Читать книгу Hounded To Death - Laurien Berenson - Страница 2

Bertie abruptly stopped speaking. We’d been walking while we were talking, drawing closer to the raised platform. I took another step and saw what Bertie had seen. A fluffy, yellow bath towel, the kind found stacked in each of the inn’s rooms, was draped over one of the back benches.

“What?” asked Aunt Peg.

“It turns out we’re not alone.” Bertie giggled.

Funny, I thought, that we weren’t able to see whoever was sitting in the tub. Not that I had a lot of experience with hot tubs, but I thought people usually sat in them with head and shoulders above the water, perhaps even above the lip of the tub itself.

It was one of those moments when you instinctively know something is wrong, but your brain flatly refuses to process the information.

Aunt Peg, however, had no such problem thinking things through. She glanced at the discarded towel, then at the splash of water on the platform’s boards.

“Oh, dear,” she said, pushing me out of the way to step up onto the deck.

Even as Aunt Peg gasped, Bertie and I were already hopping up to stand beside her.

A man was floating face down in the hot tub. His dark hair was shiny and slick under the lights from above. His arms were outstretched, well-manicured fingers reaching for something he’d never touch.

Bertie went pale. “That can’t be good.”

My sister-in-law, the master of understatement.