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“Here we go,” Vincent said, pulling a single sheet of paper from the file.

“He didn’t leave an address or phone number.

Which was odd because I told him I needed it so I could call him when the engraving was finished.

But he told me he’d be here at three o’clock and that the watch had better be ready. ”

Vincent handed the paper to Dash and I looked down at the name printed neatly at the top.

“Clint Harrington,” I said.

Dash’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Can you describe him?”

“Of course,” Vincent said. “I’m excellent with names and faces.

* * *

“That wasn’t Harrington he described,” I said once we were back in the SUV, the air-conditioning cooling my flushed skin. “Not even close.”

“No,” Dash agreed, his expression grim. “It wasn’t.”

Dash made a sharp U-turn, heading back toward the causeway.

“Where are we going?” I asked, watching his profile as he navigated through Charleston’s narrow streets.

“To have a chat with Clint Harrington,” he said, his jaw tight. “Pull up the address on the MDT.”

“What the heck is an MDT?” I asked, looking all over the inside of the Tahoe.

He pushed what looked like a laptop attached to a swivel arm in my direction. “Mobile Data Terminal,” he said. “Just type it in and the directions will come up on the screen.”

“So it’s a big GPS?” I asked, arching a brow.

“Among other things,” he said. “Type in Clint Harrington’s name and see what comes up.”

Once I’d put the map on the screen I did as he suggested. “There are seven Clint Harringtons in South Carolina.” Then I looked at the screen closer. I could narrow it down further by city and age. “He’s got a couple of parking tickets.”

“I’ll make sure to mention it when I ask him why someone would be using his name.”

“You think he’s involved?”

“I think it’s quite a coincidence,” Dash replied. “And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

We drove in thoughtful silence, the air-conditioning doing little to cool the heat of suspicion that had settled between us. The Harrington Construction headquarters came into view, its modest exterior belying the millions that flowed through its accounts.

“He probably won’t even be here,” I said as Dash pulled into a parking space. “It’s after four o’clock.”

“There’s a brand-new King Ranch pickup truck in the president’s spot,” Dash observed, nodding toward the reserved parking space near the entrance. “Must be our lucky day.”

The receptionist looked surprised to see me again but gave us a hesitant smile. Harrington’s office door was open behind her and he was on the phone, feet propped on his desk in a casual pose that stiffened instantly when he saw us. He muttered a quick goodbye and hung up.

“Twice in one week,” he said to me, dropping his feet to the floor. “And you’ve brought the sheriff this time.” He extended his hand to Dash. “Clint Harrington.”

“Sheriff Beckett,” Dash replied, shaking his hand firmly.

“We need to clear up a few things,” I said, declining the offered seat.

“A high-end watch was purchased recently at Marconi’s Fine Jewelry in Charleston.

Under your name. The watch was a replica of one that belonged to Elizabeth Calvert.

Gold with diamonds around the face. Inscription on the back that said Seek Truth. Stay True. ”

The color drained from Harrington’s face. “That’s impossible.”

“That’s what we thought,” I said. “Especially since the man who bought it looks nothing like you.”

Harrington rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “Someone used my name?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Dash said.

“You know the watch I’m talking about,” I added, “It’s the one I specifically asked you about when Walt and I were here.”

Harrington’s expression shifted, something like pain flashing in his eyes before he masked it.

“I gave her that watch,” he said quietly.

“We were stupid kids. And I was a stupid kid with a trust fund. When we decided to reconcile I found the watch and thought it suited her. And then I decided to have the inscription added. Elizabeth was always about finding truth. But I wanted her to remember who was with her for the long haul. Jason Brooks romanced her and played to her ego, and she didn’t give a second thought to dropping me for him.

“She told me it was because he was more mature and sophisticated. She needed someone who could challenge her ideas, and apparently that wasn’t me.

But I guess Brooks wasn’t all he was cracked up to be.

They fizzled out pretty quick and she came back.

I wanted her to remember when she looked at that watch that she’d been a fool not to stay true to me.

And to remember that the next time some slick-talking Don Juan threw her a little attention. ”

I felt the heat rise up from my neck. Apparently Jason Brooks hadn’t changed too much over the last decades. He was still a slick-talking Don Juan.

“Why’d you lie about the watch?” Dash asked.

“Because I didn’t want to look even more suspicious,” he admitted. “I’ve already got motive written all over me. Ex-boyfriend, argument the night she died, family business at stake.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to the watch. She only had it a couple of weeks before she died.”

“When did Jason Brooks find out the two of you were reconciling?” Dash asked.

Clint looked older—worn and weary. “I’m not sure he ever did.

That’s the thing with Elizabeth. As long as Brooks was of use to her for her story, there’s no doubt in my mind she would have strung him along.

I know it makes Elizabeth sound like a terrible person, but she wasn’t.

When I tell you she’d do anything for the truth, I mean that.

She would’ve been a heck of an investigative journalist if she’d lived.

And with some age and seasoning on me, I realize now that we never would’ve made it.

She’d have gone somewhere halfway across the world and I’d have never seen her again.

But first loves are always a bit foolish, right? ”

In that moment I felt sorry for Clint Harrington—for his grief in losing someone he loved, but also in the way he was rewriting history to soften that grief.

Patrick had been my first love, and I’d been about the same age as Elizabeth when we’d met, and not too much older when he’d died.

But I wasn’t buying Elizabeth’s quest for truth as being so noble as to betray and lie to and cheat on someone who loved her.

And the sad thing was, I wasn’t sure Clint bought it either.

“Where were you last Thursday afternoon around three o’clock?” Dash asked.

Harrington blinked at the sudden shift. “Thursday?” He opened the screen on his computer and said, “I was in Savannah. Had a meeting with potential investors for a new development. Stayed overnight.”

“Anyone who can verify that?”

“About fifty people,” Harrington replied. “It was a cocktail reception at the Hyatt after the meeting. I’ve got the hotel receipt somewhere if you need it.”

Dash studied him for a long moment before nodding. “I’d appreciate it. We’ll need to verify just to eliminate different avenues of the investigation.”

“Look,” Harrington said, leaning forward.

“I’m not involved in this. I did love Elizabeth.

Still think about her sometimes, even after all these years.

We’d known each other for years in school.

” His voice grew softer. “Her death was not just something I was able to get over. But it’s been a long time. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“Who would use your name?” Dash asked. “Who would know about that watch and its significance?”

Harrington thought for a moment and shrugged. “Honestly, it could be anyone trying to bring me trouble. I’ve made plenty of enemies over the years, especially after my father passed and I was left to clean up all his messes.”

“Is Jason Brooks an enemy?” I asked.

Something hardened in Harrington’s eyes.

“Brooks and I have a complicated history, but we’re both prominent men in this city.

We run into each other from time to time.

And we’re friendly enough. That’s it. But a guy like Brooks isn’t one to get his hands dirty.

It’s why he left the DA’s office. There was too much work involved with people he didn’t want to be associated with.

He always had a taste for the finer things. ”

“Thanks for the time,” Dash said, handing Clint a card. “If you could send over that information so we can confirm your trip to Savannah I’d appreciate it.”

As we headed back to the car, I glanced at Dash. “Do you believe him?”

“About the watch, yes,” Dash said. “About not knowing who might use his name? Not for a second. He definitely had some ideas. That’s a man who should never play poker.”

“What now?” I asked as we climbed back into the SUV.

“Now we go back to your place and tell the Silver Sleuths what we found out,” he said, starting the engine. “And we figure out how to set our trap.”

We drove back to Grimm Island in thoughtful silence. The island looked different somehow as we crossed the causeway—still picturesque, still charming, but now I could see the shadows lurking behind the quaint facades, the secrets buried beneath the Spanish moss.

The Silver Sleuths were waiting eagerly when we arrived, Chowder waddling over to greet us with unusual enthusiasm. His cold, wet nose pressed against my bare leg, making me yelp in surprise.

“Traitor,” I told him, scratching behind his ears. “Now you’re happy to see me.”

“What did you find out?” Dottie demanded, practically vibrating with impatience. “Did the jewelry man crack?”

“Like an egg,” I confirmed, stepping fully into the living room. “But before we get into it?—”

“Wait,” Walt interrupted, raising his hand. His eyes narrowed as he peered through the front window. “You said a dark sedan had been following you. One has been parked down the street for almost an hour.”