"Very good. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're spending time thinking of wiseass remarks."

"I actually don't think about them."

She continued, "I'm not saying for certain that a boat was in those reeds, though it appears there was. There are recently broken bulrushes." She added, "The muck shows no signs of compression, but we've had eight tides since the murder, and that may have erased any marks in the mud."

I nodded. "Boy, this is not like a Manhattan homicide. I mean, bulrushes, wetlands, muck, tides, big deep bays with bullets at the bottom. This is like Sergeant Preston of the Yukon."

"You see what I mean? You're a total wiseass."

"Sorry-

"Okay, I spoke to Max on the phone, and he's very annoyed at you for putting Fredric Tobin through the wringer."

"Fuck Max."

She said, "I have smoothed things over for you with Max."

"Thank you so much."

She asked me, "Did you learn anything from Fredric Tobin?"

"Did I ever. Leaf spread. Maceration of the skins with the juice in the barrels. What else…?"

"Should I interview him?"

I thought a moment, then replied, "Yes, you should."

"Are you going to give me any clues about why I should interview him?"

"I will. But not right now. You should, however, forget drugs, bugs, vaccines, and anything to do with the Gordons' work."

She stayed silent for a really long time as we walked. Finally, she asked, "Are you certain?"

"I kid you not." Get it?

"Then what is the motive? Tell me."

"I think I'm getting your goat a little." Get it?

She looked at me, sort of funny, then asked, "Romance? Sex? Jealousy?"

"Nope."

"The Wiley land?"

"That's part of it."

She seemed deep in thought.

We were back at my uncle's property now, and we stopped near the dock. We sort of faced one another, both of us with our hands in our jacket pockets. I was trying to figure out how I felt about this woman in light of Emma, and Beth was trying to figure out who killed the Gordons. It occurred to me that maybe after the case was solved, then we'd all have to resolve how we felt, and who we felt it for.

Beth said, "Pick a rock and give it your best shot."

"Is this a contest?"

"Of course."

"What's the prize?"

"Don't worry about it. You're not going to win."

"Well, aren't we a little overconfident?" I found a really great skimmer-round, flat on the bottom, and concave on the top-a perfect airfoil. I wound up like it was the final pitch of a three and two count and let loose. The rock hit, skipped, hit, skipped, hit, skipped, hit, skipped, and sank. Wow. "Four," I said, just in case she wasn't counting.

She'd already found her skimmer-round, a little bigger than mine, and concave on both sides. That's another theory. She took off her jacket and handed it to me. She hefted the stone in her hand like she was considering braining me with it, then, probably psyched up at the mental image of my head bobbing out there on the water, she let loose.

The stone hit and skipped four times and would have sunk, but it caught a small ripple wave and went airborne one more time before disappearing.

Beth wiped her hands and took her jacket from me.

"Very good," I said.

"You lose," she said. She put her jacket back on and said, "Tell me what you know."

"You're such a great detective, I'll just give you the clues, and you can figure it out. Okay, listen up-the rented house on the water with the speedboat, the acre of Wiley land, the Peconic Historical Society, the history of Plum Island and surrounding islands, the lost week in England… what else… the numbers 44106818… what else?"

"Paul Stevens?"

"Possibly."

"Fredric Tobin?"

"Possibly."

"How does he fit? Suspect? Witness?"

"Well, Mr. Tobin and his winery may be dead broke. Or so I heard. So he may be a desperate man. And desperate men do desperate things."

Beth replied, "I'll check out his financials. Meanwhile, thanks for the great clues."

I replied, "It's all there, kid. Look for a common denominator, a thread that runs through those clues."

She didn't like this game and said, "I have to go. I'll tell Max you solved the case, and he should give you a call." She started back across the lawn toward the house. I followed.

Back in the kitchen, she began gathering her papers.

"By the way," I asked, "what do those two signal flags mean?"

She continued packing her briefcase and said, "The flags are the letters B and V. In the phonetic alphabet, they are Bravo Victor." She looked at me.

I asked, "How about the other meaning? The word meaning?"

"The Bravo flag also means dangerous cargo. The Victor flag means require assistance."

"So, the two flags could mean dangerous cargo, require assistance."

She replied, "Yes, which would make sense if the Gordons were carrying dangerous micro-organisms. Or even illegal drugs. This could have been a signal to their partner. But you say this has nothing to do with bugs or drugs."

"That's what I say."

She informed me, "According to a guy in my office who's a sailor, a lot of people on land run up pennants as nothing more than a decoration or a joke. You couldn't do that on the water, but on the land, no one takes it seriously."

"True enough. That's what the Gordons often did." But this time… dangerous cargo, need assistance… I said, "Go with the assumption it was a signal to someone." I added, "It's a terrific signal. No telephone record, no cell phone, just an old-fashioned flag signal. Probably pre-arranged. The Gordons are saying, 'We got the goods on board, come help us unload this stuff"

"What stuff?"

"Ah. That is the question."

She looked at me and said, "If you have information or evidence that you're holding back-and I suppose you do-then you may have a legal problem, Detective."

"Now, now. No threats."

"John, I'm investigating a double murder. They were your friends, and this is not a game-"

"Hold on. I don't need a lecture. I was sitting on my back porch minding my own business when Max comes calling with his hat in his hand. By the same time the next evening, I'm standing in an empty parking lot at the ferry after a day in biocontainment with my thumb up my nose. And now-"

"You hold on. I've treated you very well-"

"Oh, come on. You took a two-day walk on me-"

"I was working. What were you doing?"

And so on. After about two minutes of this, I said, "Truce. This is not productive."

She got herself under control and said, "I'm sorry."

"You should be." I added, "I'm also sorry."

And so we made up, without kissing.

She said, "I'm not pressing you for what you know, but you did indicate that after I told you about what I knew, you'd do the same."

"I will. But not this morning."

"Why not?"

"Speak to Max first. It would be much better if you just briefed him from your notes and not from my theories."

She thought about that and nodded, "Okay. When can I hear your theories?"

"I just need a little more time. Meanwhile, think about those clues I gave you and see if you come up with what I came up with."

She didn't reply.

I added, "What I will promise you is that if I get it all together, I'll hand it to you on a silver platter."

"That's very generous of you. What would you like in return?"

"Nothing. You need the career boost. I'm at the top of my career."

"You're actually in trouble and solving this case won't get you out of it-it'll get you further into it."

"Whatever."

She looked at her watch and said, "I have to meet Max."

"I'll walk you to your car."

We walked outside, and she got into her car. She said, "I'll see you tomorrow night at the Tobin party, if not sooner."