Jun smiled that cute little quirk of his. “You make a good point.”
I was about to speak again but saw Glen walk by us and I went after him. “Glen! Hey, can I bother you about one last thing?”
Glen stopped and turned around. “Sure, Aubrey.” He looked up at Jun, smiled, and nodded politely.
“If I wanted to talk to other pirate treasure hunter sort of enthusiasts in Key West, where would I go?”
“Barnacles.”
I blinked. “Uh… bless you?”
Glen started laughing, gut shaking. “You’re funny. No, Barnacles—the bar. Over on Southard.”
“You mean the den of ill repute?” I leaned close to Jun. “Used to be a brothel, way back in the day.”
“Got it,” he murmured.
“That’s the one,” Glen said. “It’s a group of them. Lou used to hang out there. They meet for lunch and drinks every Tuesday and Thursday.”
Chapter Eight
“WE SHOULDtalk to these treasure hunters,” Jun said as he walked to the meter to buy another ticket for his car before an enthusiastic traffic cop came by to smack him with a fine. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a mind reader,” I answered, following behind him.
Jun dug into his pockets and fished out a few coins. “If they were friends of Cassidy’s, perhaps one has insight as to why he broke into the Smith Home.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “It directly correlates with the closet fiasco. Somehow. I know it does. The timing is too much of a coincidence.”
Jun took the ticket the machine spit out and went to replace the old one on the dash in the car. “If that’s the case, then we both need to be careful when talking to them.”
“What do you mean?”
Jun shut and locked the door, looking at me from across the roof. “Aubrey. A man was murdered. We don’t know by who. For all anyone knows, it was one of his treasure-hunting buddies—in fact, that makes the most sense.”
“I wish you could strong-arm the cops into sharing info,” I said. “At least see if the marlinespike had fingerprints or anything.”
“Life would always be easierif—right?” Jun smiled and came around the car to join me again. “If anyone asks, you’re simply offering your condolences.”
“This is exciting, right? Say it is so I don’t feel weird about it.”
Jun put his arm around my shoulders, and we started walking back to Whitehead. “It beats the hell out of a hotel kitchen shootout.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say some yakuza dude fired a gun at you.”
“It was a Chinese gang,” he corrected.
I put my fingers in my ears. “La, la, la, I can’t hear you!”
“I was okay,” Jun insisted. “Just a scratch.”
“Where?”
He stopped walking and raised the sleeve of his T-shirt to show a whitened patch of skin, almost like a ripple.
I touched it, frowning. “When was this?”
“Before we met.” He put the sleeve back down.
