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“You don’t give up, do you?” He laughed again. “I honestly don’t know. Doesn’t Sallis have a home somewhere? Maybe there. Or another resort. I’m sure he stays in some of his other places throughout the year like he does here.”

There were nearly a hundred Sallis resorts around the world. Saying he could be at any one of them provided no help. “Who would know what his schedule is?”

“Beats the shit out of me. And probably not a good idea to go asking around about that either.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate this.” I fished in my bag for my wallet and pushed a hundred toward him.

He waved my bill away. “No way. It was bad enough I was saying things I shouldn’t say. I don’t want to be accused of taking money for it. I’d rather have my excuse be that I was dazzled by a beautiful woman.”

“You flatter me.” Part of me wished I could be charmed so easily. Wished I could be charmed at all by someone like him.

“Nah. I still think you’re crazy.” He hesitated. “But if you’re into a crazy good time, come by here when I get off work at seven. I’m Greg, by the way.”

“Trish.” I didn’t shake his hand. And I wouldn’t meet him. I’d gotten everything I wanted from him already. But he’d been helpful so I said, “I’ll consider it. Greg.”

I wondered if he would have asked me out or been as forthcoming if he’d known I’d been on a date with his boss just two nights before. Did that put me in the unspoken category of untouchable? I decided it was best not to ask.

I sat back on the deck chair and considered my next move for several minutes after Greg left. According to him, there wasn’t any reason to continue my interviews of the resort staff since they wouldn’t tell me anything. Of course, he’d still given me information even after he’d said asking anyone was pointless. Which meant that I might still have a chance to learn something. If I got lucky. Or if I played my part well.

Either way, I was too tired to keep at it that day. A growl of my stomach led me to La Cabana, the poolside cantina. Not wanting to wait for table service, I settled at a counter seat and ordered chicken street tacos and a glass of Sauvignon blanc from the bartender – Lucy, according to her name tag. I kept the wig on, but took off my hat, careful not to disturb the piece underneath, and set it on the counter. While I waited to be served, I pulled out my cell phone from my purse and looked up the number for the resort spa. By the time Lucy returned with my food, I had an appointment at ten the next morning for a massage.

As I ate, I realized that though speaking with Greg felt satisfying, I really hadn’t learned anything useful. I knew before he’d told me that Amber had been at the resort the previous summer. Now, I supposed, I knew she was gone by the end of June. Maybe. Probably. He’d also told me that by Halloween she was no longer with Reeve. But I’d already guessed that because of the picture from September that showed Reeve with another woman. Actually, the most interesting thing I’d discovered from the conversation was that at least some of Reeve’s staff believed that he wouldn’t want them talking about him.

And that information was definitely not helpful.

Sighing, I pushed away the remainder of my tacos and laid my head on the counter.

“Looks like you need a refill,” Lucy said.

I followed her eyes to my empty wineglass. “Yeah. I think one more.”

“I’ll have to open up a new bottle. Give me just a minute.”

She left and I propped my head up with my elbow and dazed absentmindedly at the wall only a handful of feet away from me. One section of it was covered in framed pictures, a variety of sizes. As I continued to stare, I realized the pictures were of people, sort of like the display found in the home of a grandparent, not a bar. Intrigued, I rose to check it out more closely.

They were candid shots. From this very restaurant. Reeve was in several of them, wearing a casual button-down shirt and khaki shorts, his hand clapped around the shoulder of someone in one. Raising a bottle of an imported beer in another. He wore the same outfit in each of them, so I guessed they were all from the same event. I just couldn’t tell what the event was or when it took place.

But if they were recent…

Though my eyes naturally went to the pictures with Reeve in them, I studied the other faces now looking for Amber, hoping she might be in one. And also the ones with Reeve in them. He was too photogenic not to. Too beautiful. Too captivating.

“He’s a real looker, isn’t he?”

I peered over my shoulder to find Lucy, her hand outstretched toward me with my glass of wine. I took it from her, nodding my thanks. “He’s not bad on the eyes,” I conceded, returning my focus to where I’d been looking a moment before. It was in a smaller frame, a white matte surrounding it so that only a three-inch picture showed. Reeve was in it, with two women in bikini tops and long skirts. Several buttons of his shirt were undone as if this was later in the evening. His smile was bright, his eyes sparkling. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and while I was drawn to the serious expression that I’d seen from him most often, this look was awfully appealing too.

I pointed to the display on the wall. “When were these taken, anyway?”

Lucy had returned to her place behind the bar, but she answered as she wiped down the counter. “His thirtieth birthday. It was quite a party. Not too big. A hundred or so friends and family. We closed the pool outside and he held the whole thing in here.”

Reeve was thirty-six now. Amber wouldn’t be in these pictures. I kept looking anyway, fixating on one of the women. She had her head turned away from the camera, her hand covering her mouth as if she was laughing so it was hard to really see her face. “Oh, wow,” I gasped, when I recognized who she was. “That’s Missy Mataya.”

Missy Mataya was at the center of Reeve’s dangerous reputation. They’d dated for a while. Or fucked. Whatever it was that he did with his female companions. Much like all the women he was seen with, he’d never claimed her as a girlfriend, and if they’d ever demonstrated public displays of affection, they weren’t caught on camera. Also like Reeve’s women, Missy had been gorgeous. She’d been an up-and-coming supermodel. Exotic. Young. Well loved.

Then – probably soon after the picture I was looking at had been taken – she’d fallen from a cliff edge and died. Or jumped. Or been pushed. No one was ever sure. Some people said she’d probably committed suicide. A few believed it had been an accident. Many pointed the finger at her lover. They’d been at his private island in the Keys, after all, and every other person with them on that trip said the last they’d seen her she’d been with Reeve.

Reeve had never been one to address rumors or accusations of any kind, and this occasion was no different. He didn’t release a statement. He shared his story with no one. Every reporter that attempted to get an interview was denied. The police claimed they’d questioned him and declared he wasn’t a suspect in the incident, but when no one was charged at all, people weren’t happy. It was Missy’s fans that began the public attacks against Reeve, flocking to social media to proclaim him a murderer and a liar. Soon others joined the cause. There were all sorts of people ready to hate a man like Reeve. Business opponents. Middle-class citizens who felt that the rich were inherently evil. Conspiracy theorists who were sure Reeve had paid off the police. Members of the Christian right who were more than happy to crucify a man who lived such a tawdry life.

Reeve publicly ignored these accusations as easily as he’d ignored any others in his life. It wasn’t as if the claims would turn into anything. As far as the law was concerned, Reeve Sallis was innocent. A good part of the nation’s people, however, believed he was just another rich man who had used his money and power to get away with his crime.