“Let me call you an Uber, ’kay, love?”

The bartender’s voice sounded far away. My head swiveled toward it but I couldn’t find her.

“On it,” said my new friend, and took out his phone. I tried to focus on his thumb skating across the surface of the screen. That, too, was a blur.

“We have a protocol for this.” The bartender again. A phone rang somewhere in the pub, the landline kind. “I have to be the one to do it, nothing against you, yeah? It’s the rules.”

“Oh yeah, of course. What a sad thing, needing to have a rule like that. I’ll wait with her. Is that okay? If I just wait with her outside?”

“She’ll need to stay with me,” the bartender said, and I thought, They’re talking about me like I’m not even here. “I’m sorry, rules are rules—O’Dwyer’s, hello? Hello? Ah, shite.” She turned her attention from the phone behind the bar to the women she’d filled with cocktails. One of them was vomiting onto the floor.

“No worries, I see it, it’s here.” His voice was close to my ear. I tried to speak but my lips wouldn’t cooperate. Quickly, he steered me toward the door. The wet fall air was a smack in the face, but I still couldn’t get the words out. Sand filled every crevice of my brain. Then, suddenly, I wasn’t in the bar anymore. I was nowhere.

And I knew I’d found Bram.

TWENTY-ONE

Drinks in the parlor, everyone!”

Philip Norton’s voice rang out through the hall, and all at once they were on the move. Bebe, Flynn, Miles, and Jade made for the staircase. Ned snaked an arm around Abella’s waist and they followed reluctantly, like they suspected what was happening was outrageous but didn’t know how to resist.

I raised my hands. “Whoa, where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“To dress for dinner,” said Bebe, as if it was the stupidest question on earth. Abella, in her bloody pajamas, went crimson. The skin under her eyes was marbled with veins.

Cocktail hour. The thought of it pulled my mouth into a grim line. With tensions high, the last thing we needed was to introduce alcohol into the mix. The circumstances surrounding this island-bound case were unorthodox, sure, but no way would I consider allowing a group of sketchy witnesses to have a few rounds. I didn’t like the idea of them scattering either.

I glanced at Tim and felt my nerves go taut. What happens next decides it. If he was the investigator I thought he was, he’d agree with me on both counts. Tim would back my decision completely.

In response, my associate adjusted his belt and made a noncommittal sound with his teeth.

“We need you to stay in the parlor,” I said. “No one’s changing. Nobody’s having a drink.”

“No drinks?” Bebe’s expression was halfway manic.

“A change of clothes and a glass of scotch. We’re talking basic human needs, here,” said Flynn. “What’s wrong, detective? You worried I’ve got a knife under my mattress?”