Free Riptide by Dawn Lee McKenna Page B

shower, pulled on some yoga pants, and she and Coco went through the sliding door in the living room to sit on the back deck. Sky was plugged into Netflix in her room, and Kyle had already gone to bed, though it was just getting dark.
    Maggie stood at the railing and peeled the one mango that was left after she and the kids had torn into them. She threw the peels down to Stoopid, who was pulling sentry duty on an overturned rowboat in the back yard, then leaned over the railing as she tried to eat the mango without having to change clothes.
    As she did, she thought about Wilmette and Gregory Boudreaux. Wilmette didn’t come to town until after Gregory was dead, but he did get here before that letter from Gregory was mailed. Did he send it? If he did, why? Did he feel bad about watching while Gregory raped a fifteen-year old girl?  
    Then there was Boudreaux. Maggie’s feelings about Boudreaux became more conflicted every time they spoke. He hadn’t crossed her path more than five times in her life before Gregory’s death. She’d only thought of him in distant terms, and those were all focused on his supposed involvement in everything from interfering with unions to buying politicians.  
    There had been rumors, through the years, that he’d been involved in more than one missing person or sudden change of heart from a potential witness. It was also suspected that he might be in the drug trade, but he’d never even been indicted of anything. That could have as much to do with his son Patrick being the assistant State’s Attorney as it did with him being innocent, but innocence was unlikely.
    Yet, Maggie found herself drawn to him. He was compelling and he was oddly frank with her at times. She also found him funny and actually quite interesting. It was more than that, she knew, but she couldn’t put her finger on it in a way that satisfied her. There was a decent chance he meant her some kind of harm, and yet she found herself comfortable in his presence.
    Boudreaux knew Gregory had raped Maggie. He’d hinted it carefully enough when she was investigating Gregory’s death. She felt that he had also told her, without telling her, that Wilmette had been the other man in the woods that day. But, why? Did he think that gave him some kind of leverage over her? She’d always been pretty sure that he suspected she’d shot Gregory and made it look like suicide. Did he think she’d killed Wilmette, too?
    She discarded that last thought pretty quickly. Her instincts told her he knew she didn’t. They hinted that he knew that because he had killed Wilmette, but that just created more questions, chiefly why? Wilmette wanted money. Had he been blackmailing Gregory or Boudreaux or both?
    Maggie threw the mango pit out to the river and sighed in frustration.  
    Too many questions. Not a single answer that appealed to her at all.

T he next day dawned sultry and thick, and promised misery to those who despised heat. Maggie got to Riverfront Park, at the end of Water Street downtown, just after 5:00 p.m., and the heat was still oppressive.  
    The 3 rd of July, as it was still being called in its fourth year, had become a huge event for the town. Saint George Island had a big Independence Day event that many of the locals attended, but some of the town leaders and business owners had decided to create their own, a day early, so that folks could enjoy an event there in town, without having to miss other happenings on the 4 th .  
    Maggie found a place to park a few blocks away, and headed to the park. The street in front of the park was blocked off to traffic for the day, and filled with almost shoulder-to-shoulder people enjoying a bluegrass band. The aromas of fish fingers, burgers and firecracker shrimp assaulted Maggie, as she threaded her way through the crowd. Wyatt was working the event during the afternoon, but Maggie was supposed to meet her parents at the far end of the park, near the seawall.
    She grabbed a bottled