Domestic Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

return trip to Buford Dam, our put-in spot. Jack turned on his country music station and I liked it okay. It’s just not my favorite. What bothered me was that not listening to my world music station was bothering me.   Was that what I had to look forward to in his retirement?   Then, like he’d read my mind, he reached up and pressed the button for my usual station. I grinned and he reached over for my knee and we drove on.  
    When we got close to Buford Dam Road I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m trying to call the water release information line for an update but I can’t get a signal.”  
    I recited the number to Jack but he didn’t have any better luck getting a signal on his phone.   Before we could say ‘Can’t get a damn signal at the dam,’ the phone in my hand rang. He chuckled. “Intermittent denial of service, huh?”
    “Why would you say that?” my guilty conscience lashed out.   That’s what Thomas Chestnut had written on the napkin. You remember the one we stole from the murder scene?   My phone rang again.
    “Huh?” His look said, ‘What’d I do?’
    I answered on the third ring.   “I’m sorry.”  
    “For what?” Tara asked.
    “I was talking to Jack.”
    “I’m going to text you the details of the viewing for tomorrow night.”
      “I wanted to ask you something. I know this was supposed to be our first joint pre-birthday dinner, but now that doesn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances.   Should it just be a night out?”
    Tara hesitated and I wondered if she was still there.   “Paul’s not exactly torn up by his death. I mean, not the way you would if it was your real father. Want to play it by ear?”
    “Sure.” I hung up thinking about the shape I was in when my own father died.  
    It took both of us to get the canoe off the car and then we loaded it up with our cooler, oars, life vests, Abby and her doggie life jacket. Buford Dam is just north of river milepost 348 and Abbotts Bridge is milepost 335. The park land seemed to know my husband was only in town for a few days and the wildflowers showed off all day.   
      All day, off and on, we talked about his upcoming retirement from the Army. “I know I’ve said this before, but I don’t want you to retire for me, or even for us, I want you to retire for you.”
    “It’s time. I can’t win this war, but I did keep my boots on necks that needed it.”
    “May I remind you you’re talking to a nice liberal?”
    He was the architect of the most daring night raids you never heard about. Until recently that is.   Lately the practice of night raids was talked about by Afghan politicians––a lot. In the Pentagon, also referred to as ‘the building,’ they say he’s better at this than anyone in the history of the US Army.   He holds he’s just a cop on the beat. It went without saying that he didn’t give a rat’s ass that night raids were no longer politically popular.  
    “One aspect of careerism I particularly dislike is the over-reliance on technology.” His voice traveled to me from the back of the canoe.  
    “A system focused on hardware is never going to understand what you do, or did.”
    He was saying something about his guys when I slapped the water hard with my oar. “You lied to me last year when you said you were developing the plans but not going out yourself anymore!”  
    We were all three splashed with water. Abby tried to stand, but Jack hadn’t said anything. I didn’t turn around, because I didn’t want to see the look on his face. I forced myself to dial back the indignation because of not telling him about Tiara Investigations.
      Finally he spoke. “That didn’t really last all that long.   I couldn’t ask anyone to do what I wasn’t doing.”
    “Are you kidding me? That’s exactly what officers do. That’s what they’re supposed to do. I shouldn’t have expected you to play it safe, but I didn’t think you’d lie to me about it.”  
    “Let’s