Bridge traffic started to improve at 10:55. Within a few more minutes, it was moving at a good pace.

Scott made it back to the house by a quarter after eleven. Now he just had to hope that everybody was still either out fishing or on the beach, so that he wouldn’t encounter anyone and have to make any small talk, answer questions about the car show in Beaufort, where he had allegedly spent his morning. The Omni was gone—that was a good sign. As he parked his car, Scott ran his hands over his scalp, not sure if his sweaty palms were dampening his dry hair, or the other way around. Everything sweaty now, hot and tense and tight as a drum. Everything shit.

• • •

Scott entered through the front door of the house and jogged up the stairs that led to the kitchen and main room, connecting to the bedroom hallway. He was halfway up the steps when he heard a voice, and he froze instantly. Only one voice. Male. With the Omni gone, most likely it was Ryan. Only one voice, so . . . on the phone? Scott would make a beeline for his room, he decided, give a friendly nod to Ryan on his way to and from the bedroom, in and out . . .

But when Scott, on the stairs, peeked up over the floor level so that he could see Ryan, something stopped him from proceeding. Scott stayed where he was, eyes level with the floor, so he could see Ryan, but Ryan wouldn’t see Scott unless he had reason to turn and look his way.

Ryan was hunched over beside the refrigerator, phone at his ear. He spoke with a palm over his mouth and was facing out to the patio, presumably so that he would see anyone approach from the beach before they saw him. The air of secrecy—Ryan clearly did not want to be heard, did not want anyone to know he was on the phone at all. Scott was intrigued. Illicit girlfriend? Illicit boyfriend? Still facing out toward the beach, Ryan hissed, “That was my mom who answered this morning, you moron,” and a little chuckle escaped him, despite his obvious agitation with the person at the other end of the line.

Scott stayed perfectly still.

When Ryan spoke again it was at full volume—seemingly confident now that no one else was in the house. “Anyway,” Ryan said, “like I said, it went fine.” He was quiet for a bit. “Don’t worry about it, nobody’s gonna ask any more questions if you don’t call again, so just don’t call again, dude.” Ryan paused and then snorted laughter into his fist. “My mom said you like breathed heavy or something?” Whatever the guy at the other end of the line said in response made Ryan laugh even harder. Then he got quiet. “Anyway, it ended up being twelve hundred. Yeah, all cash.” Ryan was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I’ll see you in a few days. Don’t call here again, you mouth-breather.” He hung up the phone.