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than Mary Ann, and had no children.
    Mary Ann had never before dined at a fancy French restaurant, and she had never tasted champagne. She decided afterwards that she liked both.
    She couldn’t help, though, equating the high prices on the restaurant’s menu with the hard goods from her household budget. The cost of their dinner entrées would have gone a long way toward the purchase of two more beds for the girls. Mary Ann, too, was tired of sleeping every night on the cloth strips of a folding beach chair.
    Eating on real china and using heavy silverware was also a treat. The plastic-like plates at home had only one virtue—they were unbreakable.
    Mary Ann’s attraction to Paul was increasing, and she enjoyed being alone with him during dinner. He seemed genuinely interested in her daily routine and life with the girls. Speaking about them so much made something inside of her miss their company.
    Mary Ann remembered her last family dinner—at a restaurant outside Philadelphia. She had taken the girls to a Japanese steak house almost a year ago, courtesy of a radio station contest she had won. The girls all laughed when the Japanese cook, in the midst of his knife-flipping performance, took an egg out of his pocket and rolled it on the table.
    “Japanese egg roll,” the cook smiled.
    At the end of Mary Ann’s first evening with Paul, as she kissed him good night on the steps of her apartment, she became certain of at least one aspect of this advancing relationship.
    Thinking about Paul’s easy smile, wavy hair and sparkling blue eyes, Mary Ann admitted to herself that she was falling hard for this new man in her life. His kiss sparked a part of her she thought she had long since buried.
    “I may not be in love yet,” she analyzed, “but I’m definitely in lust.”

    The light, pinkish sunburn covering her cheeks created a strong measure of radiance on Melissa’s face. Even the most expensive of makeup preparations could never produce an equivalent glow.
    Fluffy bangs, dangling earrings, and a touch of lipstick all added to her breezy, somewhat racy look.
    She was also hoping to exude an air of confidence spiced with a pinch of youthful bearing—neither of which could be derived from cosmetics.
    Melissa’s attire began with a mostly white, black-patterned blouse having three-quarter-length sleeves. She wore a white, knee-length pleated skirt, black belt, and black heels. On her arm, she carried a white, knitted cardigan for later in the evening, when cooler air always wafted through and over the Florida Keys.
    Melissa knew that a near constant smile was usually the best accessory for a well-dressed woman. And her anticipation that “Joe The Cop” might turn into a living, breathing, leading-man type was making it so much easier for her to manifest that smile. Helpful, too, was the fastgrowing distance in hours since last night’s tragic, disturbing accident.
    When Melissa greeted Joe at the door of her room, she noticed right away that he was impressively dressed.
    He wore a tan linen sport coat with a tiny monogram on the breast pocket. His summery brown slacks, cordovan loafers, and open-necked yellow sport shirt all seemed to complement his sparkling white teeth and curly hair. His deep, typically Florida tan acted as a counterpoint to her freshly sunburned cheeks.
    Within minutes of his arrival, they were on their way to the Dolphin Harbor Inn—on the eastern end of Islamorada. En route, with him driving, Joe provided Melissa with additional good news, broadening her already bubbling smile.
    “A truck belonging to one of the dead guys was found a few miles from here, in the parking lot of Ben and Dave’s Marina,” Joe informed. “We assume they were going to load this truck with the marijuana they had on board the boat.
    “So, as of right now, there isn’t even the slightest of lingering doubts about any illegal involvement on your part.
    “The Monroe County detective told me that he hopes you