I had seen the bag before.

It was Molly’s.

I tried the door and found it was locked. At the back of the house was a small flower bed with a border of river rocks. I picked up the biggest rock, went back, and smashed in the Beemer’s window.

The alarm went off, and I grabbed the bag.

On the way back to my car, I lived up to the other end of my compromise.

I called my sister.

She didn’t like what I had to say.

Chapter Forty-Three

I wasn’t really in the best shape. I ached from the Taser blast and a blow one of the twins had laid on my spine. But mostly I was in shock from killing two women. The sight of blood, especially my own, made me very uncomfortable. And right now, I was doing everything I could to not think about what had taken place at Memphis’ farmhouse. I’m sure the cops were there by now, wondering where I was, scouring the scene, trying to figure out what had happened.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ellen where I was going. Suffice it to say, if there was any way to reach through the phone line and strangle someone, she would have popped my head off like a champagne cork.

Now I was just trying to keep it together.

I was early for my rendezvous with Shannon. I parked my car in the Windmill Pointe Marina parking lot and hurried out to the dock. The wind was picking up, and the chop had graduated from stiff to severe. Above me, the night sky showed no stars, and I could see the black inkiness of serious storm clouds.

The benches normally taken by fishermen going after the perch that hung out close to shore were empty. As were the picnic tables and beach chairs. The whole fucking place was empty except for me.

And maybe Shannon Sparrow.

•

A flash of lightning threw a spotlight on the lake. There wasn’t a single boat. Even the buoys looked like they wanted to come in and get out of the wind.

My boat was called Air Fare because it was owned by some pilot who’d had money to burn, but then lost his job. I had a feeling it was due to drinking, because when I took ownership of the boat and went down below, the smell of gin was overwhelming. Something told me that the pilot was most likely never far from a martini. A man after my own heart, to be honest. I could use about a baker’s dozen of martinis right now.

It had occurred to me that maybe someone had dropped Shannon off. After all, a woman of her stature usually had a driver. Maybe she’d had someone drop her off then would call to have someone pick her up. I hadn’t noticed anyone in the parking lot. There weren’t even any cars, other than a black pickup truck and a white Toyota Tercel, both of which I knew belonged to park workers.

The boat looked just like I’d left it. The dark-red spinnaker cover was snapped into place. The mooring lines were all taut. The deck was neat and clean.

There was no sign of Shannon.

I turned back toward the parking lot. No sense standing out there waiting for her. I boarded the boat and unlocked the doors to the cabin down below.

The smell was a mixture of marine oil, gasoline, booze, and cleaning products.

I flipped on the generator and turned on some of the interior lights, careful to make sure the curtains were drawn. A glimpse into Molly’s briefcase had confirmed the rising feeling. Things were falling into place, and this meeting with Shannon was going to prove everything I believed to be right.

At least, that’s what I hoped.

•

“John?”

I heard her voice from the pier. I’d been lost in thought but now stepped up onto the deck and called back. “Shannon.”

She had on blue jeans, a windbreaker, and topsiders. A large bag was slung over her shoulder. Her hair was loosely pulled back. She looked . . . normal.

“Nice boat,” she said.

“It’s a tub of shit, but thanks,” I said.

She stood there, uncertain. It was odd seeing her by herself. No gang of hangers-on swarming around like a pack of bloodthirsty mosquitoes. She seemed smaller, less sure of herself. Maybe I was reading too much into it.

She stepped off the main dock and walked along the dividing dock between my boat and the one next to me.

I held her hand as she hopped onto the deck. Without saying a word, she went down the stairs to the cabin. After taking a quick look around and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I followed her below.

The cabin’s layout was simple. On one side was a small table surrounded by a U-shaped bench. The other side was a long counter with a sink, a fridge, and a radio. Small storage compartments were tucked everywhere in between.

I gestured for Shannon to sit on one end of the bench, and I took the other. The space was too small to sit face to face, so she sat straight ahead and I sat with my legs out toward the stairs.

“Okay, who called this meeting?” I said.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How come you haven’t said a word about Molly’s death?” I said, ignoring her question. I mean, come on, your assistant falls down the stairs, breaks her neck, and you keep an appointment to meet a PI at ten o’clock at night? It was about as absurd as me killing two people and keeping an appointment with a country music star. Chaos reigned.

“I guess I’m all talked out about it,” she said. “I’ve been over it with the cops nine or ten times.”

“Now that you’ve got your story straight, why don’t you lay it on me?”

“I had nothing to do with it,” she said. “And don’t talk to me like that.”

“You weren’t there when she died?”

She shook her head. “Do you have anything to drink around here?” she said. “Aren’t sailors always supposed to have booze on hand?”

I hesitated and took a look at the big purse she’d slid off her shoulder and placed on the table.

“Oh please,” she said.

It was a moment of truth of sorts. Did I think Shannon was knee-deep in this thing? The bigger question was: how could she not be? But as I looked at her across the table, my gut told me she wasn’t. I got up, went to the sideboard, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, splashing some into a clean glass for her.

“You’re not drinking?” she said.

“You need me to?” I said.

She shrugged her shoulders.

I waited while Shannon drained half the glass in one big gulp. The boat rocked slightly, and I knew that the wind had picked up even more, if it was able to whip waves that big into the harbor.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said.

With a shaking hand, she reached for her purse. I watched her as she pulled out a thick joint and a lighter. As she tried to light the tip, it slipped from her hand and landed on the floor.

“Just tell me what you do know,” I said.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice quavering. “I have people who are supposed to do that for me.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I said.

She nodded.

“Too many people doing too many things on your behalf,” I said. It didn’t seem to register for a moment. When it did, she went pale, and it was hard to see her as the superstar in the press. On the covers of magazines and the object of countless fan clubs and websites. She looked like a scared, lonely woman approaching middle-age.

“Please help me,” she said. “Tell me what’s going on.” Her lips trembled, and the tears started rolling down her cheeks. “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked.

I let out a long breath. “I think I do.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

I took the CD from Molly’s purse, the one I’d found in the twins’ silver BMW. I went to the control panel of the boat where a small, built-in CD player was housed. I flicked on the power button and slid the disc in. I waited a moment and then hit play.