“But you’d know more about that than I would.” She wiped her hands on the towel, folded it neatly, and then placed it on the counter. “Two more things, unrelated to me being a killer. One, you’re going to rent that apartment downstairs. It’s been vacant too long. Two, the letters from your daddy have been piling up in that bowl in the foyer for weeks now. You haven’t opened a one. You’re going to open those letters and read them, and then you’re going to come to some kind of peace with that man.”

I sighed. “I’ve nothing to say to him.”

“Your brain’s working, isn’t it? You’re a college graduate? You’ll think of something. Now I’m going on home. Tonight’s Dancing with the Stars.” She eyed me closely. “Is there anything else I need to set straight?”

I swallowed hard. “No, ma’am, I think this about covers everything.”

She reached out and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good, then. Make sure that back door’s locked. See? Looking out for folks goes two ways.”

She padded out of the kitchen. I listened as she flicked off the television and gathered up her things. When I heard the front door open and close, I breathed easy. I’d just been schooled by a master. I went back to the beans, vowing never to get on Mrs. Vincent’s bad side.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I woke in a dark room, reaching for the ringing phone. It was four in the morning. “H’lo?”

“You have to get down there. The marina. I didn’t do it. Whatever they tell you, the cops, it wasn’t me.”

The words spilled out in a rush, one crashing over the other, and my brain, still foggy from sleep, only deciphered half of them. I made out that it was Jung, though. He sounded frantic, talking a mile a minute. I bolted up in bed, flicked the lamp on. “Jung? What are you talking about? Didn’t do what?”

“I was there, but I didn’t do it. I’ll explain later, but right now you have to get down to Tim’s boat. It’s swarming with cops. But it wasn’t me, just remember that.”

I tumbled out of bed. The line went dead. I checked caller ID, but the number he’d called from was scrambled; the ID simply read, UNKNOWN. He was obviously no longer using Bucky’s loaner phone. I raced around my room, grabbing up clothes, shoes. My bedroom door slowly opened, Barb peeking her head in, wild red hair mashed from the pillow, green eyes rimmed with red from too much travel, too little sleep.

“What’s going on? Who died?”