Imperfect Contract Read Online Free PDF

him.  That's another thing he did well—eat.
    A shower and a cup of coffee and I'd be en route to the beach.  I peered out the back window.  It was a beautiful day, clear and sunny.  Vanessa and Connie were driving to Fort Lauderdale beach together.  Vanessa liked to get an early swim, and Connie agreed to go with her.  I'd meet them later at the usual place. 
    Sunshine tracked the floor with mud when he came in through his doggy door, and after cleaning the mess, I took off for the ocean, running into a tangle of cross-town traffic.  I took the Sawgrass Expressway to Interstate 595 cross-town, zipping around Port Everglades, along the causeway over the Intracoastal, and onto the beach.  It was an enjoyable ride past specialty shops, fancy eateries, and expensive beach homes.
    By the time I reached the ocean, I was annoyed again.  Traffic crawled on A1A, and it took a while to find a parking space.  The parking lot south of Fifth Street was full, but I was lucky enough to pull into a space after a lady left with her minivan full of preteens.  Connie, Vanessa, and I always meet in front of the lifeguard stand south of the Fifth Street traffic light.  
    I walked the couple of blocks to our meeting spot while carrying my beach chair and my gear.  A low, white concrete wall separated the beach from the boardwalk.  Mature palms line the beach, growing through holes in the sidewalk and out of the sand on the ocean side of the wall.  Today a steady breeze bent the trees toward the mainland.  I found the girls near the stand relaxing amidst an ocean of sunbathers, blankets, umbrellas, coolers, and beach chairs.
    "What kept you?" Connie called when she saw me trudging across the sand.  Connie wore one of those old-fashioned swimsuits, a plaid one-piece with a frumpy pleated skirt.  It was a good choice for her bottom-heavy shape.  It covered the top of her thighs and added fluff to her flat chest.
    "The day didn't start in my favor," I whined, positioning my chair in the sand.  I told them about Sunshine's mess and the traffic.  They didn't need to know I dreamed about Ray Stone, again.  "It's May.  You'd think traffic would lighten up."  I spun in a circle and waved my arms.  "Look at this place.  It's not even noon yet.  I couldn't find a parking space, and it's wall-to-wall people."  Sunbathers bordered the elevator-sized patch of sand Connie and Vanessa had staked out.  "It's like a holiday weekend."
    "Locals my dear, all locals."  Vanessa rolled over onto her back and sat.  The pale blue scarf covering her tied-up, blond hair matched her bikini and her eyes.  She's one of the few middle-aged women I know who can and does wear a bikini.  She looked terrific.  I couldn't see a single stretch mark, blemish, or wrinkle. 
    I slipped off the tee shirt I wore over my suit.  "Nice suit," Connie said. 
    I admired the shoreline and took a big breath of salty air.  The waves were two, maybe three feet and broke into a thick froth.  From where I stood, about thirty feet from the water's edge, the water appeared cleaner than usual with a minimum of seaweed.
    "Girl, you'd be a knockout in a bikini."  Vanessa smoothed her towel and prepared to lie on her stomach.
    "But . . ." I pointed at my bosom. "I have trouble keeping the top in place when I go in the water.  It's okay for sunning but bad for swimming."
    Connie laughed.  "I can relate."
    "Yeah, Vanessa.  We can't all be built like you."  I plopped into my beach chair—the kind with the six-inch legs—stretched out, and extracted a bottle of sunscreen from my tote.  "Anybody need any?"
    "No dear," Vanessa said, "we did that an hour ago."
    "Oh, well," I sassed, spreading a thin layer of lotion on my legs and arms and Olay moisturizer with sunscreen on my face.  "Vanessa, how is the townhouse purchase going?  When do you close?"
    "It's f'd up.  I'm so frustrated.  That damn SOB realtor didn't do his job.  Then he got himself shot!"
    "Whoa,