LITMIR.BIZ

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leaned forward. “It doesn’t sound like the Monocos to me,” she said.

      He arched a brow. “You knew them?”

      “No, but...they were—or are—nice people, right?”

      “The best,” Manny agreed.

      “Then it doesn’t seem right.”

      “No, it does not seem right. But it is...what is.” He stood and stretched. He was a man of about five-nine, compact and wiry, his features weathered. He set a hand on her head. “You’re a sweet person. Kind to worry, but don’t. It will do nothing but frustrate you, I promise.”

      But they were your friends, she longed to remind him. She managed not to say anything, in the interest of remaining employed.

      She nodded, then, on a whim, asked, “Manny, have you ever met a man named Keith Henson?”

      He frowned. “I do seem to recognize the name. In what context, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever met him, but the name rings a bell.” She waited, he frowned. After a minute, he shook his head again.

      “How about Lee Gomez?”

      “Hey...this is Miami. I know dozens of Gomezes.”

      “But a Lee?”

      Again he shook his head.

      “Matt Albright?”

      “No...can’t say I know that name.”

      “How about Sandy Allison or Brad Shaw?”

      He stared at her, frowning and took a puff of his cigar. “What is this today, Beth? Twenty Questions? All these names? There are three million people living here.”

      She flushed. “They’re just people we met on the island.”

      “Honey, people have been going to that island for centuries. Lots of them. From all over.”

      “I know. But the name Keith Henson rings some kind of bell?”

      “Yeah. But I don’t know what.”

      “Thanks, Manny,” she murmured. “Sorry for bugging you.”

      “I have to go, big date this afternoon,” he said. She had always thought of him as a dapper man, rather an old-fashioned word, but one that fit him. He inclined his head toward her. “Thank you for the lovely company, Beth. See you later.”

      “Oh, Manny, I’m sorry. One more question. A man named Eduardo Shea bought the studios from the Monocos. Do you know him?”

      “Sure.”

      “Is he...a nice guy?”

      “Thinking of salsa lessons?”

      “Maybe. Mostly I’m planning something for the club.”

      “The studios are doing well under his ownership, I have heard. He’s a decent fellow, a good teacher. Is that what you need to know?”

      “Yes, and thanks for the help.”

      “My pleasure.” He stood, ready to go, then paused. “You are a very nice person, Beth. It’s your job, I know, to be nice to people, but there’s a real kindness behind everything you do. Don’t make life miserable for yourself. Trust me. I don’t know if Ted and Molly are alive or dead. I know that my fears make sense, and that the explanations I hear from the police make sense, as well. I’ve learned that there’s nothing I can do. You should learn from my experiences.”

      “Thanks, Manny,” Beth said. “You’re pretty nice yourself.”

      He winked. “You’re cuter. Have a good day, Beth.”

      He left. Beth waved, then rose. Walking back inside and through the dining room, she noted that Amanda was seated at a table with a group of women. She was wearing a white skirt suit and a broad-brimmed white hat.

      Only she could carry it off, Beth thought, hoping to pass through unnoticed. But Amanda looked up, and Beth groaned inwardly. She was going to be asked about something. Amanda would do her best to make it appear that she wasn’t doing her job.

      But Amanda only stared at her for a long moment, then she turned away, as if she had assessed Beth and dismissed her entirely.

      Beth returned to her office. As she reached it, she hesitated. Her door stood ajar. She could have sworn that she had closed it. A sense of unease raked along her spine. She gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous. A member had simply come up to talk to her, then not closed the door all the way. The commodore had come back, perhaps.

      She smiled, thinking she was really becoming absurd.

      But as she walked into her office, she was convinced that things were...wrong. It seemed that the papers on her desk had been moved slightly. Frowning, she began looking through her things. Nothing seemed to be missing.

      She glanced at her computer.

      It was off.

      Her frown deepened. She hadn’t turned it off.

      A chill shivered through her. And yet...there was nothing really frightening here. Maybe there had been a power surge. Maybe she had hit the off button without realizing it.

      But she never turned it off during the day.

      Still...

      It was broad daylight. There were dozens of members and employees in and around the club. There was absolutely no reason to feel a sense of danger.

      Yet she sat down slowly, the icy hot trickle of fear refusing to abate.

      It remained with her throughout the day, and even followed her into the darkening parking lot when she finally left that night.

      * * *

      Thursday.

      Morning dawned.

      Keith and Matt stood on the aft deck, looking across the water.

      The disreputable vessel belonging to Brad and Sandy remained where she had been at anchor.

      Matt let out a long sigh. “Guess they have no jobs to get back to,” he said.

      “They don’t know what we’re doing,” Keith said with certainty, though their presence had disturbed him, as well. He had explored the area where he thought Brad had dumped something, but he hadn’t found anything. Still, the ocean was huge, and water and sand shifted. He hadn’t known exactly where to look—or what to look for. He was still convinced, however, that Brad had thrown something into the sea.

      Something he hadn’t wanted the Coast Guard to find.

      “I still don’t like it,” Matt said.

      “I don’t like it, either. Frankly, I don’t like anything about the two of them. But as far as what we’re doing goes... Matt, one of us stays on board as lookout, all the time. We can’t stop our work completely just because other people are anchored nearby.”

      “They’ve been anchored nearby for too long,” Matt pointed out.

      “Maybe they’re saying the same thing about us.”

      Matt snapped around, looking at him sharply. “I don’t want to leave,” he murmured.

      “Maybe we should, though. Spend a night among the masses. See if we can pick up any idle gossip, any rumors.”

      Matt stared at him, eyes narrowed, and shook his head. “Keith, I think you’re going off track. I’m upset that Brandon is dead, too. But now you’re convinced that some old couple’s disappearance is somehow connected, but I don’t see how.”

      “They might be dead, too.”

      “Lots of bad things happen. Lots of people die. They’re not all related.”

      “Nope, not all of them. But I don’t think it would hurt to do a little investigating.”

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