“I didn’t want to tell you anything until I heard back from Agent Vasco,” Huck says. “She left me a message late last night, after I was asleep. I thought it might be time to start worrying…”

“Is it?” Irene says. Her wheels are spinning. Of course it is! Real estate fraud, Todd Croft, the money in Rosie’s drawer. Paulette knows far, far more than she’s saying, although likely she’s just a pawn manipulated by Todd Croft and maybe Russ as well.

“No, AC,” Huck says. “No. Agent Vasco told me it’s an ongoing investigation and if she has any other questions, she’ll be in touch.”

“So there’s nothing we should do?” Irene says. She wonders if the FBI knows she’s working with Huck. And if so, what do they think about that? Does it seem suspicious? Does it seem like Huck and Irene are part of the conspiracy with Russ and Paulette Vickers? Should Irene quit? She doesn’t want to quit. She takes a breath of the morning air and tries to calm down. She has done nothing wrong; Huck has done nothing wrong. The FBI agents know this.

“Nothing we should do, nothing we can do,” Huck says. “We just have to wait until they find Croft. But I wanted you to be aware.”

“Yes, thank you,” Irene says. She takes Huck’s left hand, the one with the missing pinkie, and squeezes it. “Please tell me everything you know. Don’t spare me because you think I can’t handle it. I’m tough.”

“That you are, Angler Cupcake,” Huck says. “But I’m happy to give you today off if you want to go home and mull this over.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Irene says. “If I do go home, I will mull this over, and what good will that do? I’d much rather be on the boat.”

“I feel exactly the same way,” Huck says. “Even if these people are difficult.”

Irene holds the ropes, smiling, as the Goshens approach. What she told Huck is true: She is tough. This family can’t throw anything at her that she can’t handle. But when she sees them, her heart sinks. There’s the mother, a pretty but sour-looking woman—blond, thin, midforties. She’s followed by a teenage daughter, a younger, prettier, angrier version of the mother. Trailing behind them with a bounce in his step is the son. He’s maybe thirteen or fourteen years old and he’s completely bald.

The mother’s name is Galen Goshen, the daughter is Altar, and the son is Niles; Niles, Galen announces, has just finished eighteen rounds of chemo. He has leukemia, Galen informs Irene, and this last round of chemo is either going to put him in remission or it isn’t. She says this right in front of Niles, who shrugs.

“I want to catch a fish,” he says. “A big one. Something I can hang on the wall.”

“He’s frail,” Galen says.