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too late. Our privacy is about to end.” I nodded toward the dock. “The blue and whites have found us.”
    Now I wished I’d told Kane about my past. Better he should hear of my youthful escapades from me than from the police officers—should they choose to refer to my waywardness as a basis for accusing me of murdering Diego.
    Kane followed my gaze to a police car parking in a tow-away zone. Cops can do that. It’s a decided advantage for them. But I thought detectives used unmarked cars. Kane and I stepped farther into the wheelhouse and out of sight, peeking through cracks in the siding. Detective Lyon left his car, strode onto the catwalk, heading toward The Buccaneer as if unmindful of the boards swaying under his feet. But I noticed that he slid one hand along the security rope, ready to clutch it if he lost his balance.
    “What do you suppose he wants?” I asked.
    Kane had no time to reply. Lyon reached the bow of The Buccaneer and stopped.
    “Anyone aboard?” he called out.
    “Yo!” Kane stepped onto the deck. “How can I help you, detective?”
    “Rafa Blue with you?”
    Now it was my turn to step forward. “Yes, Sir.” I waited, determined to make Lyon do the talking. Another thing Gram taught me. Few people can stand a silence. They feel an atavistic need to fill it—usually with their own voice. Lyon was no exception this morning.
    “Chief Ramsey wants to see you both at the police station.”
    “Why?” Kane asked.
    “Why both of us?” I asked. “He already talked to me this morning at the hospital.”
    “The Chief wants to ask a few more questions. He’s inviting several of Diego Casterano’s friends and acquaintances to attend an informal meeting at his second floor office. He says it won’t last long.”
    “Has anyone been arrested?” Kane asked.
    Detective Lyon met Kane’s direct gaze. “No arrests have been made at this time. If you’d like, I’ll be glad to drive you to the station. Or if you’d prefer to provide your own transportation, that would be fine, too. Sometime in the near future the chief would like to have access to Ms. Blue’s car. Again, it will only be a routine check because the 9-1-1 call came from her car last night.”
    Kane continued to meet Detective Lyon’s gaze, but his words were for me. “What do you want to do, Rafa? Shall we ride with him or shall we provide our own transportation?”
    “Let’s go in my car. I have nothing to hide. If the chief wants to inspect the Prius it will be at hand.”
    “Fine.” Detective Lyon glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ll see you in Chief Ramsey’s office in about ten minutes.”
    “Agreed,” Kane said. “Depending on traffic, of course.”
    “Of course.” Lyon turned, leaving us.

Chapter 8
    I asked Kane to drive my car because he knows how to make quick work of reaching the police station. It wasn’t that he knew a shortcut or that he goes there often, but he does know how to maneuver the Prius through traffic without hitting mopeds whose drivers have never driven a moped before or RV’s almost wider than our streets. I allow few people to drive my car, never Mother or Cherie, but I don’t worry when Kane’s at the wheel.
    Horns blared. Brakes screeched. I braced against the dashboard, feeling myself thrown toward the windshield in spite of my seatbelt. We both choked on diesel fumes when the Bone Island Shuttle cut ahead of us and came within inches of ramming the rear end of a slow-moving Conch Train.
    I still sat gritting my teeth when Kane sliced a sharp turn into the driveway of the police station. We narrowly missed hitting a fire truck exiting on a nearby strip of concrete with horns blaring and lights flashing. I gasped, not realizing I’d been holding my breath.
    “I hate having to answer questions again. Ramsey and Lyon already questioned me this morning.”
    Kane grinned. “Maybe the chief has a crush on you, Rafa. Not every day a tall redhead drops into his lap—figuratively