Page 21 of Ribbons and Roses

His father tried the same technique many years ago, doing his damnedest to bait me into making rash decisions. Usually it would result in Delphine being disappointed in me.

I might still have a temper, but I’m sharper now. More cognizant of how it could be a weakness.

If Marcel is looking to bait me, he’ll be sorely disappointed.

Unsurprisingly, Ernest is the first person to catch a fish. He tugs on the handle of his fishing rod and reels in a large blue catfish that flops helplessly on the floor of the boat.

“Feast your eyes on this bounty, gentlemen!” he says happily. “Looks like we caught dinner for tonight.”

“That’s a fatty,” Stitches whistles.

“Exactly the kind you want. One of many I’m sure we’ll catch.”

“Hey, Mr. DA,” Stitches says, his head bowed toward his boots. “I think we’re leaking.”

“Leaking? What do you… oh no.”

I turn around to almost immediately spot what Stitches means. Water has started to seep onto the floor, gradually spreading into a puddle.

None of us noticed in the beginning. It was so subtle, it was easy to overlook.

“Damn it!” Ernest exclaims, dropping his fishing rod. “We’ve got to head back.”

“How is this boat leaking?” I ask. “How did this hole appear, and why would the rental company give it to us this way?”

Ernest has rushed over to restart the motor of the bass boat. “Who knows. But it seems it was like this all morning and we’re just now noticing.”

Stitches sighs and shakes his head. “We’ve got to haul ass. This water’s spreading quicker and quicker.”

“It seems we’ve been sabotaged,” Marcel says, then he finally looks right at me, meeting my gaze. “This would be an interesting way for my father and I to go. Fishing trip with some mobsters.”

My mind wipes clean of all the mature thoughts from earlier, where I’d managed self-restraint. I step toward Delphine’s brother with no emotion to be found but the same contempt he’s showing me.

“It would be an interesting way to go, wouldn’t it?” I ask. “Let’s see if you make it back to shore, Marcel.”

“Gents, not now!” Ernest calls, yanking at the motor. “This thing doesn’t want to start.”

“Let me.” Stitches rushes over to help.

Together they get the motor going, a deep rumble erupting. The boat jets off across the water, traversing the lake. It seems we’ve averted a crisis until the motor slowly peters out again. It gives a weak croak and then dies completely.

We’re stranded in the middle of the lake, more water pooling inside the boat.

“Fuck!” I swear. “We’re going to have to swim to shore.”

“Life jackets.” Ernest darts toward the emergency compartment, where he pries out four neon-orange life vests and passes them off. “It’s been years since I’ve swam. Marcel, you can barely doggy paddle. You’ll need one of us to help you.”

“This is a farce,” he spits angrily. “The fact that I’ve been put in this situation.”

“Marcel, just put your life jacket on and we’ll talk about it when we get to shore.”

“I’ll put my life jacket on, but these two are going nowhere near me!”

Ernest shakes his head, his hands quickly fastening his vest. “We’re in this together. No time for grudges. I’m an older man who’s not a strong swimmer. Salvatore and Stitches might need to?—”

“Fuck that!” Marcel growls. “I’ll make it to shore myself.”

“Marcel!”