Retirement Can Be Murder

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It was a warm day at Sunset Cove. Of course it was warm. They both had a thin film of sweat on their foreheads, but they weren’t hot enough to wipe it off. Jake didn’t mind sweating in khakis. Mel was wearing a skirt and she looked good. She wore her waist high like someone older, but she was young enough. She’d been talking for a while.

“And on this patch of grass here, we’re going to have the new garden. I’m told that we’ll have some flowers that are particularly rare in Sarasota.”

“What are the flowers called?”

“Oh, I don’t know what they are.” She gestured again. “I just know they’re rare.”

He started writing in his notebook, but she stopped him.

“Don’t write that down!”

“Why not?”

“Please Jake!”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.” She bit her lip. “I’ll find out what the flowers are called.”

“Don’t worry. All I wrote down is that the flowers would be rare, whatever they are called.”

She still got nervous around him. He didn’t like it-she should be comfortable by now. This month he’d stopped by twice a week, whether he needed to or not. Really he could come by every day, if he wanted to. It wasn’t like his beat had a lot of structure to it. He could always find something to write about, dress it up in fancy words, and send it to New York. Mel bit her lip again.

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