With all of this chaos, I have my work cut out for me. I only have a few minutes before Paolo returns, and the sting will be over if he catches me in here.

There are two items on my must-find list.

I trailed Paolo (and our money) back from the beach bar to this room. I knew he didn’t need time to “think things over.” No, Paolo wanted to take the good faith money and book passage off this island immediately. Rio would be my guess.

But he wouldn’t book a flight online (too easily traced). He’d need to book something in person. And if he’s doing that, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to bring the $25,000 in cash with him. He’d stash it somewhere in this dump for safekeeping.

So I’m standing here now thinking: I’m a playboy lifeguard about to go on the run. Where do I hide my windfall?

Now, I knew a lot of guys back at Harvard who did some small-time dealing from their dorm rooms. They needed places to hide their product and their cash. As a work-study/scholarship kid who occasionally found himself a little short, I got to know those dealers and their hiding places very well. (Hey, I only stole from criminals. It didn’t make me a criminal; it made me friggin’ Robin Hood.)

The usual places—inside an envelope taped to the back of the toilet, inside an aspirin bottle, taped to the bottom of a dresser drawer—wouldn’t work with twenty-five large. Paolo needed to hide those thick stacks somewhere clever in a hurry.

The fridge—no. Freezer—no. Drawers—no. Luggage—no. Beneath a pile of clothes that reek of cheap cologne—no.

Come on, where, where, Paolo?

The best hiding places are often in plain sight. And when I step over a dented and scuffed board game box, I realize that Paolo knew this, too.

I check one game—nothing. Another—nothing. But the third box feels heavy. I lift the lid and check under the little cardboard insert that keeps the cards and tokens and whatnot in place. And yep, there it is.

Our “good faith” money.

You’ve got some brains after all, Mr. Playboy Lifeguard.

I shove the money into my jacket pockets, knowing that without it, Paolo will be staying put for the foreseeable future. Now, the other thing on my must-find list.

The clothes he was wearing the night Paige Ryerson disappeared.

From the looks of this place, our man’s not much for the Laundromat or dry cleaner’s. So they must be here somewhere.

My reference is a photo posted on social media from the night of the party. The light wasn’t very good, so I can’t tell if I’m looking for an off-white or a light-blue button-down shirt. But the swimming trunks are unmistakable: pink, with silver tarpons all over them. As if to subliminally tell the ladies that he’s a real catch?

After a few minutes of methodical searching, I start to wonder if Paolo has been as clever about his garments as he was with the good faith money. Maybe he thought ahead and threw them away or had them destroyed.…