I was staying at a friend's beach house. When Anne had upgraded from Sullivan's two years earlier, she hadn't messed around. Her new getaway had five bedrooms, six baths, and enough square footage to host the World Cup.

Taking a couple of feeder streets, I maneuvered toward the beach, pulled into Anne's drive, and parked under the house. Ocean Boulevard. No second row for oceanfront Annie.

Every window was dark since I had planned on a predusk return. Without turning on lights, I went straight to the outdoor shower, stripped, and cranked up the hot water. Twenty minutes with rosemary, mint, and a lot of lather, and I felt reasonably restored.

Leaving the stall, I bundled my clothing into a plastic sack and trashed it. No way I'd subject Annie's Maytag to that.

Wearing only a towel, I entered the house through the back veranda and climbed to my room. Panties and a T. Brush through my hair. Gorgeous.

While zapping my soup, I again checked my messages. Nothing. Where was Ryan? Taking my mobile and my dinner to the porch, I settled in a rocker.

Anne called her place "Sea for Miles." No kidding. The horizon spread from Havana to Halifax.

There's something about the ocean. One minute I was eating. The next I was jolted awake by the sound of my cell. My plate and bowl sat empty. I had no recollection of closing my eyes.

The voice wasn't the one I was hoping to hear.

"Yo."

Only frat boys and my estranged husband still said "yo."

"Dude." I was too tired to be clever.

"How goes the dig?"

I pictured the bones now lying in the MUSC morgue. I pictured Emma's face as she had pulled away from the dock. I didn't want to go into it.

"Fine."

"Wrapping up tomorrow?"

"Some loose ends may take longer than I'd expected. How's Birdie?"

"Doing twenty-four/seven surveillance on Boyd. Your cat thinks my dog's been conjured up from the dark side to pollute his life. Chow thinks the cat's some kind of fluffy wind-up toy."