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  Mr. Kobayashi looked up, a pained expression on his normally placid face. “There was a secret biological and chemical warfare research and development unit of the Imperial Japanese Army called Unit 731. The scientists explored germ warfare by experimenting on more than ten thousand people, most of them Chinese and Korean citizens.” He closed his eyes. “Some sources believe that the use of Unit 731’s bioweapons and chemical weapons programs resulted in possibly as many as two hundred thousand deaths.”

  Darby swallowed. “Surely the people responsible for these crimes were punished?”

  Hideki Kobayashi inclined his head. “Some were arrested by Soviet forces and tried at the Khabarovsk War Crime Trials; others surrendered to the American forces, but many of the scientists involved went on to prominent careers in academia, business, and medicine.” He paused. “Including your grandfather.”

  “What?” Darby’s eyes flew open. “What are you talking about?”

  His voice was gentle. “The book about Unit 731 listed your grandfather as one of the scientists conducting experiments.”

  Darby shook her head, her hair swaying with the movement. “That’s crazy. My grandfather would never have been involved in something so terrible.” She looked down at the photograph’s image of the smiling, bespectacled man. “You are mistaken. My mother—”

  “Your mother didn’t know, at least, not until the book came out. I suspect she had much the same reaction as you—shock, horror, disbelief.”

  “Surely she asked my grandfather, and he denied it?”

  Hideki Kobayashi shook his head. “I believe that by that time, the old gentleman was suffering from dementia. His mind was not reliable. I believe that this is the reason your mother sailed on the Nihon Maru. She wished to find out the truth.”

  Darby’s head was spinning. “I don’t understand.”

  “From what I have gathered, your mother requested the opportunity to sail on the ship. She knew that the highest officials of Genkei Pharmaceuticals would be aboard, and I believe she wished to confront them and clear your grandfather’s name of any scandal. I do not know what she discovered while on the ship, but I do know what she found while in Boston.”

  “What?”

  “Your father.” He gave a small, tender smile and Darby felt tears welling up in her eyes. This was too much—simply too much. She blinked them back and cleared her throat.

  “Mr. Kobayashi, I thank you for brunch—it was delicious. I need to go now and help Helen. I’ll be in touch regarding our next step for St. Andrew’s Isle.” She managed a shaky smile. “Goodbye.”

  He stood and looked into her eyes. “Darby, sometimes in these situations, there is no easy right and wrong.” He cleared his throat. “I am suggesting that perhaps your grandfather did not have a choice.”

  She gave a small shake of her head, her long black hair shimmering in the sun. With trembling hands, she grabbed her purse from the adjoining chair. “When it comes to the taking of a life,” Darby said slowly, “I believe everyone has a choice.” She turned, leaving a silent Hideki Kobayashi behind.

  _____

  Kelly McGee took a spoonful of her frosted wheat squares and reached for the Sunday newspaper, turning immediately to the obituaries. For some reason, she loved to learn about the lives of those who had just passed away, especially if they were a ripe old age. She crunched happily on her cereal and read about an octogenarian jazz pianist who had succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease, an insurance salesman who had fought a brave battle with lung cancer, and a seventy-eight year old grandmother who had loved making quilts. She sighed. It was a shame anyone had to die, but at least these people had lived a good, long life. Not like Candy Sutton, whose face smiled serenely from her photograph. Sighing again, Kelly began to read the long columns describing the too-short life of the murdered escort.

  She finished reading and gave her tortoiseshell cat, Buster, the empty cereal bowl. He winked in thanks and began licking up the leftover skim milk, his tongue a delicate shade of pastel pink. Kelly leaned back against her faded denim couch, thinking about Candy Sutton’s last days.

  Two days before her attack in the alley she’d called the station and asked to speak to a detective. Kelly gave the call to Dave and he’d agreed to meet with Candy on Saturday. Early Saturday morning, while walking her dog, Candy was beaten with a foot-long two-by-four until her skull was split apart. Dave had found her when he arrived for their appointment.

  Kelly took the bowl from the satisfied cat and placed it in the sink. The killer had taken quite a chance surprising Candy in broad daylight. Yes, it was the early morning, before daybreak, but still, people were out and about, delivering newspapers, opening their shops, and heading into work …

  Kelly let it go and thought instead about Kyle Cameron. Her obituary had run in the daily paper, too, but since Kelly’s subscription was just on the weekends, she’d never seen it. She reached for her laptop and found the newspaper’s website. Scrolling down, she clicked on the obituary for Kyle B. Slivicki Cameron and began reading.

  Kyle had been raised by her grandmother, the late Anna Slivicki, and received a prestigious scholarship to Florida State University, where she’d joined Alpha Delta Alpha, an exclusive sorority, and graduated with honors. She’d won the Miss Florida pageant and gone on to represent her state at the national level. Her successful career in real estate, most recently as an agent for Barnaby’s International Realty, and marriage to restaurant owner Jack Cameron were all described, as was her interest in World War II history.

  Kelly leaned back to pet Buster who was rubbing especially hard against her calves. Kyle. It was such an unusual name for a girl—and what did the “B” stand for? She looked on a website for the State Office of Vital Statistics, but it was not open on Sunday. With Buster hot on her heels, Kelly McGee got up from the couch with a plan.

  _____

  The light on Helen’s answering machine was blinking and Darby checked the message, hoping it was Helen saying she was ready to come home from the hospital. Instead, the message was in a strong, slightly-accented female voice that Darby did not recognize, until the caller identified herself as Carlotta Vega, domestic assistant for the Cameron family.

  I am sorry to bother you on a Sunday, the message said, but I need to speak to Darby Farr as soon as possible. Please call my cell phone number. After relaying the number, Carlotta had disconnected.

  Darby checked her phone to see if Helen had called, and then called Carlotta Vega’s cell. A brisk hello came almost instantly.

  Darby introduced herself and asked how she could help. The voice on the other end lowered by several octaves and replied, “Please, meet me at the boathouse on the Cameron property as soon as possible.” Carlotta Vega paused. “The building where you found Jack.”

  “I remember.” Darby agreed to leave immediately, glad for a reason to stop thinking about Hideki Kobayashi’s revelations. She hung up the phone and headed back to the Mustang. Backing out of Helen’s driveway, she wondered what Carlotta Vega had to say, and why on earth it was so urgent.

  _____

  Chellie Howe poured herself another cup of coffee and rubbed her throbbing temples. A sleepless night; a night spent replaying the luncheon with Alexandra Cameron over and over again, the luncheon at which the idea to kill Kyle had been hatched.

  Jack’s own sister had done it. She’d met Kyle at the Esperanza Shores open house with some sort of thin-bladed knife and stabbed her until she’d bled out on the shiny wood floors. She’d cut off her pinkie, exited the condominium, disposed of the weapon and her clothes, and concocted an alibi.

  The “why” was easy: she hated Kyle Cameron. She always had, even before the Miss Florida competition. It wasn’t Kyle’s beauty—Alexandra possessed uncommonly good looks—it was Kyle’s confidence, her drive to succeed despite the crappy hand life had dealt her. Alexandra’s privileged upbringing had somehow denied her this confidence. She flitted from one thing to the next, unsure and unhappy, doub
ting every choice she made.

  And then Kyle had taken Alexandra’s prized possession, her baby brother, in much the same way she’d stolen Foster from Chellie. How painful it must have been for Alexandra to pretend to be happy for them! At least when the couple separated, she could quit pretending to like Kyle. But then she’d watched her brother’s slow spiral into addiction and madness, a course no one but Kyle could prevent.

  Chellie Howe swallowed. She knew the whole story. The question was: how could she be implicated?

  _____

  Darby drove to the boathouse and parked by the entrance, flashing back to a few days earlier when she’d found Jack Cameron’s unconscious body on the fly bridge of the sport fishing boat. She entered the building, remembering how dark it became once she stepped inside the old wooden structure. The scent of smoke caught her attention and she heard a small cough.

  “Ms. Farr, thank you for coming.” Carlotta Vega emerged from the shadows, a glowing Cuban cigar in her hand. “Pardon my vice. I smoke only on weekends.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “The scent is so much richer than cigarettes.”

  Carlotta Vega sucked in a breath. “Oh, yes. There is no comparison. My family has worked in Sarasota’s cigar industry for several generations, and my Uncle Carlos owns a small plant just north of the city. This is one of his cigarillos.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Would you like to try one?”

  Darby declined and Carlotta Vega shrugged. She moved out of the shadows, her face hard, her eyes brittle and black. “You’re wondering why you are here, and I won’t waste your time. I’ve asked you to come because you are smart, and because Señora Cameron trusts you.” She paused. “What I am about to say will come as a surprise. I know you will use your discretion.”

  Darby nodded. “I won’t break any laws or put someone in danger, but you can count on me to keep your confidence.” She watched Carlotta take another long drag, exhale slowly, and then crush the cigarillo under the heel of her shoe. She gave Darby a penetrating look, her demeanor a far cry from a subservient maid.

  Carlotta crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. “Let’s see. Do I begin with the fact that John Cameron is screwing my daughter, or enlighten you as to his new business smuggling rum with my cousin?”

  Darby knew Carlotta was expecting a reaction, but the level-headed agent met her gaze and waited. Compared to Hideki Kobayashi’s news about her grandfather and chemical warfare, Carlotta’s revelations were on the tame side.

  Carlotta gave a rueful chuckle. “You don’t shock easily, do you, Darby Farr?” She shook her head. “Obviously, this—affair—that John Cameron is having with Julia is the worst of the two offenses, at least from my perspective. I’d like to say that he seduced her, but I can well imagine it happening the other way around. My daughter is nineteen, Ms. Farr, and believes she’s entitled to the finer things in life, things like Casa Cameron and all that it offers.” She swept an arm around the boathouse and sighed. Darby could see her brittle aura of self-confidence starting to crack.

  “Julia thinks her lover will leave Señora Cameron, an idea that I have told her is ludicrous, but of course, the more I say, the more she retreats from me and into this schoolgirl fantasy.”

  “How did you find out about their relationship?” Darby’s voice was quiet.

  “I suspected something, but it was at Kyle Cameron’s memorial service that I knew for sure.” She looked down at her hands and then back up at Darby. Her dark eyes flashed with anger.

  “I would like to crush John Cameron the way I crushed that cigarillo a few moments ago. He has never treated his wife with respect, and now this, with my daughter …” she closed her eyes and gave a big exhale. “Unfortunately, I am not the murderous type. If I were, he would already be dead.”

  Darby shifted her weight onto her other foot. “Does Mitzi know? What about Jack and Alexandra?”

  Carlotta shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Señora Cameron’s lack of mobility keeps her somewhat sheltered, and the other two have been so caught up in their own dramas that they don’t notice anything else around them.”

  “Tell me about the other issue you mentioned.”

  Carlotta raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the smuggling. Again my sweet Julia may be somewhat to blame, as she undoubtedly made the connection between Javier and John.” She took another breath. “Javier Vega is a second cousin to me. He’s always been kind of a street thug, nothing more, but now it appears he is a thug who smuggles Cuban rum.”

  “And John Cameron? How is he involved?”

  “From what I have heard, he provided the start-up funds as well as a place to store and sell their wares.” She paused. “Belle Haven.”

  “How does Jack fit into all this?” Darby wanted to believe that the man was finally on the road to recovery.

  She gave a sound of disgust. “You saw him when you first arrived—worthless. His mental state was like mush. He’s had no idea what was going on with his marriage nor his properties. Marco has kept the Dive open, but no one cared about Belle Haven. Jack virtually abandoned the building, so his father used it for a little business on the side.”

  “Why would John Cameron do something so stupid? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Carlotta’s chuckle was bitter. “You don’t know the first thing about him. You think he’s a rich white man with a huge estate. The truth is, he comes from nothing and has conned people his whole life, including his wife. He’s smuggling rum because that’s the kind of man he is. Greedy. Reckless. And, although he enjoys thinking he is smarter than everyone else, ultimately he is stupid.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to the house. Let me tell you why I have confided in you.” She pursed her lips.

  “I want to get Julia away from here. We have family in South America, and I think I can persuade her to go. But first I need John Cameron out of the picture.” She ran a hand through her hair and continued. “I have evidence that Javier set the Belle Haven fire, on John’s say-so, of course, and I want to make a deal with Detective Briggs. Javier cooperates, and John Cameron is dealt with quietly, providing he stays away from Julia.” Her face hardened. “Forever.”

  Darby considered Carlotta’s bargain. “Why do you need my help?”

  “You know Jonas Briggs. Maybe you can persuade him to keep this whole thing quiet.” Her eyes softened. “I’m thinking about Señora Cameron.”

  “I understand, but what about Jack? His reputation has been ruined—first the murder, now the charge of arson—shouldn’t he have a chance to clear his name?”

  Carlotta nodded. “Yes, but perhaps he can do it privately, or after some time has elapsed. After all, the damage is already done. But if Señora Cameron learns of all this—”

  “I may keel over and die? Is that what you are worried about, Carlotta?” Out of the shadows wheeled Mitzi Cameron, her arms pumping to make the chair roll at a surprisingly fast clip. “I may be in this chair, but I am not dead and I am certainly not going to sit by while my so-called husband lets our son take the blame for something he did. And as for Julia—” her voice softened. “I’m sorry, Carlotta. Let me pay for her flight to Chile. It is the very least I can do.”

  Carlotta looked down at the ground and then back at her employer. “Señora, I apologize for not telling you this myself.”

  Mitzi drew herself taller in the chair. “I am disappointed in your lack of confidence in me.” Her tone softened. “But I do understand.” She pointed at Darby. “Shouldn’t you be fetching Helen at the hospital?”

  Darby nodded. “She’ll be ready after lunch.”

  Mitzi Cameron pursed her lips. “Good.” She turned her attention back to Carlotta. “Please help me get back to the house. It is a long distance and I’m feeling rather fatigued.” Her voice mellowed once more. “We will call Detective Briggs the minute we arrive.”

  _____

  Driving back to Helen’s cottage, past the shopping district and through downtown Sarasota, Darby ponde
red Carlotta’s revelations and the fact that Mitzi Cameron now knew the truth—or some of it, anyway. She had accepted it stoically, with the poise of someone used to dealing with adversity. That’s certainly not the way I responded to Hideki Kobayashi’s news this morning, she thought. She pictured the smiling face of her maternal grandfather, Tokutaro Sugiyama. Could he really have been involved in biological warfare against civilians?

  Darby thought about what she knew of her mother’s family. They had lived in Kamakura, south of Tokyo. Her mother had been the only child of Tokutaro and Ayaka Sugiyama. She could not recall mention of any aunts, uncles, or cousins. Of her parents’ only trip to Japan, shortly after their marriage, Darby recalled more stories from her father than her mother. He’d told her of meeting his new bride’s parents, of their kindness and hospitality. She remembered him describing Tokutaro Sugiyama’s prowess as a student of karate, and the way the elderly man had tried to teach his new son-in-law some of his famous moves.

  She pulled into Helen’s driveway, crossed the porch, and entered the cheerful home. Helen’s computer was in the kitchen, and Darby sat down and typed in “Unit 731.” For twenty minutes she read about the chemical and biological weapons the unit had created, and the horrible experiments carried out on innocent people. She felt her body grow cold. The atrocities were more than disturbing. They were almost unbearable.

  She groaned and leaned back from the computer. Her brain felt like an angry hive of wasps, buzzing with question after question. Was this how her mother had felt when she heard the allegations? Was that why she had sailed on the Nihon Maru? Had she confronted the pharmaceutical company’s management? What had transpired? Had more been at stake than Grandfather Sugiyama’s reputation? Had his pension or his freedom been threatened as well?

  Darby turned off the computer. She wished she had someone to help her make sense of this disturbing information.

  The image of Miles Porter flashed in her mind. Miles! She’d forgotten to call him in the morning as she’d vowed.