To Love and to Perish - By Lisa Bork Page 0,17
remained in jail indefinitely. In fact, I wondered what Cory was doing right this minute. When I hadn’t jumped on the idea of looking into things on our own, he’d gotten a wild look in his eye, a new and worrisome look for him. He wouldn’t plan a jailbreak in this day and age, but he might do something equally crazy in the name of love. Though for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what that might be. The last thing Cory had said to me was he would see me at work on Tuesday, two whole days from today. At lot can happen in two days.
“I also got a disturbing call from Isabelle.”
Ray’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He loves Isabelle. Everyone loves Isabelle, including her husband, Jack, no doubt. “How so?”
He listened patiently as I told him Isabelle’s tale of woe, including a reminder about her cousin who believed in her husband for months until she walked in on him and his paramour in flagrante delicto. Ray’s lips twitched a little bit when I got to that, but he agreed with me.
“Isabelle needs to give him some space. No way should she hire a private investigator.”
“That’s what I said.”
“In a couple days, they’ll have been back in the sack and it will all be over.”
I could only hope. Still, Ray and I agreed. And maybe Isabelle had listened to reason.
This left me with only one other potential adulterer to worry about—my sister, Erica.
_____
Our hometown of Wachobe sat at the head of a seven-mile, crystal-clear lake, the Mecca for boaters, bathers, and water sport enthusiasts. We were known as the western portal to the Finger Lakes region, and our town’s population more than doubled in the summertime. Although the official tourist season had ended on Labor Day, the town still seemed bustling this bright and cheery Sunday morning.
At the edge of our village, a few yards beyond the quarter mile of original and picturesque brick and clapboard buildings lining the shopping district, a small but charming park offered visitors an area to swim under the careful watch of a lifeguard. The lush grass surrounding the area cried out for picnics. Yesterday I’d called and left a message for Erica to meet me there.
The park also showcased the loading dock for a paddleboat that offered luncheon and dinner cruises on the lake. With the sun shining at full blast and temperatures in the seventies, a line to board today’s luncheon cruise wound across the park and around the white band gazebo. Through the crowd, I spotted Erica sitting on one of the gazebo benches, dressed in jeans, a V-neck T-shirt, and flip-flops, just like me, and holding a paper bag. If her V-neck hadn’t revealed cleavage and her jeans had been a little less tight, holey or frayed, our clothing would have matched. As it was, even with only five years difference in age between us, I looked like the conservative mom and Erica, a teen on the prowl.
As soon as she spied me, Erica rose and pointed to the sidewalk. I nodded in agreement, welcoming the exercise. My blue-eyed sister with her long, blond ringlets, who used to be a size four, was not so happy at her current size eight, a result in equal parts from her medications and the richer cuisine of married life. Still, she could give Kate Hudson a run for her money any day, in my humble opinion. The two looked quite a bit alike.
We fell into step and left the park, strolling down the sidewalk past the stately village homes dating as far back as the 1790s. Their magnificent porches decorated with overflowing hanging baskets of purple petunias, red geraniums, yellow marigolds, and fuchsia verbena made the view all the more spectacular. Blessed with a black thumb, I always admired other people’s flowers.
Erica handed me the bag. “I made you something.”
This was a first. Surprised, inordinately pleased, and curious, I reached inside the bag and pulled out a pillow. In uneven cross-stitch, it read, “I smile because you’re my sister. I laugh because there is nothing you can do about it.”
Never were words so true. We looked at each other and burst out giggling.
I shook the pillow at her. “If you only knew how many Finger Lakes gift shops have items with this saying on it. I think of you every time I see it.”
She seemed pleased, always happy to be the center of the universe. “What do you think of my