“Yeah,” Henry said. “Terrific guy. I’ve asked him to be the godfather.”

Claire sniffed the air. “You smell like a cigar bar,” she said.

“It’s all right,” Henry said. “It’s Cuban. What’s the story?”

“There’s nothing,” Claire said. “Landscapers worked all day, cleaning up after the party. They used a leaf blower on the beach. If there was any evidence, it’s gone now. And of course there’s no sign of Gretchen.”

“What about in the house?”

The warrant specified that they were looking for Gretchen Lowell. That meant they could only look for Gretchen Lowell. Anything hinky in plain sight was fair game, but they couldn’t open any drawers that Gretchen couldn’t fit in.

“She’s not hiding in the house,” Claire said. “And your friend didn’t leave a pound of heroin and some cash sitting out.”

Henry looked back at Jack. Jack raised his glass in a toast. Behind him, another pair of cops exited the Tudor. No wonder Jack seemed so relaxed. There was nothing to incriminate him. Was the house always this tidy, or had Sanchez given Jack a heads-up while they were waiting for the warrant to go through?

Claire leaned forward and laid her head against Henry’s shoulder. “I actually like the smell of cigars,” she said.

Jack turned and started walking back toward the house. Henry didn’t know what Jack was up to. He didn’t know what Gretchen was up to. The one person who might be able to help wasn’t there. But if this involved Archie, Henry wasn’t going to rest until he got some answers.

“Want to go to a strip club with me?” Henry asked Claire.

Claire lifted her face to look up at him. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

Chapter 35

CHAPTER

35

It was almost midnight and Archie had untucked his shirt and was sitting on the couch with Ginger, his shoes off and his socked feet on the coffee table. The remnants of his own peanut butter sandwich were on a paper towel in front of him, along with an empty beer bottle, his service revolver, and the bloodstained Band-Aid he’d recently peeled off the crook of his elbow. He was considering having another beer when he heard someone knock.

Archie reached for his gun and followed Ginger to the door.

He expected it to be a cop—maybe someone from the unit Sanchez had stationed out front, or some other member of Sanchez’s team sent to grill Archie again. He just hoped it wasn’t Gary coming back for more pubic hair.

“Who is it?” Archie called through the door.

“It’s me,” Rachel answered.

Archie looked for a place to put his gun down, settled on the mail table, and opened the door.