I spent the drive to Pelican Bay in silence. My stomach twisted and turned. Sometimes, just because something looked like a duck and let out a quack every few minutes didn't mean it was a duck. It could be a goose. Right?

Did geese quack?

I'd have to Google it later.

Regardless of the ducks and geese, my uncle had to be doing something illicit. Anything other than what I thought he had in those black backpacks.

Drugs.

Maybe he'd started an after-school program and was passing out supplies to students who needed more pencils? Except Emma graduated years ago, and she didn't have kids. The town gossip chain alerted me the minute anyone from my graduating class married, had kids, or died.

I monitored the rearview mirror in case my uncle came up behind me, and I had to figure out an excuse, but there wasn't another car on the road until I hit the pelican back into town.

A van the same color as my uncle's came barreling in behind me as I passed the town marker. They had to be going at least twenty miles over the speed limit. I sped up too, and as I reached town, turned into the high school parking lot. I whipped Rachel, my car, around in the front space and then shut her off and waited.

My heart raced as I watched. Ten seconds later, the white van sped past and then slowed quickly as the speed reduced. My uncle never moved his head toward the parking lot, and once he passed without turning back, I released my breath and leaned against the seat.

He didn't see me or suspected anything. What was he doing that he wasn't on the lookout for people watching him? How long had he been getting away with it? He'd grown too comfortable.

I needed someone to talk through the details, but if I was wrong, I might ruin his reputation. If I told Broadrick, he'd think worse of my family. This was too important to hurl accusations at someone before I knew for sure what gossip I had to throw.

Thoughts raced their way through my mind. If I saw anyone who knew me well enough, they'd figure out I had major stuff going on, and then I'd have to spill the beans. The beans were not ready to be spilled. Yet.

Since I couldn't go anywhere, I grabbed my cell phone and called Frasier. Mick's partner barely knew my name. We wouldn't be able to tell I was seconds away from losing my shit.

The phone rang and clicked as it answered almost immediately. "The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

"Damn it."

Why the hell did Frasier shut off his phone? Mick always said get a good number and keep it forever because a lot of first husbands and wives need the same services when they become second husband and wives. Pragmatic but practical.

Did his partner not follow the same business practice?

Great, now I'd have to track him down.

I started the car and pulled up to the curb, getting ready to turn left and head home. My heart had calmed enough I thought I might slip past Broadrick and take a long shower without him noticing my family-hating thoughts.

"Naw," I said with a headshake. He's too observant. All that government training. I flicked the blinker right and turned on the way back out of town.

If I had to track Frasier down my foot... er car, I might as well just get it done now. Catching Mick's murderer would help take my mind off all the things my uncle had stuffed in those bags. Even if it meant another drive to Clearwater.

Maybe Uncle Richard was running an underground ferret smuggling ring, and he'd shoved the cute little critters in the bags so no one noticed. The theory had real merit, and I sent myself a text reminder to add it to my list of possible crimes once I made it home. It didn't have to be ferrets. Exotic fish also worked. Baby tigers like Joe Exotic. The possibilities were endless.

The sun drooped low in the sky as I drove toward Clearwater with a head still full of Uncle Richard thoughts. I just didn't believe my uncle could be up to anything nefarious. He worked at the high school and had a wife and pet fish. He was wholesome. Dependable.

Downright boring if we were being honest.

I followed the GPS directions to Frasier's home and parked on the curb outside his two-story traditional house. A big wrap-around porch covered the front half with a tall two-car garage. Fancy for a PI salary.

As Mick would say, "He knew how to get the money shots."

The street lights turned on as I shut off the car. "Spooky, but okay."

I barely made it across the sidewalk when the front door opened and Frasier walked out. Rather than the nice clothing he wore the other times I saw him, he had on a pair of jeans and a slim fitting blue T-shirt. How was he partners with Mick? They were such opposites.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as he met me at the edge of his porch.

Sensing the hostility, I stayed on the walkway. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about Mick's cases."

He crossed his arms and stayed on the porch, which put him at least two feet higher than me. I didn't like how he loomed over and stared down like I'd interrupted something with my unannounced visit. I learned the trick from Mick. Frasier should have expected it.

"I tried to call, but your phone has been disconnected."

His sneer slipped a fraction. "Oh. How do you know where I live?"

"It's my job to know," I said with a shrug. That was Mick's first lesson. Know everything at all times.

"Let's set up a time to talk tomorrow. I have a visitor now and don't have the time."

My gaze swept his driveway and street. There weren't any other cars besides mine. "It's just a quick question, which is why I tried to call first."

I wouldn't be standing in his yard if he had a working phone.

Frasier let out a breath and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "What?"

"In Mick's case files, I found one about a doctor. Mick testified in his trial earlier this year, but there were no updates. What happened to the doctor?"

Frasier brushed away my question with a swoop of his hand. "He's in jail. Lost everything in the divorce and has no ability or connections to pay a hitman. Even his girlfriend left him. She's dating a cardiologist out of Portland now."

Hmm. So not the doctor. Although people have a lot of free time in jail. Who knew what connections the doctor had time to make while locked up? Gang members. Robbers. Ferret smugglers.

"Why haven't you or the police solved Mick's murder yet? It doesn't seem that hard. I've practically handed you Eric on a silver platter."

I crunched up my nose. Did he?

"Eric doesn't seem the murderous type."

Frasier tilted his head forward to leer over me more. "Doesn't he? Then you aren't searching hard enough. Have you interviewed the bartender at his favorite bar?"

I tensed. I'd interviewed 'a' bartender, but not his favorite.

"Exactly," he said, reading my body movements. "Do your job better and he'd already be behind bars."

Wow, what happened to the nice guy who visited me earlier? I apparently met the temperamental Frasier tonight.

"Eric's a violent drunk," he practically whispered like he only wanted us to hear. "He and Mick got into a fistfight when Eric was seventeen."

"Really?" None of that matched with the almost shy man I met at his mother's house.

Frasier threw his hands up. "I've practically gift-wrapped him for you, and no one is going to do anything about it."

"I'm trying to put all the pieces together," I said.

"Well, try harder." He crossed his arms again. "You know you're a suspect. Right? Why isn't that motivation to solve this case? Don't you want your name cleared?"

"I'm aware of my potential suspect status." I crossed my arms to match his. He didn't have to remind me of Anderson's suspect list.

"Maybe it was you? Mick said you kept cutting him out of cases. Did you want all the glory for yourself?"

I laid a hand on my throat like Pearl when someone said weed should be illegal again. Those were my cases. My glory. Mick didn't share any of his cases with me. Why did everyone expect me to share with him?

If we were going to play hardball, then sobeit. "Why is your phone shut off? I saw the mound of bills Mick was hoarding. Can't pay the bill?"

His eyes widened a fraction of an inch for just a second, and then his lips turned up at the corners. "Yeah, Mick had a problem paying the bills. I suspected Eric was taking money from him, and he covered it up."

Huh? That is not the response I expected. Is that why Mick kicked Eric out rather than him failing in college?

"Are you going to pay it?"

"Nope," Frasier said and literally dusted off his hands against his jeans. "I'm getting out of the PI business. It's too stressful. Going off the grid for a while."

I huffed. Seemed like everyone was making a break for it.

And someone had definitely lied to me. Was it Eric or Frasier?

"We done here?" he asked, breaking up our silent stare-off.