“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says.

Something about the clients? She raises her eyebrows.

“My friend Rupert called over the weekend to tell me that Paulette and Douglas Vickers have been taken into custody by the FBI.”

“What?”

“They were on St. Croix with Doug’s sister,” Huck says. “The FBI tracked them down and arrested them.”

“On what charges?”

“Real estate fraud,” Huck says. “Financial fraud.”

Well, yes, Irene thinks, of course. She wonders if the Vickerses were somehow responsible for the helicopter crash. Was Paulette Vickers the kind of person who could kill three people, then pick up one of the men’s widows at the ferry and describe the delights of the island?

“They’ll find out what she knows,” Huck says. “She’ll likely lead them to Todd Croft.”

“Real estate fraud,” Irene says. She thinks about the dummy driveways on the way up to Russ’s villa. “Financial fraud.”

“I didn’t want to tell you anything until I heard back from Agent Vasco,” Huck says. “She left me a message late last night, after I was asleep. I thought it might be time to start worrying…”

“Is it?” Irene says. Her wheels are spinning. Of course it is! Real estate fraud, Todd Croft, the money in Rosie’s drawer. Paulette knows far, far more than she’s saying, although likely she’s just a pawn manipulated by Todd Croft and maybe Russ as well.

“No, AC,” Huck says. “No. Agent Vasco told me it’s an ongoing investigation and if she has any other questions, she’ll be in touch.”

“So there’s nothing we should do?” Irene says. She wonders if the FBI knows she’s working with Huck. And if so, what do they think about that? Does it seem suspicious? Does it seem like Huck and Irene are part of the conspiracy with Russ and Paulette Vickers? Should Irene quit? She doesn’t want to quit. She takes a breath of the morning air and tries to calm down. She has done nothing wrong; Huck has done nothing wrong. The FBI agents know this.

“Nothing we should do, nothing we can do,” Huck says. “We just have to wait until they find Croft. But I wanted you to be aware.”

“Yes, thank you,” Irene says. She takes Huck’s left hand, the one with the missing pinkie, and squeezes it. “Please tell me everything you know. Don’t spare me because you think I can’t handle it. I’m tough.”

“That you are, Angler Cupcake,” Huck says. “But I’m happy to give you today off if you want to go home and mull this over.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Irene says. “If I do go home, I will mull this over, and what good will that do? I’d much rather be on the boat.”

“I feel exactly the same way,” Huck says. “Even if these people are difficult.”

Irene holds the ropes, smiling, as the Goshens approach. What she told Huck is true: She is tough. This family can’t throw anything at her that she can’t handle. But when she sees them, her heart sinks. There’s the mother, a pretty but sour-looking woman—blond, thin, midforties. She’s followed by a teenage daughter, a younger, prettier, angrier version of the mother. Trailing behind them with a bounce in his step is the son. He’s maybe thirteen or fourteen years old and he’s completely bald.

The mother’s name is Galen Goshen, the daughter is Altar, and the son is Niles; Niles, Galen announces, has just finished eighteen rounds of chemo. He has leukemia, Galen informs Irene, and this last round of chemo is either going to put him in remission or it isn’t. She says this right in front of Niles, who shrugs.

“I want to catch a fish,” he says. “A big one. Something I can hang on the wall.”

“He’s frail,” Galen says.

Yes, Irene can see that. He’s white as chalk and his arms and legs are like sticks. His blue eyes are sunken on his face but they’re bright and lively and he hasn’t stopped smiling.

Huck says, “Four to six feet today.”

Four to six feet isn’t terrible, but going into the wind, it will be a jarring ride. Even Irene hasn’t gotten used to the teeth-rattling that occurs when the boat smacks the trough of a wave. More than once she has gone home sore from tensing her muscles for so long. She can’t imagine this kid surviving the ride to the drop-off six miles south. He’ll be broken into pieces by the time they’re ready to cast a line.

But if they stay inshore, they won’t catch a big fish. Nothing big enough to mount, anyway.

“Four to six feet is too big for an offshore trip,” Irene says. “We’ll stay inshore today and catch plenty of fish.”

Niles seems happy with this and Galen and Altar look like they couldn’t care less.

Galen says, “Certainly you have a life preserver for Niles?”

“Life preservers are under the seat behind me,” Huck says. “We have one to fit the boy, though for an inshore trip, we won’t go faster than ten knots, so he probably won’t need it.”

“I was clear with the woman on the phone—” Galen says and before she can finish her sentence, Irene is pulling out a life preserver for Niles. D is for difficult.

Niles sits next to Huck at the wheel as Huck explains the dash, shows Niles the fish finder, and points off the port and starboard sides, identifying the other islands. Irene checks the light tackle rods, then sits on the stern bench next to Galen and Altar, who are whispering angrily back and forth. Irene doesn’t want to eavesdrop—as Huck told her early on, family drama rarely stops because people are out on a fishing charter, and it’s absolutely none of their concern. However, it’s impossible not to overhear. The daughter, Altar, is turning eighteen sometime after the family returns to New York, and Altar wants her mother to allow her to throw a party in the—house? Apartment?—for a hundred people with a DJ and a keg.

“No, no, and no,” Galen says. “It’s me saying no but it’s also building security saying no. A DJ won’t work, a hundred kids dancing to a DJ won’t work. We’ll get evicted.”

“What about Pineland?” Altar says. “She had that exact party on the fourth floor two years ago.”

“Pineland’s father bribed Mr. Soo,” Galen says.

“So there’s the answer,” Altar says. “You bribe Mr. Soo.”

“I have neither the desire nor the spare cash,” Galen says. “Your brother’s treatment.”

“I knew that was the real reason,” Altar says. “It’s Niles’s fault I can’t have a party.”

“Well, what exactly are Niles and I supposed to do while you throw this party in our home?”

“I don’t know,” Altar says. “Check into a hotel?” She laughs. “Niles will probably be in the hospital anyway, and you’ll be at his bedside, so what does it even matter?”

Irene can’t stand to hear another word. She moves to the captain’s seat. Niles is now on his knees on the bow banquette, earbuds in. He’s as still and majestic as a figurehead.

The earbuds, she supposes, are useful for blocking out his mother and sister.