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Just when I thought I had everything tied up in a neat little package, I remembered the flipper prints in the sand. I didn’t yet have an explanation for those—or the mysterious trespasser. Who was the frogman I’d spotted on Bom’s beach and followed out to his boat? And what the hell had he been up to, swimming back and forth to a boat with its running lights turned off?

The whole business brought to mind one of my dear old dad’s adages: Cookie, anyone who’s got to operate in the dark is probably up to no good.

Then there was Jacques Papas and his suspicious ten percent deal. Did Papas know about David’s allergy? He’d been at the Fourth of July party. And he’d given David a ride home. And I couldn’t forget Marjorie Bright lurking in the trees and at Bom’s party. I still remembered her less than “neighborly” tone. If anyone had a death wish for David, it was the acid Ms. Bright. But how would she have known about David’s allergy? As my head began to spin, I realized Mike Quinn was right. Rich men definitely made more enemies than waiters.

I sighed. Well, I thought to myself, at least I know one thing for certain…“Someone tried to kill David tonight.”

“What!” said Matt.

I squeezed my eyes shut. It was late and I was tired. I’d let my guard down and muttered the last dregs of my thoughts. Or…maybe it was just Freudian. Maybe I was feeling tired and alone, and I wanted Matt to help me. Either way, I knew I was stuck now. Or so I told myself. I had to spill everything to Matteo, and I did, recounting the shooting of Treat Mazzelli, the frogman footprints, the sighting of an actual frogman outside Bom’s home earlier in the evening, my suspicions about Alberta Gurt and her nephew, Jacques Papas, and Marjorie Bright.

Matt’s initial response was understandable. “And you let my daughter and mother stay in that house!”

You try moving them,” I cried, throwing up my hands and nearly knocking Matt’s large suit-coat from my shoulders. “The two of them, together and individually—they’re nearly as stubborn, pigheaded, and apparently amoral as you are.”

“Get a grip, Clare.”

“You get a grip. Okay, maybe the amoral snipe was out of line—but only for them. Anyway, I’m the only one who believes David is in danger. And your mother. Madame sees the danger, too—”

“You dragged my mother into your little thrill ride?”

“It’s not a thrill ride, Matt.”

“Are you sure about that? You’re talking to a guy who was hooked on cocaine for years! Clare, a drug impairs your judgment. And this playing detective is obviously getting out of hand with you. It’s a thrill ride all right. It’s your drug and I’m starting to think it’s also your obsession!”

“It’s not a drug. It’s not a thrill ride. And it’s certainly not my obsession! It’s a matter of life and death is what it is! I didn’t ask for this to happen, but it did. Now we’re talking about David’s life. You saw for yourself what happened to him tonight.”

Matt shook his head. “And I can’t believe you’re involving my mother again.”

“Your mother’s staying at David’s. She was in the middle of everything as it unfolded.” I shrugged. “She couldn’t be held back. You know how she gets.”

Matteo had nothing to say about his mother because he knew her even better than me. However, he did zero in on a bulls eye of another sort—

“I’m guessing David doesn’t see things your way, does he?”

“Nobody sees things my way,” I replied. “Not the police, and certainly not David, who’s worse than anyone. David’s in denial, though he may not have that luxury much longer given tonight’s close call.”

Matt drove on in silence while he considered my dilemma, the road’s hum filling the void. We were almost in sight of David’s mansion when Matteo finally spoke again.

“So what are you going to do now?”

I was surprised. For once my ex-husband’s voice lacked its usual accusatory tone.

“I’m going to stick around and do what I can to prevent any harm from coming to David,” I replied frankly. “Not to mention our daughter and your mother, both of whom are too stubborn to leave the mansion. And I’m going to find out who’s trying to kill him and reveal the assassin’s identity to the police, if that’s possible.”

Matt swerved into David’s driveway and rolled the Mercedes up to the house. The guard waved us forward, nodding his head in greeting. Matt parked the Mercedes behind my Honda and faced me.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the chirp of Matt’s cell phone filled the car. I realized after a moment that the cell was in the pocket of the jacket I still wore around my shoulders. I fumbled around in the pockets until I found the phone, handed it to Matt. The cell stopped ringing as he took it from my hand.

Matteo slipped the phone into his shirt pocket and waited for my answer. The cell phone beeped three times. Three missed messages, all from Ms. Summour, no doubt.

I slipped the jacket off my shoulders and popped the door.

“Thanks for vouching for me at Bom’s party, and for helping me get David to the hospital…I owe you, Matt—”

“Clare!”

“You better get back now. Hurry. Bree is waiting.”

Sixteen

Another day in paradise.

The next morning came all too soon. The sun broke through my windows with more brightness than I could handle, and my clean canvas of forgetfulness, that momentary innocence at early awakening, was quickly splattered with black recollections of the days before.

Skipping my usual morning swim, I rose and showered fast, deciding the one good thing I could say about the horrendousness of the last evening was that I’d found my daughter home safe and sound when I finally dragged myself upstairs. After looking into her room and finding her sleeping peacefully, I knew I’d be able to do the same.

My mother-in-law, however, was another matter. She’d gone missing. I’d found her room empty, her bedcovers unmolested, but I’d panicked for only a few minutes. Her message on the cell phone, which I’d left in my handbag, explained it all—

“Clare, dear, just letting you know, I’m spending the night at…” Her voice lowered, “…a friend’s. I did receive your earlier message, the one about Graydon Faas. I’ll ask around about that young man as well as Bom Felloes, and see what I can find out for you. I’ll see you tomorrow, dear. Good night!”

I was still shaking my head over Madame’s message as I blew my hair dry. She was spending the night at…“a friend’s”? Her attempt to be discreet was almost laughable, I thought as I pulled on jeans and a yellow vee-neck tee-shirt. I mean, really. That’s one mystery I won’t need help solving.

After slipping into a pair of leather sandals and grabbing my handbag, I headed for the quiet kitchen. By rote, I prepared a doppio espresso and drank it down, savoring the crema (the rich caramel-colored layer that defines a properly drawn espresso). Fortified for the day ahead, I climbed into my Honda in the mansion’s driveway. I tossed a wave at the security guard on duty, a new one since the night before, then drove off the mansion’s grounds, down the country lane and towards the main road. My destination was west of Southampton on Montauk Highway—

Hampton Bays, NY.

The words were practically burned into my brain. They were the exact words that had been painted on the bow of Rabbit Run, the boat I’d seen floating offshore near Bom Felloes’s mansion. The name and location of that boat were the only clues I had to finding my frogman, and, before I reported for work today, I hoped to locate the boat and its owner.

David’s Suffolk County phone book listed eight marinas in Hampton Bays. I tore out a page and took it with me on my drive, determined to check as many marinas as I could in the time I had.