Page 100 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

“Someone on the crew thinks they’re an artist,” Lana replied. “Check out that close-up on the life jacket.”

As the camera zoomed out, Nicoletti shared the basics: Ricardo Cruz, twenty-nine, born in Salinas, resident of Santa Cruz, died Friday, February 3, by blunt force trauma, followed by submersion in Elkhorn Slough. Weapon not yet recovered. While the sheriffs anticipated a speedy arrest, anyone with any information about the crime should call the Monterey County sheriff’s department tip line.

“Good luck with that,” Lana grumbled. She reached for the remote.

“Prima! Look.”

The TV screen was flashing the sheriff’s department tip line number, under a photograph of Ricardo Cruz smiling and leaning against a green road bike.

“That’s the abandoned bike I saw at the Kayak Shack,” Jack said. “It must have been Ricardo’s.”

Both of them leaned forward, Lana reaching out with her phone to take a shaky photo of the TV.

She squinted at the screen, thinking back on what Gaby had told her. “Are there two panniers on the back of that bike, or one?” Lana held up her phone to Jack.

“I can’t tell from this picture. But the bike at the Shack only had one.”

The newscast flipped to the weather girl. Lana looked at the blurry green-and-black blob she’d captured on her phone for one more second, then shook her head.

“We’ve got more important things to talk about tonight. Let’s go.” Lana switched off the TV, grabbed a fresh Diet Coke from the fridge, and headed toward the back bedroom, Jack following behind her.

“I’ve been thinking about that motive problem you raised,” Lana said. “We keep getting stuck because all our suspects have some reason to do it. All of them wanted the ranch. They all had access somewhere along that creek you found. And it didn’t take incredible strength or specialized knowledge to kill Ricardo. Or Hal.”

Jack frowned. “Is this supposed to be a pep talk? I thought—”

Lana cut her off. “But I realized, there’s another way to look at this. BATNA.”

“Bat-nuh?”

Lana nodded. “BATNA. Best alternative to a negotiated agreement. It’s a term we use in business deals. When you’re negotiating with someone over a piece of land or lease terms, you ask yourself: If we can’t make a deal here, how bad is it for the other person? What other choices do they have? What’s their best alternative if they walk away?”

She could practically see her granddaughter’s wheels turning.

“Let me see if I got this right,” Jack said. “Let’s say I want to buy a boat. The owner wants to sell it now, but I can’t buy it yet. I need a few more months.”

“That’s a very specific example—”

“So maybe I offer him a higher price if he’ll wait. Therefore his best alternative to selling it to me in a few months is to sell it now but get less money for it.”

“That’s right.” Lana eyed her granddaughter. “Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Are you interested in buying a boat?”

Jack’s eyebrows raised and a small smile appeared on her face. “A sailboat. But, um, I’m not sure my mom will let me.”

“Have you asked her?”

Jack shook her head.

“Then your first negotiation is with her. What’s her best alternative to letting you buy the boat?”

“Prima . . . I don’t think of talking with my mom as a negotiation.”

“But you aren’t sure she’ll say yes,” Lana countered. “So maybe you should.”

“Um, in that case, I guess her best alternative to saying yes is just saying no.”