Read Whiskey Beach for Free Online Page A

he’s accused of murder. Of killing his own wife. And—”
    “He was cleared, Heather. Remember?”
    “Just because they didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty. You shouldn’t be alone in that house with him.”
    “Just because the press likes a good scandal, especially where sex, money and bedrock New England families are involved, doesn’t mean he isn’t innocent.” Maureen arched fiery red eyebrows. “You know that old rule of law, Heather. Innocent until proven guilty?”
    “I know he got fired—and he was a criminal defense lawyer. Seems fishy, if you ask me, that they’d fire him if he wasn’t guilty. And they said he was the prime suspect. Witnesses heard him threaten his wife the same
day
she was killed. She’d have gotten a pile of money in a divorce. And he had no business being in that house, did he?”
    “It was his house,” Abra pointed out.
    “But he’d moved out. I’m just saying where there’s smoke . . .”
    “Where there’s smoke sometimes means someone else started the fire.”
    “You’re so trusting.” Heather gave Abra a one-armed hug—as sincere as it was patronizing. “I’m just going to worry about you.”
    “I think Abra has a fine feel for people and can take care of herself.” Greta Parrish, the senior of the group at seventy-two, pulled on her warm and practical wool coat. “And Hester Landon wouldn’t have opened Bluff House for Eli—always a well-mannered young man—if she had the smallest doubt of his innocence.”
    “Oh, now I’ve nothing but affection and respect for Ms. Landon,” Heather began. “Every one of us hope and pray she’ll be well enough to come home soon. But—”
    “No buts.” Greta yanked a cloche cap over her steel-gray hair. “That boy’s part of this community. He may have lived in Boston, but he’s a Landon, and he’s one of us. God knows he’s been through the wringer. I’d hate to think anyone here would add to his troubles.”
    “I—I didn’t mean that.” Flustered, Heather looked from face to face. “Honestly, I didn’t. I’m just worried about Abra. I can’t help it.”
    “I believe you are.” Greta gave Heather a brisk nod. “I believe you’ve no reason to. This was a very nice practice, Abra.”
    “Thank you. Why don’t I drive you home? It’s snowing pretty hard.”
    “I believe I can manage a three-minute walk.”
    Women bundled up, filed out. Maureen lingered.
    “Heather’s an ass,” Maureen stated.
    “A lot of people are. And a lot of people will think the way she does. If he was suspected, he must be guilty. It’s wrong.”
    “Of course it is.” Maureen O’Malley, her short, spiky hair as fiery as her eyebrows, took another pull from her water bottle. “The problem is, I don’t know if I’d think the same, at least in some little cynical pocket, if I didn’t know Eli.”
    “I didn’t realize you did.”
    “He was my first serious make-out.”
    “Hold that.” Abra pointed with both index fingers. “Just hold that. That’s a glass-of-wine story.”
    “You don’t have to twist my arm. Just let me text Mike that I’m going to be about another half hour.”
    “You do that. I’ll pour the wine.”
    In the kitchen Abra chose a bottle of Shiraz while Maureen plopped down on the sofa in the cozy living area.
    “He says that’s fine. The kids haven’t killed each other yet, and are currently in the happy throes of a snowstorm.” She looked up from her phone, smiled when Abra handed her the wine, took a seat. “Thanks. I’ll consider this girding my loins before I walk next door into the battle and feed the troops.”
    “Make out?”
    “I was fifteen, and while I had been kissed, that was the first
kiss
. Tongues and hands and heavy breathing. Let me say first, the boy had most excellent lips, and very nice hands. The first, I’ll also admit, to touch these amazing ta-tas.” She patted her breasts then sipped her wine. “But not the