Cleo came to the end. “That’s it.” She hastily stowed the camera away, relieved that the ordeal was over. “I have to get going.”

I stood there, my mind still on the problem. “Thanks, Cleo. I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do, but if anyone asks, I never saw you today.”

I smiled absently. “How could you have? I was never here.”

She nodded, got into the van, and sped away, leaving me standing in the middle of the lot with wheels turning in my head. I went back to the car, started it, and moved it across the lot behind a stand of bushes, though at this vantage point I still had a full view of the front of the marina office.

“What’re we doing?” Barb asked as I peered out of the windshield, barely blinking.

“Shhh. Working. Explain later.”

It didn’t take long. No more than fifteen minutes later, I watched as Eldon Reese climbed down off his boat and made his way to the office. When Cap met him at the door, the two of them started talking, the conversation becoming quite animated after a time. Something was up. When they disappeared inside, I started the car, dug my phone out of my pocket, and made a call.

“Who’d you call the police on?” Barb asked when I hung up.

“A slippery old coot with a secret room,” I said.

Barb turned to me “A what?”

I kept my eyes on the door. “Shhh.”

When the unmarked car slid into the lot a few minutes later, I had a quick talk with the tact officers, pointed them toward Cap, and then left them to it.

Six, not seven.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

“I know I can count to seven,” I said.

The dubious look Barb gave me was a little annoying. “You could have miscounted.”

“To seven? I don’t think so.”

We were sitting in my living room that evening, along with Ben and Whip, and, strangely enough, also Pouch, a semi-reformed pickpocket that Whip was trying to retrain to be a law-abiding citizen. Pouch was a funny-looking little guy, about four eleven, fiftyish, bald, pudgy, white, but with the long, delicate fingers of a classical violinist. Pouch always dressed monochro-matically, but also always wore a fanny pack around his round middle, hence the nickname. Today’s color was navy blue, and even his suede shoes matched. It was his homage to Elvis.

I’d taken Mrs. Vincent’s advice. These were my people and I was letting them in, using them to run through my case, troubleshooting it. I wasn’t sure yet about Pouch. It usually took me a while to warm to people. Mrs. Vincent wasn’t here. She had a thing at her church, but everybody else was accounted for. It was dinnertime, a little after six. The pizza was on its way.