Killer growled at me from the starboard window as I walked down the dock. I waved to Mr. Winkler, who polished the teak on his boat with a loving hand I was sure his wife envied. He raised his head in acknowledgement and Mrs. Winkler raised her ever-present margarita glass to me. Maybe if she’d put down the tequila, Mr. Winkler would put down the polishing rag. But who was I to judge? Janine had laughed at me when I told her I quit drinking. We’d been fighting like cats and dogs, and I was su...