Fire Works in the Hamptons : A Willow Tate Novel (9781101547649) Read Online Free

of talents I meant.
    Mother sniffed her disappointment. After all, I’d almost been engaged to a wealthy English lord who half ran the Department of Unexplained Events. “Does he like dogs?”
    â€œLittle Red hasn’t bitten him yet.” He tried and missed, so that doesn’t count.
    â€œThat’s a good sign. Put him on the phone.”
    Let my mother talk to a man I’d just met this morning? In her dreams. “Barry’s staying with Aunt Jas for the weekend. He’s over there now, unpacking.”
    â€œNot the newcomer. I want to talk to the dog.”
    I tried to be subtle, without being insulting. “Uh, Mom, Ellen is here.”
    Even my mother had her limits. “Oh. Well, be careful.”
    â€œI know. Old tables.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œDad mentioned that. Danger in old tables.”
    â€œHe’s an old patoot, your father. Don’t listen to him. He never makes any sense anyway. Have a good time. And ask your young man if he’ll adopt a retired greyhound.”
    â€œHe’s not my—”
    She hung up. I should have let Little Red talk to her.

CHAPTER 3

    T HE SCIENCE TEACHER CALLED on Saturday and invited us to go out on his boat. Ellen was thrilled and begged me to come. I was not thrilled. Boats and I didn’t do well together. Some of my worst experiences have been on board something too flimsy to float. Hell, the one I was on a few months ago—not by my choice, either—caught on fire and sank. How could I admit to one of my oldest friends that I was uncomfortable, if not terrified, any time my feet were not on solid ground? That included boats, planes, skis, and elevators.
    â€œI get seasick.”
    â€œThere’s not a breeze in the air, not a whitecap in sight. Not even you could get sick on a day like today. Besides, Martin said we’re following the shoreline, not going out into the Sound. You have no excuse except you’re still the same chickenshit you always were.”
    That was the trouble with longtime friends. They had long memories. “Don’t you want to spend time alone with your new friend?” They had a lot in common, chief of which was they were both single, living in areas without many opportunities to meet like-minded adults of the opposite sex. “Yes, but I don’t want to be so obvious about it. He said you could invite Barry, too. And Susan.”
    Susan refused. “Spend the day with my old science teacher? Ee-uw. ’Sides, I’d worry about calling him Farty Marty to his face.”
    Ellen gasped. “You didn’t call him that, did you?”
    â€œOf course. Everyone did.”
    Ellen called to invite Barry before I could tell her not to. I didn’t want him to see me wretched, or retching.
    He agreed instantly, of course. “Perfect day for a sail.”
    A sailboat was ten times worse! They always rocked or got becalmed or heeled over or whatever you call the step before capsizing. “I need to work.”
    â€œI thought you said we were going to the beach today.” Ellen started packing a bag with sunscreen, bottled water, and binoculars. “You weren’t going to get a lot done anyway. The only difference is we’ll be on the water instead of in it.”
    I prayed we stayed that way.
    Martin had a converted lobster boat, not a sail in sight but only a single sputtering engine. The boat’s name, hand-painted on the back, was the She Crab . I wondered if that was the original name, or if Martin was a misogynist. The tub smelled like a dead fish anyway.
    It was low and narrow, with a shallow draft, according to Martin’s lecture about its history. Her history, he corrected me. The craft was a she. That’s what he thought. No female would tolerate a boat without a bathroom, only a bucket. A head , he said. There was a tiny three-sided protected cabin for the driver. The captain , Martin preferred. And benches installed along the