Page 28 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“I do know that the slickest way to lie is to tell the right amount of truth—then shut up.”

—Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land

Before I left for the lagoon, I added Brie’s notes to my own, then emailed my assistant Braden and asked him to look at the

companies and public financial statements for Trevor Lance and Parker Briggs. I did a quick search on both, but there was

too much information to go through tonight. I bookmarked some of the articles to read later, including one about Trevor Lance’s

divorce and remarriage. His ex-wife was older, attractive, classy. His new wife was beyond gorgeous and had a lucrative career

as the face of a major cosmetic line. And yet he was here with another woman.

I did not understand men. Sometimes, I didn’t want to.

I was about to close down my laptop when I saw a message from my boss, so clicked on it. Reading the message wasn’t actually

working , I told myself. It was probably a have fun note or a group message about a new law that would impact our industry.

Hello Mia,

I just received the mock-up of our new masthead. Ron and I also decided we needed to update our logo, and what better time than when we bring on a new partner? What do you think? We won’t approve it without your okay, of course.

I hope you’re having a lovely time at St. Claire. Gayle and I went two years ago for our thirtieth anniversary and it was

perfect.

Stuart

Attached was a JPEG. It took a couple seconds to load, but then I saw the new branding for McMann & Cohn.

It was more contemporary than their previous logo, but still retained the stately we’ll take care of your money appearance. The classy serif font had been replaced by an equally classy but less rigid serif font.

McMann Cohn

C r a w f o r d

A thin line separated the original partners above my name, but my name was spread out so that there was balance on both sides

of the line.

A second image was for the landing page on our website, which incorporated the new masthead, but included our areas of expertise:

Financial Advising, Estate Planning, Tax Preparation

The color scheme was the same banker’s green and black, but they’d added a gold accent that popped in a professional way.

My mouth dropped open. This was happening. Could I even say no now ?

I was in shock, seeing my future laid out so clearly. I closed the message without responding.

My vibrating cell phone jolted me back to the present. Amanda’s home number lit the screen.

“Amanda?” I answered, confused and surprised.

“Braden,” my assistant said. “Why are you surprised? You just sent me an email.”

“It’s after eleven. I didn’t expect you to get it until tomorrow.”

“It’s ten here in humid and rainy New York City.”

I hadn’t accounted for the time difference.

“Why are you emailing about work on your vacation?” he asked.

In the background, Amanda called out, “Why are you working, Mia?”

“I’m not,” I said before Braden could repeat Amanda’s question.

When I hired Braden three years ago, I knew he was not only perfect as my assistant, but perfect for my best friend. We had

developed a symbiotic relationship because we had the same fiscally conservative investment backbone, and I trusted him implicitly.

And if I was made a partner, Braden would be given a promotion and raise, which would benefit both him and Amanda as they

wanted to start a family.

I had another person’s fate and livelihood to consider as well as my own. I had to take the promotion.

“Mr. Cohn said no work while you’re at St. Claire,” Braden said.

“I’m not working.”

“Then what’s this about Trevor Lance and his company, Lance & Wong? And Parker Briggs—I think I’ve heard that name.”

“It’s not work,” I insisted. “I can’t explain in detail. This is sort of a pet project?” I said it as a question because I

didn’t know what to say. I had planned to send the email, have Braden do the research, and email me back data. I didn’t want to explain myself.

Would Braden help me if I said, I think a woman was killed because she was blackmailing someone, and Lance and Briggs are two of my suspects ?

“You don’t want to tell me?”

He sounded almost hurt.

“I’m helping a friend. Please?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll get you the information by noon tomorrow. My time.”

“While I have you on the phone, can I pick your brain about something else?”

“What do you need?”

“Hypothetically,” I said, “if a cop was skimming money from drug busts, but it was never found and he doesn’t have a drug

problem, how could he hide it? I came up with a few scenarios—keeping the cash in a safe deposit box in the name of a friend

or family member, investing through a shell corporation, keeping a mistress that no one knows about—”

“Is this about a book you’re reading?”

I hesitated. “Um, yeah,” I lied.

I don’t lie well. I don’t know if Braden picked up on my tone, but I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

“All those are possible,” he said. “But I guess if a cop is stealing from bad guys, he has a vice. If it’s not drugs—are you

sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Then he needs the money for something else that isn’t easily traceable.”

“Something illegal,” I said.

“That would be my guess. He’s already committed a crime, right? So what’s another crime?”

“Like prostitutes,” I thought, and didn’t realize I’d said it out loud.

“Why are you reading anything?” Amanda said in the background, closer this time. “Do I need to get Jane on the phone?”

“No,” I said, realizing that Braden had put me on speaker.

“I’m serious, Mia. I told you, no books. You’re supposed to have fun. Meet people. What happened to that Mayan god hunk you

were talking about?”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Braden said.

“Are you having fun, or are you hiding in your room, reading?” Amanda demanded.

“I’m having fun,” I said. “I went to a beach party tonight and talked to a lot of people.”

“And the demigod?” she asked.

“You know I’ll tell you everything when I get back,” I said. “In fact, I’m heading to a late-night swim date in a few minutes.”

“Ohmigod!” she squealed. “I have to call Jane.”

We said our goodbyes, and I sighed. My friends could be exhausting. I hoped I had something to tell them about Jason when

I got home.

Hey, girls! I had sex with a gorgeous bartender and solved a murder!

I thought about all the illegal ways that Gino Garmon could have spent the money he’d stolen.

Allegedly stolen.

I wish I knew how much money we were talking about, but Brie said there were no dollar amounts in the news articles. If you

took the money before it was put into evidence, it would only be a guess. My guess was that he would pocket whatever was easy. A few hundred dollars at every scene... maybe a few thousand.

Drugs, prostitution, gambling...

Gambling.

I grabbed Diana’s book and skimmed the opening chapters until I found what I remembered reading yesterday.

Totally broke, he’ll help.

The number 77 was underlined. What did that mean? Maybe a dollar amount?

Was Diana referring to Gino Garmon? If he really took the money from the drug busts, why was he broke? What had he spent it

on? Could he have lost it all gambling? That made a lot more sense than spending it on prostitutes and drugs.

Was he helping Diana? Was he part of her blackmail scheme?

Maybe... maybe they were blackmailing someone together and he didn’t want to share the money. Had one of the people Diana

was tracking paid her and—maybe—Gino killed her for the money?

Except, who would have a hundred thousand in cash lying around on an island? It would likely be an electronic transfer or something of value. Like jewelry.

77... was that Diana’s shorthand for Gino?

I was on the verge of something. Maybe the numbers did refer to people. If I knew one—if I assumed 77 was Gino—maybe I could

figure out the others.

I skimmed through my notes. There were nine different numbers that didn’t have a dollar sign attached. Had Diana blackmailed—or

planned to blackmail— nine people?

I listed them on a separate sheet of paper. Then my phone vibrated.

Quarter to midnight. Time to meet Jason.

I hid the book, put my notepad in my laptop case, and left.