Charlie and Margaret looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“If he woulda called me to say that it was politically difficult to have me around, I’d’ve understood,” Sinatra suddenly said. “I don’t want to hurt him. But he couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone.”

“Politicians are selfish pricks, Frank,” Margaret said. “Take it from the wife of a four-term congressman.”

Sinatra laughed. “You got a good one here, Charlie,” he said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A snack? A drink? It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Margaret sat on the edge of a chaise while Charlie took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs, and stuck his feet in the water.

“It’s nice,” he told his wife.

“Not as hot as the Jacuzzi, though, I would assume,” she said. He grimaced and Sinatra winced. “Oh, Charlie, I’m just kidding,” she added. “Frank, Frank—it’s fine. Charlie told me the whole story.”

“So let me ask you kids, speaking of the whole story,” Sinatra said, his face aimed at the beating sun. “What did you tell that little Puritan? Bobby.”

Charlie looked at his wife, then back to his host. Sinatra knew that Charlie was there as a spy for Kennedy? How the hell did he know?

“Oh, don’t be surprised,” Sinatra said. “I put two and two together after your talk with George.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “They have my dad at Sing Sing.”

“I know,” Sinatra said. “So what did you tell him?”

“That you have friends with rough pasts but we didn’t see any evidence that you were involved in anything illegal,” he said. “And we told him that the president should stay here,” Charlie lied, because who wanted to deal with the ire?

“I know a lot of people,” Sinatra said. “If the Justice Department were to look into every acquaintance I have who’s got dirt under their fingernails, they’d be pretty busy.”

“So is that why you gave me that recording?” Charlie asked. “And that pink paper?”

“We assumed that was from Judy’s diary,” Margaret said. “With all of the president’s contact information.”

“You were trying to show me that the president’s got some dirty fingernails too?” Charlie asked.

“Ain’t his fingernails that’s the issue,” Sinatra said. “The Kennedys should look in the mirror.”

“And you want Charlie to hold up the mirror?” Margaret asked. Sinatra smiled.

“So clear something up for us: Who is Maheu?” Charlie asked.

“He’s just one of these guys,” Sinatra said. “Go-betweens. Was FBI, did intelligence during the war, makes a lot more dough as a contractor. Works for that nutball Howard Hughes. Does a ton for the CIA. The Agency got him to ask Rosselli to whack Fidel.”

“And you introduced them?” Margaret asked. “You’re quite the yenta.”