Claire gasped, but Nick seemed to handle the shock of Detective Jensen standing right behind them.
“Let’s just say great minds run in the same saltwater boat channels,” Nick told him, steadying Claire with his hand on her upper arm. “You’re not the only one who needs to know more about Larry and Clint Ralston.”
“But you two don’t learn, don’t listen—and I’m on your side,” Ken insisted, drawing them farther back into the darkness. “You have heard, haven’t you, that some criminals return to the scenes of their crimes?”
“Meaning what?” Nick asked. “That everyone here is under suspicion for Larry Ralston’s death—his accident or suicide?”
“I don’t want to face off with you two, whom I consider friends, but I haven’t discounted murder—and neither have you, right? You were on the scene of his death about the time he died.”
“So the ME has established the time of death?” Nick demanded.
“No, and may not be able to pin it down. But then, there’s another possible suspect here in this crowd, one who didn’t make an attempt to disguise himself as you two did.”
Despite the cooling breeze, Claire felt her face flush. This was her idea to try to hide who they were. But if this man thought he was going to intimidate them by suggesting blame when they were only desperate to track down Darcy, she would tell him off. But before she could react, Nick tightened his grip as if he sensed her outrage.
“Is someone else here from Fly Safe?” he asked. “If we could get some of the other names they seem to hide—”
“There may not be other names, since the group is fairly new, though it seems to be well-funded. But don’t tell me you two haven’t thought of the other person of interest here, or are you too close to him to get it? Darcy’s husband is here tonight. He even spoke to me about the progress of the official search when he came in. Yeah, I know he wasn’t anywhere in the area when Darcy disappeared, but stranger things have happened. I’ve seen cases where someone hired someone else to do their dirty work.”
“We told you from the first, they were not having marital problems,” Claire insisted.
“As close as you are to her, some people don’t share things like that.”
“Detective Jensen,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “look at it this way since you’re watching what everyone wears tonight. Steve had nothing to hide or fear from you, no reason to be here but to get information—like us, like you—or he would have hidden or even disguised himself. And not come here at all.”
“And yet another person here tonight is first mate Bernie Thompson,” Ken went on, “who’s always around the cove docks to help fishermen clean up—he’s the janitor of the place, so to speak, the guy you asked for directions the night you were looking for Ralston’s boat, so he’s ID’d you, too. He’s the same guy Steve had also asked for directions to find Ralston’s boat before you got there. Even if Steve would never hurt Darcy, he could have lost his temper talking to Ralston. I asked him about that black eye tonight, and he said he got in a bar fight.”
“It’s true. He did,” Claire said, but her stomach went into free fall. For one frozen moment, she just stared at Ken. It suddenly seemed so dark, so late, standing here on the shore waiting for the mourners to scatter. She almost blurted out that she and Nick had just become aware of Steve visiting Larry, but neither of them shared that now. And did Steve need a lawyer?
She felt faint. If Nick had not had such a strong grip on her arm, she might have fallen. All she wanted was Darcy back, Darcy safe. Was Ken going to accuse or arrest Steve for Larry Ralston’s death? Question or accuse her and Nick since they’d been there, too?
Nick spoke, though it seemed he had been silent for hours.
“Detective, are you asking for a statement? For some sort of confession to something we know nothing about except the statements we have already given about finding Ralston’s body? Do we or Steve Stanley need legal representation?”
“Not at this time, Counselor,” Ken said, matching Nick’s formal tone. “Still, for a while, an active investigation. But let me advise you that you should go home immediately and not question, confront or follow anyone here, namely Clint Ralston. You don’t need to tangle with him or his associate, Jedi Brown. I will take care of that and keep you informed if there is any information pertaining to Darcy Stanley’s disappearance.”
So formal, even fierce. Claire’s legs almost gave way. Nick exhaled hard. “It isn’t working out for us to stay friends through this, is it, Detective?”
“That doesn’t change but needs to be set aside for now. Otherwise, as you know, Counselor, it could well compromise the investigation. Claire,” he said, turning to her, “I assure you again we are doing everything we can to find your sister. We are following every viable lead. We have checked each day to be certain her credit cards were not used anywhere, even outside the state, and they were not this past week. This is not just a Collier County search, or a state of Florida search, but a national search. Now, I’d walk you two to your car, but I’ll trust you to do that, and I will be in touch.”
He turned away and went a few yards down the beach where he could watch those leaving the memorial service. Nick still held her arm, and they plodded through the thick sand and seagrass toward the street to walk to their car.
“Caught,” she said. “My fault. Nick, what about Steve since it wasn’t us who hurt Larry or even saw him alive?”
“We’ll have to talk to him—prepare him. Ken said he wasn’t here to arrest him. If Steve needs representation, it would look bad if I do it, even if someone in the firm did.”
“And here Steve came back beat up and had a story about a fight in a bar the night Larry died. I feel like the world is falling in, falling on me—on us! But I can’t just do nothing. It’s like waiting for this horrible hurricane to hit they keep watching for.”
When Claire and Nick got home, they tucked the girls in bed, trying to assure them that everyone, especially the police, were still looking for Darcy.
“Where have you been tonight looking for Mommy?” Jilly had asked the question the doll had repeated more than once.
“We took a walk on the beach and talked to a detective about how they are looking hard for her,” Claire said. “Now let’s turn out the light so all of you—all three—can get to sleep.”
Nick kissed both girls and went out, hoping to wait for Steve to come in. Claire sat on Lexi’s bed until both girls fell asleep. But the doll’s eyes stayed wide-open as if she were watching—judging. Claire had a good nerve to dig out the raggedly doll and bury this one in the depths of the closet, but of course, Lexi, Jilly, too, needed this pretty programmed machine right now.
When she heard a car door slam outside, she went to join Nick. He and Steve were just going into the library.
“The three of us weren’t the only ones watching that memorial service tonight,” Nick was saying.
“You mean Ralston’s lackey? That tall, blond shadow of his?” Steve asked.
“I mean Detective Ken Jensen of the Collier County sheriff’s office.”
“Yeah, I talked to him briefly. At least he’s on the case. Good move on his part to keep an eye on Ralston. He’d better hustle now in case that storm turns to a hurricane, since that will pull all the police away from trying to find Darcy. I can’t stand to think of her out there—out there somewhere in a storm.”
“My point is, Jensen spotted us—and you,” Nick told him as they all sat down facing each other, she and Nick on the couch and Steve in the club chair. She could see that his body language had gone from tense to hostile.
“You talked to him, too?” Steve asked, narrowing his gaze.
“We did. He also talked to the guy—name of Bernie Thompson—you asked about Larry’s boat the day he was killed.”
“So? What is this, one of your courtroom grillings?”
“What it is, is our attempt to get you ready to be seriously questioned or worse by Jensen. You need to get your story straight—and true. Do I need to find someone to represent you if Jensen tries to question you so that—”
“I didn’t kill that Ralston bastard! I only wanted to question him about his ties to that Fly Safe bunch, but I couldn’t find him. I yelled for him. I got so damn frustrated at everything I went to a bar and got into a fight, okay?”
“With someone you said you didn’t know who then left,” Nick said. “At least the bartender or regulars there can vouch for that and that will clear—”
“You two actually thought I’d beat someone up to get information? Then kill him? I was just frantic for a useful fact, for a trail, for a clue—anything!”
“We totally sympathize,” Nick insisted. “Keep your voice down, or we’ll have the girls awake, or Bronco coming in here to find out what’s—”
“I hear my name?” Bronco asked from the door. “Boss, sorry to interrupt but when I turned on the outside lights for a safety check before Nita and me turned in, I saw a little problem in the backyard. Someone—it wasn’t the girls, Nita says—yanked up every one of them butterfly bushes and plants out there. I went out. They’re not wilted or dead yet, so it might’ve just happened. Things were okay a little bit ago when I looked out, walked around. The girls gonna be real upset.”
“Hell, I’m real upset!” Nick said.
The four of them raced to the back windows where Nita stood, looking out. She’d turned the inside lights off to be able to see without someone seeing her. The safety lights flooded the area.
How different things looked, Claire thought as even more adrenaline poured through her to fight her narcoleptic exhaustion. The yard looked naked and ugly along the back fence. And the message? Forget about butterflies? Your home isn’t safe? These are dying or dead and Darcy is, too—or will be if you don’t back off?
“We should go out and put them in water,” Nita said. “Maybe replant now or in the morning. You are right, the girls will be upset.”
Claire said, “No, we shouldn’t rush out right now. Maybe that’s what someone wants us to do.”
“And,” Nick said, “even throwing water on the roots or stomping around in that mess might destroy any evidence to show who did this. I’m not calling Jensen over this, either, not tonight. In the morning, we’ll go out and look for anything dropped—anything else. And, Steve, what about getting you a lawyer, one not from the firm but one that would be impartial?”
“You defended one of your own lawyers over that double murder you call the Silent Scream Case. He was innocent, and I am, too!”
“I’ll advise and consult, but I don’t want any screwups with enemies like the powerfully connected Ralstons—the father, Aaron, at least—and I think Clint’s got to be some kind of high roller around here, too. Captain Larry seemed like the exception, the rebel in the family.”
“Then you believe me?” Steve demanded, getting right in Nick’s face. “I didn’t find and didn’t hurt Larry Ralston.”
“The thing is, Jensen and a prosecutor—hopefully it won’t get as far as a jury—are the ones who need to believe you.”
Steve nodded. “Man, I feel as torn up as those plants.”
Nick suggested Bronco and Steve go to bed, but he and Claire sat in the Florida room in the dark, staring out.
“Nick, that black butterfly release tonight, then this. We have to talk to Tara Gerald again. I wish you didn’t have to be in court tomorrow. Surely I can go talk to her—or have her meet me somewhere public, maybe for lunch—if you’d be worried about my going out there alone. Or I could see if Will can go along if he’s not at the library until early afternoon. I think we’ve learned we can trust what he says, that he’s on our side. Maybe there’s a clue in what sort of butterfly those black ones with the red stripe were in that release tonight. I got a good look at the one I caught.”
“Yeah, a public place with Tara and Will could work.”
“It will only take me a minute to check that butterfly on my phone so I can tell Tara and Will what it was. Just a sec. You know,” she threw over her shoulder as she got up, “I could probably ask that all-knowing genius doll what kind it was and get an answer. As soon as we locate Darcy—settle all this—I’ve got to find a way to wean Lexi away from that thing.”
She went into their bedroom, grabbed her purse and fished out her cell phone. She sat on the couch with Nick, and her description brought up several butterfly breeds, but she was sure it was the one called red rim. She read aloud, “It is usually found in Central America and Mexico, but has been imported and bred in the United States. Because of its dark color—oh, get this—it is sometimes used for releases at funerals. Nick, we know Will used to do those.”
“So he’ll either know about them—or he did it, rented a boat. I think we can trust him to help us find Darcy, especially since we’re running out of options, regardless of what Ken Jensen pledges about the official search.”
She showed Nick the picture of the red rim but noticed the photograph of it on the small screen looked as if it were fluttering its wings. She felt faint again, so exhausted she was falling apart, but she wanted to go on, to stay up, to make more plans, even to go outside to check for clues, to call Tara right now, to assure herself she could trust Will at least to have lunch with—
“Sweetheart, you’re falling asleep sitting up,” Nick said, rising, then bending to scoop her up in his arms. “Your head just jerked, and you nodded off. I’m putting you to bed, and don’t argue.”
She held her phone, held to him, so grateful. Since Nick had turned off the outdoor lights, she caught a glimpse of herself in his arms in the black mirror of the window. At least he’d agreed she could meet with Tara and Will in public tomorrow, make some progress to find Darcy, find her sanity. And then that other storm, the real one that could become a hurricane—for the girls’ sakes, she had to watch the weather predictions, get ready if fierce winds came their way.
Nick sat her down on the side of their bed, took her phone and kissed her, then walked away and brought back her nightly narcolepsy med and a glass of water. So much water if a hurricane came, she told herself as he took off her shoes and laid her down, covering her with the sheet—driving rain and storm surge, drowning everything, just everything, like that man caught in the net, but hopefully not Darcy, out there somewhere, somewhere...