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His lips compressed, and something happened to his cheek that might have been a dimple, except it was completely impossible that Roman had a dimple. “How long do I have?”
“Take as long as you want. We’ve got nothing else going on today except visiting with Michael and Stanley.”
“They own this place?”
“Yep.”
“What are they, gay?”
“No, they’re brothers,” she explained. “They’re from here. Stanley says—”
From inside the Airstream, the chorus of “Eye of the Tiger” began playing at full blast. Mitzi calling.
“Your phone works here?” he asked.
“Obviously. Doesn’t yours?”
“No.”
When Ashley had taken a shift driving yesterday, Roman spent a lot of time cursing at the new phone he’d bought in North Carolina. It didn’t seem to want to sync with all his stored accounts. Despite having conferred repeatedly with his PA, he hadn’t managed to get his email, calendar, or address book to work right. And now the phone itself wasn’t working.
Poor Roman.
“Huh. I’ve got to get that. You can grab a shower if you want, and then we can rustle up breakfast.”
Roman nodded. Ashley ducked into the trailer and answered the call right before it would have gone to voicemail. “Hey, Mitz.”
“Ashley! Where are you? I’ve been trying to get you for days.”
“In Pennsylvania.”
“Why?”
“Stanley.”
“Oh. Right.” She sounded crestfallen. Stanley and Mitzi weren’t the best of friends. “Well, have you got any good dirt yet on your developer?”
“Not really.”
“Have you fucked
him?”
“What? No.”
“You might want to think about it. Men get sloppy after a good orgasm. He might tell you something.”
“That would be an awesome idea if it weren’t totally amoral.”
“Morality’s flexible. Anyway, I’ve been working from my end, but I’m drawing a blank. I talked to a bunch of people in the Keys—the permit guy, your grandma’s neighbors, chamber of commerce—and they all say Díaz is squeaky clean.”
“He is. I mean, as far as I can tell.”
“Right. He’s got the perfect facade. You have to admire him for it. But I’m thinking maybe there’s something in the paperwork. Have you gone through all your grandma’s records?”
“I looked through a few things.” The box with the title transfer. The medical bills. Those rent receipts signed in Roman’s scrawl—signed personally, as though he’d received the rent directly from Grandma. “There’s nothing strange.”
“Well, what about those cartons of stuff in the Airstream? Have you gone through all of the paperwork yet?”
