The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (best novels in english .txt) 📗

and wolfs down a double order of conch fritters and a lobster salad sandwich, then washes all of that down with two bottles of Turk’s Head Amber.

The second thing Otto does is hop a free resort shuttle to the beach, even though he hasn’t booked a room at the resort painted on the side of the vehicle. Matthew Quinn gives all of his operatives a generous expense account, but old habits die hard. Back in his grifter days, Otto took special pride in never paying for transportation. Someone’s always looking to give you a lift. And just as often, a place to crash. Only suckers paid for cabs or Uber—and on top of that paid a tip. Are people crazy?

The third thing Otto does is get into character.

He stares at the photo of Paige Ryerson. No; not just Paige Ryerson. This is his little sister. Paige. Only eighteen years old. Sweetest girl in the world. Big Brother Otto would always look out for her. But that would change when she went off to private school in New Hampshire. Big Brother wasn’t around to protect her anymore. And now look what happened.

Otto stares at the photo for so long that he begins to believe Paige is his baby sister. He actually feels the grief as his eyes water and his cheeks burn with rage.

I’m not leaving this island until I know what happened to her.

Only then does he consider himself ready to mix among the locals, photo in hand.

“Have you seen my sister? Her name is Paige Ryerson, and she’s gone missing. Please help me find my sister!”

Otto focuses his efforts on the areas Paige visited during her short time here last week. Her hotel, the site of the beach party, the marina. Some people blow him off without looking at his face or the photo in his trembling hand. That’s fine; they’re not potential witnesses anyway. By now everybody on these islands has surely heard or read about the Case of the Missing American Girl. Those who don’t give the photo or name a second glance are either self-absorbed or new arrivals.

“Please help me find my sister!”

The ones who do pause fall into two groups. The vast majority are people who have heard about the case and see the tearful anguish in Otto’s eyes but truly know nothing beyond what they’ve seen on TV or read online. Some try to chat him up a little for some inside dirt.

“No, I haven’t seen her…but is it true that she didn’t drink at all before coming here to the island?”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea where she might be. How are your poor parents dealing with this nightmare?”

At which point Otto takes his grief into overdrive and suddenly becomes too choked up to possibly continue this conversation.

But a small group—a very small group—claim to have seen the girl the day of her disappearance. For these individuals, Otto gives his complete and rapt attention, gently pressing them for more details. A few are clearly lying, reciting details they saw in the media. Others, however, sound like they’re telling the truth.

“She looked like she was having so much fun. I still can’t believe what happened!”

“I was on that boat, too. There was a lot of heavy drinking going on. I was so hungover the next day, it’s not even funny.…”

“I saw her and that cop making out. My first thought was, uh, totally gross. But later I started to think about it, and wonder if he had something to do with it. What am I supposed to do, though? Report a cop to the cops? No way.”

And then come three eyewitness reports that rock Otto to his core. (And he’s about as jaded as they come.) Otto can write off the first instance as a case of mistaken identity. Maybe even the second, because false sightings happen all the time. But a third?

“I’m telling you, man, those reporters have been going down the wrong path. Your sister is still alive! I saw her yesterday! I was over in this little town about twenty minutes away, and I swear, it was her. I even called the cops, but they didn’t believe me.”

Could it be possible? Matthew Quinn is a genius and all—probably the most impressive mind Otto has ever encountered. But maybe Quinn had it wrong. Maybe the girl wasn’t buried in the sand somewhere.

Maybe she was hiding.

Chapter 15

THEO (THE TRADER)

With Paolo stuck on the island (since he lost his getaway dough), I turn my attention to the next creep on the list: Nigel James, the islander cop.

Now, you have to understand something about me: I love messing with police. I consider it a form of karmic payback. The uniforms who arrested me all those years back took a little too much pleasure in snapping the metal cuffs around my wrists and slamming me into the nearest wall.

I was arrested on suspicion of insider trading, for Pete’s sake (not that I’m admitting any wrongdoing). It’s not like I was the Zodiac Killer. The violence and condescension were uncalled for.

So, yeah, I admit…I’ve been looking for excuses to return the favor ever since.

“Detective James! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Nigel James looks at me through narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”

“Ted Selznick, special investigator with the New Hampshire State Police. While I’m sad to be down here, given the circumstances, I’ve gotta say it’s nice to be away from all that snow for a while.”

But Detective James does not want to take part in a conversation about the lousy weather in New Hampshire, or beautiful sun down here on the islands. He’s all business in his lightweight suitcoat, jeans, white Oxford, loafers, and very expensive tie. Hard to believe he’s here alone. The man is a dark-skinned god, impossibly handsome, and has the muscles of a man who spends more time in a gym than he does sleeping.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Selznick?”

“That’s Trooper Specialist Selznick, technically, but let’s not get bogged down