Jack nodded cautiously.
“Well, Tiny, here’s our problem.” Ramirez’s voice was smooth. “A young man paid for a tour Saturday night with you. You say he wasn’t there. Mr. Willis says maybe he was. Regardless, we all agree that you didn’t run that tour by the book.”
“I—”
Ramirez raised a hand and started ticking points on her purple fingernails. “You were responsible for their safety, but you let them drink. You let them get in the water. That’s against the rules, right?”
If there was a way to nod miserably, Jack pulled it off.
Ramirez nodded back.
“And then, the next day, Ricardo Cruz is found in one of your life jackets, dead, floating in your slough.”
“But—”
“Maybe you saw something. A weapon. Or a fight. Maybe you let Ricardo get in the water and his kayak flipped and he slammed his head. Whatever happened, let me give you some advice. Things will go much better for you if you tell us. Now. Because from where we sit, you’re a scared kid who made a mistake, and you’re trying to cover it up.”
Lana saw Jack’s eye twitch. She couldn’t let this continue.
“I saw something,” Lana said. She pulled herself up straight, drawing her robe tight around her.
“Ma’am?” Ramirez looked confused. So did Jack.
“But it wasn’t Saturday night,” Lana continued. “It was Saturday morning. Early. Two a.m. A person with a wheelbarrow. On the far side of the slough.”
“You were out on a hike at two in the morning?”
“No. I was here. Out the back window. No one’s supposed to be on the slough at night. But someone was there. Suspicious.” Lana remembered his jerky movements, his furious gaze.
Nicoletti leaned forward. “You spend a lot of time looking out the window?”
“Well, I—”
“Lady, you probably saw a farmer dumping something he couldn’t be bothered to take to the recycling plant. There’s all kinds of junk in the slough. Ricardo Cruz died at least a mile north of here, two maybe. I doubt you can see that far out your window.”
“No. Ricardo Cruz was found two miles north of here. Do you have evidence that proves he was killed there?”
The man leaned back and fixed Lana with a cruel gaze. “I don’t discuss evidence in open cases with grandmothers.”
“Saturday. Two a.m. Write it down.”
“Ma’am—”
“If you’re going to harass my granddaughter based on the claims of one tourist on a kayak cruise, you can at least follow up on the information I’m providing you.”
Lana locked eyes with Nicoletti, fixing him with an imperious stare. She sat up very straight, puffing her chest out in her blue-and-gold robe in her best imitation of an irate peacock.
Internally, she debated whether to start talking again, to insist the man she’d seen was suspicious and that the detectives should give her the respect she deserved. But she decided silence was a more powerful weapon. It was already doing its job. The energy in the room felt scattered, no longer driving toward a climax. Ramirez’s pen scratched against her notebook. Jack’s leg bounced under the table. Nicoletti looked from Lana to Jack and back again, his eyes hard.
Finally, he stood up. “I see this is as far as we’re going to get today. You”—he pointed one meaty finger at Jack—“don’t go anywhere. If we discover you knew Mr. Cruz, or that you’re covering up—”
“You are welcome to return another time, Detectives,” Lana said. Her voice was crisp. “We’re happy to entertain your questions. But not your unfounded threats.”
Nicoletti glared at Lana. She glared back.
“We’ll do that,” Nicoletti said. “You girls think about telling us the truth next time. The whole truth.” He stood and shook his head. “Ramirez, let’s go.”
*
It took a full five minutes after Lana locked the door before Jack’s heart stopped racing.
“That was messed up,” Jack said. “Like, really messed up. What are we going to do?”
“Jack.” Her grandma’s eyes weren’t cruel, but they were firm. “You’re absolutely sure he wasn’t on your tour?”
“I—I am.” She stumbled over the simple words.
“Speak up, Jack. Winners never mumble.” Her grandma’s gaze stayed steady. “Is there anything else, anything you haven’t told me?”
Jack swallowed. She debated whether to mention it.