“Sunday?” She didn’t bother trying to hide her disappointment. “I really want to go over there tonight. It won’t take that long, I swear. I just need—”

“Honey, I can’t,” Corey said. “I’m sorry, but I promise, I’ll go with you Sunday.” He yawned again. “Wish me luck for tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” she said reluctantly.

She hesitated for a moment, then tried calling Ben. He might disagree with her decision to keep poking around in the investigation, but she felt sure that if she laid out the facts for him, he’d listen to reason.

The call went directly to voice mail. If he and Jonah were still at Taco Truck, he probably couldn’t even hear his phone over the noise of the Friday night crowd. Should she leave a message?

“Hey, Ben. It’s Drue. Listen, I know you told me to leave it alone, but I think I might have uncovered something really big on the Jazmin Mayes case. I want to go out to the Gulf Vista and check out a hunch, and I could really use a wingman if you’re available. Call me as soon as you get this, okay?”

Drue considered calling Jonah, but discarded the idea almost immediately. Things were still at the awkward stage between them. That might change after their date Saturday night, but for now, she decided against roping him into her scheme.

She pulled the white Bronco up to the security gate at the Gulf Vista resort. Two cars were in front of her, and she inched forward, slowly, until she reached the security gate. The guard, a wiry, twenty-something white woman with a clipboard clamped under her arm, greeted her with a businesslike nod. “Welcome to the Gulf Vista. Name and room number?”

“Oh, I’m not a guest,” Drue said, offering her a sweet smile. “Just joining friends.”

“Did your friends call the gate to get a pass left for you?”

“Well, um, I’m not sure,” Drue said.

The guard consulted her clipboard. “Name?”

“Drue. Campbell, like the soup.”

“Nope.”

“They probably forgot,” Drue confided. “It’s a bachelorette party, and the maid of honor is a total space cadet.”

“Not my problem,” the guard said. She looked past Drue at a car that had just pulled in behind the Bronco. “Gonna ask you to move along, ma’am.”

She drove home to Coquina Cottage and paced around the compact living room. Still no callbacks, either from Rae Hernandez or Ben. Drue could hear Sherri’s voice in her head, repeating one of her favorite sayings: “If you want something done, do it yourself.”

“I will, by God,” Drue muttered. “And if I can’t get in the front door, Mom, I’ll go in the back.”