Last to die

“The only way I know. Keep digging.”

Kelsey waved to three women walking past the car. Classmates, Jack presumed. “I’d better get going,” she said. “Call me if there’s anything more I can do.”

“I will. Actually, I’ll probably see you tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, when I pick up Nate. I promised to take him for pizza at the Big Cheese on Friday.”

She clunked her head like a dunce. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you. My mother invited him over to the condo for some kind of grandkids shuffleboard marathon or something.”

“Boy, is that going to cost you.”

“Oh yes. Big time.” She gave a little laugh, then cut her eyes and said, “I guess that means you’re free tomorrow night, huh?”

“Evidently.”

“So…”

“So what?”

She flashed a thin, mischievous smile. “Why don’t we do di

“You mean without Nate?”

“Yes, a date.”

Jack’s mouth opened, but his words were on a few-second delay.

“Something wrong?” asked Kelsey. “You suddenly look as if I just asked you to be the food tester for Saddam Hussein.”

“This just takes you and me to another level.”

“That’s sort of the idea.”

“And it probably would be a great idea, under different circumstances. But I thought we had sort of an unspoken understanding that this is something we’d never do. For Nate’s sake.”

“I thought the same thing, until you started teasing me at Just Books. You seemed so amused by the fact that I’d somehow given Martin the impression that we were dating. It got me to thinking, maybe it’s not such a crazy notion.”

Jack took a breath. He recalled the conversation, and he’d regretted it. At the time it had seemed i

“Just hear me out on this, okay? With most guys I date, being a single mom is a liability. First, we have to get to like each other, and then I have to hope he likes my son. You’re the opposite. Here’s this great guy who totally adores my son. And I’m not supposed to date you because-because why?”

“Because if it doesn’t work out…”

“I’m tired of living my life that way, Jack, afraid of what’s not going to work out. What if it does work out?”

Jack considered it, allowed himself the luxury of thinking that he wasn’t forever resigned to carrying around the battle scars of his divorce. “I can’t deny that I’ve wondered about it. In the abstract, anyway.”

“One date. We don’t even have to tell Nate about it. If it doesn’t feel right, we promise to be grown-ups about it and go back to where we were. Deal?”

He smiled tentatively, just enough to give her an opening. She took his hand and shook on behalf of both of them.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“You pick. I like surprises.”

“Works for me.”

“Yes, I do. But we’ll get past that.”

“No, I meant the surprise thing works for me. I wasn’t trying to pull a power play by reminding you that you work for-”

She put her finger to his lips, shushing him. “I know what you meant. Now stop being such a doofus, or I might change my mind and let you kill another Friday night with your buddy Theo.” She smiled and got out of the car, then gave a little wink and closed the door.

Friday night with Theo, he thought, trying not to enjoy the view too much as he watched Kelsey walk to class.

That works for me, too.

Miguel Rios fumbled for the key to his front door. He’d enjoyed one too many margaritas with di

On the fourth try, he found the lock, turned the key, and pushed the door open. The mailbox was right beneath the porch light, and it was stuffed with at least two days’ deliveries. He grabbed a handful and went inside. His legs were tired from pedaling all day, one of the drawbacks of being a bicycle cop. He plopped in the recliner, put his feet up, switched on the television with the remote, and sifted through the stack of mail. He put the junk aside and opened a letter with no return address.

Inside was a typewritten note on a single sheet of paper. It was addressed to no one in particular, just a general salutation, “To my fellow beneficiaries.” The message read:

This is not a threat. I am simply sharing information with the rest of you. All of the beneficiaries under Sally Fe

The letter wasn’t signed, but there was a typed name at the bottom. Miguel read it, then picked up the phone and dialed his lawyer. He was routed to voice mail, with a cheery instruction from Parker Aimes’s secretary to speak clearly after the tone.

“This is Miguel Rios calling about the Sally Fe

Twenty-seven

It was time to find out more about Alan Sirap.

Jack had received a phone call from Tatum on Thursday night, and by mid-morning Friday, Jack had confirmed that all five of the other beneficiaries had received the same letter. Still, no one seemed to know who Mr. Sirap was, or at the very least they were unwilling to share what they knew. Jack set up a lunch meeting with Vivien Grasso. As the lawyer who had drafted Sally’s will and as personal representative of her estate, Vivien was charged with the responsibility of locating all the heirs. In light of the latest letter, Jack wanted an update on how the search for Alan Sirap was going.

“This is one strange letter,” said Vivien. Jack had shown her Tatum’s copy, and she’d read it quickly.

Jack looked up from his menu, which he was only pretending to read. Old Lisbon was his favorite Portuguese restaurant in Miami, and for lunch he always ordered the house specialty, grilled squid and french fries. It wasn’t for everybody, but it was definitely for anybody who was tired of the typical calamari à la Friday ’s-breaded, deep-fried, and drowning in enough marinara sauce to make a hockey puck taste good.

“Strange is one word for it,” said Jack. “Scary comes to mind as well.”

She smiled wryly and handed back the letter. “Come now, Jack. Something tells me that your client doesn’t scare easily.”

“I have a feeling yours didn’t either.”

“Sally had a rough life. But yes, she was pretty tough, too.”

“How well did you really know her?”

“How well do we know any of our clients?”

“Some better than others.”

Vivien squeezed a wedge of lemon into her iced tea. “I deal with very wealthy clients. Most of them guard their privacy rather fiercely. Sally was no different.”

“So what you’re saying is-”

“I knew her well enough to draft her will. That’s what I’m saying.”

A waiter brought them fresh baked bread and a dish of olive oil for dipping. Jack tore off a chunk but kept talking. “Vivien, you’ve known my father for years. You’ve known me almost as long. So you know I’m on the level when I tell you that anything you say here is just between you, me, and the grilled squid, right?”

“Oh boy. Here it comes.”

Jack smiled a little, then turned serious. “Was it Sally Fe