husband’s private investigation business after his murder, no one was more important to her than these three girlfriends were.
They had helped her through her devastating loss, not to mention her transition from real estate agent to lady PI.
A chorus of “count me in” and “me too” rang out from the group, with the exception of one loud dissenter.
“Eeew, fried bull testicles?” Maggie’s face screwed up in a look of disgust. She tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear and rolled her big blue eyes like a teenager half her age.
“Oh Maggie. You’re such a drama queen.” Isabel shook her head. Isabel Martínez was a no-nonsense FBI financial analyst who had seen it all. She and her attorney husband, Alex, had been looking forward to the Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed for months and they clearly weren’t going to let Maggie Sullivan, the Southern belle fitness queen, put a damper on their fun. “They’re delicious, Maggs. You have to put it out of your head what they really are.”
“But they’re fried bull testicles, Isabel.” Maggie frowned. “How can y’all ever get that out of your head?”
“They’re a delicacy, Maggie,” redheaded Camille Hawthorne piped in. As a caterer and event planner, sometimes the spiky-haired diva had to put an enticing spin on some of her unique specialty dishes. “Think of them simply as Rocky Mountain Oysters—that’s what I keep reminding my Jonathan.”
“But the thought, Camille—” Her tall, lanky husband, Jonathan, wore a wincing look on his face. “I feel for those poor bulls—ouch.”
“All right, all right.” Emily waved her hands and shook her head, making her honey-blonde curls dance around her neck. “Enough talk. Whoever wants to go to the Oyster Feed, follow me.”
“All y’all can go on without me. I’ll meet up with y’all later,” Maggie called out as the group left her standing her ground.
The small crowd of friends chatted and laughed their way to the city park, where a large open-air tent was set up to serve the Oyster Feed. People had already begun lining up at the serving station to grab a plateful of the “oysters” along with a piece of buttered corn on the cob and a juicy wedge of ripe, red watermelon.
Emily, along with her girlfriends, Camille and Isabel, and their husbands, Jonathan and Alex, descended on a long folding table, balancing their oyster-laden plates and cold drinks.
“I wish Colin could have been here,” Emily remarked.
Six months after her husband, Evan, had been killed, Emily began dating the town’s new police detective, Colin Andrews. Within a few short months, he had been called back to San Francisco to help his mother take care of his father, following a debilitating stroke. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone, but had said he felt duty-bound to help out.
Ex-Marines were like that, Emily reminded herself.
She and Colin tried to keep in contact long distance by way of emails, phone calls, and Face Time on the computer, but it wasn’t the same as having him there in person. She was lonely for him, especially when she saw her friends enjoying life with their men. Her only solace was that Maggie was single too and they could commiserate together.
“How is Colin doing?” Alex asked. They had been basketball buddies, and as an attorney, Alex found himself working the opposing side of some of the cases Colin investigated.
“He misses you all.” Emily’s hair hung in loose tousled curls, brushing her shoulders, as she looked down at her plate, bravely cutting into an oyster.
“But he misses you the most, I’m sure.” Camille patted Emily’s hand.
Emily sighed. “I’m sure you’re—”
“Hey, y’all.” Maggie burst in and stood next to their table. “I told y’all I’d catch up sooner or later.”
“Have a seat.” Isabel motioned to the folding chair next to her.
“I have someone I want all y’all to meet.” Maggie gestured to a young brunette standing next to her in the crowded tent. Maggie stood behind the empty chair and put an arm on the shoulder of the young woman. “Everybody, this is Fiona. She’s new to Paradise Valley, and I offered to introduce her ’round.”
“Hello, Fiona.” Emily was first to greet her, but the others quickly followed.
Isabel’s training in the FBI caused her to always be the first to question and be suspicious. “Where did you two meet?” she asked. Isabel sounded interested, but wore a far-too-analytical look for mere small talk.
“Fiona was in one of my aerobics classes at the Y,” Maggie replied.