Free Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) by Maureen K. Howard Page A

for…”
    June interrupted. “Jack is really interesting, don’t you think? Cute too. I’m sure whatever the commotion was, he has it handled. Do you think he’ll be back?”
    “Don’t you want to hear about the minnow bandits? I thought you wanted to hear about the minnow bandits.”
    “On second thought, Francie, you probably need to tone down the drama on this one. Someone probably tripped and broke an ankle. It doesn’t take much to get people all riled up around here.”
    “You’re probably right.” I sighed. “I’m probably overreacting.”
    Then in unison, we reached toward the center of the table for Sirena’s abandoned martini. It was indeed a shame to waste it.
    June and I shared Sirena’s abandoned drink. Neither of us was particularly fussy about the variety of fruit added to our drinks as long as the vodka is top shelf, and it was. After that, it was definitely time to think about heading home for the night.
    We giggled and wove our way back to the marina, and I was proud to say I only slipped off the curb twice. As petite as June was, she was surprisingly steady on her feet and kept me pointed in the right direction—for the most part.
    It was about a half mile from the downtown bar to the marina, so we had time to rehash the events of the evening, and speculate on the source of all the excitement.
    “I can’t wait to get the real scoop from Hamm,” I announced. “He always remembers details and is a master of insignificant facts. I’m sure he’ll have the whole thing figured out before we get back to the boat or hear any reports from the news.”
    June nodded in agreement but didn’t answer. She was focused on the job at hand and stepped up the pace.
    “First things first, Francie. Let’s just concentrate on getting back for now.”
    The rest of the walk was unremarkable. The cool night air and exercise had sobered us up, and by the time we got to our dock, the effect of the two and a half martinis had all but worn off.
    There were no lights on inside the boat. This was odd since by now it was quite late.
    “Hammond, what are you doing in the dark? Hamm? Honey?”
    Within seconds of getting onboard and flipping on a light, it was obvious that Hammond was not in the cabin. If I wasn’t sober a minute ago, I most definitely was now. I hurried back out to the cockpit and scanned the dock, thinking maybe he was enjoying the view while finishing his cigar. He wasn’t on the dock, so I looked out toward the lake.
    “There you are!” He was just now arriving from the grassy area that led to the small strip of beach and the lake beyond.
    I stepped off the boat and onto the dock, planning to meet him halfway. When he got close enough to hear me, I began to speak again.
    “I was getting worried. Did you find out…?”
    I stopped mid-sentence when I finally got close enough to see Hamm’s appearance. He was carrying his shoes, his cargo shorts were torn, and there was a dark stain on the front of his new shirt.
    “What the… Where the… Why do you smell like a campfire?”
    I was at a loss. In all of our years together, I had never seen Hammond so disheveled. I had, however, seen that look on his face before. “Get the front lines ready. We’re leaving. Now!”
    “Are you sure you want to do that, Hamm? I’ve had a few drinks and don’t think I’m really steady on my feet enough to be manning lines and fenders in the dark. It’s really late, hon. why don’t you just get some sleep and we can talk about this in the morning?”
    “Whatever.” Hamm didn’t say anything else, but I was relieved when he walked past me and headed into the boat. He closed the cabin door behind him.
    I didn’t know yet the source of Hamm’s foul mood or the cause of his uncharacteristic appearance, but I did know that now was not the time ask him about it. I also knew that any attempt to engage my husband in civil conversation would probably result in tears on my part, so I left him alone and