Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

“The little asshole?” I could picture Russell, in his smoking jacket, with scotch on the rocks in hand. “He’s just fine. You know I’d call you if there was a problem, right? Now, have fun and don’t worry about a thing.”

I tried to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Thanks, Russell.” I love you, too.

*****

The three of us celebrated with dinner at one of Mulrooney’s favorite seafood restaurants. The Crusty Claw was right by the bay and had piers, making it accessible by car or boat. Seated at a table on the outdoor deck, we toasted our success with a bottle of Chardonnay and watched the sun melt into the clouds, spreading its dying glow like hot butter.

When the waitress, a petite blonde who looked about sixteen, took our order, I couldn’t help but notice her slight foreign accent.

I smiled and said, “I take it you’re not from around here?”

She shook her head and returned the smile. “I’m from Germany. However, for the next few years, I’ll be attending Oxford.”

I nodded. That was one foreigner with a temporary visa who wasn’t going to be picking crabs or hauling chickens to slaughter.

Naturally, Jamila was in high spirits. “I’m so relieved this is settled. And I’m on the program tomorrow. No question.”

“I’m glad we could make the whole thing go away,” I said.

Jamila looked at me. For a moment, I thought she looked sad.

I smiled. “It’s over, Jamila. Everything’s fine. You’re in the clear.”

She beamed. “Of course.” She leaned toward me and squeezed my arm. “And I have you to thank for that.”

Our food arrived around the time they lit the tiki torches. The water shimmered inky dark with silver glimmers of reflected moonlight and squiggly yellowish-white streaks cast off from houses and dock lights along the shore. Boats with green and red lights eased by now and then, creating the illusion of illuminated dots skimming over the water.

Mulrooney had opted for all-you-can-eat steamed hardshell crabs. Jamila chose crab cakes. I dined like royalty on flounder stuffed with crab imperial.

“Thanks again for taking us out, Mr. Mulrooney,” Jamila said. I kept picking at the crab, expecting to find shells and cartilage, but it had neither.

I avoided thoughts of Luisa and her kids working side by side to keep my dinner free from annoying bits of inedible matter.

Mulrooney attacked a blue crab with a knife, wedging it in the crack between the shells. “Think nothing of it. Frankly, I’m glad Sam and Conroy were able to find out what they did, so we could get the matter dropped before the state began prosecution proceedings.”

“Yeah.” I glanced at Jamila, who was working on her salad. She didn’t know a thing.

“Thank your lucky stars you’re not defending the case now,” Mulrooney continued, deftly flipping the crab shell apart. “The feds are crawling all over it. The INS, the DEA, the IRS. You name it. It seems Marsha was quite the entrepreneur. The nonprofit was saving sea turtles, but it was also allegedly engaged in various illegal activities, including money laundering.”

I smiled. “I just love cases involving the feds,” I said, clearly not meaning it. This reminded me a bit too much of a previous case involving people who changed their identities, committed crimes, and attracted feds like flies to chicken shit.

“You have to admit, Marsha is a pretty shrewd business woman,” Mulrooney said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jamila said. “Criminal queenpin is another.”

I chuckled but thought back to my talk with Danni. She said Marsha wanted to be different from her family. But how far had the apple really fallen from the tree?

“My theory is Marsha and Dwayne killed Curtis,” I said. “Were the police able to apprehend Dwayne?”

Mulrooney nodded. “The idiot was found this afternoon. His boat nearly reached Chincoteague before it ran aground. On alert by the local police, the Coast Guard arrested him and impounded the boat.”

Hmm, I thought. Marsha would no doubt want to trade information in order to plea to a lesser charge than first-degree murder and since she was a member of the influential Bower clan, I suspected Dwayne was royally screwed.

“So … I wonder who called me from Curtis’s phone?”

Mulrooney gouged crab meat from the shell. “Marsha.”

“Why?”