Finally he said, “Everybody’s got shit to deal with, don’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“You think you’ve got it bad, and then you find out other people got it worse.”

“Yup.”

“How long ago did all this happen?” he asked.

“About five years.”

“So, are you kind of getting over it by now?”

“No.”

“At some point, don’t you have to?”

I smiled at him. “I don’t know that I want to. And even if I did, they come to me. Every night.”

“Like, in your dreams?”

I nodded.

Jeremy drank more Coke, ate a chip. “Where are those books you brought?” he asked.

“They’re in my case. Plus there’s about a thousand books on the shelves here.”

“There’s games, too. Do you like board games?”

“Some,” I said. “After I grill some steaks, you want to play Scrabble or something?”

Jeremy considered that. “I guess. But I’m not very good at it.”

“Well, neither am I. Look, I’ve got a call to make. I might walk down to the beach. You cool here?”

“Sure.”

I got up out of the chair. I already had my phone in my pocket, so I didn’t need to go back into the house. As I was heading for the stairs that led from the deck down to the beach, Jeremy said, “Mr. Weaver?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about your kid. You know, your son. And your wife. What was her name?”

“Donna.”

“Yeah, and her.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I descended the stairs, then took the level boardwalk that traversed the grassy area. Not wanting sand in my shoes, I kicked them off, left them on the boardwalk, and strolled out onto the beach.

I looked up a number, then dialed.

“Finch, Delray and Klein,” a woman said.

“Grant Finch, please.”

“One moment.”

A pause, and then another woman. “Grant Finch’s office.”

“Hi. Is Grant in?”

“Mr. Finch is in a meeting. May I help you?”

The whole world was in a fucking meeting. “My name is Cal Weaver. I’m a private investigator. It’s about Jeremy Pilford. He’s in my protection. I need to speak with Mr. Finch.”

“Just a moment.”

More dead air. Fifteen seconds later, a pickup.

“Mr. Weaver?”

“Mr. Finch, thanks for taking my call.”

“Is everything okay with Jeremy? Is he all right?”

“Jeremy’s fine.”

“Where are you?”

I hesitated. “We’re kind of on the move.”

“Sure, of course. I was speaking to Madeline Plimpton. She mentioned that. No sense making it easy for the crazies. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure how to begin,” I said. “I guess I need you to explain something for me.”

“What would that be?”