I could have sworn I saw Barb draw herself in, which was not like her at all. Normally, she was as open as they come. She said what she thought; she didn’t mince words or beat around the bush. Her answer to every experience and every need was always yes. She chuckled, put a gentle hand on Pouch’s shoulder. “Anyone want something from the kitchen? I’m headed that way.”

Everyone declined. I watched Barb go. She was walking too fast. Not so much heading to the kitchen as fleeing from the living room.

Whip chimed in. “Maybe you should go after Spada. He seems to be the guy with all the juice.”

“He’s clean, at least on paper,” I said. “Maybe he has no idea Darby’s been squatting on his boat. Darby could be running some kind of side game. He is a con man, after all.”

“Or maybe he’s just an innocent boat sitter, like the guy said. Like a house sitter, only on water?” Pouch chimed in. “I was thinking of doing something like that, but, well, I got kind of a record.”

Whip balked. “Kind of? You were in the joint, same as me. You have a bona fide, black-and-white record, with an ugly mug shot to prove it.”

“Point is,” Pouch said, “they don’t usually give gigs like that to guys like me . . . or him. They’re scared we’ll make off with the whole shebang.”

I turned to Pouch and Whip. “Then how’d Darby get so lucky?”

Pouch and Whip shrugged. Neither had an answer. Ben walked back into the room, sliding his phone back into his pocket. Pouch grimaced, whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Can it about the record, bro, not in front of the H-E-A-T.”

“Well?” I asked.

“First things first. Do we have an ETA on that pizza? I’m starving.” He drew his phone out again. “I’m calling them.”

“Nuh-uh,” I said. “Info first, then pizza.”

Ben grinned. “Yep, that’s the partner I remember.”

Barb eased back into the room; I watched her every step. She was empty-handed.

“The car is registered to a company called Fleet Transports, so it could have been anybody inside.”

“Not anybody,” I said. “Somebody connected to Tim Ayers. Somebody worried about what I’m doing. The name could fit with what I saw of the decal in back. It was white with, like, a winged foot.”

Whip suddenly found nonexistent lint on his shirt, which he began to pick at. I watched as he paid it more attention than it needed, then slowly rose and padded into the kitchen. Why was everyone suddenly finding my kitchen the place to be? Like with Barb, I tracked his exit.

“Whip?” I called after him, but he didn’t stop.

“Yeah, back in a minute. Need some water.”