“So I’ve decided to take some time off. What’s wrong with that?”

B Man laughed. “You don’t get it, do you, Stan? You just can’t up and quit.”

“Who said anything about quitting?”

“Come on, Stan. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Guys like you don’t take time off. You’re trying to quit.”

“And what if I am?”

“Why waste your time, Stan? You know you can’t do it.”

“Why do you say that?”

The B Man sighed. “Stan, I’ve known plenty of guys like you. You’re an addict. You can’t quit. I understand what you’re trying to do. You met this chick. You kind of like her, right?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stan said. “She’s just another bimbo.”

“Sure, right. Whatever you say, Stan. Anyway, you’re starting to like the simple life. You want to move out of the fast, dangerous lane for a while. But, Stan, you’re not the type. Eventually, you’ll move back into the dangerous lane and pow! You’ll smash your car. You’re a screwup, Stan. You can’t change.”

“Leave me alone, B.”

“I will, Stan, because I know you’ll be back. You’ll look in tomorrow’s paper and see a horse in the third that’s a sure thing. Or you’ll find a football game with a point spread that’s just too juicy to pass up. Then the itch will come back, and it will be so bad that you’ll have to scratch. And once you scratch, you’ll scratch again and again—”

“Shut up!”

“—and I’ll be right there to help you tear away at your skin, Stan. Your old buddy the B Man will be waiting with open arms and sharp claws.”

Stan’s upper lip quivered. “Just shut up!”

“I don’t like being yelled at,” B Man warned, his voice low. “I don’t like it at all. Maybe I’ll have to teach you a little lesson, Stan.”

“No, B—”

“Maybe I should pull your broken finger right out of its socket,” B Man continued. “Or maybe I’ll just grab your little blond girlfriend, tie her down to a bed, and let Bart and a few of his buddies take turns on her. How does that sound?”

Stan’s eyes flew open. “I-I’m sorry, B Man. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

B Man’s laugh chilled him. “I know, Stan. I know. Give me a call when you feel the urge. In the meantime, enjoy your brief moments of joy. People like you don’t get to experience this very often. When you’re ready to go back to your home in the gutter, we’ll be waiting to assist you.”

The phone went dead. Stan turned. Gloria was standing in the doorway. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

He went to her and held her closely. “Everything is fine,” he said.

She looked up at him. “You’ve really given up gambling, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Stan said, and though it was the truth, he knew that the B Man was right: eventually it would be a lie.

18

IT had been the Garden of Eden. Then it became Hell. The transformation had been sudden. One moment, the Reef Resort Hotel was an idyllic honeymoon hideaway; the next, it was death. As she stared at it, the Reef Resort Hotel became hazy and unreal to Laura, as though she was seeing it in a dream. The building and grounds were all so familiar. She saw the bush, the gardens, the lobby—even the sunburned receptionist behind the desk. Laura remembered him well. He had handed her the last note David had ever written.

“Mrs. Baskin!” the sunburned man cried out when he saw her. “How nice to see you again!”

Laura smiled through her daze and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to see you.”

“Will you be staying long?”

Graham stepped between them. “Only a few minutes.”

“How you doin’, Sheriff?”

“Very well, Monty. You?”

“Can’t complain,” he replied. “Something I can do for you?”

Graham must have been a foot taller than Monty. He stared down at the smaller man. “Do you remember the day David Baskin disappeared?”

“Yeah, sure,” the receptionist answered. “What about it?”

“He handed you a note before he left, right?”

“Sure did,” Monty confirmed. “Christ, that note was a regular riot. You remember it, Mrs. Baskin? I read it to you over the phone when you called in. I was never so embarrassed in my life.”

“Then what happened?” Graham asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did David return to the hotel?”

Monty nodded. “Yeah, like I told Mrs. Baskin. He came back for a little.”

“And then he left again?”

“Right,” Monty said.

“How long was he back?” Graham asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. About an hour.”

“What time did Mr. Baskin leave the hotel the second time?”

Monty thought a moment. “Can’t say for sure. Mr. Baskin took off right after he got a phone call.”

Graham and Laura exchanged glances. “What phone call?” Graham asked.

Monty shrugged. “Don’t rightly know really. I was doing the switchboard when a call came in for him. I just transferred the call to his room. Mr. Baskin came down and rushed out of here a few minutes later.”

Graham wetted his lips. “Can you tell me about the voice of the caller?”

“About the voice?”

“Sex, accent, anything.”

Monty thought a minute. “Well, I don’t remember the voice all that well. It was a long time ago. The only reason I remember it at all is because Mr. Baskin was a celebrity, and after I let the call go through, I kicked myself for not screening it for him. I mean, it could have been some reporter or obnoxious fan. But anyway, all the person said was ‘Mr. Baskin’s room, please.’ But I kinda remember the voice was hushed. Was it a man or a woman? Can’t say for sure. But it was a Yankee accent all right. You can’t hide that, no matter how hard you try.”

“Anything else?”

Monty shook his head. “Oh, wait. One more thing. The call was local.”

“How could you tell?”

“The lines in this hotel are terrible when a call comes from overseas. But there was no static on the line. The call had to have been made from right around here.”

Graham thanked Monty and then he steered Laura toward a bamboo chair in the corner of the lobby. She sat silently, her bleak eyes staring out toward the pool and beach.