Holly first called Bill Pepper.
“I’m here.”
“Me too.”
“Scramble.”
“Scrambled.”
Pepper came back with his voice-from-a-barrel. “What’s up?”
“When a foreigner applies to buy a house in St. Marks, does he have to attach a photograph to his application?”
“Yes, a passport photograph.”
“Can you hack into the government computers and get me the photographs of Robertson, Pemberton and Weatherby?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“How long will it take?”
“A few minutes.”
“Can you e-mail them to me in, say, an hour?”
“Probably. Is this about Teddy Fay?”
“The idea is, I’ll look at them, and if one of them could conceivably be Teddy, I’ll send them to Lance, and he can show them to Teddy’s former coworkers for ID.”
“Makes sense to me.”
She gave him her e-mail address. “I’ll be standing by.”
“Later.” He broke the connection.
Holly called Lance.
“Lance Cabot.”
She explained about the photographs she was going to send.
“Excellent,” Lance replied. “How soon?”
“Maybe an hour or so; check your e-mail.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Yes; I think we’re about done here.”
“You’re giving up?”
“Our stay is nearing its end, and we have not been able to identify Teddy. Our best shot is that he’s Robertson, Pemberton or Weatherby; if we can’t get an ID from these photos, then we have nowhere else to go. Our well is dry.”
“That’s discouraging.”
“Well, we’re discouraged. I want to have one more dinner with Irene Foster, though. Maybe we’ll glean something from her.”
“And her boyfriend? Pitts?”
“I think he may have already sailed for home.”
“You’re satisfied that he’s not Teddy?”
“He isn’t, unless Teddy knows how to grow hair on a bald scalp. Pitts doesn’t wear a toupee.”
“All right, call tomorrow. I’ll send the jet for you at, say, noon the day after.”
“Good.” She hung up and called Irene.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Irene, it’s Ginny; how are you?”
“Very well, thanks; are you still on the island?”
“We leave on Saturday. I was hoping that you could join us for dinner tonight at the inn.”
“Love to; is Harry invited, as well?”
“Is he still here?”
“He seems to like the island.”
“Of course; bring him along. Seven-thirty?”
“That’s grand; we’ll look forward to it.”
Holly hung up, went into the house, got her laptop and took it out to the patio, where lunch was just being served.
“What’s with the computer?” Stone asked.
Holly glanced at the butler, who finished serving and went back inside. “Pepper is going to e-mail me the photographs of Robertson, Pemberton and Weatherby that were attached to their applications to buy a house here, and then I’m going to take Genevieve’s brilliant suggestion and e-mail them to Lance, if I think one of them might be Teddy.”
“Good.”
“By the way, the jet is picking us up at noon the day after tomorrow.”
“Regardless of what we learn?”
“These photos are our last gasp; if none of them is Teddy, we’re out of here. If one of them is Teddy, we’re out of here, too. Dealing with him is somebody else’s job.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Me too,” Dino said. “The sight of that shark off our beach nixed the place for me. I’m not going back in the water past knee-deep.”
“Oh, Dino,” Genevieve said, “the shark was just doing what sharks do. We’ve only seen him once, and he probably won’t be back.”
“I’m not going in the same ocean with him,” Dino said, digging into his seafood salad. He held up a forkful. “I’m happy to eat his lunch, but I’m not going to be his lunch.”
They ate in a leisurely fashion, and after an hour had passed, Holly checked her e-mail.
There was an e-mail from Ham: “Are you coming by here on your way back to D.C.?”
“I’ll see if we can stop by and pick up Daisy on the way back,” she responded, “but I won’t be able to stay. Give my love to Ginny.” She signed it and sent the mail.
“Nothing from Pepper?” Stone asked.
“Nope.”
“How long was it supposed to take?”
“He said a few minutes to hack into the government computer, and he’d have them to me in an hour.”
Stone checked his watch. “It’s been an hour and a half.”
“Maybe he got busy at work.”
Another hour passed, then two hours, and still nothing had arrived from Pepper. Late in the afternoon, Holly called Lance.
“Lance Cabot.”
“It’s your humble servant; something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“Pepper was supposed to e-mail me the photos within an hour after we talked. It’s been five hours, and I’ve heard nothing.”
“I suppose he could have become occupied with something else at work, but still, that doesn’t sound right.”
“I’m only supposed to call him at midday on the satphone, so I can’t communicate.”
“Hang on, let me think.”
“Okay.” Holly waited through three or four minutes of silence.
Lance came back on. “Bill has probably already left the office for the day. And I tried his home; no answer.”
“But if he didn’t have the photos, he could have e-mailed me to let me know.”
“I know, and it doesn’t sound right. I’ve had a look at Bill’s file, and he has a sister in Miami named Doris Pepper. She’s forty-six years old, five-six, a hundred and forty pounds, blonde and pretty. She teaches sixth grade at a public school in Miami. Tomorrow morning, after nine, call Bill’s office, but not on the satphone.” He gave her the number. “When he comes on the line tell him you’re a friend of his sister, and you promised her you’d call him for her. She’s fine, et cetera, et cetera.”
“And what is my purpose for the call?”
“To find out if he’s okay. Don’t talk long, and before you hang up, tell him his sister said to drop her an e-mail sometime. I want to know exactly what his response is. Call me on the satphone as soon as you hang up.”
“Okay. Do you think something is wrong?”
“I always think something is wrong when an agent doesn’t do what he says he’ll do.” Lance hung up.