’t want to hurt her feelings, do you? Put it on the plate. Good. Now cut off a piece as if you can’t wait. Now smack your lips. Go on, smack them!” she whispered urgently.
    He smacked, eyeing Mimi cautiously as she nodded approvingly.
    “There. You’ve made her happy. Now let me make you a real sandwich.” She slapped down two slices of rye bread on a Chinette plate and heaped the homemade corned beef on one slice before handing the plate to Joe.
    A movement at her feet drew her attention. She looked down in time to see a small, hairy, dirty brown face poke out from under the table. It was the same ugly little dog she and Birgie had spied earlier chasing the splotchball assassin. Joe tore a piece of corned beef from the edge of his sandwich and dropped it. The dog snatched it out of the air and disappeared.
    “Your dog?” Joe asked.
    “No, I don’t know whose it is,” she said, casually uncovering the top of his sandwich and ladling on a creamy sauce. “Horseradish,” she said in answer to his questioning look. “Homemade. Really good.”
    “Ah-huh.” He smiled and took a tentative bite. The uneasy expression disappeared, replaced by one of rapture. “I can’t tell you the last time I had anything homemade,” he said. “This is…It’s…”
    “Just eat,” she said.
    He ate.
    “So, is this a yearly ritual?” he asked curiously after finishing the sandwich.
    “God, I hope not,” she answered, laughing.
    “Why?”
    “Because this is a wake.”

Chapter Five
    “A wake?” Joe asked, pointedly eyeing the manically grinning orange starfish. “Interesting wake-wear you have on there. Most people just go the easy route and opt for black.”
    She laughed. “It’s not supposed to be a solemn occasion. Ardis would have hated that.”
    She cleaned up well, Joe thought. Really well. “Who is Ardis?” he asked.
    “One of my great-aunts, Ardis Olson.” Some fond memory awoke a fleeting smile. “She would have been eighty-five today.”
    “That’s a pretty long life.”
    “It would have been a longer life still if she hadn’t tried to squeeze in another nine holes of golf.”
    “Stroke?” he asked quietly.
    “Nine iron,” she replied. “Her partner nailed her with a Titleist on the fourteenth hole of the Pelican Strand golf course while she was in the rough, searching for her ball.”
    “Ouch.”
    “Thank God, no,” she said. “The doctor has assured us Ardis literally never knew what hit her.”
    “That’s nice,” while appropriate, just didn’t seem tactful, so Joe said, “That must be a comfort.”
    “For most of us, yes. But her golf partner, Morris, has sworn never to play again. That’s Morris over there.” She gestured toward an affable-looking bald guy in canary yellow golf pants taking a practice swing with an imaginary golf club. He was surrounded by a critique group of similarly attired men.
    “Just between us, I do not hold out much hope of that particular vow being honored for very long,” Mimi said.
    “Maybe I should leave,” Joe suggested. “If this is some sort of memorial I’m crashing…”
    “Please don’t,” Mimi answered. “Ardis has been blowing in the wind over the Mexican gulf since May. At least her ashes have, as per her request. We decided to have the memorial at Chez Ducky because everyone would be here and we thought it would be nice to have it on her birthday.”
    “Chez Ducky? What’s Chez Ducky?”
    “This”—she swept her arm out—“is Chez Ducky. Eighty acres of weedy lakeshore, scrub alder, and pine trees.”
    “And all of these people are Olsons?” he asked.
    “In one way or the other. The Olsons take the ‘end’ out of ‘extended.’ Once you’re part of this family, there’s no going back. Not because of divorce, remarriage, adoption, religious