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much—you know how the men around here are—but he looks about a million years older than when I saw him last week.”
    She’d seen Riley’s dad last week? I filed that information to examine later.
    “Tell them I’m praying for them.” It was a polite fiction. I wasn’t much given to praying—not since my parents were killed by a hit-and-run driver—but it was our way of saying we cared.
    “I do have a question, though, Karen. You said Bobby hooked up with these guys at Mermaid’s Grotto. I can’t figure out what he was doing there. I thought The Tank was more his style.”
    I could almost hear her shrug over the phone. “Beats me,” she said. “He usually hangs out at The Tank with the rest of the crew, but Riley said he’s been stopping in at the Mermaid every couple nights. Riley didn’t know exactly why, either.”
    “Just seems odd,” I said. “I can almost understand the tourists going to a tourist bar and thinking they can find a charter—they don’t know any better—but the locals almost never go in there.”
    She agreed, but she didn’t have any explanation to offer. We talked another couple minutes, but soon she had to go.
    “We’re trying to find a lawyer for Bobby,” she explained. “You don’t happen to have a good criminal attorney up your sleeve, do you?”
    I chuckled, then felt guilty. Finding Bobby a good defense lawyer was serious business, and I shouldn’t be laughing.
    “Sorry, but no. The only lawyer I know is Mr. Clifford Wilson. He’s my family attorney, but I think he mainly does wills and estates and stuff, not criminal law. And he’s about a million years old.”
    It was only a slight exaggeration. Mr. Wilson—I couldn’t imagine calling him by his first name—had been Uncle Louis’s attorney when he was still alive, and he’d taken care of my family’s legal affairs for three generations.
    Karen sighed. “We’re going to have to go down to Pensacola to find somebody,” she told me. “And we’re looking for any recommendations we can get.”
    “I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” I promised before hanging up.
    By closing time, I had a serious case of cabin fever. I’d been out two nights in a row, but restlessness didn’t respond to logic, and I found myself pacing the floor the last hour before I turned out the lights.
    I’d finished the display windows, and I stepped out onto the sidewalk to admire my handiwork. While I stood there, cocking my head from side to side trying to decide if I was happy with the final product, Jake loped across the street.
    “Looks good from my vantage point,” he said. “It should definitely draw some customers.”
    “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
    “Well, I am impressed with your eye for display. It’s like you see what should be there, and then you do it. I’m in awe.”
    I stood silently, not knowing quite what to say.
    After a moment, Jake looked down at me, his blue eyes clouded. “What has you so worried?”
    “Is it that obvious?”
    “It is to anyone who’s watching,” he answered, softly.“It’s clear you have something on your mind, and it isn’t anything good.”
    Jake hadn’t been in town long enough to be well connected to the local gossip mill, and it seemed he hadn’t heard the latest about Bobby and Riley. And Karen.
    “It’s a long story,” I said. “But if you have some time, I’ll fill you in.” He’d hear it all eventually anyway. Might as well get the truth the first time.
    “I don’t close for another hour,” he said. “Have you got plans for dinner?”
    I didn’t, and we agreed he’d come over when he closed up. In the meantime, he said it was my responsibility to choose a place to eat. And I wasn’t allowed to cook.
    It took me about two minutes to realize where I wanted to go: Mermaid’s Grotto. Maybe I could find the reason Bobby had been hanging out in a tourist trap.
    I told Jake I wanted to show him a piece of Keyhole Bay history, and I made