A Killer Retreat by Tracy Weber Page A

Police!”

five
    Michael flung open the door. “What are you two doing here?” Granted, I couldn’t see his face, but his tone didn’t exactly sound welcoming.
    Rene didn’t seem to notice. “Hey there, gorgeous. Good to see you, too!” She gave Michael a quick peck on the cheek and pressed through the doorway wearing a wide, sparkling grin. Sam staggered behind her, loaded down with enough bags for a month long vacation—for a family of twelve.
    Rene tossed her purse on the table. “The chick at the office told us where to find you. I tried calling from the ferry, but you didn’t answer, so I decided to surprise you.” She opened her arms wide. “Surprise!”
    I stared at her, speechless, still recovering from a severe case of about-to-coitus interruptus.
    Rene took a step back, crossed her arms, and cocked her head to the side. “You two don’t look happy to see me.”
    â€œWe’re not. We were just about to—”
    I silenced Michael with a well-placed poke to the ribs. “Of course we’re glad you’re here. Your timing is perfect. We were just about to go get lunch in Eastsound.” Michael didn’t correct me. “But I’m surprised. I thought you were sick.”
    Rene looked down at the floor and chewed on her lower lip. “Oh well … you know … I’m feeling much better now. And Sam’s on a break between software projects, so we decided to come after all.”
    She flashed a plastic smile, begging me to drop the subject. I would normally have forced her to cough up the truth, but this time I hesitated. Rene was hiding something. Any gullible, Santa Claus-loving five-year-old would have seen that. But if the hurt look on Sam’s face was any indication, she was hiding it from him, too.
    And it couldn’t be good.
    The woman standing before me was not my best friend. My best friend had a never-ending supply of energy and super-defined muscles—the kind typically seen in rock music videos. Most days, if I hadn’t loved her so much, I would have been forced to hate her.
    Today I couldn’t even drum up a spark of envy. Rene’s typically flawless, alabaster skin was a sickly shade of greenish-yellow. Purple crescents underscored the pink, puffy skin underneath her eyes. Her normally confident posture was slumped, tired looking. Even her body looked—dare I say it? Soft.
    I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, gave her a hug, and whispered. “Are you OK?”
    She whispered back. “Shhh. I’ll talk to you when we’re alone.”
    â€œYou two can catch up later,” Sam grumped from behind us. “Where should I put these bags? My arms are about to fall off.”
    â€œSorry, Sam.” I gestured to the living room. “Put them in there.”
    Sam dropped Rene’s bags on the floor with a disgusted whumpf while Michael released Bella from her temporary prison. Bella gleefully skidded across the floor and greeted Rene with her unique I-love-you happy dance of whines, wiggles, play bows, and kisses.
    Sam knelt down, held out his hand, and cooed, “Hey Bella baby. How are you?” Bella looked his direction, flattened her ears, sneezed once, and slinked to the opposite side of the room.
    â€œBella, say hello,” Michael commanded.
    Bella refused. She planted all four feet firmly on the hardwood floor and glared, sending Sam an obvious message. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out .
    â€œI don’t get it,” Sam said, sounding wounded. “I love animals. I love Bella, for that matter. Why doesn’t she like me?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Sam. I think it’s your mustache. She’s still funny about facial hair.”
    Sam’s mustache was the only reasonable explanation why Bella hadn’t taken to him. She certainly couldn’t mind the rest of his looks. With straight blond hair, surfer-boy blue eyes, and