Neesa plucked the wig from her head, tucked it into her purse then swung the passenger-side door open. “Thanks for the ride, girl,” she said. “And hey, if you do decide to go blond, give me a call. I’ll hook you up.”

“I’ll definitely do that,” Drue said. “But how do I find you?”

Neesa reached into her pocketbook. “That’s right. I never did tell you my name.” She handed Drue a hot-pink business card. “I’m Neesa Vincent. Salon Neesa. That’s what my place is gonna be called.”

Drue waited while Neesa ran through the rain to the door of a ground-floor apartment, unlocked it and disappeared inside. Then she drove around the corner, put the Bronco in park and reached for her cell phone. Her power level was at five percent. She plugged it into the charger and drove home to Sunset Beach through the rain.

39

When Drue arrived at work on Thursday morning, a yellow Post-it note was attached to the computer screen on her desk: GEOFF TAKING PERSONAL LEAVE DAY. YOU’RE WORKING RECEPTION THIS MORNING—WENDY.

“Damnit.” She’d deliberately arrived fifteen minutes early, hoping to get time to take another look at the video from the Gulf Vista. But she dutifully donned her office sweater, picked up her headset and went out to the lobby. No sooner was she seated than the front door opened. A tall, imposing black man swept inside.

He was dressed in a vaguely Egyptian-looking ensemble—floor-length gold lamé gown, a homemade cardboard breastplate studded with red bicycle reflectors, and a headpiece made from a woman’s striped chiffon scarf wound around his head. The man planted his feet firmly apart, staring at the ceiling and the walls, before finally leveling his gaze toward the woman at the reception desk. He crossed his arms over the breastplate, and she noticed that he had shiny brass serpent-shaped bracelets around his biceps.

“Can I help you?” Drue asked.

His voice was booming. “Brice Campbell. I am here to see Brice Campbell.”

“He’s not in the office at the moment,” Drue said. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Brice Campbell is my attorney,” the man said.

Drue smiled nervously, hoping the visitor was harmless.

She placed her fingers on the computer’s keyboard. “Are you in our client database?”

“Of course. Brice Campbell is my attorney. My name is Kaa.”

She looked up quizzically. “How is that spelled? And is that your first or last name?”

“Kaa. Only Kaa.”

“Let me just call Mr. Campbell’s assistant to see when he’s expected.”

She swiveled her chair around, leaving her back to the visitor, and buzzed Wendy’s office.

“What is it?”

“Mr. Campbell’s client Mr. Kaa is out here in the reception area, and he’d like to see Mr. Campbell.”