Afterwards, he sat on the sand and dried himself in the warm sun, like a big old sea lion. Maybe he should just give it up and head into the Everglades and go fishing with his father. What good could come from his continued involvement with a string of Gold Coast robberies? And if Croc was involved, if Mollie was involved, he could be risking his reputation.
Croc materialized out of nowhere and dropped down onto the sand two feet away. He had on jeans, a denim shirt, and sneakers, as if it were fifty degrees out instead of nearly eighty. “Nice afternoon to run yourself to death, eh?”
“Perfect. How’d you find me?”
“I came by your place and saw you head out in your shorts, figured I’d give you time to run off the demons. You succeed?”
Jeremiah stared out at the glistening, turquoise water. “No.”
“Miss Mollie, Miss Mollie. Well, she’s pretty and smart, but I don’t trust her. Our thief had another attack of light fingers today. Lucy Baldwin lost a diamond Rolex in the ladies’ room. The police aren’t too sure if she thinks she was wearing it or if it was our guy. But I don’t see Lucy Baldwin as a forgetful, spooked old lady.” He stretched out his skinny legs in the sand. “Nah. I don’t buy it.”
Recognizing the name of one of Palm Beach’s most respected, wealthiest year-round widows, Jeremiah frowned at Croc. “How do you know this stuff? Were you there?”
Croc squinted, his face crinkling up. “Yep. So were you. I saw you in your Beemer. Why didn’t you stick around?”
“There didn’t seem to be any need.”
“I guess Lucy Baldwin losing a watch isn’t up there in excitement with Mollie Lavender getting a necklace snatched right off her neck.” Croc kept his eyes on the water, which was calm, no big swells moving in, and he added, “I followed her.”
“Mrs. Baldwin? Why—”
“Miss Mollie.”
“Jesus, Croc.” Jeremiah cursed himself. He should have spotted Croc—if anyone would stick out in Palm Beach, he would—but he’d never seen him. “What were you trying to accomplish?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, it just seemed like something to do. I figured you lacked the appropriate objectivity. Anyway, she made me on the way home. I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up on your doorstep to blame you.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t call the damned police. I would have. I’d have your ass in the slammer. Ever occur to you that you might have scared the hell out of her?”
“Trust me,” Croc said, confident, “this lady’s no damsel in distress.”
Jeremiah was silent. Seagulls whined and wheeled overhead, and he could hear the laughter of beachgoers in the distance. His stretch of beach was quiet, just him in his wet running shorts, Croc in his jeans.
Croc yawned and fidgeted simultaneously. “You have to admit, it’s a tad incredible that she’s been at the scene of every robbery. And she’s the only victim who’s been physically assaulted. Awfully convenient, if you ask me. Nice way to take suspicion off yourself.”
“Hell, you’re even more cynical than I am.”
“Ain’t no one more cynical than you, Tabak.” He grinned. “You’re just not thinking with your head these days. If Miss Mollie isn’t the thief herself, maybe it’s a client or someone who works for her, or someone who’s using her to gain access. Maybe she’s being set up. Maybe she’s got enemies we can’t even begin to fathom. The possible scenarios abound.”
“And maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree altogether.”
Jeremiah got to his feet, brushed the sand off wet shorts and legs, gripped with a tension he didn’t want to fully understand. He knew it had everything to do with Mollie. He’d done stories more dangerous and complex than this one, but this time, he couldn’t stand back and observe with clarity and neutrality. He was involved.
“You can lay off this story, Croc. You’re going to land up in jail if you don’t watch it.”
Croc remained in the sand, angled a look up at Jeremiah. “You’re falling for her, aren’t you?”
Jeremiah ignored him. “Go for a swim. The water’s nice.”
When he arrived back at his building, Mollie was sitting out front with the guys. She’d changed from her business clothes to slim khakis and a white shirt that, he hoped, made her look paler than she actually was. Otherwise he’d probably have to head back to the beach and drown Croc.
“I stopped by the paper,” she said, “but you weren’t there. I found your street on the map.”
Albert, the ex-mobster, settled back against his half-shredded lounge chair. He was plump and had a full head of snow-white hair. “Bennie and I was just showing her some of our wares.” Indeed, they’d arranged a display of whittled animals on their table. Flamingos, parrots, toucans, alligators. “Sal’s gone in for lemonade.” Salvatore Ramie was a defrocked priest. Albert wiped sawdust from his knife blade with his thumb. “You want to stay for lemonade, Jeremiah? Or you want we should send Sal up with the pitcher?”
“Sal doesn’t have to—”