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  Helen nodded. “Yes, I was looking forward to working with her.”

  “She sold me a house a few years back,” the detective remembered. “Nice little place over on Palm Ave. I still live there, love it. Of course, that was before she became such a big shot.” He thought a moment. “St. Andrew’s Isle. That’s where that famous golfer lives.”

  “Tag Gunnerson,” Helen offered.

  “That’s right. The very same. Do you think she was going out there for business or for pleasure?”

  Helen smiled. “I don’t know. But with Kyle Cameron, it was usually one and the same.”

  _____

  Helen huffed indignantly as she cleared away the breakfast dishes. “I don’t think much of Detective Jonas Briggs,” she said, shoving a plate into the dishwasher. It clattered against another plate as if to reinforce her annoyance.

  Darby laughed as she put away the orange juice. “Now why is that, Helen? He seemed like he was trying to be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Perfect gentleman, my eye. He didn’t once ask about you. Here you are, a guest in my home, and he doesn’t even inquire as to your family. No manners whatsoever.”

  Darby laughed again. “But Helen, he was here to ask questions about a murder! It’s not exactly a tea party.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Pretty little thing like you sitting here and all he can talk about is Kyle Cameron selling him his house. Like he was sweet on her! This is the South. Manners are important.” She poured herself another cup of coffee. “Let’s go out on the patio a moment. There’s something I’d like to tell you.”

  Darby nodded, pouring herself a glass of ice water and following her friend through the dining room and out to the shade.

  Helen pulled up a patio chair and sank gratefully into the green and white striped cushion. “Whew, it’s getting hot already, isn’t it? I tell you, this is about the only time you can sit out here this time of year.”

  The shade was welcoming, but Darby could tell that it would only be bearable for another hour or so. She inhaled the sweet scent of citrus trees, and took a sip of her water, wondering what it was the older woman had to say.

  Helen gave a soft chuckle. “What I said about Detective Briggs maybe being attracted to Kyle, that’s because she had that kind of effect on men. They couldn’t keep their eyes off her, even as she got older. She had curves in all the right places, you know, and she could be kind of a flirt.” She paused. “Did you know she was Miss Florida back in the late 1980s?”

  Darby shook her head.

  “You should see the photo Mitzi has of Kyle in her evening gown. She looks like someone from the cast of that old television show, Dynasty. Did you ever see that program?”

  “No, but I’ve seen the styles of that time. Pretty over the top.”

  Helen smiled. “They were. I remember your aunt and this get-up she had. A purple jacket with these big padded shoulders like she was colonel in the army or something. She wore it with these flowered gaucho pants …” Helen’s thoughts were far away, but she took a sip of her coffee and returned to the present. “Anyway, back to Kyle. The last few times I saw her, she gave me the impression that something more was going on in her life. Something besides real estate, I mean.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a new relationship.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, she teased me once about dating, said I should try on-line dating profiles. “They really work,” she said. She told me she had met a really nice guy on some millionaire matching site, and that they’d had a few dates. Another time, she said she was clearing out the bad things in her life—the negative energy, as she put it—and making room for something new and positive.” Helen swatted at a bee that buzzed too close to her cropped gray hair. “I think she finally met someone who cared about her, not just her beauty queen looks.” She looked down at her hands. “And I think I know what she meant about negative energy.”

  Darby waited for Helen to explain. The scent of the citrus trees floated like a light perfume on the ever-thickening air.

  “Mitzi told me last week that Kyle asked Jack for a divorce. He was heartbroken, apparently, even though they’ve been separated for two years.” She sighed. “I love that boy, always have, but I can see why Kyle Cameron wanted to move on. Talk about your negative energy. That Jack is like a storm cloud on a clear blue day.” She gave a guilty glance toward Darby. “I can’t believe I just said that. He’s my godson, for goodness sakes.” She took a gulp of coffee. “Who knows what was going on in Kyle Cameron’s life? It’s hard to know what anyone is really going through.” She looked down at her watch and rose slowly to her feet. “I have to go into the office for a bit, and then I thought I’d stop and see Mitzi. You’re welcome to stay here or come with me.”

  “Actually, I’m going to throw on my sneakers and go for a quick run before it heats up much more.”

  “Now is the time,” Helen agreed. “If you wait too much longer it will be dangerously humid.”

  She reached out and gave Darby’s shoulder a squeeze. “Help yourself to anything you need. How about if you come to my office at noon and we’ll go out for lunch?”

  “Perfect.” Darby said goodbye to the older woman and went to her little room for her sneakers. She smoothed some sun block on her nose and cheeks and grabbed a baseball cap and a little can of pepper spray which she shoved in a pocket. Moments later, she was out the door and running.

  _____

  Her sleek black ponytail swinging in the sun, Darby Farr pounded down the streets of Helen’s neighborhood. She ran for about a mile, past stately homes lining some of Serenidad Key’s oldest streets, before turning around and heading back. A turn toward the water took her by a small park, where young mothers were out pushing strollers, and several artists stood at easels, painting the Gulf. Darby glanced at her watch. She’d been running for a half-hour, and although she was not tired, the heat was beginning to get to her. She turned and headed back toward Helen’s house.

  After rounding the corner of the park’s perimeter, she was back in the tree-lined commercial district, running past a set of swanky designer clothing shops and expensive-looking boutiques. She’d passed a children’s clothing store just opening for business when the rank odor of burning debris assailed her nostrils. Slowing and turning toward an empty lot where the odor seemed to originate, she ran smack into the solid form of Detective Jonas Briggs.

  “Why Ms. Farr,” he said, smiling. “How nice to see you.”

  Darby wiped the sweat off her brow and nodded. “Likewise, Detective Briggs.” She gestured at the blackened debris. “What’s going on? Smells like a fire.”

  “Correct. The building behind me burned to the ground last night. It was a fancy restaurant called Belle Haven. You ever hear of it?”

  “No. But I’m not a local.”

  “That’s right. I kicked myself after I left Miss Near’s property this morning, because I realized how impolite I’d been. I didn’t even ask you where you’re from.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Detective Briggs. You were investigating a murder, and I’d say that takes precedence over small talk.”

  “Still, that’s no excuse for bad manners. My mother would be appalled.”

  “Then we won’t tell her.” Darby glanced at the smoldering remnants of the building. “What caused the blaze?”

  Detective Briggs pursed his lips. “The Fire Marshall’s office is still investigating. I’m here because of the building’s owner, Jack Cameron.”

  Darby whistled under her breath. “This belongs to Jack? The poor guy. First his wife, and now this …”

  “Hmm.” Jonas Briggs squinted in the sunlight. “Getting too hot to be out here jogging, Ms. Farr. How about if I give you a lift home?”

  “Only if you’ll stop calling me ‘Ms. Farr.’ My name is Darby.”

  Jonas Briggs smiled and pointed toward a navy Volvo parked a few spaces away. “An
d I’m Jonas. A pleasure to meet you.” He opened the door for Darby and she slid in. It was impeccably clean, without as much as a ballpoint pen out of place.

  Detective Briggs climbed in and started the engine. “The air will be on in a second,” he said.

  Darby buckled her seat belt. “You car is spotless. Is that a department regulation?”

  The detective chuckled. “I like a clean environment,” he said. “Helps me think. I’m in here so much that I don’t think I could take it if it got sloppy.” He adjusted the air conditioning and smiled. “You let me know if you get too chilly.” Backing out of the parking space, Jonas Briggs eased the car onto the main street.

  “Do you always work homicides?”

  “Nah. Whatever comes my way.” He scanned the streets and turned down the leafy road where Darby had been running only minutes before. “Generally, this is a pretty boring jurisdiction. White collar crime, your occasional crime of passion, but none of the random violence you find in Tampa or Miami.” He glanced over at Darby. “The murder of Kyle Cameron is very unusual. A first in my fifteen years with the department.”

  “How did you know it was part of a series of killings?”

  “We relayed the information to OSI—that’s the Office of Statewide Intelligence, a fusion center for data—and they got a hit. The guy’s MO is the same. He preys on attractive real estate agents, ambushing them at an open house just before it begins. His weapon is a long, thin, blade. The victims are stabbed multiple times in the throat and chest area, and there is no sign of sexual assault. All three have been found by clients coming to look at the property.”

  Darby shivered and Jonas Briggs adjusted the air conditioning, although her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “How will the investigation be handled?”

  “I’ll work with the guys on the East Coast through the Department of Legal Enforcement,” he said. “The pressure is on to solve it quickly, before a statewide panic sets in. But these are the crimes that generally take a while. You’re not dealing with someone who’s jealous of a co-worker, or mad at his ex-wife. You’re dealing with a psycho, and getting into their mindset is pretty tricky.”

  Darby nodded and Detective Briggs turned into Helen’s neat little driveway. “Here you go. I hope you’re being careful about jogging alone around here. It’s pretty safe, but still …”

  Darby held up the palm-sized can of pepper spray and smiled. “I bring along a friend.” She didn’t tell the detective that she was a graduate of San Diego’s coveted Akido Academy and had competed in countless martial arts competitions.

  “Good.” Jonas Briggs put the car in park and opened his door. To Darby’s amazement, he came around the Volvo and opened hers with a flourish. “There. I hope I’ve in some way made up for my rude manners this morning.”

  “Yes,” Darby said, emerging once more into the heat. “Your mother would be proud.”

  _____

  After a shower and a check of her e-mails, Darby drove the black Mustang to Helen Near’s office on Serenidad’s main street. She found Helen on the phone, an intense look of concentration on her face.

  “Tomorrow morning will be fine,” she said, jotting something down on a yellow pad of paper. “Nine a.m., and I’ll bring my partner.”

  She hung up and gave Darby a huge smile. “You will never guess who I have been talking to.”

  “Tag Gunnerson.”

  Helen’s smile turned to incredulity. “Yes! Well, not Tag exactly, but his assistant. How in the world did you guess?”

  “You have that ‘I just spoke to a celebrity’s assistant’ look on your face.”

  Helen shook her head back and forth in slow motion. “You’ve got some kind of sixth sense, Darby Farr. How in God’s good name …”

  Darby could not contain her laughter any longer. Pointing at Helen’s legal pad, she said, “I don’t need special powers to see that you’ve doodled the word ‘Tag’ with dollar signs all around it.”

  Helen glanced down at her handiwork and gave her booming laugh. “Well, so I have,” she said. “Talk about your confidential conversations! Come on, girl, I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  “A little place called the Dive. Best grouper sandwiches in Sarasota County.” Her lips tightened as she hauled up her purse. “It’s Jack Cameron’s other restaurant—the one that didn’t burn to a crisp.”

  _____

  The Dive was a cozy place, right on the water, with a large dock holding fifteen or so small tables under an awning strung with seagull netting. Artifacts from shipwrecks—the prow of a boat, several rusted compasses, a huge wheel—constituted the majority of the décor.

  “Let me guess—Jack’s a diver,” Darby surmised. “And he likes to dive wrecks.”

  “That’s right. He got the diving bug back when he was a teen, and it’s how he spends his free time, along with fishing.” Helen looked around the restaurant’s full tables and waiting line. The smell of grilled burgers wafted on a slight breeze. “This place is always busy, and Mitzi says that Jack makes a good living—not that he or his sister really have to work, but don’t get me started.” She lowered her voice. “His other place—Belle Haven—was a flop from the get-go. Can you believe it burned last night? Mitzi called and told me after you left for your run.”

  “Why did the restaurant fail? Seems like it was in a good location, downtown by the upscale shops.”

  “Yeah, that’s true, but it just never took off. The chefs kept quitting and the menu kept changing. It was too expensive for some people and not pricey enough for others. I think it was doomed from the beginning.”

  “Why’s that?” Darby put up two fingers to answer the hostess’ question about how many people were in the party. She and Helen then followed her to a table in the center of the room. Helen took a seat, examined a basket of bread, and resumed her explanation.

  “Jack’s heart wasn’t in it. He started Belle Haven to impress Kyle, that’s what I think. He thought he could win her back with a fancier place.” She looked around The Dive. “Now, this place is Jack Cameron. That other restaurant was him trying to be someone else. Someone like Foster McFarlin.”

  “The developer of Esperanza Shores?”

  “That’s right. Kyle and McFarlin were having an affair. I’m sure they thought they were discreet, but everyone in the state knew. Nobody thought it would last, but it broke Jack’s heart and spirit to see her hanging on his arm.”

  Darby looked up as a pert woman with a notepad materialized at their table. “Do you need more time?” Her pen was poised to write their order.

  “Nah.” Helen looked at Darby. “We want grouper sandwiches, right?”

  Darby nodded. “And an iced tea.”

  “I’ll have the same,” said Helen. “Except bring me a beer.”

  The waitress nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing, and turned her attention to a family just taking their seats nearby. Overhead a frustrated seagull shrieked, hoping to swoop down on an unsuspecting diner’s French fries.

  “Foster McFarlin is married to the lieutenant governor of Florida, right?” Darby asked. “I think I read that in the morning paper.”

  Helen nodded. “Chellie Howe. She’s got her eye on the governor’s mansion, if you ask me.” She gave a weary sigh. “I heard her on the radio pounding home her tough-on-crime routine, using Kyle’s death as the prime example of why we need new state leadership.” She shrugged. “If a real estate agent can get butchered just for holding an open house, maybe Chellie is right.”

  Their beverages arrived and both took a long drink. “How are the Camerons holding up?” Darby asked.

  “Mitzi is exhausted. I’m worried about her. Alexandra stayed at the house to keep an eye on Jack, who seems to be coming to grips with the whole thing. Poor Jack. He’s a mess, but he’s planning Kyle’s service for tomorrow afternoon.” She lowered her voice. “Tell you the truth, I’m kind of surprised that this place i
s open for business. Maybe there was some reason Jack couldn’t close.”

  Helen took a quick sip of beer, then gave a quick intake of breath. “Shoot! What time did I make that appointment with the golfer?”

  “You said ‘nine,’” reminded Darby. “You also said you’d bring your partner.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  Helen gave Darby a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I was going to bring that up.” She looked up as the waitress delivered their sandwiches. “First, taste your lunch. You’re going to love it.”

  Darby lifted the sandwich. Lettuce poked out of a soft, sesame-seed sprinkled bun, and Darby could see a slice of tomato and a white sauce slathered on a generous wedge of broiled fish. She inhaled. “Smells delicious.” Taking a bite of the delicately seasoned fish, she nodded. “Yum.”

  “Your Aunt Jane is up in heaven smiling,” Helen said. “She loved a good grouper sandwich. She told me once that the lobster rolls up in Maine were pretty darn good, but that nothing could beat this.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the simple but satisfying flavors. After wiping her mouth with her napkin, Helen gave Darby a frank look.

  “Okay, now I’ve got to come clean. I really need your help tomorrow. Let me tell you the situation, and then I hope you’ll agree to stay in Florida a few more days.”

  Darby regarded the older woman over the table. “I’m listening.”

  “Kyle Cameron told me she was going to be signing up a new listing. She wanted to wait until we’d finalized our partnership and she was no longer an agent with Barnaby’s. She was thrilled about the property, said it would be quite an achievement to sell it, never mind the commission. I didn’t know where or what it was, but I knew it was big.”

  “When we set up our appointment for Monday, Kyle mentioned that she was going for cocktails somewhere that evening. She hinted that it had to do with her big listing. She laughed and said, “You’ll never believe this, Helen, but I may already have it sold!” Again, I didn’t press her for details. That’s not my way, and I trusted her. Heck, I’ve known the Camerons for years.”