“It’s quiet here now, and I’m not chief yet. I’ve had the time. Still, she got to another, and she’s back in the wind. There’s no telling who she’ll target next, when or where. Might as well toss the names in a hat and pick one.”

“The twisted bitch is more logical than that. To her mind, every target so far got some sort of splash out of that night. A little fame, a little fortune—and a routine she could document or exploit. We can go right down the line on that, ending with Bob Kofax.”

“All over his Facebook page,” Reed agreed. “Where he was going, when, why. More when he got there. She took herself a working vacation.”

“Yeah, she did. The feds tracked her to a room at the same resort.”

Reed whipped around. “You’re sure?”

“I know how to keep my head down and my ears open. You can add this name to your board: Sylvia Guthrie. She won’t use that name again, but she used it to book and pay for the room and her expenses—American Express. And to book her flight, round-trip, first class, direct from New York. JetBlue out of JFK.”

“Chaz is in New York. He got a promotion and moved to New York.”

“They don’t think she had her hole there. They’re of the same mind as we’ve been. Canada.”

“She won’t stay there now.”

“Unlikely. I’ve got copies of her Guthrie passport and driver’s license photos down in my bag. It listed a New York address, but it’s bogus. You can have them for your board, too. My information is she flew into Bermuda the day before the target, got herself a fucking massage, charged a hundred dollar bottle of wine and a damn fine meal to her room. Charges also include a couple of virgin daiquiris from the drink service on the beach, on the third day—the target and his family racked up some bar bills there, same time frame, before the target became short of breath, keeled over, and died, thanks to the cyanide in his mai tai.”

“The second time she’s used poison. Dr. Wu.” Reed gestured to the board. “Crowded beach instead of a crowded bar for Kofax, cyanide in his drink instead of jabbing him with a toxin like Wu, but it rings the same. I think she likes to shoot,” he added. “I think she likes the impact, the blood, but sometimes poison’s easier.”

“Same page,” Essie told him. “The Kofax family was in and out of the water,” she continued as she wandered the room. “Boogie boards, horsing around, using the shaded lounge chairs the resort provides. Target ordered his mai tai—his second of the afternoon—a drink for his wife, a lemonade for one of the grandkids, then dragged his wife up to hit the water with the kids again. He came back, plopped down, started on his drink. And died at forty-nine, a day before his fiftieth birthday.”

“All she had to do was stretch out somewhere, mark where he sat, what he drank. Dump the poison in while he’s in the water, walk the fuck away.”

“Which she did, before she strolled back to the resort spa and enjoyed a facial. Prebooked. It was always going to be poison for this one, I’d say. If not on the beach, then at the pool bar, or the open-air bar, one of the restaurants. She saw her chance, and she took it.”

“Did they question her?”

“Busy season at the resort, but the locals spoke with her briefly. She stated she’d been on the beach about that time, had even noticed the big, happy family. She’d left for her spa appointment, and hadn’t noticed anyone near the family group. But she’d been engrossed in her book. By the time the feds got wind, she’d poofed.”

“That’s luck as well as smarts and planning.” Studying the board, Reed slipped his hands into his back pockets. “That’s a lot of luck.”

“She’s got plenty of it. The only time we know of she ran low was with you.”

“Yeah.” Absently, he rubbed a hand on his side.

“How’s the side, the shoulder?”

“I’m good. I’m still doing fricking yoga.”

“That, I’d like to see.”

“No, you really wouldn’t. Let me get you that coffee.”

“I’ll let you practice making the girl of your dreams a latte, but let’s have it up here.” She looked back at the board. “Bounce things around, see if anything shakes.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She gave him two hours before she had to drive back to the ferry. Reed couldn’t say anything had shaken, but they both speculated Hobart might settle down in warmer climes for a while.

Why not?

Taking that angle, they’d both study survivors who’d relocated south.

“I’m really glad you finally made it out. Next time,” he told her, “steaks on the grill for the whole family.”

“Do you have actual dishes?”

“Ah … sort of.”

“Buy dishes, and a bed. Feather your nest, partner. It’s a really great nest.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, my mother said the same thing, and even threatened to make my dad haul stuff from the attic out here.”

“Buy your own.” She jabbed him in the chest. “You’re a big boy now.” She started to kiss his cheek, then glanced over at the knock on the door.

“Company.”

He went to the door, grinned when he opened it to CiCi. “Hello, gorgeous. You’re just in time to meet one of my favorite people.” Taking her hand, he tugged her in. “CiCi Lennon, Essie McVee.”

“We’ve met.” CiCi, a bright green tam over flowing red hair, strode over in her ancient UGGs, took Essie’s hand. “You might not remember.”

“I do. I met you, briefly, outside of Mi-Hi Jung’s hospital room.”

“I didn’t realize,” Reed said.

“You wanted to check on her and Simone,” CiCi said. “My impression at the time was of a dedicated and caring woman. I’m never wrong. You’re here to spend some time with Reed.”

“I’ve spent it. What a terrific house. Better when it’s got some actual furniture.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“I’ve got to run, make the ferry. I’m glad I got a chance to see you again, Ms. Lennon.”

“CiCi. Reed, next time, you bring Essie over to see us. I hope you bring your husband and little boy.”

“I’m planning on it. Reed.” Essie hugged him, kissed his cheek. “I’m proud of you, Chief.”

“Go on and walk Essie out to her car,” CiCi ordered. “There’s a package for you in mine. You can bring it in.” She unwound a bright green scarf as she spoke. “I’m going to help myself to a glass of wine, if you have some, Reed.”

“Got the white and the red you like.”

“My man. Come back soon, Essie.”

CiCi tossed her coat, scarf, and hat on a truly deplorable sofa. Essie was right about furniture, CiCi thought, deciding on the white Reed had chilling in the refrigerator, as she liked it.

She poured two glasses. He’d rather have a beer, she thought, but she hoped her housewarming gift rated the wine.

He came back, loaded down with the package. “You had to drive with the window down to fit it in there. It’s cold, CiCi.”

“We islanders are sturdy stock.”

“It’s a painting.” A big one, and he could feel the frame under the thick brown paper she’d wrapped it in. “You did a painting for me.”

“I did, and I hope you’ll like it.”

“I don’t even have to see it to know I’ll love it.”

“It’d be more fun if you did see it. Come on, come on, get the paper off. I have a strong opinion where it needs to go. We’ll see what you think.”

He had to lay it on the kitchen island to peel off the tape, pull the protective cardboard from the corners of the frame. He flipped it over, took a sheet of cardboard from the front.

And stared, stunned, grateful, overwhelmed.

“Holy shit, CiCi.”

“I take that as approval.”

“I don’t even know what to say. It’s amazing.”

The beach, the rocks, the strip of sand, all the colors so vivid and strong. Birds winged over the water; a white boat glided toward the horizon. The bluest of blue skies spread, and one of the filmy white clouds formed a dragon like the one guarding her guest room.

A few shells, exquisitely detailed, dotted the sand like scattered treasures.

And two figures sat on the rocks, angled toward each other, looking out.

“It’s us,” he murmured. “It’s you and me.”

“It won’t be the last time I paint you, but it’s a good start.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He looked at her. “I honestly don’t know how to thank you. It’s magic. Just like you.”

“That’s a perfect thing to say. We look right, don’t we? Kindred souls reunited.”

“I really love you, CiCi.”

“I really love you right back. Where do you think you want to hang it?”

“It has to go there, over the fireplace. It has to be where you can see it from everywhere.”

“You’re exactly right. No time like the now. I’ve got hangers.” She reached in her pocket for them. “And a drill in the car, if you don’t have one.”

“Yeah, I got one.”

“And a tape measure. Let’s get it done, and done right.”

She proved fussy about the accuracy of measuring, and beat him to hell and back on the math part of it. But with her fussing, calculating, and assistance, he hung his first piece of art in his new home.

“I have an original CiCi Lennon. Hell, I’m in an original CiCi Lennon. And it’s awesome.”

She handed him his glass, tapped hers to it. “To you and your happy home.”

He drank with her, then drew her in. “Where would I be now if you hadn’t walked down that morning?”