A Murder in Mohair by Anne Canadeo

toy. “Oh . . . the usual stuff. She did see a tall man in my life,” Lucy said, embellishing a bit. “Do you think she means you?”
    She laughed at his reaction. “It better be. . . . What did she say about this tall, handsome guy?”
    â€œShe just said tall,” Lucy corrected. “But a suitable match, I think.”
    â€œYou think? You don’t remember?” Matt was acting mildly insulted but she knew he was just teasing her.
    â€œYes, definitely suitable. I guess she said a few more nice things about the tall man, too,” she added for good measure.
    She picked up the other half of the sandwich; definitely a winning recipe, though she doubted she could ever reproduce the combination.
    â€œThis is good. . . . I don’t even know what I put in here.”
    â€œDon’t try to change the subject. What else did she say?”
    Lucy wondered now how much she should tell Matt. Was this a good time to initiate that “No pressure . . . but what’s up with our relationship, pal?” conversation that Suzanne had been encouraging?
    Lucy wasn’t sure. As good a time as any, she supposed.
    â€œLet’s see . . . first she told me I was a queen. Creative and dreamy.”
    â€œAnd beautiful,” he added quickly.
    â€œShe did say that. I didn’t want to brag.” Lucy smiled at him, sipping a cold beer. “But she also said I was Hermit. Or even an upside-down hanging man . . . Or maybe you are? The tall, handsome man in my life, I mean. Hanging upside down.”
    Her explanation trailed off, treading in tricky territory now, she realized.
    Matt glanced at her, still smiling, but his eyes squinting a bit with unease. “A Hermit? Or an upside man?”
    Lucy nodded and took a breath. She said there’s a question in our relationship. A challenge that needs to be resolved. Regarding our future. Our commitment? The words formed in Lucy’s head, but she couldn’t quite get them out. Tink had licked every possible tasty morsel from her toy and stuck her nose in Lucy’s paper plate, investigating new possibilities.
    Lucy snatched it away, but not before a pile of pita chips spilled over and the dogs both descended, like hungry gulls.
    â€œOh, dear . . . chips are bad, dogs. . . .”
    Matt laughed. “Too late now. It won’t hurt them.”
    True enough. She sighed, as big sandy paws tramped around the blanket and Matt’s cell phone rang insistently as well.
    He checked the number. “It’s Claire,” he said, mentioning his ex-wife. “I’d better take this. She was trying to reach me all day.”
    â€œNothing wrong with Dara, I hope?”
    Matt had an adorable nine-year-old daughter. Lucy had worried at first how Dara would feel about sharing her father. But she and Dara got along wonderfully, mainly because some part of Lucy had remained perennially ten years old. Everybody knew it. She loved to play kick ball, do crafts, bake cookies, and watch Harry Potter and Disney movies.
    â€œNo big deal. We still didn’t sort out the camp thing and vacation time. I’d better talk to her.”
    Matt picked up the call and Lucy picked up the mess. The tide was going out very quickly now. Small tide pools reflected the fading sunlight and little children waded in the puddles, some trying to catch tiny crabs and fish trapped there. Lucy loved the beach at this time of night.
    But the biting flies soon arrived. They loved dusk on the shoreline, too. Before too long, she and Matt ended up running to Matt’s truck, blanket, basket, and dogs in tow.
    When they got home, Matt had to call his ex-wife back and talk about Dara’s summer plans in more detail. Lucy decided to take the dogs out since they’d missed a walk on the beach.
    She wanted the exercise, too, feeling a little frustrated that she’d missed a good moment