“Let’s go, boys!” Gary shouted, jerking a thumb toward the back of the mud-splattered Commando.

    I slid in up front beside Schmutz while Denver and Bob piled in back. Our ace in the hole, Otto, was tucked away in the maintenance building. If our villains got stage fright, he was there to light the fuse.

    “All limbs in?”

    Denver slapped the back of my seat. “Let’s rock, Gunslinger.”

    Gary peeled out, forcing us all to grab hold of anything bolted down.

    Once we’d straightened out, Schmutz’s head swiveled between me and Gary, a shell-shocked look on his face. “Fuckin’ heck, boys. Someone mind tellin’ me what in the Sam Hill is goin’ on around here?”

    Gary shot him a look that had clearly progressed from stage kaboom to stage homicide, so I figured I’d field that one. “Simple, Herbo. We’re on a mission to nab Erika Wild’s murderers.”

    Schmutz’s jaw hit the floorboards.

    “No thanks to this human speed bump over here,” Gary spat.

    Schmutz’s shoulders sagged. “Well, how was I supposed to know?”

    “You’re absolutely right. You couldn’t have known,” I conceded with a shrug. “Then again, there’s an unspoken rule of etiquette here on Paradise Isle, Herb. If you see your neighbors are busy hog-tying a local businessman in their living room, it’s generally considered polite to come back later. Maybe with a casserole. But to just waltz in and untie the guest of honor before cake is even served? Herbo, that’s just rude.”

    Schmutz shrank a little more. “Ope, yeah, yeah. My fault. Sorry about that.”

    I squeezed his shoulder. “Water under a burned bridge, man. I mean that. But we’re still in the thick of it, so knock off the jackassery until we have killers in cuffs.”

    He gave a weak little nod.

    Up ahead in the circle drive, Birdie was on the makeshift stage, trying to control a mob of guests who looked about two seconds from turning into a full-on stampede. Her arms were out, palms open, a picture of calm she clearly did not feel. She was trying to talk them down from the ledge of what they perceived as an active-shooter situation. It wasn’t going well.

    “Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.” I slapped a shit-eating grin on my face and lifted a hand like we were royalty in the Rose Parade.

    The rest of the guys followed my lead. Birdie’s eyes found mine, and she returned a tiny, strained wave. A few people in the crowd noticed and turned our way.

    “Give ’em a toot, Gunslinger,” I suggested.

    If a picture was worth a thousand words, an AK-47 horn had to be priceless in this situation.

    Gary nodded gravely and tapped the horn.

    Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

    A couple of tourists jumped, and a woman shrieked, but seeing where the noise came from this time, a collective wave of oh-for-the-love-of-God washed over them. A few people even laughed, though there were plenty of pissed-off glares to go around. The panic bubble had officially burst. Birdie shot us a look that was fifty percent thank you and fifty percent I’m going to personally smother you with a pillow. The mob, now more annoyed than afraid, started to break apart, grumbling as they rejoined the festival.

    “Crisis averted,” Bob chuckled as we charged toward the beach for Act Two.

    Gary floored the Commando, flying past the Clubhouse and down the sandy path to the beach. Between bands, the stage was deserted except for some steel drums glistening under the lights. Eddie and Ralph were already at the soundboard planted in the sand, staring up at the Jumbotron, which aired a live feed from the maintenance shed.

    The crowd, smelling drama, began to drift toward the stage, their whispers rising and falling.

    A guy near me popped a beer and nudged his buddy. “This part of the show?” he muttered.

    That was when the nerves struck. Were we actually going to get a live, on-screen confession? Watching Sly’s face twist into a sneer, I held my breath and hoped.

    “You absolute fucking moron,” he spat at Kappy. “You actually thought you could play me and get away with it?”

    Eddie cranked the volume.

    Kappy, smeared in Schmutz’s dried blood, held up his hands. “Play you? Sly, no, no. I’m not—I don’t… what are you talking about?”

    “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sly snapped. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital. Broken neck? Wasn’t that your bullshit story?”

    Kappy went full ham, grabbing his neck like the agony was just setting in. “I never said it was broken,” he said weakly.

    “Then why aren’t you in the hospital?”

    “Because, I—I told the paramedics to bring me back here. I said I was feeling better.” Kappy swallowed hard, his eyes darting around, looking for an escape route.

    “And why in the hell would you do that?”

    “Because! I was worried you might not show up and we’d lose the deal. That’s all.”

    “Bullshit,” Sly scoffed, stomping around the grimy shop floor. “You think I don’t see what the hell is going on here?”

    Kappy glanced at Leonard, who just threw up his hands in a classic don’t-drag-me-into-this gesture.

    “I really don’t know, Sly. What’s happening?” Kappy asked.

    “I bet you got the cops waiting for me in the lobby. Somehow, you got Artie’s old lady to meet me, but the real show was supposed to start the second I walked through those doors. Wasn’t it?”

    Kappy frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sly. You’re paranoid. Why would the cops be waiting for you?”

    Suddenly, Sly froze. “Wait a minute. Are you wearing a wire?”

    “No, I’m not wearing a fucking wire.”

    Sly marched over and gave Kappy a rough pat-down before ripping his button-down shirt open, exposing a thick ’n’ juicy KFC white-meat breast.

    “Oh my God, Sly. I fucking told you! This isn’t a setup. You’re paranoid.”

    Sly looked at Kappy, eyes thin and prickly. “Who else is in on it?”

    “Excuse me?”

    Sly spun on Leonard, one finger pointing back at Kappy. “Are you in on his bullshit story?”

    Leonard raised both palms, genuinely befuddled. “Fuck no. Honestly, Sly. I have no clue what’s going on right now. Last I heard, Kappy was coming to sign papers with Val. I didn’t even know you were coming.”

    Sly glared at Kappy again. “I wanna know who you’re working with.”

    Kappy huffed. “You know who I’m working with, Sly. The two of you.”

    “Nah, I can smell a rat. Did Byron put you up to this? He getting buyer’s remorse?”

    “I haven’t talked to the judge since he got you out,” said Kappy. “I swear.”

    Sly locked his gaze on Leonard. “Does this smell like a rat to you? This guy calls me, says his car got wrecked by those goats we turned loose. Says he’s laid up in an ambulance with a broken neck.” He jabbed a finger at Kappy. “He look like he’s got a broken neck to you?”

    “I never said it was broken, Sly,” Kappy whined.

    Leonard sized Kappy up. “Easy to prove. We’ll go find the car.”

    Sly patted Leonard’s shoulder. “Good thinking. Why don’t you be a good little errand boy and go check it out for your Uncle Sly. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on this one.”

    Leonard looked less than thrilled about being his uncle’s little errand boy, but still, he glanced at Kappy, his expression vacant. “Where’s it parked?”

    I let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing my hands together. Here we go! The truth shall set me free!

    Kappy’s mouth flapped uselessly. “Oh, I, uh, well…” He groaned. His head rolled back. “Ugh, fine, Sly. You got me. I wasn’t hit by goats. A couple of senile old guys in golf carts ambushed me, but I shook ’em. I didn’t wanna tell you because I knew you’d accuse me of working with them. Which I’m not, by the way.”

    “Senile?!” Gary, Denver, and Bob all barked at once.

    “I’ll show him senile,” Denver muttered.

    Onscreen, Sly’s entire posture changed. “Old guys? What old guys?”

    “I don’t know. Just some resort residents, I guess.”

    “They hit you with their cart?”

    “Yeah.”

    “And I’m supposed to believe that after your whole bullshit goat story?”

    Kappy threw his hands in the air. “Believe it, don’t believe it. I don’t really give a shit anymore.”

    Sly rubbed his chin, mulling it over. “What did they want?”

    “I really don’t know. I think they just wanted to talk. They mentioned something about Erika Wild, but I don’t know—”

    The air went still.

    Leonard looked like he was about to decorate the floor with his lunch. “You didn’t tell them what we did to her, did you?”

    Kappy’s head snapped back, his eyes bulging. “What we did to her? What the hell did we do to her, Leonard?”     His gaze bounced between Sly and Leonard. “You two didn’t kill her, did you?!”

    Sly took a menacing step forward and backhanded Leonard so hard across the face that the crack echoed across the beach. “What the hell did I tell you?!”

    Leonard cowered, holding his cheek. “What was that for?!”

    “I told you he didn’t know about Wild, dumbass! Why the hell would you say that?”

    “I thought he knew,” Leonard whined. “How’s a guy smart enough to run that kind of massive Ponzi scheme not smart enough to figure out that the woman who was blackmailing all of us didn’t just accidentally shoot herself in the head?”

    Leonard looked at Kappy. “Seriously. Duh. What are you, stupid?”

    My breath caught in my throat. There it was. The money shot. The whole goddamn enchilada on a silver fucking platter. I could feel the entire beach holding its breath right along with me.

    “So you did kill her?” Kappy cried. “Sly, you swore to me you had nothing to do with it!”

    Sly threw his head back and his hands up. “Here we fucking go.” He dropped his arms and glared at Leonard.     “You happy now? Now we’ve got a loose end to fucking deal with. See, this is why I told you to keep your big mouth shut, Lenny!”

    “Loose end?!” Kappy balked. “You’re not talking about me, are you? You think I’m gonna rat you out for killing her? Why would I do that, Sly? We’re partners. Why would I screw over my business partner?”

    Sly shook his head slowly, a pitying smile curling his mustache. “Oh my God, you really are an idiot, aren’t you? A genuine, grade-A chump.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Did you really think I was ever planning to share my resort with you? My Paradise Isle Grand?”

    Kappy’s face was a train wreck of confusion and terror. “Our resort,” he stammered.

    “Ours?” Sly barked a laugh that boomed from the Jumbotron. “You’re just a two-bit scam artist, Kappy. A con man who preys on snowbirds with bad circulation. You don’t have the vision for what I’m building. You were just a pawn. A simple, stupid, and very rich pawn.”

    The beach crowd was dead silent, a sea of upturned faces watching a real-life soap opera unfold in megapixels. A grin stretched across my face.

    This was it. Vindication, served up hot and public.

    Kappy bristled. “I’m not a pawn, Sly. I brought the investors. I got Byron on board. I set up the deal to buy this place. Artie would never sell to you if it wasn’t for me.”

    “Exactly,” Sly snapped, eyes flashing, as he paced in front of Kappy, reveling in his own evil-villain monologue. “I just needed your slush fund to pay off that greasy weasel Byron to get me outta that shithole prison. Then I needed Artie-Fartie outta the picture.” He gestured to Leonard. “My nephew’s little frame job took care of that. Now Artie’s old lady’s itching to sell. And she will. Lawyers don’t come cheap, and her hubby’s gonna need a damn good one after how royally we set him and his doofus gopher up to take the fall.”

    Doofus Gopher? What the fuck?! Doofus Gopher was the best the jackass could come up with? Was this fucking amateur hour?

    Sly cackled, like the devil himself dropping a one-liner.

    Kappy’s face collapsed.

    “The plan was never to cut you in,” Sly continued, his voice sinking to a low growl. “But now that you’ve arranged the deal to get me my resort, you’ve become… expendable.”

    He punctuated the thought by yanking a snub-nosed revolver from his waistband and pointing it at Kappy’s chest. “You know too much.” He said it calmly, like he was announcing the weather forecast.

    A collective gasp rippled through the beach crowd. My own breath hitched. The smug satisfaction curdled in my stomach, replaced by a cold dread. The plan had just changed.

    My earpiece crackled. “That’s it. I’m going in.” It was Otto’s gravelly voice.

    Frankie’s shriek followed instantly. “Otto, stand down! That’s an order! Do not engage! Officers are seconds away!”

    “Otto, stay put!” I shouted, my eyes glued to the screen. “Don’t you fucking move!”

    A clunk. A scrape. A muffled noise.

    Kappy, Sly, and Leonard’s heads all turned toward the sound.

    My heart skidded sideways.

    “Otto? Otto!” I yelled, panic clawing at my throat.

    No answer.

    Onscreen, a door creaked open.

    Otto stepped through, slow but steady. No rush. No fear. Just an old man in a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt, a cane in one hand, a pistol in the other, and a fat cigar jutting from his teeth.

    “Drop it, Sly,” he boomed.

    Gun still aimed at Kappy, Sly’s eyes snapped to Otto.

    Without taking his eyes off Otto, Sly didn’t hesitate. A single shot rang out, and Kappy jerked like a puppet on a string.

    A fresh red bloom erupted on his already bloodied shirt. Kappy crumpled to the floor.

    Before Otto could even react, Sly pivoted on him. He fired just as Otto fired.

    Two shots blasted out, with barely a space between them.

    Otto jerked backward, a pained grimace on his face. His cigar fell from his mouth. His knees buckled.

    My eyes went wide. The world tilted sideways. Panic seized my chest, a cold, crushing weight.

    He was down…

    My God, Otto was down.