"Vonnie," Pearl said as I hovered precariously in the air. "I'm old. That doesn't mean I've memorized everyone's niece's name. What do you think I am? A phone directory?"

The wheels crashed against the floor, dropping me back to safety. The near-death experience meant I barely picked up on Pearl's annoyance. I still did, but just barely.

"I had two people walk into my office this morning," I said, which was only a slight detour from the truth. They almost made it to my office. "They were asking about you and want me to make an intro."

"Your office with the dead body?" she asked.

Pearl never stuck to the important facts. "No, I've set up shop in the Kensington building."

"Antonio said it was the janitor's closet."

Why did the woman argue with me so much? And why the hell was Tony telling people it was a janitor's closet? And how did he get Pearl to call him Antonio? I spend one night on the couch in a "my boyfriend-is-injured" stress spiral, and the town goes to hell without me.

"When did he come to the bakery?" I asked, getting off topic and pushing back in the chair again.

A spoon hit against a teacup in the background. "You just missed him."

Wait. I didn't care about Tony. I'd deal with him later.

"Pearl, do you know a niece named Harper? What do these people want?" Did she and Roland, her husband, owe a few hundred grand in back taxes or something? No, the US government would never let a field agent have purple hair.

Would they?

No.

Not our government. We weren't that cool.

"I haven't the slightest," Pearl said, but she said it rather flippantly. Pearl was never casually unsure. Sarcastic? Yes. Maybe rude at times, but not flippant. "Did they seem friendly?"

"Umm. I guess. The dude had really white teeth." I paused. What did Pearl consider friendly? "The woman had purple hair."

Pearl made a tsking sound. "Bring them over. I'd like to meet the purple-haired Harper."

"They've left for today, but we're meeting again tomorrow." If Pearl agreed to the meeting, I would not feel bad about taking the guy's money for introducing them. Score me and paying rent. "I'll give them your address."

Pearl scoffed. "Absolutely not. You have to come with them."

Weird but fine. "Okay."

We worked out the details, like time and a location to meet. Pearl didn't want them at her home, which I understood. What if Harper turned out to be the niece of her mortal enemy? I wouldn't want them knowing my address either. Although, I wasn't lying about Google. It worked if you had the right info.

"I'll see you then, Pearl," I said as we finished up.

Everything was always a little weird in Pelican Bay, but the last twenty-four hours were working on making a record for bizarre behavior.

Sadly, I didn't have time to sit around and worry about it. I had cases to solve and people to track down before they gave their murder confessions to someone else.

Since my car, Rachel, was out of gas, I had to borrow Broadrick's truck again. He'd given me the keys when he left for his deployment with instructions that it was for emergencies. My car's gas gauge being on zero definitely constituted an emergency.

The drive to Clearwater put the truck's tank a little under half full. I might have had to borrow his truck a few other times while he'd been gone. For emergencies.

Plus, he should have bought something more fuel economical. Everyone knew trucks got horrible gas milage. It wasn't my fault.

The Rusty Nail in Clearwater was a tiny building placed in the middle of a small strip mall they'd built a hundred years ago. At least it looked that way. I was shaky on the actual timeline.

I parked the truck on street parking in front of the building and double locked it to be extra safe. B would lose his mind if someone stole his new truck.

A ding came from my back pocket, and I checked my phone before entering the bar. The app tracking my uncle's car flashed a notification, and I clicked on it. The icon for his car drove away from the high school and headed toward his home-a nice normal trip. I waited until the small blinking car turned on his street and then closed the app and entered the bar.

I squinted as I walked into the dim space. Music from a jukebox across the open area full of empty tables played a country song I didn't recognize. The air smelled like stale cigarettes, which was weird since the state banned smoking in public places years ago.

The music changed songs as I made my way to the circular bar in the middle of the space and took a seat on the opposite side so my front faced the door. I wanted to see everyone who came in.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked. He was middle-aged and wearing a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt with a hole in the sleeve.

Damn it. I hadn't thought that far ahead. This wasn't a biker bar like Buddy's, but it wasn't Olive Garden either. A plain water would most likely get me kicked out.

"I'm waiting for a friend. Can I get a coke?" Hopefully, he didn't find it offensive. It was barely four o'clock, and I had to drive home.

The woman sitting across from me didn't seem to care that it wasn't after five yet. Guess she went by the adage of "It's five o'clock somewhere" as she sucked down a dark-colored beer from a tall glass. She looked cute with a pretty yellow shirt that buttoned down the front and her light brown hair in a twist at the back of her head.

The bartender poured my coke and slid it to me. "That'll be six fifty."

I almost choked to death. Holy shit. Six fifty? How much would it have cost with liquor in it? That's why I didn't drink. I couldn't afford it. I pulled a ten from my pocket and told him to keep the change.

"Who you waiting for?" he asked after I'd taken my first sip of the highly syruped drink.

"His name's Eric Concord. I heard he comes here often." I played it casual and sipped my drink.

The bartender leaned forward and stared at me before answering. "Don't know him, but we don't want trouble around here. A bounty hunter has been picking off our best clients."

I scoffed. He had to be talking about Tony. "Do I look like a bounty hunter?"

He stared at me-mostly my chest-for a solid thirty seconds.

"Nope. Guess you don't," he said and returned to wiping down a section of the bar top. "You want to talk to Carl. He's the normal guy."

"Owen's new. He don't know nobody," the woman across the bar said as she finished her drink. "Eric comes in every few days, but if he's going to be here, he comes earlier in the day. To get away from home."

"Bad home life?" I asked and pretended to sip the drink. It was too thick to enjoy.

She shrugged. "He's always bitching about something or someone. Most of us are. Eric's no trouble."

"Thought you said he was a friend," the bartender said, cutting off whatever the woman planned to say next.

I set the glass on the wooden bar top. "We're not that close of friends."

"Well, you won't find him tonight. Try again tomorrow," the woman said. "And fill me up again." She pushed her cup toward the edge of the bar. Her shirt sleeve caught on the edge, and she had to roll it up.

"Thanks," I said and pushed my glass toward the edge as well, even though it wasn't empty. There went to waste the most expensive drink I'd ever paid for. An entire dinner down the drain.

I waved goodbye as I walked out and checked the car-tracking app helping me keep dibs on my uncle on the way to Broadrick's big red truck. I patted the bumper as I walked past it. The metal warmed my hand. I didn't understand why Broadrick was so against me naming his truck Clifford. It was an apt description of it.

"Wait a minute," I said to myself and stopped before jumping into the cab of the truck.

My uncle's car was not at home like I expected, but making his way out of town. His path had him headed right toward Clearwater. What would he be doing in this town rather than at home with his wife where he belonged?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I watched for a few more seconds while creating a plan.

The car icon continued right toward me, so I waited. And waited. As Uncle Richard turned onto the same street as the bar, I hurried and hid myself behind the cab. His van drove by slowly-following all the traffic laws-and continued on his way like he wasn't doing anything wrong. His head bobbed along with a song on the radio as he passed my hiding spot.

How dare he? What was he thinking leaving his wife at home all alone as he roamed the streets? Someone had to figure out what Uncle Richard had planned all the way out here in Clearwater.

That someone was me.