“Never mind the boat guy,” I said. “I’m going to ask you three questions, and then you’re going to start this . . . this . . . thing and drive off. Got it?”

Jung opened his mouth to protest, but I waved him quiet. “Three questions, then you’re out.”

I could tell Jung didn’t like it, but, resigned, he nodded once. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Cap in the marina office saw an attractive redhead visit Tim the same day his brother came by to check on him. Do you know who she is?”

Jung’s brows knit together, his thin lips twisted. “No idea.”

“She carried a briefcase, wore a suit.”

Jung shrugged. “Maybe she works for Felton? Tim’s lawyer. Well, he’s actually the Ayers family lawyer, but he handled Tim’s stuff, too. Tim had a lot of papers to sign off on, end-of-life stuff. Maybe she was delivering them, or something? You were on the boat. What’d you find?”

“I found where a lot of money went to die. Exactly how rich are the Ayerses?”

Jung gripped the steering wheel, looked away. “Why’s that important?”

“Because maybe somebody killed Tim thinking they’d get some of it.”

“Money’s a dumb reason to kill a person.”

I let it go. Even Jung couldn’t be that naïve. “How’d you fall in with his crowd, anyway?”

He didn’t answer.

“Jung?”

He fiddled with the binoculars. “Prep school.”

“You went to prep school . . . with Tim Ayers.”

He cleared his throat. “Our families are similar. Mine’s in textiles. But that doesn’t mean I’m an asshole. I mean, look at me. Do I look like an asshole to you?”

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, really taking him in. Jung looked like he’d dressed from a Salvation Army bin. “If you come from money, why the hell are you delivering sandwiches?”

“Because that’s the way I like it, okay? Now that’s all you’re going to think about when you see me . . . the money. That’s all people ever see. You know what they don’t see? They don’t see the hundred little strings that come along with it, all the ‘dos and don’ts’ and ‘better nots.’ I gave it up, so did Tim. He was an artist in a family of pinch-faced tight asses. I’m not an artist, but I’m free to be whatever. My folks are gone, but they left the money behind. Still, I make my own way. I’m proud of that.”

Jung Byson is wealthy. Huh? He was right. From here on out, that would be the first thing I thought when I saw him. I shook my head. What a waste of good money. I thought about Reese. “Would Tim have hired a hooker?”

“A woman?”

I nodded. “Redhead.”

“Not in a million. Not in two million. I told you he was gay.”