Charles excused himself to go back inside. He headed straight for the massive library. He looked around at the shiny teakwood bookshelves that covered the walls on three sides of the room. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the floor-to-ceiling shelves could hold every work of notable English language fiction published in the past fifty years. He reached for a book and wasn’t surprised to see that the spine hadn’t been broken. He couldn’t help but wonder if the drug lord was a reader. The law firm had told him very little other than that the house had been built by Guatemalan craftsmen—every board, nail, and pane of glass imported and top-grade. The law firm had attested to the fact that the drug lord hadn’t had a chance to inspect or visit the finished project before he’d been arrested in Venezuela just as he was about to board his private jet.

Charles replaced the book and walked over to the strange-looking desk across the room. A monstrous slab of concrete sat on two ornate pedestals. The slab had been lacquered to a high shine and held everything he would need to stay in contact with the outside world. All wireless and secure, of course. Before he sat down in the custom-made leather chair, he looked around approvingly. Either the drug lord had exquisite taste, or his Guatemalan decorator did.

What puzzled him more than anything, though, was the fireplace. A fireplace on an island whose yearly temperature held steady at seventy-five degrees seemed bizarre. Maybe they’d fashioned the room from a picture in a magazine. Or, perhaps when storms came in off the ocean, the temperature dropped, and a fire could be built. He really needed to find out the answer because sooner or later one of the girls was going to ask him the question. He made a mental note to find out, then got down to work.

An hour later, Charles returned poolside and sat down just as one of the maids arrived with a frosty pitcher of tart lemonade and a plate of freshly baked something that looked like scones. The moment she returned to the house, Charles whistled sharply, and everyone got out of the pool. “I have an update.”

“I hope you’re going to tell us why this place has three fireplaces,” Kathryn said.

“Actually, Kathryn, I do know. The previous owner saw a picture in Architectural Digest and liked what he saw. He particularly liked the idea of having a mantel. I am assuming he had treasures he was going to place there at some point in time. And when storms come through in September and October, the temperature will drop to the fifty-degree mark. There are bundles of birch logs in the garage in case you get the crazy urge to light a fire.