“We moved around a lot when I was a kid. Tennessee and West Virginia, places like that,” Letty said, being deliberately vague. “Could you hand me those rate cards over there?”

She wished he’d go.

“Were your parents from the South?”

“She was, but he wasn’t. They split up when I was little.”

“My old man took off when I was seven,” Joe volunteered.

Despite herself, Letty found herself curious about this cop’s background. Maybe if she asked the questions he’d be so distracted he’d forget to interview her.

“Your mom told me your folks bought this place when you were a baby. What was that like? Growing up, living in a motel?”

“Until I went to high school, I thought everybody lived like this,” Joe said, gesturing around the small office. “Especially after my old man left, there was always a lot to do around here. I started off emptying garbage cans, cleaning the pool, sweeping the breezeways. When I got a little taller, Ava had me mowing the grass, painting, washing windows.”

“Had your family always been in the motel business?”

“No. My dad sold cars for a living. The folks came down here from Michigan on vacation one January, Mom said they thought they’d found paradise. The water was blue and the sun was shining. My dad told her he never wanted to see another snow shovel for as long as he lived. According to her, he was always full of big ideas. They were staying at a little tourist court up the road from here, and one day he spotted the for-sale sign out front of the Murmuring Surf. Without consulting her he borrowed money from his folks and hers, did some fast talking to the previous owners, the Doughertys, and next thing Mom knew, they were in the motel business.”

“And she stayed on, running the place, after he split?” Letty asked.

“She didn’t have much of a choice. My old man met a cocktail waitress over at Derby Lane, that was the local greyhound track, and the next thing Mom knew, even though she’d always been a housewife until they moved down here to Florida, she was running a motel and raising a kid.”

“Must have been tough,” Letty said.

“She’s a tough lady,” Joe said. “But she’s a soft touch for a sob story. Which is why I try to run interference when I can. Because people take advantage.” He gave her a hard stare.

Letty stared right back. “I don’t have a sob story. I’m just trying to live my life and take care of my niece. Is that some kind of a crime?”

“You tell me,” he said.

The door chimed. Ava breezed in with an armload of grocery bags. “I’m back.”

She looked from Letty to her son. “Everything okay here?”