CHAPTER TWELVE

Before the traffic light at the intersection of Bayshore and Gandy Boulevard, Carson’s convertible pulled into the left turn lane and stopped briefly before crossing the eastbound traffic lanes to reach the Plant Key Bridge. A simple two-lane track lying flat above the shallow Hillsborough Bay. One way on and one way off the private island. Which was probably both the good news and the bad news, depending on the traffic and whether one was inclined to feel trapped.

Carson rushed into the surprisingly crowded parking lot at the front entrance.

The red brick building fairly twinkled in the gathering dark. Indoor lighting spilled cheerfully through the windows. The rest of the place was bathed by floodlights around the perimeter. Smaller light streams punctuated the darkness and the steel minaret on the roof.

Gaspar lost track of Carson and Kimball while he searched for an open parking space.

“This place is amazing,” Otto said.

“What? Doesn’t your Michigan house look exactly like that?”

“I thought it looked familiar,” she said, which made him feel better. She’d emerged from her mood, at least.

“First time I came here,” he said, “I was told the place was built as a private home. Can you imagine living in a place like this? Servants and horses and such, of course.”

“Pretty idyllic setting for a restaurant, too,” she replied, still taking everything in. “Now I really feel underdressed.”

By the time he settled the sedan appropriately, Carson and Kimball must have already entered the building. Gaspar stopped to stretch when he got out of the sedan, like always. He acted like he was just being lazy. But the truth was that if he didn’t stretch out his right leg, he’d fall flat on his face when he tried to move.

Otto watched and waited. “Kimball says she knows everything about the murder of Weston’s family. Since Reacher was the investigating officer at the time, she may have some Intel or maybe a couple of leads helpful to us. Let’s be sure we don’t leave here without it, okay?”

“I’m driving. Can’t drink. So I won’t have anything better to do,” Gaspar said and then set off at as quick a pace as he could manage. But Otto kept up easily. Which was how he judged himself and knew he was moving at glacial speed.