Drowning Tides

“Lie down and take a nap,” Nick said. “I’ll be here, waiting.”

“Yes, all right. But I’d rather pace. I’m praying we will have Lexi back safe and sound as soon as possible,” she said in a loud voice. Let the eavesdroppers and spies report that to Clayton Ames, she thought.

She leaned against the open sliding glass door and watched the sunbathers in various sizes of bathing suits or near undress. Could their contact be out there? Was Jace out there?

She jolted when a knock sounded on their hallway door. Had Nick ordered anything while she was in the bathroom? He got up from the bed, but she beat him to the door, slid the bolt and pulled it open.

3

The plump, chatty British woman they’d sat next to on the plane stood there, dressed the same as before with a little smile on her lips and a beige envelope in her hand. Claire gasped as Nick appeared beside her. “We meet again,” he said to the woman.

“Indeed. A friend has sent you this,” she said, extending the envelope to him. “I wasn’t to give it to you earlier. If I were you, I’d follow those directions straightaway. That is all I know, so don’t inquire more. Ta-ta, then.” She turned away and scurried down the hall.

Claire tugged Nick out into the now empty hallway and whispered, “What does it say?”

They bent close as he pulled a card from the stiff vellum envelope. “It’s a handwritten invitation,” he muttered so quietly that she could hardly hear him. “Our presence is requested, and so on—smart-aleck wording. But here’s his address. I’d love to let the FBI have this, but Lexi comes first.”

As he started to go back into their room, she grabbed his arm and mouthed, “The FBI? Are they in on this?”

“No,” he whispered so quietly she had to read his lips. “But an agent questioned me—grilled me—a couple of years ago over what I knew about the man I used to call ‘Uncle Clay.’ They’re not interested in my father’s death but looking into IRS taxation questions about Ames’s global companies that are under the umbrella of a massive conglomerate called Ames High. I could only tell them I’d tried to track him but he kept moving and lives mostly as an expat now. Let’s get a cab and go see him before he disappears again.”

“With Lexi,” she muttered as they went back into the room to grab their things. She was annoyed he had not told her about the FBI earlier. What else was he hiding? She’d barely glimpsed the so-called printed invitation, but she would read it on the way.

Before they grabbed their gear, they fell into each other’s arms, holding hard. It terrified her to think this might be the last time—if, just maybe, things went wrong. He suddenly held her at arm’s length, almost as if he was thrusting her away. He stared into her teary eyes.

“You will leave here with Lexi, no matter what else happens. I said it before and I mean it now—more than ever.”

* * *

Jace had to move fast when he saw Claire and Nick emerge from the front of the club. His hands shook as he unlocked the chain around his bike. He saw Nick scanning the area, frowning, but he didn’t react as if he recognized him. Was he looking for him or a spy or stalker? It didn’t matter since they waited barely a minute before a brightly colored cab pulled up and they got in. He had to keep up with his motorbike, but at least the cab had to stop a lot, heading back into George Town.

Jace thought Claire looked pale and nervous, but why wouldn’t she? He pictured Lexi, green-eyed like Claire, though she was more blonde than red-haired. Well, strawberry blonde. And she loved strawberry ice cream and her so-called Frozen doll—what a name for a doll. She loved her cousin Jilly, the same age. Yeah, she was as close to Jilly as Claire was to her sister, Jilly’s mom, Darcy. That and his international traveling were reasons he’d never so much as considered trying to take “Princess Alexandra,” alias Lexi, from Claire when they divorced. But if Claire ever married Nick or anyone else, he’d sure sue for equal time with his daughter. But first, they had to get her back.

He swore under his breath as the cab got through an intersection when the light changed but he didn’t. Too many tourists loose in town, taking too long to cross the street, rushing back to their ships. A policeman with a pointed white cap was still holding up his line of traffic.

He revved the bike and stretched as tall as he could, trying to pick out the cab they were in from vehicles one block ahead now. He should have memorized the number on its back, 4-4 something. If they got much farther ahead, he’d have to just guess which private mansion along the area called South Sound they’d gone to, since that’s where it looked like they were headed. He prayed he hadn’t already ruined his chance to help them and save Lexi.

* * *

Claire gazed at the mansions along the South Sound. Some of them reminded her of the massive ones in the Port Royal area of Naples. Even behind privacy walls, they loomed vast, beige-and-white concrete and stucco, some with wood pillars or pastel trim. Their fronts bordered on the canal with boat access. “More like yachts, nuh,” their driver said—you might know, the same driver they’d had before, no doubt someone else on Ames’s payroll. She could see tall masts or an occasional yacht through the spaces between the buildings. The houses’ rears, where she glimpsed an occasional gardener working or a maid putting out the trash or a service or repair truck, faced the road with the South Sound, a lagoon that merged with the blue-green sea. She read on scripted signs lovely names of these huge homes like Golden Pond, Lazy Lagoon, Happy Days, Sea and Sky—and, the one they pulled into through ornate, open wrought iron gates, Nightshade.

Claire squinted, scanning the back garden area within tall walls for any sign of Lexi. A burly man, who wasn’t dressed like a gardener, stood on the other side of a shaded fountain, watching them. Could that be Clayton Ames? No, because Nick glared at the man but didn’t react.

As they got out—the driver said he’d already been paid—Claire noted the well-kept grass and flowers. The fountain in the shape of a huge, fluted clamshell dominated the area and the wind blew spray onto the surrounding plants.

As the cabbie drove away, Claire tugged on Nick’s arm. “See those tall, purplish, trumpetlike flowers around the fountain where that man is standing? They’re called deadly nightshade, and their berries are poison.”

“Not now, Claire.”

“I did a report on poison plants in college. That can cause hallucinations and seizures if you eat it, so watch it if he offers food here.”

“I don’t think he brought us here to poison us—not that way anyhow.”

Her heart pounded so hard that she feared she’d collapse from the cataplexy she controlled through her meds. That debilitating disease was linked to the narcolepsy she’d struggled with for years. She had to be ever vigilant in highly charged, emotional situations, and she couldn’t think of anything much worse than this. Her knees went weak when she had to stay strong.

“Well then, what part of it is poison?” he asked quietly when she’d thought he didn’t want to hear more.

“Roots, leaves, berries—everything. There’s an old legend that the plant belongs to the devil who trims and tends it. Its Latin name comes from one of the three Fates in mythology—can’t recall her name—the one who cuts the cord of each person’s life to bring death at the time and manner of her choosing.”

“Well, isn’t this the perfect place for Clayton Ames then?” he muttered, putting his arm around her waist.

“I’m all right,” she said, pulling slightly back from him. She couldn’t go in to face Ames leaning on Nick.

As he raised his hand to knock on the back door, it opened as if by magic, but of course they had been watched again. A short, handsome, white-haired man with pale blue eyes stood there. He was nattily dressed in white slacks and a navy golf shirt. He wore an expensive-looking gold watch. She couldn’t guess his age; he could be anywhere from fifty to eighty. His tanned facial skin was tight and unwrinkled but for the crinkled corners of his narrow eyes. He radiated friendliness, so this could not be Clayton Ames.

Claire was expecting at least a butler, but the man broke into a white-toothed smile and said, “Nicky, welcome. It’s been so long, my boy. And, of course, Claire, Lexi’s mother. Nicky and I go way back, but I’ve so wanted to meet you. Please step in, and let’s have a chat before we get down to business.”

So this man was Ames after all. Of course it was, because Nick had described him as deceptive and slick. And the man’s comment about he and “Nicky” going way back was no doubt a veiled reference to those horrible days when Ames murdered—so Nick believed—Nick’s father. Yes, Nick was right: this man was dangerous and demented.

Neither man extended his hand. Nick looked carved from stone. Ames clapped him on his shoulder and reached for Claire’s hand. She was expecting his touch to be cold, but he felt very warm.

“Welcome to Nightshade,” Clayton Ames said, “my home away from home.”

* * *

Jace was furious. He’d lost them, screwed everything up. A row of mansions stretched out here. He saw traffic on this so-called South Sound Road but no cabs. Ordinarily, he’d just call Nick or Claire on his cell, but they’d decided it would be too risky to use phones here. Besides, Nick and Claire could be with Ames now and no way they could take a call. If someone tracked it, that would give his backup presence away.

Then he saw a cab pulling out onto the road from down the way. Yes. Yes! When it passed him as it headed back toward town, he saw part of its ID number was 4-4. Thank God! It had evidently dropped Claire and Nick off and was leaving.

But when he got to the property labeled Nightshade, he didn’t see any way to go in without being spotted. Besides, a burly man was looking his way from the other side of wrought iron gates as they automatically closed. As Jace buzzed by, that man was joined by yet another. He’d have to circle back to the For Sale property he’d seen, go through there to the canal and walk back to Nightshade, or at least close enough to case it. Nightshade seemed a strange name, he thought, but the moon could throw some shade at night.

He went a little farther down the road, then circled back. Near the For Sale house, he pretended his motorbike had quit in case anyone was watching. He rolled it up to the wooden gate, but that was locked, so he pushed the bike between the security fence and the neighbor’s white concrete wall, then chained it to another grate over a first-floor window.

Since most of the living areas of these big homes faced the canal rather than the expanse of water across the road, he strolled out to the canal and ambled along it, counting the houses until he reached the fifth. He saw some serious boat flesh, as he called luxury watercraft. He stopped before he could be spotted from Nightshade two properties down—or he hoped so, because he didn’t want to tangle with those beefy guards. At least there appeared to be no fences back here.

Until it was dark tonight—and he was doomed if these places had watchdogs—he’d better retrace his steps to the beach just across the road and watch from there. At least he’d be able to tell if Ames moved Claire, Lexi or Nick. That strip of sand and some rocks had other people around so he could blend in, even if there weren’t the big numbers like on Seven Mile Beach.

Leaving his bike locked where it was hidden between the two houses, he crossed the road and strolled down the beach, back toward Nightshade. A couple of families sat on the sand or waded in the water; it reminded him of better times when he and Claire had taken Lexi to the beach by the Naples pier. Kids screeched and ran free. Pretty far down the beach, one kid in a straw hat was flying a kite with two women who might be mothers or nannies. But he turned his eyes back to the row of mansions, scanning Nightshade for any sign of Claire or Nick or even Lexi.

* * *

Claire gazed aghast at the interior of the mansion. Nothing graced the longest wall in the high-beamed great room but a row of large, lighted fish tanks at eye level. She wondered if Lexi was imprisoned somewhere in this house. It made her want to rip the ceilings, floors and walls apart.

As if they’d come to see his aquariums, Clayton Ames was talking in a maddeningly calm voice about “his babies,” the tropical fish, evidently captured from Caribbean waters. If he could talk about his “babies,” couldn’t she ask about hers? But she followed Nick’s lead to merely look interested—watchful, at least—while waiting to see what Ames’s next move would be. This all had to mean something, to lead somewhere, but it was pure torture.

“The world may be dog-eat-dog,” Ames said as he peered into a tank and rapped on the glass with his well-manicured fingernails, “but in here it’s fish-eat-fish.” His nails were fairly long for a man’s—devil’s claws, she thought, feeling sick to her stomach. “You know, people make a big mistake when they think fish are unintelligent and unresponsive pets. They are capable of learning, and I like to study their behavior—which, of course, is key in your career, Claire.”

She started to say something—she wasn’t sure what—when Nick said, “I imagine you look at people in the same way, Clayton. Aren’t all these tanks difficult to take with you when you move about, or do ‘your babies’ stay here?”

“Like my immediate staff, they go where I go. The fish may seem antisocial or destructive but from their point of view, they are being constructive,” he added, pointing to another tank where a large, lovely specimen was hiding behind a coral rock, evidently lying in wait for its prey. But when it lunged and snatched, at least, it was not at another fish but a piece of floating food.

Usually, Claire was mesmerized by aquarium fish, but it was hardly calming this time. If she wasn’t so strung out, waiting for a mention of Lexi—to see Lexi—she would have tried to psych this maniac out. What made him tick besides control of others and his ruthless pursuit of wealth and power? What made that ticking bomb explode?

But she could not stand it one moment more. “Fish doing what comes naturally is one thing, but doing what comes naturally to a mother is worrying about her child,” she said, steeling herself to look directly into the man’s pale blue eyes.

“I understand, of course, and we will get to that directly. She is being well taken care of. She has some kindly companions with her and is having a fine time, I assure you.”

“But how—” Claire started before he held up a palm toward her as if stopping traffic.

“You will see and soon,” Ames said.

Nick said, “I’m surprised you don’t have piranhas here.”

“Very clever, Nicky. But a bit heavy-handed, don’t you think? I prefer a more subtle approach. See that fish flaring its gills?” he said, gazing at the glassed-in fish again. His reflection made it look like a twin stared out at them from a watery mirror. “Watch as it opens its mouth wide, making what is termed a ‘frontal threat display.’ But that can be misinterpreted. In some species that aggressive posture is actually a courtship display. So please, let’s sit on the second-floor lanai, have a drink and talk business without any misunderstandings or antagonism. You see, you have both challenged me cleverly and carefully just now, and I appreciate your spirit.”

This man was delusional, Claire thought. Did he believe he could control others like this? And yet, wasn’t she being delusional to think they had a chance to defy him? She would do almost anything this man asked right now to get Lexi back.

Nick spoke again. “We would appreciate no frontal threats.”

Ames chuckled, and Claire shivered. What sort of business deal was this horrible man going to propose? Surely, not that Nick give up his life for Lexi’s. The handwritten summons here to Nightshade had been worded so formally, almost like a wedding or reception invitation would have been. She’d kept it to perhaps analyze his handwriting later—if there was to be a later. But whatever this man’s game, she had to keep calm and go along. Nick was right that he loved to torment people. He was poison, washed down with sips and gulps of his pseudo kindly presence.

He led them up a curving staircase to a large second-floor deck with a stunning view of the emerald South Sound lagoon that seemed to merge with the glittering sea. They sat in woven wicker chairs around a glass-topped table in the shade of a white umbrella. From this broad balcony, Claire could see people on the beach. A few were swimming or walking in the waves. A girl in a pretty yellow dress and flopping straw hat flew a red kite while her companions cheered and clapped.

A tray of what appeared to be tall glasses of iced tea and pink lemonade awaited them. Ames took an iced tea and raised it to them as if giving a toast.

“To your happiness, both of you and Lexi in the future,” he told them.

Neither of them reached for a drink, but Ames ignored that and went on, “And, Nicky, I commend you on managing your frustration and temper, and to have chosen such a great woman as your fiancée, who doesn’t demand her daughter back at once.”

“Fiancée? Claire and I are not engaged.”

“Really? If you want Lexi back, I rather thought you’d both agree to be more than engaged—that is if you wish to live happily ever after. Lexi’s excited about your wedding, and I am too.”

Claire, who had sat frozen at the mention of marriage, gasped, but Nick choked out, “Wedding?”

“Here, this evening. With Lexi as flower girl. She’s been so excited to hear you sent her down ahead to have a good time and help me make plans for the ceremony tonight. It’s quite easy to get a license and a celebrant for tourists here, you know, so I’ve taken that upon myself. We’ll have an intimate reception afterward, and the three of you can be on your way tomorrow, though I’d be honored if you’d spend your wedding night here. Your beach hotel is paid up for a week, if you’d like to stay there. Though children aren’t usually part of a honeymoon, I’m sure you’d rather have Lexi with you than with me.”

Still in shock, Claire sucked in another sharp breath. Nick just gaped at him. He obviously had not seen that coming—just the opposite. But it all made sense to Claire. Her pulse started to pound, and she flushed prickly hot. Nick had not married so he didn’t have to worry about protecting a family from this horrible man. But Ames had discovered that Nick now cared about someone who had an only child who meant the world to her. That meant Nick had a new weak spot, and once Nick had married her, Ames would have three people to torment and control, not just one.

But Ames had just said Lexi was with two women, and she’d seen that girl on the beach, who had actually reminded her of Lexi...

Claire vaulted from her chair and leaned over the edge of the beige concrete balcony. She squinted into the stiff sea breeze. Yes! Yes, so close and yet so far. At a distance, in that dress, with strange women! Claire didn’t mean to make a sound, but she heard herself scream, “Lexi! Lexi! Lexi!”

4

“My, aren’t you a clever girl, but Lexi can’t hear you from here,” Ames said as he came to stand beside Claire, and Nick rushed to the balcony to stare outward. “It’s too far, and the breeze is in the wrong direction to carry your voice. But I assure you, Lexi, with her companions, will disappear before you can even cross the road if you two don’t sign on my dotted line. When you do, of course, we’ll get Lexi back so she can prepare—like all of us—for a lovely, private wedding this evening. I’ve had a cake and the attire ordered. Now, don’t disappoint the child, as she’s tried her pretty frock on already and practiced carrying the rings on a little pillow. I’m sure you’ll like those too.”

Nick stood silent. He covered Claire’s trembling hand with his where she still gripped the balcony. The red kite had taken a dive into the sand, and her two companions were running after Lexi toward it.

“I just love surprises,” Ames said, clapping his hands. “Oh, and Nicky, there’s more to it for you than just saying ‘I do.’ Let’s you and I chat about that while I send for Lexi to be brought here for a little future family reunion—or not. What do you say, my boy?”

“I say I’m not your boy and never was. That you and I are not finished over this or—or the other matter between us.”

“Finished? I hope not. I have another profitable offer to make, which I’m certain you will take. You see, I need your promise to work for me as well as to wed the lovely Claire. You’re a fine attorney, just as your father was, and I have a particular case for you to oversee. Why, your future wife, clever forensic psychologist that she is, may be able to help with it too. Because as long as you win that case for me, there won’t be a worry in the world about Lexi or your future. Let’s step inside, and I’ll explain more. Ah, isn’t it a lovely day for a wedding, even an evening one? We’ll have it right here in moonlight and candlelight with a view of the lagoon and the sea, so romantic.”

For the first time in her life, Claire understood murder as a crime of passion. Her head was spinning. Was this a dream or a nightmare? At least Lexi was alive and ran free and in her sights—for now.

“If you want to talk to Nick,” she said to Ames, “can I just stand here and watch Lexi until you send for her?”

“Why, of course. And while I do that, I’ll have the housemaid Jemma come out to keep you company.” He patted her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch and yet she had to obey him at least until they got Lexi back and got out of here. She prayed Nick would agree to anything and everything this man said—because that’s exactly what she was going to do.

“Oh, Claire,” Ames said, as he followed a grim Nick to the door to go back inside, “I should assure you that, although Lexi was surprised at first that my man who picked her up at your home was not her daddy, she adapted quite well when my people told her the happy surprise you and your betrothed had planned for her. She understands that you two needed time to plan the wedding. Also, I believe she calls you Mr. Nick, doesn’t she, my boy? We told her that her new stepfather would be a big part of her life but that she could still see her daddy. That is, if he doesn’t hurt himself flying all over the Caribbean, right?”

He turned away, but Claire glimpsed Nick’s expression of shock that Ames must know Jace had come down here too. They were doomed, she thought. But she’d marry Nick, keep it in name only, a partnership until they could stop this devil—someday, somehow.

* * *

“Look, Clayton,” Nick said the moment they sat down in facing black leather club chairs in his darkly paneled den, “I’ll do what you say, but can’t you leave Claire and Lexi out of it?”

“I’ve seen via lovely photographs how much you like Claire and evidently want her. Well, what red-blooded bachelor would not? No, you need to marry Claire, and I need her and your darling new stepdaughter for insurance that you will do as I ask on a particular local matter of great importance to me and my business affairs.”

“Local? You want a lawyer to try a case here in Grand Cayman?”

“Hardly. You don’t have the credentials or the clout here as you do in Collier County. No, this is a case local to you near Naples I need to have you take and win for me. I believe you’ll realize why you’d be the ideal attorney on this. And well-paid, of course, so you and your new family can get a very nice home.”

“One with your listening devices and hidden cameras built right in.”

Ames ignored that and went on, “Once you hear me out, you’ll want to do this not only for me.”

“For keeping my new wife and stepdaughter safe, you mean.”

“My, you’re paranoid. You don’t have what they call a wire on you, do you, Nicky?”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all, which is why I want you to work for me. I was quite annoyed when I found you’d traced the name of my offshore company, Ames High, which stores my resources here in Grand Cayman as well as in a few other places in Europe and Asia. Now that you are working with me, I absolutely expect you to keep that a secret, especially not to share it with any US agencies that may inquire.”

Nick’s stomach went into free fall. He tried not to show surprise, for why should anything shock him with this man? Could Ames know the FBI had interviewed him and that the IRS was on his tail? He said nothing, but met the older man’s eyes with a steady stare. Those cold, pale blue eyes: Nick was certain he had either pulled the trigger of the gun that killed his father or hired the man who did. He clearly recalled his father telling him that “Uncle Clay” was going to stop by that night.

Ames leaned forward in his chair, elbows propped on his knees. It took all the restraint Nick had not to launch himself at the man, to pound him to pieces.

“Nick,” he said, finally dropping the silly Nicky, “I need you to defend your friend Chet Hazelton from Goodland in a Collier County court, a criminal case.”

“A criminal case? He goes by Haze, you know.”

“I do know. I know a lot about him.”

“Then with all your spies, listening devices and drones, you realize I have other cases that need my attention. What’s he done? He’s a longtime friend, and I’d work pro bono for him. But I believe he has money flowing in, thanks to your leasing his Fountain of Youth water supply for your so-called health drink Youth Do, as well as the cosmetic firm Fresh Dew corporations.”

“I’m honored how closely you follow my career and my gifts to mankind through those excellent products. Now, Nick, sadly, my friend and yours, Haze Hazelton, is in dire straits.”

“Is he being sued for that phony water you use and promote? You have to know that spring his family has owned for years, though it may be worth megamillions, is bogus.”

“Nick, Nick. I’d have to sue you for slander and libel if you ever said that in public, but I need you to say just the opposite. I know you’ve kept your mouth shut for years since your friend believes in his sparkling waters. Worse, you simply must keep up with current events in your own backyard, so to speak. Our mutual friend Haze has something bigger to face. A dreadful murder occurred in Goodland yesterday, and he is the number one suspect, though the police haven’t arrested him yet.”

Nick sucked in a breath. “I—I didn’t know.”

“Quite simply, he’ll need you to defend him. I’m sure he’s been calling your office. He could be arrested any day now for, as they say on TV, murder one.”

“Who’s he accused of killing?”

Ames ignored that and went on, “And when you do defend him in the media or the public venue of the court, be sure to extol the virtues and the claim that the Goodland water’s curative and youth-giving powers are valid and that my products are not only health-giving but anti-aging. You see, the person he’s accused of killing said just the opposite.”

Nick snorted. Though he’d let Haze have his pipe dream, he’d always figured the miraculous water was all hype and lies. Scientists were on his side that the $292 billion global industry of turning back time in the human body was mostly smoke and mirrors. Desperate Americans were anti-aging crazy, and that was driving the sales of any new book, supplement, food or drink that held the promise of eternal health and life. And the government only controlled meds and food, so that meant the selling of water or cosmetic products that were mostly water was outside their jurisdiction.

Nick asked, “I repeat, he’s likely to be accused of killing whom?”

“I assume you’re familiar with that mouthy rebel Mark Stirling, owner-editor of the Marco Island newspaper, The Burrowing Owl, rag that it is. It’s been attacking Haze’s claim that the spring he owns is indeed Ponce de León’s fountain, instead of that one in St. Augustine. But, you see, that’s the same as attacking my company’s claims and my reputation. Before his sad demise, Stirling had even—let’s say—‘burrowed’ his way into probing my offshore profits from the Dew and Do corporations, just when they are starting to take off big-time with the huge Gen-X and millennial markets as well as the aging baby boomers.”

“Haze wouldn’t kill anyone. I’ve known him for years.”

“Precisely, and you can defend him well and get him to avoid a silly expose-the-false-advertising case. Keep your Markwood, Benton and Chase law firm going, but on this case you and your firm will really be working for me—as a priority. That way you and yours, as they say, won’t be endangered like the poor, vulnerable little fish sometimes eaten in my aquariums.”

Again, Nick had to fight to keep from vaulting out of his chair and pounding Ames. But he knew a guard would rush in, and Claire and Lexi would suffer too.

“So, do we have a deal?” Ames asked. “For the wedding and your loyalty to me in the Goodland case?” He extended his hand.

“Do I have a choice? But that’s how you play the game.”

“Nick, it’s not a game. I’m deadly, deadly serious.”

“Did one of your spies or hit men kill Stirling? I’ve always known you killed my father, but you operate through others now. You had everything to lose if this Stirling probed deeper and turned up your offshore accounts.”

“How insulting and outrageous. Although Haze hasn’t been arrested yet since Stirling had other enemies, I expect you and your clever little forensic psychologist bride can ferret out enough other suspects to muddy the police investigation waters. Meanwhile, after your nuptials, you might want to read the Naples Daily News online for today. I believe they’re dubbing Stirling’s sad demise the Mangrove Murder, since his battered body was wedged under mangrove roots not far from that precious ‘fountain of youth.’ Nick, win that case for your friend Haze Hazelton—and for me.”