“What?”

“You make it look so damn easy.”

Luther walked to where his ball lay some two yards away from the hole. He overshot the cup by about four inches.

“The greens are a little fast today,” Jake observed.

“Thank you for that helpful observation.”

“I sense sarcasm.”

“Could be.”

Luther took aim again and sank the putt.

The caddies noted scores, collected balls and clubs, and replaced the flag. They all headed toward the next tee.

“I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for when you searched Zolanda’s house,” Luther said.

“No. I’m sure the assistant has the stash of blackmail material. Adelaide and I hired Raina Kirk to look for her.”

“Miss Kirk is a very interesting woman,” Luther said. “I hired her, too. I want her to look into a small security problem for me.”

“Adelaide said Miss Kirk is new in town. How did you meet her?”

Luther smiled. “Ran into her at the library a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah? What was she reading?”

“Old copies of theHerald,” Luther said. “She explained that reading out-of-date newspapers was a good way to get to know a town.”

“Huh. A private detective who reads and a nightclub owner who also reads. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“Or somewhere,” Luther said.

“Adelaide Brockton is an interesting woman, too.”

“I’m getting that impression. Any idea how or why she ended up here in Burning Cove?”

“Judging by the fact that Miss Brockton keeps a gun under her bed and that someone was watching her house the night Zolanda jumped off that roof, I’d say she’s running from someone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried to escape a mentally unbalanced man who became obsessed with her.”

“Obsession is a dangerous thing,” Jake said.

Luther shot him a quick, searching look. “It’s over. They’re both dead, Jake. It ended that night on theMermaidwhen Garrick tried to kill you.”

Jake thought about the violent evening on the gambling ship. He often relived the scene in his dreams. Garrick had come at him from behind with a knife, hoping for a quick, quiet kill, one that concluded with a body dumped over the side.

But Garrick had been the one who went overboard and drowned in the waters off Santa Monica. His body had washed ashore a few days later. If the authorities noticed the small wound in his throat, they had not mentioned it to the press. It was, after all, not the first time a dead gambler had turned up on the beach.

It had been a bad night, Jake reflected, but at the time he believed that it closed a dark chapter in the story of his life. Then Elizabeth’s diary had gone missing.

“It’s not over until I find that diary,” he said.

“I understand,” Luther said. “By the way, you might be interested to know that I sold theMermaid.”

“Getting out of the offshore gambling business?”