"I cannot believe you beat me," Broadrick said as he tallied up the scores on our card. "Are you sure you didn't cheat?"

"Ha-ha." I dropped my borrowed putter into the bin and faced him with crossed arms. "It's all those muscles. They make you hit the ball too hard."

Actually, it had more to do with the fact I kept moving my ball forward by inches, and we both pretended not to notice. Letting you cheat at mini golf was one way to recognize a good boyfriend. The muscle comment should help keep him happy in our joint deception.

He chucked and flexed his left biceps. "They are spectacular."

"Come on, big guy." I tapped him on the shoulder and stole the score card. "Let's go before your head gets too big for your neck."

He gave me a soft kiss on the forehead before holding the door open for us. "I'm going to head into the office and see how it's going for Dalton."

"Okay, I'll grab NB and take our early evening walk." His small bladder helped ensure I got lots of exercise, even without a regular job on the island. We clasped hands as we made our way back to the building that served as a resort and offices for the security personnel.

I kept my head down and my gaze adverted as we passed the main clubhouse for the golf course. Just to be safe.

**

"Be good," Broadrick said with another quick peck to my temple as we stopped outside his office's door ten minutes later.

I shook my head at him with an eye roll. "Have fun servicing the rich people."

His smirk fell. "That's not what we do."

"Are you sure?" I asked with a laugh and then sped toward our room. When I looked back to give him a wave, he was still in front of the door, watching me go.

He returned my wave with a shake of his head, and I blew him a kiss before turning the corner toward the resort entrance. NB jumped off the bed and rushed toward the door as I stepped into the room.

"Are you ready for a walk, little buddy?" I asked as I clipped on his leash. "We're going to make a brief detour."

Normally, I walked NB past the building with our new condo and then out toward the west side beaches, but this time, we headed east. I had someone I wanted to see in the far east building.

NB peed on every bush during the walk, and I let my mind wander as I gazed out at the horizon. Nothing was out there but wide-open ocean. These waters were the same as the ones we had in Maine since it was all Atlantic Ocean, but somehow, they were different. Maine's water was always a little gray, even on a bright sunny day. Here the water glistened as if made of diamonds.

I hated how much I loved it.

Liking it on the island made me feel like a traitor to Pelican Bay and everyone who lived there, even if they'd probably feel the same. Richard and Claire, my aunt and uncle, were supposed to be in Florida living their dream retirement. But because of me, the police had them locked in a jail cell. With convictions looming against them, they wouldn't see the Florida sun for a very long time.

It made things a little harder to enjoy, even as I promised myself I'd get there, eventually.

We did a loop around the east building to size up the place and guarantee NB had an empty bladder. He lifted his leg against a deep green shrub, but nothing happened.

"It's time," I announced. He raised his head at me in annoyance. "Come on."

He'd sniffed all the bushes around the building during our first pass but smelled them again like they were brand new as I walked toward the main door. All the buildings were open as the island hadn't allowed visitors in the past, but soon they'd probably install keyed entry so random people-like me-couldn't come and go whenever they wanted. Life with tourists on the island would be totally different for the rich people. I had some hesitations about their ability to cope.

NB gave a huff at a green aloe planted by the door. I pulled him inside the condo building hallway.

"Don't cause any trouble," I whispered to him, sounding much too like Broadrick for my liking. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Just don't pee on anything."

He yapped at me, and I took it to mean we had an understanding.

We took the elevator up to the sixth floor-since we just walked here, and I'd finished nine holes of golf-and I didn't feel an ounce bad about it. And yes, mini golf counted as golf. Don't question it.

NB pulled me forward as I hunted for the door, finding it at the end of the hallway. Oh, they had a corner apartment. Fancy.

I still wasn't a hundred percent sure what Broadrick's budget was for finding a place on the island, but since we hadn't viewed the sixth-floor condo, I assumed it was under seven million. Also, who had seven freaking million dollars to buy a condo? Which, let's be honest, was just a fancy named apartment.

Once I found the right apartment, I knocked on the door. NB tugged on his leash, trying to get a good sniff under the door across the way, but I gripped the lead firmly. Now was not the time to fall in love with an island hussy. Or make a new enemy if he'd sniffed out a cat.

We waited.

Nothing.

I tapped my foot in annoyance. Man, if only I had some gum or something to do. The next time Broadrick left his container of disgusting grape gum around, I'd have to steal a few pieces.

It took a full minute before the door opened, and on the other side, a small round face greeted me with an indifferent expression. The man wore a two-piece suit, which reminded me of the Penguin from Batman, but I mentally zipped my lips closed and locked them with an imaginary key.

"May I help you?" he asked.

I smiled. "Are you the homeowner of this amazing piece of property?" Flattery worked on the rich and poor, but it worked extra well on the rich.

His non-smile fell into a slight frown. "Do I look like the owner?"

I matched my head tilt to his. He didn't, but I couldn't think of a polite way to say it. "No..." I dragged out the word in case he interrupted with a yes.

"Wait one moment, and I will fetch Mr. Arnault." He closed the door in my face.

I guess if you had a fancy sounding name, your staff didn't need to be nice.

Another minute passed before the door opened again. The man staring at me this time was at least ten years younger. Rather than a penguin suit, he wore a light brown knit sweater and a nice pair of khaki dress pants.

"Mr. Arnault?" I asked when he just stared at me.

He nodded. "Do I know you?"

My eyes widened. Wow, he had a pleasant-sounding voice. I shook my head to get back on track and realized I never worked out my ploy for being here. Shit.

"Do you play golf?" I spat out as a quick question.

His brows furrowed. "No."

"Oh," I said, stumbling for how to work this into why I'd really come. "I thought Harold said to see you about my swing."

His forehead furrowed more, the lines between his eyes increasing. He scoffed and closed the door an inch. Double shit. "Harold Harrison?"

I nodded. "That's him."

"I don't associate with new money." The door closed another few millimeters. If I didn't get him talking soon, I'd be staring at a wooden door with no answers.

While he had his gaze bored into mine, I stuck my foot in the open doorway to stop him from completely closing it on me. "Right. My apologies. I must have been confused. He said you were using Melissa Cramwell as your realtor."

Mr. Arnault's expression fell and with his deep brown eyes, I almost felt sad for him rather than Melissa. "It was so terrible about her accident."

"Yes, of course. Her accident." I bit my bottom lip and forced my eyes not to roll. "Anyway, did you ever disagree with her while she listed your home?"

"Melissa? No. My wife and I adored her. She always had a smile on her face." He paused, and I waited because his expression said he had more to say. "Well, she normally did."

"When didn't she?" I asked, leaning against his door jamb.

Mr. Arnault scowled at me, so I straightened again. "Once, when she was here going over the paperwork for the listing, she received a few rude phone calls."

"How many?" I asked, perking up. This could be a good lead.

He thought about his answer before responding. "Two? Possible more. They came one right after the other and then another set before she left. She seemed very upset about them and even swore at the caller the last time."

"Do you know what the caller said?" I leaned in closer.

He leaned backward as if to get away. "No, but my wife was anxious about Melissa's brow line. She had her face all scrunched up during the calls."

I scrunched my face into anger. "Like this?"

"Yes," he said with a nod. "My wife had her book a consultation for more Botox before she left. Lines will form if you go too long between appointments."

That sounded tragic. Not.

"Did Melissa say anything to the callers?"

He shook his head. "Not really. She told them to stop calling her or she'd have to take action. When I asked about them, she played it off as nothing more than a rude call."

Interesting.

"Is there anything else you can think about them that might be interesting?" I asked, hoping he'd tell me the clue to break this entire case wide open.

Instead, he shook his head. "No, sorry. She was a great realtor and always made sure we understood the process. Sometimes these expensive homes sit for a while. Especially with our island maintenance fee."

I assumed by the island maintenance fee he meant the thirty-five thousand dollars in dues you paid just for the privilege of living on the small chunk of land. "Thank you. If you think of anything else, please let me know."

"How would I do that?"

"Oh," I reached in my back pocket for a business card, but came up empty-handed. I wasn't a PI anymore, so I didn't have them on hand. "I'll check back around later."

"It will be the highlight of my day. I'm sure," he deadpanned.

I mulled over what Mr. Arnoult said on the walk home. If Melissa was getting rude calls, I wanted to know from who, but how would I find out? This wasn't Pelican Bay, where I could sneak in and steal the phone logs from the police station.

Solving crimes on the island was ten times harder than in Pelican Bay.

NB released two drops of pee on the last plant before we walked into the resort's lobby. A tall guy with dark hair cut short to his scalp and an arm of tattoos stood off to the side. His leather vest was missing the sleeves, and from the bulge at his side, he also had a weapon.

My eyes lit up.

He very much did not belong here.