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sleeping pill because I hear a lot of weird cricket noises. We don’t have this in Austria.”
    â€œI guess Barclay could be trying to get back at Sophie by killing Jessica, which would definitely put Vicino out of business,” mused Bootsie. “Although wouldn’t it make more sense if he just hired a hit man to run over Sophie ? Doesn’t Barclay farm out this kind of hit-­and-­run work?
    â€œWait a minute,” she added. “Gerda, aren’t you some kind of computer genius? Can’t you read all Barclay’s e-­mail, and then give us the four-­one-­one on what he’s up to?”
    This was true: In addition to her fitness acumen, Gerda dabbles in forensic computer snooping and is quite good at hacking into online bank accounts and personal e-­mails. It isn’t that Gerda steals from ­people; she just enjoys gathering potentially embarrassing information.
    â€œYeah, I’m pretty awesome at computer hacking,” Gerda said, a note of pride in her voice. “I gave up snooping as New Year’s resolution, but since Sophie needs help, I do it for her.
    â€œPlus, I can tell Mr. Shields up to something—­he gets a special smile. He looks super happy this week, so I know he’s about to screw somebody over.”
    We gave our cell phone numbers to Gerda, who said she would hit the farmers’ market for some kohlrabi, then head home to start reading Barclay’s e-­mail. She promised to call us within the hour, after printing out whatever seemed suspicious.
    â€œTell you the truth, I miss Sophie,” Gerda told us, surprising me with this admission of a human emotion. “She always sneak the bad food and champagne when I tell her not to. But Sophie is nice person. Barclay, he is asshole.”
    â€œSo true. Well, I’ve got to make a quick stop on the way home,” Holly breezily told us. “Bye, Gerda. Good to see you,” she added, turning on the heel of her pricey sandal and heading for the stadium exit.
    â€œI leave, too,” said Gerda, heading off in the direction of another egress from the stadium, which led toward Delray’s town square, where the aforementioned farmers’ market was in full swing.
    â€œWhat’s that all about?” Joe asked suspiciously, staring at Holly’s trim and perfect form disappearing out of the arched entrance. “Where do you think she’s going?”
    I had a pretty good idea Holly was off to make some lucky salesperson’s monthly quota, probably back up in Magnolia Beach at Saks. I’d noticed Holly’s fingers twisting and twitching like crazy all through the tennis match. She literally gets itchy fingers when she’s in manic shopping mode. Also, when she pulled out her iPhone at one point, I noticed a suspiciously fat envelope from Wells Fargo Bank tucked inside her small Celine tote. I was pretty sure Holly had taken out a bunch of cash and was headed to distribute said cash at the shoe salon of Saks.
    â€œShe’s definitely going shopping,” said Bootsie, who’d doubtless noticed the wad of dough herself. “Let’s watch the rest of this match, and then you two head back to Magnolia Beach and do a spend-­ervention. I’ve got a ­couple more matches to watch here, and then I want to hit The Singing Frog.”
    â€œLet me guess, that’s a bar where your parents got liquored up before they conceived Chip,” Joe offered.
    â€œAbsolutely not! The Frog is Mummy’s favorite boutique in Delray. They get Lilly Pulitzer exclusives. I’m thinking of going Adelia’s route, and trying on a ­couple of Lilly caftans.”
    â€œMuch as I hate to miss seeing you drown yourself in a flowered caftan, that sounds like a decent plan,” Joe agreed. Personally, I loved Adelian’s caftans, and thought it might be a good look on Bootsie. I mean, who doesn’t love a caftan? They’re so