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At that moment, the phone rang.

Tinny, sharp, and too loud, and Becca dropped her coffee cup.

“Becca didn’t get much sleep last night,” Adam said easily, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, fuckhead. You found my present?”

“Why, yes, I did. Where are you now?”

“I want to speak to Rebecca.”

“Sorry, she’s not here. It’s just me. What do you want?”

The phone went dead.

“It was a salesman,” Adam said, all smooth and easy. “The jerk wanted to sell Becca some venetian blinds.” He shrugged. “What was it you wanted to know, Sheriff?”

The sheriff had not taken his eyes off Savich. “Those guys around town. Who are they, Mr. Savich?”

“You found me out, Sheriff,” Savich said. “Actually, my wife and I are here because we’re representing a big resort developer who is seriously interested in this section of the Maine coast. It’s true that Adam is a friend of ours and he, well, he gives us some cover. Now, the guys you’re seeing around are supposed to be very discreet, which means that you’ve got a very sharp eye, Sheriff. They’re doing all sorts of things, like talking to folk, surveying, checking out soil and other flora and fauna, seeing who owns what and how profitable the businesses are now. This is a lovely section of coastline and Riptide is a real neat little town. A resort not too far away—can you imagine what would happen to your local economy? In any case, we won’t be here for much longer, but I would ask you a favor. Could you please keep this under your hat?” Savich said immediately to Sherlock, “I told you the sheriff was too sharp not to catch on to us, honey. I told you he was real smart and he knew everything that went on in his town.”

“Yes, Dillon,” Sherlock said, “you told me that. I’m sorry I didn’t see him as clearly as you did. Yeah, he’s pretty smart, all right.” She gave the sheriff a brilliant smile.

“So, you want me to keep my mouth shut about this, Mr. Savich?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, all right, but if any of them cause any trouble, I’ll be back. This resort of yours—it wouldn’t go spoiling any of the natural beauty around here, would it?”

“No way,” Savich said. “That’s the prime goal of the group I work with.”

Becca eyed Savich after she let the sheriff out the front door, which smelled, he said on his way out, really nice and clean. “You’re something, Savich. I really believed you there for a minute. Goodness, I wanted to ask you the name of the planned resort.”

Savich said, “The phone call gave me time to come up with a decent story.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Becca said as she turned to Adam, who was still standing by the phone.

“Yes, it was him. He wanted to speak to you but I told him you weren’t here. He always calls you Rebecca, not Becca?” At her nod, Adam said, “He was calling from a public phone booth in Rockland. Tommy the Pipe just tracked it down, so there’s nothing we can do.”

Sherlock said slowly, studying a bruised knuckle she’d gotten when she’d clipped Tyler McBride’s jaw, “We’ve got to get him back. We’ve got to set up a meeting somehow.”

“Next time I’ll speak to him,” Becca said. “I’ll set one up.”

“You won’t be bait,” Adam said, his voice sharp as a knife. “No way.”

“Look, Adam, he wants me. If you made yourself the bait, he’d just shoot you and walk away. But not so with me. He wants me up close and personal. Only me. Help me figure out a way to do this, please.”

“I don’t like it.”

18

Hatch, a short, built like a young bull, sporting a large mustache, pulled off a tweed Sherlock Holmes hat to show his shaved head. For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Becca thought he was so impishly cute she wanted to hug him. She thought from the cocky grin on Sherlock’s face that she wanted to hug him right along with her.

This guy was potent. He had more charm than a person deserved, she was thinking a few minutes later when Adam held out his hand and said to him, “Give me the pack of cigarettes in your right pocket, Hatch, now, or you’re fired.”

“Yeah, sure, boss.” Hatch obligingly handed Adam a nearly full pack of Marlboros.