one, Mike.”
“You need to hang in there. They’ll catch that couple soon. They’re watching the roads, the airports, train stations…and boats.”
“You know how big the damn coastline is, Mike?” Keith asked.
“Yes, I’m aware of the length of the coastline.”
“I don’t think that catching them is going to solve the entire problem,” Keith said.
“It needs to happen.”
“Yes, but, Mike, they can’t be pulling this off alone.”
“You don’t think they’ll squeal once they’re caught?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Mike, you need to get the right people following the financial trail. Someone in the area is making the arrangements to take the yachts, and refurbish and camouflage them.”
“We’ve been looking into every boat shop in south Florida.”
“Start looking at people.”
“Want to give me names?”
He did.
“What makes you certain any one of these people is involved?”
“Because I believe there was a skull on the island when we arrived. And I believe that someone who was there that weekend managed to remove it.”
Mike was silent for a moment then he said, “You know, we’re not really trying to catch pirates,” he reminded Keith. “There are other people who do that. Our job is to find La Doña.”
“I swear it’s involved somehow.”
“You know you gave me the names of your co-workers, right?” Mike asked casually.
“Hey, you’re the one who said you don’t trust anyone,” Keith said. “I don’t have the resources to find out who’s invested where. You do.”
“I’m not an idiot, Keith. I’ve already spoken to the FBI. They’ve been working on the money angle. Thing is, people don’t usually write down their ill-gotten gains on their tax returns.”
“There’s got to be a connection to some kind of boat shop somewhere.”
“They’re on it, Keith. What’s your plan now?”
“First, can you get me a list of students and investors in the old Monoco dance studios?”
“Yes.”
“I’m heading to the Keys. Islamorada. I’m going to hang around a few bars, see who knew Victor Thompson, try to find out what he was doing.”
“The police have questioned at least fifty people.”
“The police can’t go down and hang out at a bar as well as I can,” Keith said with a little smile.
A moment later he hung up. He hesitated, played with the thought of trying to reach Beth, then discarded the notion. She would just hang up on him, if he was even able to reach her. Of course, if she said hello and answered her phone, he would at least know she was all right. Still, he decided to call Ashley at work instead. She assured him that everything was all right: Amber was in school, Beth was well. There had been no more incidents. “Will we see you soon?” she asked.
“Of course. No news on Sandy and Brad?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re sure Beth is fine?”
“Yes, there’s an officer on duty at the club. He calls in on the hour.”
He thanked her and hung up.
MARIA LOPEZ WALKED INTO THE empty dance studio and looked around. A feeling of deep and poignant nostalgia swept through her.
She remembered the old days so clearly.
She could still outdo many a younger dancer, but the truth was, her glory days were over. No matter how hard they fought it, people got older.
Ted hadn’t cared. He had wanted nothing more than retirement. He had always told her to cherish her accomplishments and enjoy life. She did enjoy life. But she had given up so much. Love, a real relationship. She had been too busy when she had been young, too eager to compete. Too determined to hold on to her title—until she had known it was time to bow out, rather than lose. Now she had no children to fill her life. She had traveled, of course. And then she had come back to see Manny at the club. And Manny…
Manny would not shut up about Ted and Molly.
She frowned, thinking she heard a loud voice from the office, and spun around.
Curious, Maria walked in that direction. The staff was gone. Not even the young receptionist was manning her station.
She moved closer to the office door.
And she listened, her eyes widening.
She had wanted to speak with Eduardo about the Summer Sizzler.
No more. She swallowed hard. At first she was afraid. Then she thought again of Ted and Molly and their kindnesses to her through the years, and she grew angry.
IN ANOTHER HOUR, Keith had reached Islamorada. He found the marina where Victor Thompson had kept his boat and run his charters.
The guy had clearly been well liked. At the spot where his boat should have been berthed, there was a cross, and flowers covered the pier and floated in the water nearby. He was standing there when a man walked up to him. “Friend of Victor’s?” he asked.
“Fellow diver, paying my respects,” Keith told him. “You were a friend?”
The man was in his late fifties, with a full head of silvergray hair. Well built and bronzed, he was covered with tattoos and sported a gold skeleton for an earring. “I taught him to dive. I never taught him to go off alone, though,” he said sadly.
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense, an experienced diver like Victor,” Keith said. “Where was he diving when it happened?”
“I didn’t see him the morning he took off, so it’s a mystery to me,” the man said. He pointed toward a building near the docks, with a Keys-style thatched roof and an outside bar. “As far as I know, he didn’t say anything to anyone. But we all hang out up there, at La Isla Bar-A. Some of us are up there now, drinking to Vic. Come join us, buy a round. Man, it’s a sorry thing. I just don’t understand how we lost Vic. It’s a tragedy, and a waste, and I’m angry, I guess.” He shook his head.
Keith thanked him for the information and headed for the bar. “I’ll be up in a minute,” the older man told him. “Name’s John, John Elmer. You can buy me a drink, too.”
“Sure.”
The bar
