Tool started at a top corner of the patch and peeled carefully downward, as if removing a decal. "They'll bring you more," he assured Maureen. "Tell 'em it come off while you was in the bath."
"I don't have a tub, young man. They bathe me with a sponge."
"In bed? Don't that make a mess?"
Maureen said, "I miss my privacy, I really do."
After Tool was done, she rolled over to look at him again. "I'm eighty-one years old, but I feel like a hundred and ten. Please tell me your name."
"Earl." Tool scarcely recognized his own voice. Nobody left on earth called him Earl.
"Is your mother still alive?" Maureen asked.
"Nope. Not my daddy, neither."
"I'm sorry, Earl. I hope it wasn't cancer."
"That's what you got?"
Maureen nodded. "But some days I feel pretty chipper. Some days I surprise myself."
Tool stared at the flesh-colored patch in his hand, thinking: Why couldn't she have been asleep? Or at least a veggie?
"No, you keep that," Maureen said, patting him on the arm. "I want you to feel better."
" 'Predate it."
He was three steps toward the door when he heard: "Earl, could you pop in and visit me again sometime?"
Tool stopped and turned. "Ma'am, I… I don't really work here." "Oh, I know." Her blue eyes were dancing. "What do I look like, some sort of nitwit?"
Rolvaag was working on his resignation package when Captain Gallo came over and said, "Tomorrow's the last day you waste on Perrone."
"Yes, I remember," Rolvaag said.
"Reason I mention it, I got a call from the man."
"No kidding."
Gallo always referred to the sheriff as "the man."
"He asked what you were doing up in LaBelle yesterday, and I didn't have a real swift comeback," Gallo said, "seeing as how I've been in Florida thirty fuckin' years and never had a reason to go there."
Rolvaag explained that he'd been tracking a lead in the cruise ship case.
"And that took you to the office of Mr. Samuel Johnson Hammer-nut," Gallo said. "I hope you know who he is."
"A farmer," the detective said.
"No, a millionaire CEO farmer with heavyweight clout. Soon as you leave, Hammernut calls his asshole buddy, the sheriff of Hendry County, who right away calls the sheriff of Broward County-that would be my boss and yours-and wants to know who the hell's this Karl Rolvaag? Next thing I know, I get a call asking how come you're hassling a fine upstanding citizen like Red Hammernut?" Gallo spread his arms as if awaiting crucifixion. "And what is my response, Karl, besides stuttering like some sort of mental defective? What can I possibly say to the man?"
Rolvaag capped his pen and sat back. "It's interesting that Hammernut would react that way. Don't you think?"
"Are you dicking with me, Karl?"
"No, sir. I'm only trying to finish my resignation papers."
Gallo said, "Aw, knock it off."
"I'm serious about the job in Minnesota."
"Yeah, whatever," the captain said. "Just tell me how a rich Cracker like Hammernut could possibly fit into your case-and I use the word loosely."
Rolvaag informed Gallo about the man staking out Perrone's house. "He used one of Hammernut's credit cards to rent the minivan."
"And that's all?"
"So far. But it's strange, you've got to admit. Why would anyone be tailing a recently widowed man?"
"Karl, we can't go to a grand jury with strange. The whole damn human race is strange," Gallo said. "You and your choice of roommates, for example. Some people would say that's slightly shy of normal."
Rolvaag said, "Lots of folks keep pet snakes."
"I'll explain to the man it was just a dry hole, your road trip to LaBelle."
"Okay. If it'll make your life easier."
"What about you? And don't give me any more horseshit about moving back north," Gallo said. "Just tell me what you want, Karl. A raise? Weekends off? I can't promise anything, but sometimes miracles do happen."
The detective said, "I think Mr. Perrone pushed his wife off that ship. I probably can't prove it in the short time before I leave here, but that's what I believe. Could you give me a couple more days to work the case?"
What bothered Rolvaag the most were the broken fingernails that he'd found in that bale of grass. He couldn't stop thinking of Joey Perrone, desperate and terrified, trying to hang on in the waves, all the while pondering the dreadful thing that her husband had done; hanging on in the chill and the darkness until finally her arms went numb and she slipped into the sea.
"No way," Gallo was saying. "Sorry, Karl, I'm pulling the plug."
"Suppose I came up with the motive."
"In the next, what, twenty-four hours?"
"You betcha."
"Then I'd have to reconsider. Sure I would," Gallo said. "But it'd better be fucking brilliant."
"Maybe I'll get lucky." Rolvaag sounded far more confident than he felt, having no theory, no hunch, not even a wild guess as to why Chaz Perrone had so casually murdered his wife.
The generator broke down before Stranahan could start breakfast. He was still working on it when Joey Perrone awoke and came outside.
"The joys of island living," she said.
"Old Neil was right. Rust never sleeps."
Stranahan was wearing cutoff jeans and no shirt; dripping sweat, grease smeared like war paint on his face and chest. Joey asked if he wanted some help, and he said what he really needed was dynamite.
"That bad, huh?"
"I'll fix it eventually," he said, twirling a mallet. "In the meantime there are some delectable bran flakes in the cupboard."
Joey asked to borrow his cellular. He pointed to the boat, where the phone was recharging on the battery plug, and went back to banging on the generator. Twenty minutes later, Joey returned with a pitcher of tea and a bowl of fruit from the kitchen. They walked down to the dock and sat down, Joey tickling the water with her toes. Strom blinked at them from the shade of his favorite palm.
"I'm getting worried about using my credit card," Joey said.
Stranahan assured her that American Express didn't know that she was missing, and didn't care as long as the payments got made. "They don't read the newspapers. Unless somebody calls up and cancels the card, it stays active," he explained.
"The balance is automatically deducted from a private money-market account, but the monthly statement is mailed to the house. What if Chaz gets nosy?"
"Another reason we should work fast," said Stranahan, "before the billing cycle ends. He'll probably just toss the statement into the trash, but if he opens it, then we've got a problem. He'll see that you're continuing to spend money."
"Yeah. Neat trick for a corpse." Joey turned her face upward and squeezed her eyes closed. "The sun still hurts."
"It hasn't even been a week. Next time we go to the mainland, we'll find you some cool shades."
She said, "I dreamed about Chaz again last night."
"Killing him?"
"Worse." Joey rolled her eyes. "Can you believe it, Mick? Even after what he's done, I'm still having sex with the guy in my sleep."
"It's emotional withdrawal, that's all. Like when you try to kick caffeine, suddenly the whole damn world smells like Folger's."
Joey worked her lower lip. "Maybe I actually loved that creep up until the end. Maybe it was more than physical, and I can't admit it."
Stranahan shrugged. "Don't look at me, I'm the crown prince of dysfunctional. What's important is figuring out how you feel about him here and now, before we make another move."