Frankie slammed the empty whiskey glass on the coaster, and I grimaced. His office door was open, but I wasn't sure I'd make it out before he shot me.

"I know Ridge is pissed I haven't signed up for his stupid security program, but I have good reasons."

I bit my lips together to keep my mouth shut. His good reasons were probably all the crimes he didn't want caught on camera. Honestly, I understood.

"No, Frankie," I said and held up my hand in surrender. "We both know I wouldn't work for Ridge. I'm working on the Richards' murder."

"Oh." His fist unclenched and his shoulders relaxed. I blew out a breath of relief. I did not need a mob boss mad at me. "Well, then. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" I asked skeptically with a head tilt. We were taking that route?

Frankie ran his hand through his dark hair and shrugged. His words were light and a complete change from seconds earlier. "The mob is dead, and I wouldn't associate with criminals."

Somehow-only through the grace of God-my mouth didn't fall open and let in flies. This man had a bazooka hidden under his living room couch. He blew up a vehicle parked outside his home. True, they were shooting at him, but bazooka. Now, he wanted me to believe he didn't associate with criminals. I hadn't Googled it, but it was safe to say it wasn't legal for a regular-non-criminal resident to own a bazooka in Maine.

I said none of that to him, though. No, I didn't have a death wish.

"Really, Frankie?" I bobbed my head to the other side. He had to buy me the black Camero currently in impound because these non-criminals he didn't associate with shot my last vehicle full of bullets.

He shrugged again. "Really. The mob has been dead for years. The United States government was so capable they locked them all up and the criminals decided a life of crime wasn't worth it."

I slumped in my chair. I really needed his help with this one, and now I had nowhere else to go. How did I find more information on who killed Emma? If I didn't solve it soon, I'd be in prison. This non-mob boss was my last shot. "You're my last hope. If I can't solve this case I'll never figure out who forced my uncle to become a drug dealer. Broadrick will move to Florida, and I'll end up in jail."

"You aren't going to jail."

My eyes widened. "Anderson is probably issuing an arrest warrant for me right now."

"Okay, fine." Frankie rolled his head back to the ceiling and shook it twice. He sighed again. It got real annoying. "The mob is dead, but sometimes I like to watch television shows about the mob, and I learn stuff."

I leaned closer. "Yes, sure. Let's go with that." Whatever worked.

"I'm definitely not in the mob, and this is definitely not firsthand knowledge." He paused and adjusted his shirt cuff. "Make sure any recording devices pick that up."

If that's what he needed in order to give me the goods, I'd play along. "An upstanding citizen like you would never partake in criminal activity."

"Exactly," he said, and it was so authentic I almost believed him. Did he buy his own bullshit?

It didn't matter because for the next forty-five minutes Frankie wowed me with a disgusting history of the East Coast mob. On four separate occasions I reached for my notebook to reference something later but then remembered I left it in the car Anderson confiscated. Thank goodness I'd rescued my stun gun from the glove box earlier that day. Who knew when I'd get my car back from the police.

I sat back in my chair as he finished up his most recent story and shook my head, but I couldn't get the visuals from my brain. "Why in the hell is that called a teddy bear picnic?"

"The bears enjoy it." Frankie chuckled like he got that question a lot. His expression sobered as he realized his comment. "Or so I've heard."

"Heard on the television?" I asked, still processing his revelations. None of them directly touched on Emma's death, but clearly the mob and other criminal organizations put serious thought into how they took someone out. They like to make a statement.

Emma's murder fell right into line with everything I'd heard from him.

"What about sewing someone's lips shut? Has the mob ever done that?"

Frankie's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes. Definitely sending a message to other members." He paused in thought. "But leaving behind that kind of telltale evidence for the cops to find is probably more gang than mob. Mobsters already have a reputation, so they're most worried about not getting caught by leaving evidence. Or so I've heard."

"Right. From the television."

He nodded.

"Well, thank you," I said and stood up. "This has certainly been educational."

Also, I was a little sorry I had asked.

"Of course. My pleasure," Frankie said, not getting up to see me out. "Do you have any leads in Emma's death?"

My shoulders fell. "No. Not yet, but I'm still putting pieces together."

"Good luck and if you end up needing an attorney, let me know. I have the name of a good one."

I smiled as the guard met me at the entrance to his office to see me out. "Thanks, Frankie."

For a non-mob boss, he was a good guy. However, hopefully, I wouldn't need the lawyer's number. I also probably couldn't afford him.

Broadrick texted me as I got into his truck to head home.

BROADRICK: The online class starts at 3.

Shit. I forgot about the military retirement class he'd asked me to take with him. I wanted to follow up on a lead at the coroner's office, but I didn't want to miss this chance with Broadrick. He asked me to attend, and I appreciated being included.

VONNIE: Already on my way home.

Broadrick was sitting on the couch with his computer on his lap when I made it home just a few minutes later. The three dogs met me at the front door with mismatched bellows. I placed a finger over my lips and shushed them as Broadrick watched me walk in.

"It's fine. I have it on mute," he said as I sat next to him on the couch.

Once each animal gave me a proper sniff and guaranteed aliens hadn't abducted me while gone, they settled in various positions along the couch. NB inched his way between us and laid his head on the side of Broadrick's thigh, placing his nose on the edge of the laptop.

"He wants to learn, too," I whispered and gave NB a scratch behind the ear.

Broadrick moved the monitor so we could both see. "Any news on when his new friends are leaving us?"

"Not yet, but I'll call Janet soon." Besides the barking, clawing at the door, and jumping on everyone when they walked in, they weren't so bad. NB might enjoy a playmate one day, but I wasn't ready to talk about extending the family yet.

The retirement class started with a quick musical intro as a dark-haired woman in uniform stepped onto the screen. She greeted everyone and began outlining her objectives. Is this what military life was like? How boring.

"No one wants your new life to come with feelings of helplessness. That's why it is so important for active members to find jobs where they feel useful or positions where they can give back to the community," she said twenty minutes later.

Hmm. The woman had a point. How did you go from actively saving the world and having bullets shot at you to sitting behind a desk all day? I glanced at Broadrick, who had his eyes glued to the screen.

That's probably why he was so keen on accepting a job with Ridge. The action and adventure coupled with feeling like you did good every day. Even if the good part was keeping a bunch of boring rich people alive.

Didn't I solve crimes for mostly the same reasons? Well, that and the newspaper write-ups.

Just like me, Broadrick would never be happy at a normal job. He didn't want to find his adventure in the military any longer, but it didn't mean he was ready to become something boring like an accountant-sorry accountants.

He needed to take over the new branch on Killdear Island. It was the perfect job for him.

The speaker moved forward a slide and turned the presentation to elevator pitches, but I'd stopped listening.

I turned to Broadrick, dislodging NB's butt against my leg in the process. "You should go to Florida."