“Yes,” Irene says. “The boys and I received calls as well—”

“And then I contacted Agent Vasco myself last week to let her know that…well, we found money in Rosie’s room.”

Irene gazes out the window, trying to focus on the views. The vista of the neighboring islands across the turquoise water is nothing short of spectacular. Less than a month ago, Irene made the same drive but she saw nothing, noticed nothing.

Money. “How much?”

“A lot.”

“How much, Huck?”

“A hundred and twenty-five grand.”

A hundred and twenty-five grand. A hot, nauseating panic rises in Irene’s chest. “In cash, you mean?”

“Yes, in cash. Bricks of it.”

“And they took it?”

“They took it,” Huck says. He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke out his window. “And I heard they paid a visit to Welcome to Paradise Real Estate.”

“Dear God,” Irene says. “Paulette?”

“She left the island. Her husband and her son too.”

“She left the island?” Irene says. “I called and left a message asking for a certified copy of the death certificate and she never returned my call, but then, voilà, a copy came in the mail.”

“Well, that’s good,” Huck says. “Right?”

“I thought Russ was still alive somewhere,” Irene says. “I had these dreams where he was so…vivid, so present, so whole. He was there, three-dimensionally, in my mind. And when I’d wake up, I’d think, He made it out of that helicopter and Croft plucked him out of the sea and whisked him away.” Irene is mortified when her voice breaks. “I thought he was just hiding somewhere. I thought I’d see him again.”

Huck takes Irene’s hand. Irene looks down to see their fingers intertwined, her hand slender and wrinkled and white, his large and wrinkled and brown.

“The FBI didn’t find anything in Iowa,” Irene says. “Did they find anything in your house, other than the money? Did they find anything in Rosie’s room?”

“Not that I know of,” Huck says. “I had Ayers go through Rosie’s things while Maia was at school. Ayers was the one who discovered the money.”

“But not anything else?” Irene says. “No clues? No…explanations?”

“No,” Huck says.

“And we can trust Ayers?” Irene asks. “We don’t think she knows more than she’s saying, do we?”

“I trust her,” Huck says. “She’s just as in the dark as you and me.”

“But she was Rosie’s best friend,” Irene says. “Her confidante. Surely…”

“Where the Invisible Man was concerned, Rosie was a brick wall,” Huck says. He signals to turn up Lovers Lane. “Sorry—I mean Russ.”

“It’s okay,” Irene says. “The nickname fits.”

When they get to the house, they see both Jeeps are gone; the boys must still be out. Huck brings Irene’s luggage up the stone steps to the deck.

“Will you stay for a beer?” Irene asks.

“I should go collect Maia,” he says.

“No, of course,” Irene says. She needs to shower and unpack. The news of the FBI, the cash, and Paulette leaving the island has Irene rattled. “Are you worried, Huck? Does it feel like the fire is getting a little close?”

“I’m concerned,” Huck says. “I want to remain informed and aware, but I’m not going to let this whole mess control me. This has nothing to do with us, AC. I have a clean conscience and I know you do as well.”

“I do,” Irene says.

“I’ll tell you if we ever have reason to worry,” he says. “Will you trust me on that?”

Irene nods. It’s remarkable how much better she feels knowing Huck’s on her side. If he’s not going to worry, she isn’t either.

“I’ll take a rain check on the beer,” Huck says. “I promise. And hey, we have an afternoon charter on Wednesday. Two couples from Wichita.”

“So you haven’t had second thoughts?” Irene says. “You still want me to be your first mate?”

“I need you to be my first mate,” Huck says.

“I’ll come on Wednesday and we’ll see how I do, okay? But I promise I won’t be offended if you want to hire some young guy.” She winks at him. “Or young woman.”

“Agent Vasco was quite attractive,” Huck says. “I nearly offered her the job.”

“Oh, was she,” Irene says. She sounds jealous to her own ears.

“Are you jealous?” Huck asks.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Irene says.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Well, maybe it worked,” Irene says. She’s afraid to look Huck in the eye so she busies herself by rolling her suitcases over to the slider. “Thank you for coming to get me. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

Huck smiles at her, shaking his head, and she thinks, What? What?

She shoos him away and he heads down the stairs. Only once he’s gone can Irene get a clear breath. She is so keyed up when he’s around, both agitated and happy.

Agent Vasco was attractive. Bah!

Before she goes into the house, Irene stands at the stone wall and inhales the sight of the sea and the verdant island mountains and the lush hillside below. It’s the prettiest place she’s ever seen, but what is she doing here? It’s truly insane, this decision to move down to work on a fishing boat. Has she lost her mind?

Well, yes, Irene thinks. She probably has. And good for her.

Ayers

On Tuesday night, Mick announces that he’s going over to St. Thomas the next morning and he won’t be back until late, so he can’t meet Ayers after her charter with a smoothie.

“I guess the honeymoon is over,” Ayers says. “I knew it wouldn’t last. What’s happening in St. Thomas?”

“Picking up some stuff for the bar,” Mick says.

“Really?” Ayers says. “Like what, from where?”

“Stuff, from places,” Mick says. “Paper straws, for one thing. I have to take all the plastic straws to recycling and replace them with paper straws. Which, although environmentally friendly, disintegrate once they come in contact with liquid, thereby providing a poor straw experience.”

“And what else?”

“What’s with the third degree?” Mick asks.

 

She didn’t sleep with Baker. When he pulled up alongside of her out of the blue, she thought, Is this really happening? And then, without thinking twice, she’d climbed into the car with him and directed him to Hawksnest. She thought they would just sit in the parking lot and talk but that wasn’t very romantic, so she led him down the path toward the beach, which was deserted, and she thought, Is that what I want? Romantic?

The truth is, she hasn’t stopped thinking of him since he left. She doesn’t want to like him, but she does. And reading Rosie’s journals is screwing with her head. Rosie willingly had an affair with a man she knew was married. Ayers’s own dear, sweet friend, a person Ayers admired and respected, did that. The story in the diary is, at least, providing some context. Russ was unhappy, at a crossroads career-wise, and he’d been dropped into paradise for the weekend, where he’d met Rosie, who even on her worst day was achingly beautiful. Something had sparked between them—then ignited. It’s the spark and the flame that intrigue Ayers. Did two good people do something they knew was wrong because there was some kind of magical chemistry involved? Or was it plain old human fallibility, weakness in the face of temptation?