“I’ve tried to call her several times today, to tell her about meeting Neesa Vincent last night after I talked to Jaz’s boyfriend. I’ve left a bunch of voice mail messages, but she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

Corey pulled on a T-shirt. “What’s your next step?”

“I was wondering,” she said slowly. “Do you have a laptop? I want to take another look at the video from the hotel’s security cameras, but I didn’t have a minute to spare at work today.”

“Would you like to come up to my place and watch some videos?” Corey asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Drue told him. “You’re much too nice a guy to make that sound even remotely smutty.”

“Too nice, or too gay?”

She smiled.

Corey’s condo was on the second floor, with two sets of French doors that afforded sweeping views of the point where Boca Ciega Bay flowed into the Gulf. A pair of worn tufted-leather Chesterfield sofas separated by a contemporary glass and brass coffee table sat atop an antelope-hide rug. The walls were dotted with framed color photographs of vintage neon signs.

“My ex was a fine art photographer,” Corey explained. “I should get rid of these because they remind me of him, but the thing is, I love to look at them.”

“He does beautiful work,” Drue commented.

“Did. As far as I know, he hasn’t picked up a camera in a couple years. His new boo is a rich doctor, so Scott doesn’t have a reason to work. He’s now a proud member of the idle rich.”

Corey gestured toward the open-plan kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a black granite-topped island. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. If you’re thirsty or hungry, help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

She walked around the living room for a while, staring at the photos. She recognized a couple of the signs as belonging to local landmarks, including the Sunken Gardens on Fourth Street, the Thunderbird Motel, just down Gulf Boulevard in Treasure Island, and the El Cap, a family-owned bar also on Fourth Street.

After a while, she wandered into the kitchen. The contents of Corey’s refrigerator were laughably boring. Four bottles of O’Doul’s non-alcoholic beer, a jar of cashew butter, a head of kale, a bunch of carrots and a cellophane bag full of small brown squares that looked like fudge.

She helped herself to one of the squares. It was chewy and tasted vaguely of dried fruits and nuts and unidentifiable herbs, with an unpleasant aftertaste. Drue spat it into the trash and opened an O’Doul’s, which didn’t taste much better.

Corey emerged from the bedroom area, carrying his laptop. He set it up on the counter and Drue handed him the flash drive.