Page 103 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

“Here to sign autographs?” Lana said.

Nicoletti pulled his shoulders back. “No, ma’am. We need to talk to you.”

Lana looked at Ramirez. “Did you get my message?”

The female detective gave her a brief nod.

“Anything I need to know?” Nicoletti asked his partner.

For a moment, Lana had a wild hope that her voicemail had somehow delivered critical evidence.

“It’s nothing,” Ramirez said. Lana let out a puff of breath, disappointed.

Jack migrated over to the table. “What’s going on?”

“The bike we found at the Kayak Shack,” Nicoletti said. “We’ve confirmed—”

“It belonged to Ricardo Cruz,” Lana said.

“How did you—”

“Moving on.” Ramirez’s tone was smooth and authoritative. “We got a warrant to check out the land Paul Hanley was leasing from that Rhoads family. I went out there. No Paul. Nothing except a bunch of dirt all churned up.”

Lana had a sudden flash of Paul’s loaded-down kayak on the day Jack got stuck in the creek. Whatever he’d been hiding on his leased land, he must have dug it up and brought it to the marina.

“He did a good job clearing out,” Ramirez continued. “But he missed one thing—”

She took out a small plastic bag and laid it on the table. Inside, there was a single button, smeared with mud. Nicoletti was watching Ramirez with a forced smile, as if he wished he were the one who’d found it.

“Have you seen this before?”

Lana and Jack shook their heads.

“It’s from Ricardo Cruz’s jacket. There’s trace patterns of his blood on it, which can be roughly dated to the week he died. We believe it came off just before he was dumped in the water.”

“Conclusive evidence I was right,” Nicoletti broke in. “Ricardo Cruz was on Hanley’s leased property. He was killed in the jacket this button came from. And then splash, into the creek.”

“You think Paul—”

“We’ll be arresting Mr. Hanley for the murder of Ricardo Cruz,” Nicoletti said. “Just as soon as we can find him.”

Ricardo’s bike. Ricardo’s button. It was damning evidence, but it didn’t make Paul a murderer. There still wasn’t a weapon or a motive. As far as Lana could tell, Paul had the least to gain from killing Ricardo, let alone Hal Rhoads. But maybe the sheriffs knew something Lana didn’t.

Lana knew how to catch flies with honey. But when time was of the essence, a shot of vinegar to the eyes could be quite effective. She looked straight at Nicoletti and scoffed.

“Paul Hanley, a murderer? Ridiculous. Too obvious. Why would he kill someone and then float him down the slough in a life vest from his own company? Not to mention keeping the bike. Even Paul isn’t that stupid. I didn’t think you were either.”

Nicoletti scoffed right back. “Please. You think you’re so clever. Mr. Hanley tried to frame your granddaughter. He knew the tides. He’d know where and when the body might come out. He killed Mr. Cruz and dropped him in a creek Friday night. Then he made a fake booking with Ricardo Cruz’s phone for a Saturday kayak tour, tossed the phone, and hid the bike.” Nicoletti pointed a meaty finger at Jack. “You guided that Saturday sunset tour.”

Jack nodded, her eyes big as plates.

“And Mr. Hanley wasn’t around that evening.”

“He met a woman,” Jack said.

“The lovely Tatiana. His vanishing alibi.” Nicoletti had a smug look on his face. “The bastard set you up.”

“I don’t believe it,” Lana said. She looked at her granddaughter. “Paul may be a dope, but he isn’t violent, is he?”