"John, this is Brenda. There's some funny stuff going on in Tahiti."

She had waited until the weekend to call, not out of deference to Nelson, but because she wanted to think things over. Was she making a mountain out of a molehill? After brunch, when Gus and the kids, stir-crazy from the week's incessant rain, left for a Disney matinee in Hilo, she made herself a pot of tea, put her feet up, and pondered. The longer she thought about it, the less it looked like a molehill, and finally she had placed the call to Seattle and laid it all out for John.

To her annoyance he didn't agree with her. “Look, sis, all I can say is, if the Mob was out to get Nick, they'd get him. They wouldn't be piddling around with sorting machines. Besides, it's ancient history. Why would they wait all this time to come after him?"

"Well, how do you account for it, then? I mean everything put together. And don't tell me Pele."

"How about coincidence? Businesses have bad luck. That's why they're always going under."

Looked at honestly, it was what she would have said herself-if it had involved somebody else's family, somebody else's business, but of course it didn't. “You're probably right,” she said meekly. “I'm sure you are. I-I guess I'm being silly, but I can't help worrying and I didn't know who else to turn to but you."

John let out a long exhalation. He was resigning himself, she thought complacently. She'd always been good at getting around John.

"Oh boy,” he breathed, and then, after a moment: “All right, what do you want me to do, Brenda?"

She laughed. “That sounds more like my kid brother. One thing you could do is check your FBI files, or the Justice Department files, or whatever, on the whole Gasparone case and see what you can find."