I pulled the delicate necklace from my top dresser drawer as the shower shut off in the bathroom. The tear drop pearl necklace with the little diamond swung in my hand as I stared at it. Broadrick purchased it for me on our cruise, but I hadn't worn it since the day he broke up with me last year. For some reason, this morning I wanted to try it on again. Make sure it still fit.

I closed the drawer. The two small plastic packages containing the loose gems I'd gotten while on shore slid across the top with the movement.

Broadrick walked into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Just another magical morning in the Vines household. I smiled as he strutted up to me.

"Can you help me put this on?" I asked and handed him the necklace.

Broadrick wrapped the dainty chain around my neck. "I thought maybe you'd thrown it away."

I snorted once. "Never."

But it wasn't the full truth. I'd considered chucking it into the ocean. I'd even walked to the beach one foggy fall morning with it crammed in my pocket. The weight made my steps slow, and I remembered our good times. I'd been fully intent on throwing it in the waves, but when the time came, I couldn't part with it.

I'm glad I didn't.

He clasped the chain together and then gave me a kiss on the back of my neck.

I turned in his arms and laid my head on his good shoulder. "Sadly, I can't stick around to watch you dress this perfect form. I have an appointment."

"Where?" he asked without letting me go. "Not with Katy, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, it's for Mick's case."

He let me go when I stepped back. "Just make sure you stay out of trouble."

I saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Visions of naked Broadrick got me into the car and turning on Main Street before I got back to the task at hand-putting someone behind bars for Mick's death. And for trying to frame me for the murder.

I slammed on the brakes to verify the sight in front of me. "What in the hell?"

A couple sat at the front window of the diner. Talking. The woman sipped her cup of something steamy and the man smiled at her like they'd been together for years.

But they hadn't.

I'd only introduced Dalton and Braisley to one another yesterday. Now he had her out and about on a date.

A date!

A horn honked behind me. I scowled in the rearview mirror and pressed on the gas to drive on before I took a picture with my phone.

I'd have to deal with those two later. How did he even get her info to ask her on a date?

Time was in a crunch at the present moment. I told Broadrick the truth about needing to be in Clearwater for Mick's case. Only I left out the parts about my full plan... the breaking and entering.

For some reason, Broadrick was really against breaking and entering.

He always got this weird expression when I mentioned it. His face crinkled up, and his eyes got all squinty. Then came the lecture. They were always different, but had the same theme. Don't let a B and E put me in jail.

He meant well.

But he didn't understand my methods.

Today's plot took considerable time to put together, and I couldn't mess it up by being late.

Or getting busted for the B and E.

Mick's business partner might have been closing the business, but he obviously liked money. I knew this because everyone liked money. I had Katy call him pretending to be someone who wanted to pay an overdue bill. She'd tried to get him to meet her in Pelican Bay to buy me more time, but he'd insisted on the diner in Clearwater.

He'd be waiting for a while, though, because Katy had no intention of making their important meeting. She had a shift at the bed-and-breakfast. Hopefully, Frasier really wanted the five thousand Katy said she owed, and he'd stick around.

While he waited for a payday that was never coming, I'd be rifling through Mick's office for clues. If I wanted to find his killer, I had to learn more about what made Mick... Mick. Sure, he'd been my mentor for over a year, but I knew so little about him.

Truthfully, that was on purpose. And totally my fault. I should have done a better job of getting to know him. But Mick was just so... Mick. The pen clicking and those Dick Tracy hats. Ugh, it'd all been too much. Now I regretted not asking him more questions.

You never knew when someone was going to wind up dead.

Who was Mick? What did he do? Where did he hang out?

The drive to Clearwater didn't give me any of those answers, but I mulled them over until I parked in the lot attached to Mick's office. Since I didn't have to worry about Frasier finding me, I parked right by the door. The building was dark, and the doors were all closed.

I walked by the main entrance twice before trying the door and letting myself in. The first room was a large open lobby with an empty receptionist's desk in the middle. Mick and Frasier had enough business that they paid for a receptionist? Seriously, what else didn't I know about the man? Why did he always make me meet him at my office or the diner if he had a swank office?

Man, maybe Mick was onto something with his "money shot" lessons he always tried to give me. I should have listened more. Two doors led into the main room. One on the right and the other on the left.

The door on the left didn't have any indicators who it belonged to, but the one on the right still had Mick's nameplate in the middle. Didn't his wife want it? What would the new renter of the building do with it?

I slipped the fake gold plate from the holder and shoved it in my back pocket. Good thing Broadrick never warned me about larceny. He'd definitely not be happy about me taking it, but someone needed to keep Mick's memory alive.

The knob twisted with ease as I opened the door to Mick's office. If I had time, I'd check out the one without a nameplate which probably belonged to Frasier, but something told me it was probably empty.

"Well, then," I said to myself at the first glimpse of Mick's space.

It was. Boring. A row of filing cabinets covered the side wall, and Mick's desk sat right in the middle. Two chairs with green padding making them look like they belonged in the eighties sat in front of the desk, but nothing else was in the room. Not even a fake plant.

Even I had a fake plant.

No pictures hung on the walls or sat on his desk. No mementos of his life. Had someone cleaned out his office, or was he always this boring? What did that say about a man who did nothing to personalize his work space?

I crossed the room and sat in his chair. The padding had a rip in the side with a little stuffing poking out. Odd. He had a receptionist and enough money for two PIs, but didn't get his chair fixed. I leaned on the desk, putting my head on my elbows. Nothing about Mick added up.

After I finished wallowing in self-pity, I opened the side drawers of Mick's desk. Empty. Someone must have been here to clean him out. Probably when they got the case files. Surely, he'd had something in these drawers before his death.

With little remaining hope, I opened the middle drawer and sloshed around a gaggle of pens. They were all exactly the same. A standard click top, black pen that said Mick Darcy, Private Investigator on the side. He'd never given me a pen. I leaned back in his chair with pen in hand, images of Mick clicking each pen a hundred times dancing in my head.

He'd have done it. I stuck a pen in my pocket as well. Since I was stealing things, I figured one more item didn't matter.