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“Please, gentlemen,” said Bobbie. “Let’s not do this. A man died. Show some respect.”

“He never had any respect for me!” said Nestor. “Why should I show respect for a man who wiped his ass on my profession! Wiped his ass on me!”

“Please,” Bobbie repeated. “Is this helpful? Is this productive? Please.”

“The man was an asswipe,” Nestor continued, “and he screwed your mother,” he told Dale, pointing his finger at the man. “Which makes you an asswipe’s asswipe!”

The veins in the swimwear model’s temples were throbbing, and his fists were clenched. It wouldn’t take much for him to take a swing at the squat Nestor Greco.

“Please,” Bobbie said again. “This is not the way we do things around here.”

“This is exactly the way we do things around here,” said Jasper softly, squinting at the ceiling, a nickel playing through his fingers. “Which is why we’ll all get arrested and charged with first-degree murder if we don’t get our acts together and figure out who’s behind this.”

“Well, we all know who’s behind this, don’t we?” said Nestor.

“If you’re going to say my mother is behind this, I’ll slug you,” said Dale. “I swear to god I’ll slug you and I’ll slug you good and proper.”

“Asswipes don’t slug people,” Nestor pointed out. “They—”

“Don’t say it,” Dale warned. “Don’t you dare!”

“I suggest you take a long hard look at Tracy Sting, detective,” said Jasper. “We might not agree on anything, but we all agree on this. Tracy is the one who did this to Burt.”

“Tracy Sting?” asked Odelia. “Who is she?”

“Burt’s handler,” said Chase. “We’ve been wanting to have a word with her.”

“Tracy represents Dos Siglas,” said Bobbie. “Like you said, she’s the one who handled Burt. Organized the shoots with the ad company. Scheduled his appearances.”

“So why would she kill the goose that laid the golden eggs?” asked Chase.

All four men were silent for a moment, sharing glances. Even Nestor turned quiet, and Dale had taken a seat again. None of them spoke, as if in sudden agreement.

“Gentlemen?” Chase prompted.

“Look, Burt was old, all right?” said Bobbie. “The man was past his prime. But he didn’t think about hanging up his saddle. Said he still had at least a dozen good years left in him. Which would have put him past ninety. Now I’m all against ageism, detective, but ninety? Seriously? So DosSiglas wanted to put him out to pasture. Replace him with a younger model. Maybe even change up the campaign a little. A fresh take, you know.”

“Burt wouldn’t accept their offer,” Jasper chimed in. “He refused to stand down. Said that if they forced him to retire he’d take them to court. Sue them for all they were worth.”

“In their eagerness to sign him up, back in the day, they’d forgotten to stipulate a termination clause,” Bobbie explained. “So Burt figured he would go on in perpetuity.”

“And they couldn’t fire him for fear of bad press,” said Nestor.

“So they killed him?” asked Odelia. “Just like that?”

“Why not?” said Jasper. “It was their only out. And a lot of free publicity, too.” He leaned in. “Imagine the headlines: Most Fascinating Man in the World dies in a Most Fascinating Way. By exploding beer bottle. The articles write themselves. Not to mention that they planted a Tres Siglas bottle at the scene, smearing the competition in the process.” He leaned back. “From an adman’s point of view the death of Burt Goldsmith was a golden opportunity. A master stroke. And Tracy Sting is the person who set the whole thing up.”

Chapter 22

Alec Lip sat nursing his beer while gazing out the window at one of the most interesting sights in the world: the people who inhabited Hampton Cove. They were his fellow citizens, the people he was being paid to protect and serve, but also his friends, co-workers, family members and former fellow schoolmates. Above all, though, they were people, and people watching was one of Alec’s favorite pastimes. Better than a movie at the local cineplex. Better than a show on Netflix or one of the networks. And definitely better than sitting at home and wondering if Chase would stay over at Odelia’s tonight or not.

Last night he’d hoped to catch a game with the guy, but as usual he’d been a no-show. Not that he minded all that much. Most nights they both ate dinner at the Pooles anyway, and often hung out at Marge and Tex’s while Chase snuck over next door to canoodle with Alec’s niece. Was it still canoodling when you were past the legal drinking age? He wasn’t sure. At any rate, there would be many more ball games, and if Chase was serious about Odelia—and it looked that way to Alec—the guy would become family, which was all for the good, cause he liked Chase. Liked him like a brother. Or the son he never had.