“While she was stealing for you, for us. I can’t believe this. Nick, help me out here.”

Nick shrugged and raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “I’m just a college boy and right now I’d love to be back on campus. What am I doing here?”

“Thanks for nothing,” Bruce shot back.

“Don’t mention it.”

Lindsey, eager to control the narrative, said, “We are not implicated because we committed no crime, and nothing we did in Kentucky can be traced to us. As I promised you up front, we are very careful and we know what we’re doing. Brittany was handled in a proper fashion and she simply missed a surveillance camera.”

“So let’s blame her for getting herself killed,” Bruce said.

“If she had noticed the camera she would probably be alive.”

“I’m not believing this.” Bruce was standing in the window, peering through the blinds, talking over his shoulder.

Nick cleared his throat and asked, “Is her death being investigated?”

“Yes, sort of. There was an autopsy but I don’t know the results. If they find traces of club drugs they’ll know they’ve got a problem.”

“Club drugs?” Bruce asked.

Nick said, “Roofies, GHB, Ecstasy, Special K, the usual date rape stuff.”

“Jumper says there’s a rumor that a witness saw her outside the bar with a stranger. Who knows? It’s hard to have confidence in the local boys in rural Kentucky.”

Nick said, “Well, we got the Florida State Police on the ball and they haven’t made it halfway to first base.”

“We had nothing to do with Brittany’s death,” Lindsey said defensively.

“You keep saying that,” Bruce said, still talking to the blinds. “Who are you trying to convince?”

“You know, Bruce, I’m a bit perplexed by your tone and attitude. We are in a gray area here and that’s often where we are forced to go. Need I remind you of where you were three years ago when our company first met you? The stolen manuscripts? You were so far out of bounds you weren’t even near a gray area.”

“What happened three years ago?” Nick asked.

“None of your business,” Bruce snapped.

“Just thought I’d ask.”

Bruce suddenly turned around and took a few steps toward Lindsey. He glared at her, pointed a finger, said, “Your company is fired as of now. Close the file and keep the change. Don’t lift another finger on behalf of me or the estate of Nelson Kerr. Send me a termination letter.”

“Come on, Bruce.”

“Let’s go, Nick.” Nick jumped to his feet and followed Bruce through the door. Lindsey Wheat kept her cool and took another sip of coffee.

4.

Nothing was said as they drove the seven minutes to their hotel. Nothing was said as they entered it and walked through the lobby and went straight to the bar. Both ordered coffee, though both really wanted a drink. Nick managed to keep quiet and knew that Bruce should speak first.

When the coffee arrived, both ignored it. Finally, Bruce rubbed his eyes and said, “You think I’m wrong?”

“No. There’s something about her I don’t like and I’m not sure she would ever tell the whole story.”

“We don’t need her anymore, Nick. That’s one reason I walked out. We know the name of the company, the name of their secret drug, and the informant has made contact with me. We never told Miss Lindsey about the secret messages. We debated that and thankfully we didn’t say anything. She’d probably screw it up or get someone else killed. Probably me. They almost got Mercer hurt three years ago.”

“Then why’d you hire them?”

“Because they’re good. They found the drug, Nick. Who else could have done that? The Florida State Police? The yokels in Kentucky? Not even the FBI, because they have to play by the rules.”

“Are you going to tell me the story?”

“I’ll tell you part of the story and if you ever breathe a word I’ll take away your employee discount.”

“It’s only twenty percent. At Barnes and Noble it’s forty.”

“I can’t do this over coffee. I need a drink.”

“Me too.”

Bruce walked to the bar and brought back two beers. He took a mighty gulp and smacked his lips. “You remember when the Fitzgerald manuscripts were stolen from Princeton, about four years ago?”

“Sure. Big story. Somebody paid a ransom and the thieves returned the manuscripts.”

“Something like that. The stolen loot was on Camino Island. It’s a long story.”

“For this, I have all the time in the world.”

5.

In the normal scheme of things, Camino Island came to life each year in the middle of March when students on spring break headed in droves to Florida. They took over the beach hotels and condos and summer rentals, and they drank and danced and frolicked on the beaches because they were nineteen years old and weary from the rigors of study. Daddy could afford it. Daddy was told it was simply part of the entire college experience. And Daddy himself had probably been drunk and sunburned for an entire week back in the day.

But the island was still wounded, so the parties went farther south. A few hotels had reopened but there was construction everywhere. The last thing the recovery needed was twenty-five thousand young idiots loose in the streets. Quietly, the island advertised that it was not yet open for business. Come back next year and we’ll be ready.