"Austin was hiding out from loan sharks by the time word leaked out that Juan Carlos was marrying some TV agent out in California. He was penniless and desperate. So he went out there to blackmail him. If Juan Carlos helped him out financially, he'd keep quiet and my father would never have to know that his gay son was sleeping with the same man who destroyed his daughter's heart. Dad would never have to know any of what was going on behind his back."

"How do you know that was what Austin was planning?"

"Because Dominique saw him at the wedding. She figured out what he was going to do, and confronted him about it. He certainly didn't deny it."

"So did your sister poison him to protect Juan Carlos?"

"No. She says she didn't and I believe her."

"Then what about Juan Carlos? He could've retaliated and poisoned Teboe at the wedding. You were as close to him as anybody. Surely you might have some idea if it was him."

"Juan Carlos was a lot of things, but he was not a murderer. I think if you find out who killed Austin, you'll find out who killed Juan Carlos."

"What about you, David? You certainly had a lot to lose if your father found out. Maybe you sent someone out there to do the job for you."

"Would I be telling you all this if I had? I'm hoping this gives you the information you need to find out who murdered Juan Carlos."

He had a point. Why implicate yourself to such a degree if you were guilty? My initial hunch was right. No one in the family was responsible. But this key piece of dirt opened up a host of new possibilities. A blackmail scheme. But Juan Carlos must have refused to play ball. Teboe threatened to put in a call to Martinez. And an hour later Austin Teboe was dead. It sure sounded like a textbook case of murder. Juan Carlos knocked him off before he could talk. But Juan Carlos was never away from Laurette's side at the wedding. There was no way he could have poured the poison in Austin's champagne. No, it was impossible for Juan Carlos to have pulled it off. Besides, no one else but Rudy Pearson had possession of the lethal monkshead poison. But why would Rudy Pearson have reason to murder Austin Teboe? It was clear on the bus ride up to the Hearst Castle that the two didn't even know each other. Unless Rudy meant to poison someone else. Yes! Austin could have swallowed the poison by mistake. Rudy despised Juan Carlos for some reason, and wanted him dead. When Austin keeled over instead, Rudy decided to follow Juan Carlos to Florida and finish the job once and for all. It made perfect sense. But since Rudy was already dead by the time Juan Carlos died in his Chinese chicken salad, someone else must be behind that murder.

I left David in his grief and went topside where the knobby-kneed crew member waited to show me the plank, or ladder rather, that led me down to the speedboat where Charlie and Bowie waited for me. As Bowie revved the engine, and we began the short trip back to shore, Charlie put a hand on my knee.

"By the way," he said. "I had the guys back in LA call in a few favors with the Miami Police Department. They let me take a look at the toxicology reports that just came back from the lab."

"And?" I said.

"It's official. Juan Carlos died from a hit of monkshead poison."

Bowie stole a glance at Charlie's hand resting on my knee. He grimaced. It was clear he had developed some feelings for me. And I felt wholly responsible. But I couldn't iron out those problems now. This new surprise just raised more unanswered questions. Who other than Rudy had access to the stash of monkshead? There was that mysterious roommate taking a shower in Rudy's room while I was searching it, but I had no idea who that might be. Maybe he or she took over for Rudy after Wendell killed him?

When we reached the dock, I told Bowie what I had learned from Javier about his cousin Calvin. Bowie was taken by surprise by my news. It was the first solid lead he had heard in months. It was clear he was anxious to get on it. He mumbled his good-byes and quickly disappeared inside the QE3. Charlie and I got into the Taurus and headed back to the Ritz Plaza.

I turned to Charlie. "Thank you for rescuing me," I said.

"No problem," Charlie said.

"I love you," I said, and meant it.

Long, long pause. He really wanted me to suffer a little bit before finally relenting. "I love you too."

When we got back to the room at the Ritz Plaza, Charlie sat me down on the bed. "I meant what I said in the car," he said.

"I know. So did I."

He stared at me sharply, trying to read my face for any signs of insincerity.

"From the moment we met, until now, and forever," I said.

"So you're not leaving me for some muscle-bound exNavy Seal with his own boat?"

"Never was, never will," I said.

Charlie slowly nodded, considering, and then he said, "Well, I'm leaving you. Your director, Larry Levant, came out to me on the set, and we really hit it off, and one thing led to another and well-"

I whacked him with the pillow. We both laughed. I started to unzip his black wetsuit all the way down to the lower regions when the phone suddenly rang, disrupting the mood. Sighing, I scooped it up and said impatiently, "Yes, what is it?"

I heard a bright, cheery, familiar voice. "Hi, Jarrod, it's me, Amy Jo."

"Hi, Amy Jo. What's up?"

"Well, given the recent tragedy, the producers have decided to shut down production indefinitely." I had forgotten that some people might consider Juan Carlos's death a tragedy.

"I see. Well, I'm sure it's for the best."

"So we need all of the cast to clean out their trailers ASAP," she said. "Like right now."

"It's kind of late, isn't it?" I said.

"Most of the cast did it this afternoon. You were nowhere to be found. I kept calling and calling. You really should tell us when you're going to take off like that." Mean, vicious Amy Jo was suddenly reemerging.

"I'll get my stuff first thing in the morning."

"We really need you to do it now, Jarrod. The crew wants to pack up all their equipment and caravan it back to California in the morning. And we promised the city of Coral Gables we would leave the park cleaner than when we found it, and that won't happen if your belongings are littered all over the place."

"Fine. I'll go out there now."

"Good. I sure do appreciate your cooperation," she said, her mind already onto her next job. I was about to hang up when Amy Jo said, "Oh, Jarrod, by the way, some guy left a message for you at the production office about an hour ago."

"Who was it?"

"He didn't say. But he said he left you something in the tool shed on the set, and you really need to go pick it up."

"What tool shed?"

"You know, the one out in the woods a few feet from the set. Stella from makeup keeps some hairbrushes and hand mirrors, stuff like that in there for safekeeping. But she couldn't find the key this morning, and that thing's a bitch to open. So bring a crowbar."

"Did the person say what it was he left me?"

"No. Just that it's someone you've been looking for." She paused and then giggled. "The receptionist must have written this down wrong. It has to be 'something,' not 'someone.' She makes it sound like there's a person in there."

"Thanks, Amy Jo," I said robotically as I hung up the phone and looked at Charlie, my face drawn and pale.

"What is it?" Charlie said. "What's wrong?"

"I think I know where Wendell Butterworth stashed Rudy Pearson's body."

Chapter 33.

After I told Charlie what Wendell had said about the tool shed and not having to drag Rudy's body far, he unzipped his suitcase, rummaged through it, and drew out his gun. He stuffed it into his shoulder holster. "I'm going with you this time," he said.

"Believe me," I said, "I'm not about to go out there without you."

We headed out the door and down the hall.

"Do you know where the shed is?" Charlie said.

"I'm not sure I remember ever seeing it. But it has to be in the vicinity of the set."

We reached the bank of elevators, and I pressed the "down" arrow button. After a few moments, the bell rang and the elevator doors slid open. Laurette and Larry Levant stepped off. Larry had his arm around Laurette's waist. She was bleary-eyed and giggly.

Larry smiled weakly. "I found her in the bar. She was drowning her sorrows. She's had a rough time of it."

"He's so sweet," Laurette slurred. "Isn't he sweet?" She turned to Charlie and me. "Well, don't you think so?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought it was a rhetorical question. Yes, he's very sweet."

"And probably gay too," Laurette said. "Just my luck. Or bi. Like my husband. I mean, my dead husband. The jerk." Laurette teetered, but Larry's hand on the small of her back steadied her. Laurette fought to focus, and squinted to get a good look at the two of us, or from her blood alcohol level, all six of us.

"I've told her four times I'm not gay, but she won't believe me," Larry shrugged. "What do I have to do to prove it?"

Laurette stroked a finger down his cheek. "I've got a few ideas." Then, she burst into tears. "What am I doing? I've been a widow for less than two days."

"It's okay, sweetheart," I said. "Juan Carlos wasn't exactly a role model for fidelity, and I know a woman should take her time after the end of a relationship, but after what that bastard put you through, I say go for it."

"Thanks, Jarrod," Larry said. "She's a cutie, isn't she?"

I smiled. Laurette glared at me through her blurry vision.

"Yes," I said quickly. "She is. I'm sorry, Laurette, I thought it was another rhetorical question."

"You're my best friend, Jarrod," she mumbled as she started sliding down the wall. Larry had trouble holding her up. Charlie and I swooped in to give him a hand. Once Larry had her in his grasp again, Charlie and I stepped back as the bell rang again, and another elevator arrived. Charlie reached out and held the door open.

"Jarrod, we better go," he said.

"Where are you two off to?" Laurette called out as Larry attempted to maneuver her down the hall.

"Back out to the set," I said. "I think we may have found Rudy Pearson."

Laurette stopped cold, grabbed the wall for support, and sobered up a bit. "Excuse me?"

"We'll explain later. After you've had some coffee," I said and got on the elevator. Laurette wrested herself free from Larry, and charged back up the hall and to the elevator. She stuck her hand in to stop the doors from closing.

"I don't want you two going out there tonight. It could be dangerous. Call the police, and have them come with you," she said.

"I called the police the last time, and when they showed up, I couldn't prove anything had happened. They think I'm some screwy actor making up stories. If we find anything, then we'll call the police."

Charlie opened up his jacket far enough for Laurette to see his holstered gun. "We'll be fine, Laurette," he said.

I gently pried Laurette's fingers off the elevator door. "I'll call you as soon as we get back. I promise."

"Be careful," she said as the doors closed on her worried face.

When we reached the set in the wooded park just outside Coral Gables, most of the props and equipment had been packed up and the area cleared. There were a few trucks and trailers locked up tight in the parking lot, but no one from the crew was around. It was completely dark now, and Charlie and I stuck close together as we surveyed the area for any sign of the mysterious tool shed.

The temperature had dropped to the low fifties. It was cold for Southern Florida and there was a biting breeze that made me shiver. It also could have been the macabre circumstances of searching for a butchered body that gave me chills. I led the way, Charlie right on my heels, as we walked down a path leading away from the set. It was the spot where I had witnessed Wendell Butterworth stab the life out of Rudy Pearson. When we reached the clearing, the trees swayed ominously around us, blocking the moonlight, making it that much darker.

"You see anything?" Charlie said.

"No," I said. The truth was I was seeing a lot of things. When I was a little boy, I watched the John Carpenter horror classic Halloween on late-night TV. Jamie Lee Curtis played a nubile young babysitter stalked by a vengeful escaped mental patient named Michael Myers. He wore an eerie, white mask over his face, and stalked unsuspecting teenagers in the neighborhood accompanied by a disturbing, bone-chilling film score. It had an undeniable impact on me, and for several weeks after that, I saw the masked face of Michael Myers everywhere. On the street, outside my bedroom window, in my closet. Everywhere I turned there he was. And on this night, after all I had experienced at the hands of Wendell Butterworth, I saw his face. Everywhere. Peeking out from behind the trees, waiting for us down the path, hovering above us in a tree branch. I couldn't shake his image, and it began working the knots in my stomach.

"Jarrod, down here!" Charlie said as he pounded off down a hidden trail I had missed. I ran after him, not wanting to lose him from my sight. When I caught up to Charlie, he was standing still in the middle of the path, his gaze fixed on a small wooden shed, about six feet in height, not more than four feet wide. There was a steel padlock around the rusted door handle.

I looked at Charlie, my eyes wide with anticipation, and the knots in my stomach twisting tighter. "You think this is it?"

Charlie shrugged. "I guess there's one way to find out." He picked up a rock and banged it against the padlock. Nothing. Not even a scratch. He tried again. No luck.

"Amy Jo was right," I said. "This is going to be a bitch to open."

"Stand back," Charlie said, drawing his gun out of his holster. I did what I was told and Charlie aimed the barrel right up against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a loud pop, and it made me flinch. The padlock snapped off. Charlie put his gun away and lifted the broken lock off the door handle.

"You ready?" he said.

I nodded, and watched as he gripped the handle with his right hand and slowly opened the door. The first thing I saw were Stella's beauty supplies lined up on a small shelf that ran across the top of the shed, and then I saw him. Rudy Pearson sat almost in a lotus position on the floor, covered in dried blood, his eyes wide open in terror. Wendell had told the truth. His body had been right under our noses the whole time.

I stepped back to get a good look. "Oh, shit."

"Come on, Jarrod, let's call the police. This is all we need to get Wendell off the streets for good."

Charlie started back up the path. I took a moment to stare at the dead body. Who else would have to die before the authorities realized what a menace Wendell Butterworth was to society? I took a deep breath, and turned. Charlie stood still, halfway up the path. Why had he stopped? And then, just beyond him, I saw the face of Wendell Butterworth. Was this my mind playing tricks on me again like it did when I was a kid with Michael Myers? A part of me prayed it was just my imagination, but I knew better when Charlie went for his gun. Before he could snatch it out of the holster, Wendell rushed forward with a shovel raised over his head and cracked it down on Charlie's skull. Charlie crumpled to the ground.

"Charlie!" I yelled, and ran to him. Not even concerned with Wendell at the moment, I knelt down and saw a trickle of blood stream down Charlie's forehead. He moaned softly. Thank God he was alive.

"Why did you betray me, boy? We had a chance to escape to a place where no one would ever bother us again, and you ran away! Why?" Wendell stepped forward, still gripping the shovel.

"Because you've been bad. Very bad. You've hurt my friends. First Bowie. Now Charlie. Who else have you hurt, Wendell?"

Wendell glanced down at the still body of Charlie and pointed an accusing finger at him. "He was the one who wanted to hurt me. I was just protecting myself. Same with the other one. And Juan Carlos."

"What about Juan Carlos?"

Wendell didn't answer. His fingers tightened around the wooden handle of the shovel.

"Did you poison Juan Carlos?"