Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

“Just sharing my thoughts about you. Nothing important.”

Billy Ray didn’t catch the obvious slam. Nor did he budge.

“She’s right, Billy Ray.” One of the other guys spoke up. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”

“Hmmph.” Billy Ray looked disgusted. “Fine thing, when a nigger and her little white girlfriend can make me leave my daddy’s property.”

He continued to stand in our way.

“C’mon, Billy Ray!” The other girl whined. “I’m bored.”

The whiner was a pretty redhead with fair skin, green eyes, and big tits, which she showcased to great advantage in a tight tank top.

“Well …” he said.

“I want to leave now!” the redhead demanded.

“Hey, Billy Ray,” one of the guys said. “That is your girl talking. Wanna get any tonight or not?”

The boys chuckled. I glanced between Billy Ray and Big Red. He looked torn by indecision. She stared him down and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up to her chin.

I felt sick, shuddering to think how these pathetic losers must live. Big Red seemed to be enjoying her hold over Billy Ray. Jesus, girl! Get a life.

Billy Ray nodded decisively, as if he was in charge. “Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here. This is getting dull.”

As he stalked off, Big Red glided toward him and grabbed his arm, like a drowning woman lunging at a flotation device.

“We’re having another party tonight,” he shot over his shoulder at us. “We’ll try to keep it down so you old folks can sleep.”

The others guffawed as they followed him—all except Danni. The quiet girl held back long enough to say, “It’s not even his daddy. It’s his stepdaddy.” She ran to join the others piling into the red Corvette.

CHAPTER THREE

Jamila said nothing as we climbed the stairs and let ourselves in. I cleared my throat. “I guess the Welcome Wagon has changed its approach.”

Jamila walked to the sliding glass door leading to the balcony and simply stared. Apparently, my attempt at humor wasn’t cutting it.

I tried to think of something—anything—else to say. I failed.

Sighing, I parked myself on the couch and hit the TV remote. I had to create some noise or the silence would deafen me.

Jamila kept her watch at the window, surveying the bay’s waters as if expecting a Navy Seal attack.

I flipped through channels, interested in nothing.

“You know, I used to live in Salisbury.”

Jamila’s words jolted me. I muted the sound and dropped the remote in my lap.

“I didn’t know you were from the Eastern Shore.”

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed. “My family hasn’t been back since we moved to D.C. It’s been years. They always preferred to vacation on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“I’ve never been there,” I said.

“It’s beautiful. So’s Nantucket.” She kept staring out the window.

“A lot of … well-t