“That wasn’t money I earned and I doubt it was money Rosie earned,” Huck says. He hands over the statements from Rosie’s bank accounts. “If Rosie is guilty by association of something…well, it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t affect Maia in any way.”

“I understand,” Agent Vasco says. “I was really hoping I might find something of a more personal nature in Rosie’s room. Letters, or a diary.”

Diary, Huck thinks. Rosie kept a diary when she was younger. She used to threaten LeeAnn with it, saying that future generations would someday learn what a mean witch LeeAnn was, how harsh and unfair she was to her only child. Huck has no idea if Rosie kept up her diary-writing into her adult years. Because she worked nights at La Tapa, most of her downtime was during the day, when Huck was at work and Maia at school.

Letters? Well, there might be letters from Russell Steele if this were 1819 or even 1989, but nowadays people didn’t write letters; they wrote to each other on their phones.

“I’m sure Rosie had her phone with her.”

“Yes,” Agent Vasco says. “We’ve subpoenaed the records.”

Subpoenaed sounds serious, but of course, Rosie had a huge amount of cash stuffed into a drawer.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of crimes are you investigating?” Huck is thinking drugs, obviously. It’s the Caribbean.

“I’m not at liberty to say. Also, we aren’t really sure what we’re dealing with here.” Agent Vasco offers Huck a tight smile. “If we have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.”

“That’s it?” Huck says. “You’re leaving me?”

“Yes,” Agent Vasco says. “You should be happy.” She gathers the goons and they follow her out to the car with two black duffel bags filled with the money.

Easy come, easy go, Huck thinks.

Agent Vasco and company drive down Jacob’s Ladder’s series of switchbacks; Huck spies the car once, twice, three times—then they disappear. At nearly the same moment, Huck sees the Mississippi gliding across Rendezvous Bay. Today’s charter was a couple of state troopers from Alaska. Apparently, these two are famous; they’re featured on some reality-TV show, which Huck has a difficult time fathoming. Huck has less than no interest in celebrities; what makes him regret missing today is that these gentlemen really wanted to fish. Huck nearly calls Adam to tell him to turn around and pick him up at the Westin dock, but that’s impractical, a waste of time and gas.

It’s only ten o’clock and Huck doesn’t have to get Maia until three. He could read his book—he still hasn’t finished the Connelly—and, he supposes, he could go to the beach. He hasn’t been in a long time; whenever Maia wanted to go, Rosie would take her. LeeAnn used to love sitting on Gibney, and Huck loved LeeAnn so he would join her there, though left to his own devices, he would go to Little Lameshur, far, far away from the crowded north shore. Should Huck pack up a fish sandwich and drive out to Little Lameshur? Maybe live really large and stop at the Tourist Trap for a lobster roll on the way? The idea is novel enough to be intriguing, but then Huck thinks about one of Agent Vasco’s comments: We aren’t really sure what we’re dealing with here.