“Sorry, ma’am,” the bouncer said. He held the door for Claire and she walked through, with Henry following her.

Claire had been telling the truth. She had been to the Dancin’ Bare before. But that had been five years ago, when she’d been the only woman at Greg Fremont’s bachelor party. They’d gone to two other clubs before this one, and two more after it, and her memory got a little hazy. But now she remembered this place. Three stages. A full bar. Dim lighting. An aroma like a frat boy’s armpit. She looked around at the orange and black streamers that twisted overhead and the orange and black balloons that bounced against the ceiling, vibrating to the dance music blasting over the club speakers. One balloon popped and dropped, unnoticed, into the crowd. Claire couldn’t even see the strippers. There were too many people standing between the door and the stages. The clientele was mostly male, but there were women, too. Everyone was in costume. There were a lot of bees, Claire noticed, and a shirtless Easter Bunny dirty dancing with what appeared to be a sexy pirate wench ghost. Henry took her hand—Henry almost never took her hand—and held her fingers tight as he led her through the mingled devils, aliens, ninjas, cowboys, and superheroes. They found Leo Reynolds nursing a drink at a table in front of the third stage, where a dancer in a witch hat and nothing else was writhing around a brass pole that looked like it needed cleaning.

Leo glanced up at them blearily.

There were no empty chairs, but Henry whispered something to a zombie sitting nearby and he stood up quickly and left. Henry pulled the chair over and gestured for Claire to sit.

There was a time when Claire would have refused such an act of chivalry as sexist, but she now took the chair and sat down gratefully. Henry put his palms on the table and leaned over Leo. Claire had seen that move before. It was intended to intimidate. But Leo didn’t look all that shaken. Leo lifted his glass, toasted each of them, and then drank.

“We just got done searching the island,” Henry shouted at him over the music.

Leo Reynolds was a handsome guy—there was no denying it. But Claire had never understood why Archie hadn’t done more to warn Susan off him. The guy was waist-deep in his father’s business.

“I got a few messages about that,” Leo shouted back. “I told Jack it wouldn’t work. I knew Archie wouldn’t bury that footage.”

Claire perked up, not sure she’d heard right. Bury the footage? But Henry gave her an I’ll-explain-later look and she settled back in her chair. She knew she was probably supposed to be playing good cop or bad cop or something, but she could barely hear and she had to pee.