“I’m June Kessler,” she said, setting her canvas tote bag on the deck tile.

“This is my husband, Walt.

He brings drinks that taste like sweet melon, but he refuses to tell me what’s in them.”

Walt set the blue paper cup on my side table and rattled the ice cubes in his water glass before he spoke.

“It has three spoons of sugar in it, June.

That’s all you need to know.”

I looked down at the bright red cherry floating on top of the crushed ice.

“I’m Claire Whitman.”