We sat on the back patio, in the shade, overlooking a swamp of sea grass and beige water that ended about fifty yards away at the back of, yep, a strip mall. A white bird with legs as long as Angie’s and a neck to match landed on the patio railing and looked down at our food.

“Jesus,” Angie said. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s an egret,” I said. “It’s harmless.”

“How do you know what it is?”

“National Geographic.”

“Oh. You’re sure it’s harmless?”

“Ange,” I said.

She shuddered. “So I’m not a nature girl. Sue me.”

The egret jumped off the rail and landed by my elbow, its thin head up by my shoulder.

“Christ,” Angie said.

I picked up a crab leg and flung it out over the rail and the egret’s wing hit my ear as it took off over the rail and dove for the water.

“Great,” Angie said. “Now you’ve encouraged it.”

I picked up my plate and cup. “Come on.”

We went inside and studied the map as the egret returned and stared at us through the glass. Once we had a pretty good idea where we were going, we folded up the map, and finished our food.

“You think she’s alive?” Angie said.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“And Jay,” she said. “You think he came here after her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me either. We don’t know much, do we?”

I watched as the egret craned its long neck to get a better look at me through the glass.

“No,” I said. “But we’re quick studies.”

17

No one we talked to at the Courtyard Marriott recognized Jeff Price or Desiree from the photos we showed them. They were pretty sure about it, too, if only because the Weeble and Mr. Cushing had shown them the same photographs half an hour before we arrived. The Weeble, smarmy little bastard that he was, had even left a note for us with the Marriott concierge requesting our presence in the Harbor Hotel bar at eight.

We tried a few more hotels in the same area, got nothing but blank stares, and returned to Harbor Island.

“This isn’t our town,” Angie said as we rode the elevator down from our rooms to the bar.

“Nope.”

“And it drives me crazy. It’s useless our even being here. We don’t know who to talk to, we don’t have any contacts, we don’t have any friends. All we can do is walk around like idiots showing everyone these stupid photographs. I mean, duh.”

“Duh?” I said.

“Duh,” she repeated.

“Oh,” I said, “duh. I get it. For a minute there I thought you were just saying duh.”

“Shut up, Patrick.” She walked off the elevator and I followed her into the bar.