She heard her father’s voice in the background, then heard Wendy again. “He wants to know what the problem is.”

“The problem is that I’ve been arrested and charged with trespassing, and I’m at the Treasure Island police station,” Drue said.

“Is this some kind of a sick joke?”

Before she could answer, Brice came on the line. “What was that last part? Did you say you were arrested?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was arrested at the Gulf Vista. If you’ll just come down and get me out of here, I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I’ll be right down. Don’t talk to anybody. Tell them your attorney is on the way.”

As holding cells went, Drue thought this one wasn’t as awful as it could have been. Not that she had much experience with that kind of thing. She’d been a rebellious, pain-in-the-ass teenager, but somehow, she’d always managed to stay out of serious, go-to-jail trouble.

She leaned against a wall, closed her eyes and, despite the fluorescent lights overhead, dozed off.

Thirty minutes later she awoke to see the holding cell door open, with her father on the other side of it. He was dressed like someone who’d just been rudely awakened with the news that his adult daughter had been arrested for a teenager-type crime, in baggy cotton drawstring pajama pants, rumpled T-shirt and leather moccasins. His hair was mussed and he needed a shave.

“Let’s go,” he said, handing her a plastic bag containing her phone and keys. He kept his hand on her elbow as he steered her out the plate-glass doors and into the parking lot. Just then a silver minivan sped up to the entrance. The driver braked and jumped out.

Rae Hernandez looked just as unhappy as Brice Campbell.

“Drue! What the hell’s going on? Daniels just called and said you’d been arrested at the Gulf Vista. Are you out of your mind?”

Brice gripped her arm tighter. “Who’s this?”

Hernandez looked him in the eye. “Detective Rae Hernandez. I take it you’re this juvenile delinquent’s father? I recognize you from your television commercials.”

“Brice Campbell,” he said. “Nice to meet you, but she doesn’t have anything to say to the police.”

Drue wrenched her arm away from his. “Actually, Dad, I really, really need to talk to Rae. I’ve been trying to call her all night.” She glared back at the detective. “That’s why I went over to the hotel tonight, to see if my theory was right.”

“Come on, Drue,” Brice said. “As your attorney and your father, I’m telling you this is not the time or place for this discussion.”

“Dad, please!” Drue exclaimed. “Rae is the detective working the Jazmin Mayes’s homicide.”