“Did you threaten her?”

“No.”

“Then why was she scared of you?”

Steve clenched his fists. “She wasn’t scared of me, she was scared of what I said. She just took it out on me.”

“What did you say that scared her?”

He paused, looked at his hands, which were clasped tightly in front of him. “It sounds bad, but I wanted her to see that her actions have consequences.”

“What did you say?” Carina repeated.

His face reddened as he stared at Carina. Anger? Guilt? Fear? His voice was low. “I told her if she didn’t watch herself she’d end up dead.”

FOUR

THE SAND SHACK was across the highway from the beach. A cross between a Hawaiian luau and surfer haven, the outside eating area was larger than the indoor, and there were racks for surfboards, towels, and backpacks. Several people were eating monster-size hamburgers wearing nothing but bathing suits and flip-flops. A half-dozen Web hookups along one wall allowed patrons to surf the Internet after surfing the waves.

When Carina was in college, the Sand Shack had been called Big John’s and was one of the last fifties-style soda shops, less casual, but still a hangout for students. She’d have loved a place like the Shack, though she missed the old-fashioned soda fountain and jukebox that only played fifties and sixties bubble-gum rock.

She and Will approached one of the waitstaff, who wore a “uniform” of jeans and red T-shirt with “The Sand Shack” in white across the back. “We need to speak to the owner or manager.”

“Sure.” He scurried off.

Moments later a man approached. “I’m the manager. Kyle Burns. Can I help you?”

Burns was in his mid-to-late twenties with short sandy brown hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and the body of a weight lifter.

They identified themselves and Will said, “Do you have an office or somewhere private we can talk?”

He frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it and led the way to the back of the restaurant. A small alcove off the large, spotless stainless-steel kitchen served as an office.

Burns glanced at his watch and Carina asked, “Are we keeping you?”

“No, it’s okay. I have a class at three. I just came in for the lunchtime rush because my assistant manager didn’t show up.”

He pulled a sliding pocket door from the jamb and closed them into the office, then sat on the corner of the organized desk. It was a tight fit for the three of them, and Will leaned in a deceptively casual stance against the narrow wall.

“What can I help you with?” Burns asked.

“When was the last time you saw Angela Vance?” Will asked.

Burns looked from Will to Carina and back to Will. “She’s my assistant who didn’t show up. Did something happen? Is she okay?”

“Did you see her this weekend?”

Burns’s jaw tightened, as if he didn’t like that Will hadn’t answered his questions. “She worked Friday night and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Do you have her schedule handy?”

The manager reached over to a swinging file system on the corner of the desk and pulled a folder from near the back. “Here.”

Will looked through it while Carina asked, “Do you know if Angie was dating someone? Who her close friends were? If anyone has been giving her problems here at work?”

“She’s been seeing this guy Doug Masterson. I told her to watch out for him after I had to kick him out for trying to sell drugs on the premises. I told her he wasn’t welcome, and if I found out she let him come in when I was off, I’d fire her. I didn’t want to, but this is a clean place. I want to keep it that way.” He paused and asked in a voice tinged with worry, “What happened? You wouldn’t be here unless something happened to Angie.”

Carina answered. “Angie’s body was found on the beach early this morning.”

“Her body? You mean she’s dead?”

Burns seemed genuinely surprised and hurt by the news. But, as Carina thought while interviewing Steve Thomas, killers were skilled in deception.

“Angie worked Friday night.” Will said. “Were you here?”

He nodded. “I close on the weekends. It’s busy and I don’t like the girls handling the cash at night. I know, that sounds sexist, and I’ve had more than one girl give me a hard time about it, but I’d rather do the bank drops, you know what I mean?”

“The streets are dangerous,” Will agreed, glancing down at the schedule. “It says Angie worked from four to ten.”

“Yeah, but she was hanging out with some friends until much later.”

“Until when?”

“I’m not sure, but at least midnight. That’s when her ex-boyfriend came in and I had to escort him out.” He shook his head. “Angie really knows how to pick them. Dammit, I should have talked to her, done something to, hell, I don’t know.”

A knock on the door interrupted Carina’s next question.

Burns leaned over and slid open the door. “What’s up?”

A tall, clean-cut teen, probably a college student like most of the employees at the Shack, looked at Carina and Will curiously. “Uh, Kyle, the Pepsi guy’s here. He wants you to sign off on the new order.”

“Tell him I’ll be out in five minutes. Go ahead and put the stock away, I trust you’ll make sure everything’s there.”

The kid nodded, hesitating as if he were going to ask something, then slid the door closed.

“Anything else?” Burns asked.

“You said you escorted Angie’s ex-boyfriend out. Do you know his name?”

“Steve Thomas. A couple weeks ago he came in when Angie was on duty and they got into a huge fight, both of them yelling. The next day, Angie tells me she filed a restraining order against him.”

“Do you remember what the argument was about?”

“I’m not sure, but the rumors going around were that Steve still had the hots for Angie and lectured her about Masterson. Angie doesn’t like being told what to do and who to date, but Steve was right on the money about that low-life Masterson.” He sighed and suddenly looked older than what Carina had pegged as twenty-five. “I liked Angie, but the men she dated were all too old for her. Steve has to be nearly forty. Masterson is over thirty. There were at least four or five other guys Angie brought in since she started working here last summer, all of them over thirty.” He shook his head, frowning.

“On Friday,” Carina asked, “what time did Angie leave?”

“I’m not sure. Probably shortly after I escorted Steve out, which was just after midnight. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t give me a bad time.”

“What did he say?”

Burns paused, thinking. “I think he said, ‘Tell Angie to be careful.’ ”

Outside, Carina and Will called into dispatch to update the patrol watching Steve’s apartment. Carina turned to Will. “Steve Thomas flat-out lied to us. He said ten, Burns says midnight.”

“And just put himself at the top of the suspect list.”

Maybe he was being paranoid, but he went home during lunch to double check that there was nothing of Angie’s left in his room.

There was a smell, something that hadn’t been there before. He went to the bathroom, pulled a can of Lysol disinfectant from under the sink, and sprayed it in the bathroom, bedroom, and then everywhere else. Just in case.

He’d made his bed with fresh linens before he left. Now he sat down and looked around. Everything was neat, organized, as it should be.

He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a metal box, about the size of a shoe box, and ran his fingers over the combination lock until it sprang open.

Inside were pictures, a couple small jars, a knife, a few other items that held special importance for him.

And a faded birthday card from his father, still in the envelope postmarked Corcoran Prison.

He didn’t look at the card, which was underneath everything else. Instead, he picked up the newest addition to the box, Angie’s navel ring.