This story was originally published by Close to the Bone Publishing

The dead man messaged Beth Shaw while she flew over Nevada’s Great Basin. She read the message an hour later after landing in San Jose. Roland Osborne Meadows, the late California venture capitalist billionaire, had pinged her on LinkedIn with three words: “I was murdered.”

This was the first time in twenty years of investigative work that the life insurance policyholder had reached out from beyond the grave. She might be sick of her job, yet this was intriguing. Beth sent the would-be Roland Meadows a response.

“Tell me more.”

She received no reply.

Two hours later, Beth parked her rental car at the Carmel-by-the-Sea city morgue. She pulled her long auburn hair into a bun and stepped out into a cool offshore breeze that cut through the jacket of the gray suit she had recently purchased at Marshall's.

It was virtually Arctic inside the morgue. As she shivered, the medical examiner discussed what Beth already knew. Meadows, fifty-two years old, had been discovered dead three days earlier by Cindi Jansson, twenty-three, in his sailboat anchored north of the Channel Islands. An autopsy determined he had died from heart failure.

“At least he was asleep,” Dr. Robert Johnson said in a low baritone. “Likely didn’t feel a thing.”

There would be no further examination of the body. It had already been cremated at the request of Meadows’ two grown children.

“Fifty-two seems young for a heart attack.”

“Not really. His physician told me he was overdue for bypass surgery. She had been pressing Meadows to have a double bypass, but he refused.”

“Did the doctor say why?”

The medical examiner shrugged. “She caters to uber-wealthy patients. Won’t operate unless they’ve assigned someone power of attorney. Meadows said he had no one he could trust. His wife and kids would all rob him blind before he woke up.”

Charming family. “One final question,” Beth said. “Traces of atropine were found in his system. Isn’t that a poison?”

Johnson confirmed a high dosage could be poisonous but noted Meadows suffered from amblyopia, otherwise known as lazy eye. The medicine for the condition contains atropine. “Your employer may wish otherwise, Ms. Shaw, but this was no murder.”

#

Roland Meadows’ Carmel home sat above the coast road on the edge of town along a shoreline of steep bluffs. It was a modest two-story packed tightly with its neighbors, not what she expected a billionaire’s home to look like. Morgan Meadows answered the door without a smile. Thick, red curls framed the young widow’s pale face. She didn’t wear black, nor a wedding ring.

“I hope this won’t take long,” Morgan said as she walked Beth to a small kitchen with navy blue cabinets. A large island held a plate of cookies and a jug of iced tea. Beth declined Morgan’s offer of food and drink.

“I don’t understand why you’re here,” Morgan said. “The police say it was a heart attack.”

“I only need to ask a few questions,” Beth said. “For a payout of this size, we have to investigate—”

“I get it,” Morgan said, pulling curls off her right shoulder. “It’s just that I need the fifty million, fast. Jake wants me to move out, even though he and Lois also got Roland’s mansion in Atherton. I’m about to be homeless.”

“Mr. Meadows didn’t leave you any property?”

“All I got was the insurance policy from your company.” She looked around. “I read about this lady who AirBnb’d an apartment in some rich guy’s Hollywood mansion and stayed there two years without paying. I need to hire a lawyer to help me stay here.”

Beth thought of an interview she had scheduled for later that day. “Have you spoken to Morris Crossley?”

“Roland’s estate attorney? No, I need someone who represents my interests, which will cost money I don’t have.” Morgan reached over and poured herself some tea. “What is there to investigate anyway? My husband’s heart gave out after sex with his blond bimbo.”

I need to be delicate here. “I’m so sorry,” Beth said. “It’s just that, I, well, I have to rule out the policy’s beneficiary in the case of any death.”

Morgan took a long sip of iced tea, then flashed a cold smile. “I’m the last person to want him dead. I was living the good life, now I’m broke and facing eviction. If someone did kill him, I hope they pay.”

#

The yacht club bar held only men, most appearing to have stepped out of a Nautica catalog. Frank wore faded jeans with strings of denim around his deck shoes and a faded brown T-shirt. The bartender had suggested Beth talk to Frank as he docked next to Meadows’ sailboat. Frank glanced at her ID, and then his eyes perused her. It appeared Frank liked what he saw. Beth found herself less offended when given the once-over now that she was in her forties. He offered to buy her a drink. She declined.

“I’m assuming this has to do with Rollie’s death,” Frank said.

“Rollie?”

“That’s what Roland’s friends called him.”

Beth recalled his new bride hadn’t used the nickname. Perhaps she wasn’t as close to him as his sailing buddies. “You’ve already been questioned?”

Frank nodded. “Some cops. Wanted to know if I had seen him sail out that night.”

“Had you?”

“Nope.”

Beth waited for more. Nothing came. “Did you tell them anything else?”

“That’s all they asked.”

“What should they have asked?”

Frank took a sip of whiskey. “If I had seen anyone else take out the boat.”

“Had you?”

He answered in a whisper. “Night before. His worthless son Jake. Sunset cruise, two hours perhaps.”

“Is that unusual? The son using the dad’s sailboat?”

Frank’s voice rose again. “I’d sure as hell say it was, given they weren’t on speaking terms.”

Interesting. “Anything else I should know?”

Frank stood. “Follow me.” He led her to a wall lined with photos of sailboats and ships and pointed at a large yacht. “That’s Not a Care. Rollie’s.”

It was no sailboat. “He had two ships?”

“Not unusual. Sailboat helps you be one with the water. Yacht makes you king of the sea.” He turned to Beth. “I’m a sailboat guy myself.”

“And the yacht is significant why?” Beth asked.

“Because it went missing a few days before Rollie died.”

Beth frowned. “Did Mr. Meadows report the theft?”

Frank shook his head. “No, I’m not saying it was stolen. Rollie headed out in Not a Care maybe a week or so ago, didn’t say where he was going. Shows up a couple days later without it. And no one’s seen it since.”

#

Cindi Jansson opened the door in a neon green and pink leotard, sporting long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. The last person to see Roland Meadows alive led Beth into her Carmel bungalow.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Beth kept herself in shape yet still envied the young woman’s figure.

“Of course,” Cindi replied. “Anything for poor Rollie.”

She was close enough to use his nickname. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Cindi asked as she pointed to a brown leather sofa. “I just made a pitcher of kale smoothie.”

“No thanks,” Beth said, betting this woman didn’t have diet cola in her fridge. She could use the caffeine.

“Suit yourself,” Cindi said in a singsong voice. She disappeared into a slot kitchen, emerged with a tall glass of dark green goo, and sat across from Beth in a beige swivel chair.

“This may be hard, Ms. Jansson, but I need to ask you about your sailing trip.”

It didn’t appear to be hard on her. Over the next half hour, Beth asked increasingly personal questions, and Cindi answered with frank and unemotional answers.

“You’re saying Mr. Meadows’ wife knew of and approved of your affair?”

“Approval being the important part, yes,” Cindi said.

“Please explain.”

Cindi did so. After an ugly divorce that divided his multibillion-dollar estate in half, Roland Meadows vowed never to marry again. A few months ago, Morgan persuaded him otherwise. The condition was a prenup that ensured the only thing Morgan would get upon Roland’s death was one million dollars from an insurance policy.

“There was a catch,” Cindi said. While Roland was allowed to sleep around, he could only do so with women approved by his wife. If Morgan caught him with any other woman, the prenup would go out the window. “Morgan knew her husband would cheat on her. That was fine, as long as the women knew they were just a side piece. She wanted to be the alpha. The name. The social standing. The glamour. All of it.”

“Interesting,” Beth said, which didn’t come close to expressing her true feelings. “But Morgan Meadows’ policy is for fifty million dollars, not one million.”

Cindi, previously a chatterbox, stopped talking. She took a long sip of her kale smoothie.

“Did you know about the second policy?”

Cindi shook her head. “Morgan deserves that money, though. Rollie was a cheapskate, worth billions and only bequeathing her the equivalent of loose change.”

Beth needed to broach a delicate topic. “You had dinner on the sailboat, yes?”

Cindi nodded. “We anchored north of the Channel Islands, watched the sun go down, then ate some sushi we brought in a cooler.”

“What did you drink?”

“Me? A protein drink. Rollie?” After a pause, she said, “He started with some tequila, Don Julio with some year after it, 19-something.”

“Was that already on the boat?”

“No, he brought it with the sushi. Then he poured himself some red wine.” Before Beth could ask, Cindi added, “He pulled it from the supply he kept on the boat.”

“Did you have any tequila or wine?”

Cindi guided her hand up and down in front of her torso. “No alcohol enters my temple. I pull in nearly seven figures a year on TikTok as a wellness influencer.”

#

As Jake Meadows exited his downtown Carmel real estate office, Beth finished a Diet Coke. His cornflower blue suit appeared professionally tailored, and the jacket lay open, revealing a white shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a tan chest. Beth stepped out of her rental, reaching Roland Meadows’ son as he was about to lock the door. He turned, looked her up and down, and frowned.

“Sorry, closed for the day. We open at ten am tomorrow.”

“What if I said I was in the market for a beach house, twenty mil minimum?”

“Then I would consider inviting you in.” He eyed her gray Marshall’s suit. “But you’re not dressed like that kind of a buyer.”

So it was going to be like this. She flashed her ID. “I’m here about your father’s death.”

“Can I see that again?”

Beth reluctantly handed him the credentials.

“Trying to make me think you’re a cop, eh? Well, as it happens, I want to talk to you.” He guided her inside toward a back office. Three of the walls were covered in video screens. He flicked a switch. Each played videos of remarkable oceanfront estates, waves crashing and palm fronds swaying.

“Nice setup,” Beth said.

“I surround buyers with the best, so they don’t settle for less.”

Jake sat behind an inlaid mahogany desk. Beth remained standing. “So why did you want to talk to me?” she asked.

“Because you can’t give that slut Morgan fifty million bucks.”

“American Mutual Fidelity Insurance will do whatever is appropriate under the policy terms.”

“Look, I can’t believe you want to hand over that much money. That’s why you’re here, right? To find an excuse not to pay out?”

“I’m here to get to the bottom of your father’s death.”

“The bastard died of a heart attack,” Jake said, his voice rising. “Too much wine and sex with a TikTok bimbo younger than my sister.”

“So what’s your objection to a payout?”

“The beneficiary,” he shouted. “It’s bad enough Morgan refuses to leave the Carmel home. The policy is only supposed to be for a million dollars.”

Beth crossed her arms. “Before driving here, I checked our records. Your father requested the increase last month.”

“I doubt it,” Jake said. “Morgan did it behind my father’s back, then he dies. She’s a murderer.”

#

The office of estate attorney Morris Crossley was a converted bungalow on a block of similar commercial structures. After offering Beth sparkling water, which she declined, Crossley spoke freely about his former client. Roland Meadows had been worth about ten billion dollars. A charitable foundation would get half, and his two adult children would split the remainder.

“So this charity of his is getting billions,” Beth said. “Who will run that now that he’s dead?”

A septuagenarian philanthropist from San Francisco had been elevated from vice-chair and would continue to run it. Crossley had also created for Meadows, a for-profit investment fund to generate new capital for the foundation. It wasn’t subject to the strict investment rules applied to non-profits. “Meadows could choose when to transfer funds to the foundation,” Crossley said. “After all, if you’re winning at the casino, you might prefer doubling down rather than cashing in your chips.”

Roland Meadows was a billionaire venture capitalist. It wouldn’t be hard to embezzle when managing a large investment portfolio with little oversight, but Roland certainly didn’t need to. Beth had a thought. “Who’s running the for-profit now? This San Francisco philanthropist?”

“No,” Morris said. “Roland designated that role to Cindi Jansson.”

Beth masked her surprise. A TikTok influencer was about to control billions in assets. “A final question. Lots of password-protected accounts have to be closed upon someone’s death. Are you handling that for Mr. Meadows?”

“For the most part,” Morris said. “Morgan Meadows didn’t have access to many. I’m closing down bank accounts and investment portfolios.”

“Are you shutting down his social media accounts as well?”

“Social? I’m too old for that. Talk to his daughter Lois.”

#

Back in the rental, Beth texted Cindi, asking to speak with her again. No response from the social media maven turned controller of billions. Beth called her. No answer. Ten minutes later, she struck out at Cindi’s house.

Lois Meadows lived a few miles south of town tucked into a copse of pine trees, a modern single-story structure with sharp angles and wall-to-ceiling glass. She stepped onto a teak porch and rang the bell. Lois answered. Her long auburn hair draped over her right shoulder and part of a tasteful creme silk blouse. Flared navy slacks and white sneakers completed the look. Lois wore no jewelry and very little makeup. Beth liked that, it was her preference as well.

“You’ve already spoken to Jake,” Lois said as she invited Beth in. “I hope he wasn’t a complete ass.”

“No,” Beth lied. “I appreciated his frankness.”

Lois flashed a smile and stepped into a sunken living room. The carpet, sofa and two chairs were all bright white. A platter with a pitcher and two glasses sat on a teak coffee table. “I just made some lemonade if you’d like some.”

Beth realized Jake was the only interview subject who hadn’t offered her something to drink. “I’d love some, thanks,” she said. Lois began to fill a glass. Beth sat on the couch and took the lemonade. Lois magically produced a coaster and handed it to Beth, then she sat in a wing chair.

“You’ve flown all the way to California from South Dakota,” Lois said. “Do you think Daddy was murdered?”

Beth noticed she had not poured herself any lemonade and decided not to drink hers. “Why do you ask? Is it possible?”

There was no change on Lois’ face. “A man worth as much as Daddy always had a target on his back.”

“I spoke to the medical examiner. He said your father suffered a fatal heart attack stemming from a long-standing heart condition.”

“Yes, and he said Daddy died peacefully in his sleep, his mistress oblivious beside him.” Lois’ jaw shifted as if she were grinding her teeth. “It’s just too many coincidences. Daddy overnighted in a sailboat, far from any chance of medical assistance. His mistress knew his wife, who is the sole beneficiary of a fifty-million-dollar life insurance policy. I have questions.”

Beth nodded. “Did you know your father had upped the insurance payout?”

“Not until Daddy passed. Look, I don’t begrudge Morgan the money. Jake and I are getting so much from Daddy’s estate. But I still think something is fishy. He hadn’t taken out his sailboat for weeks before the event, but someone had been on it not long before it set sail.”

Best to be direct. “Your brother was on it. The day before.”

“Oh, I know,” Lois said. “Jake told me. He said that when he set sail, some things were different.”

Beth was surprised Jake had told her about his trip. “What was different?”

“Less wine, for one. Jake didn’t notice until he was out at sea. The bottles are stored below deck. There’s a rack and a small fridge. Usually, Daddy kept a dozen or more bottles on board. Someone had taken almost all of them.”

“Almost?”

“The thief left one bottle of red. Must have been a shock for Daddy, out there with so little booze.”

“Ms. Jansson said he started the evening with some tequila he brought on board.”

“But the police told me he drank the wine as well. What if someone spiked the bottle with poison? I did some poking around online. They could have injected it through the cork with a syringe. They take the other bottles away, so he has no choice but to drink the poisoned one. If they injected more than one, then the police might discover that afterward. Daddy doesn’t realize his bottles are missing until he’s out at sea when it’s too late to bring something on board from his wine cellar.”

Beth sat still, watching Lois intently. Her energy level rose with each sentence. “So who is ‘they’?”

Lois shrugged. “Anyone. I might have been his only friend.”

Beth recalled Meadows’ doctor told the medical examiner he didn’t trust either of his children. “What about Jake?” Beth asked, already knowing the answer.

The two sat silently in the room for some time. Finally, Lois spoke. “I think Jake is glad Daddy’s dead.”

The lemonade looked refreshing. Beth resisted. “Just one more thing. Your father’s attorney told me you are shutting down some of his online accounts.”

“Yes, Daddy had a password list in his home study for things like streaming services and the like. I closed those out.”

“What about social media?”

Lois laughed. “Cindi’s the one on TikTok, not my father.”

“He was on LinkedIn, wasn’t he?”

A short pause, then Lois answered. “I couldn’t shut that one down. Tried to, the password wasn’t right. I had Daddy’s phone, but the number LinkedIn had for two-factor authentication was different. I couldn’t change the password.”

Beth leaned forward. “What did you do then?”

“I gave up,” she said. “I mean, you should go look at his page. It’s the summary of a very impressive life. The businesses he helped build as a director or chairman. Numerous awards and honorary degrees. Daddy’s dead now, but with that profile online it’s like a part of him lives on.”

#

Beth drove back to Carmel-by-the-Sea, bought a deli sandwich and a diet Coke at a gas station, and checked into the only hotel under her daily corporate budget. She sat on the room’s lumpy bed, ate her sandwich, and weighed what she had learned about people whose wealth was more than an insurance investigator from Sioux Falls could ever imagine.

Roland Meadows was dead and cremated. The official cause of death was natural causes, but his children believed he had been murdered. Lois suspected poison was in the red wine he drank that night that his mistress did not. The medical examiner confirmed there was a toxin in the victim’s blood but had an explanation for it.

If Meadows had been murdered, who were the suspects? Morgan Meadows had motive, the fifty million insurance payout. But that wouldn’t be much compared to the life she was enjoying married to a billionaire.

Cindi Jansson had opportunity, having been with the victim the night he died. Why would she kill Meadows? Complete control of a largely autonomous venture capital fund with billions at her disposal was a good motive. Still, why kill him on the sailboat, leaving you an obvious suspect?

Jake also had opportunity. He had been on the sailboat the day before. But if he had spiked the wine with poison, why would he tell his sister about the bottle?

That left Lois. What did she stand to gain from her father’s death? Like Jake, billions of dollars. Jake was estranged from his father. Lois not as much, if he had entrusted her to close some of his online accounts. She was free with information about her brother on the sailboat. If she killed her father and framed her brother, she might inherit the entire estate.

Ultimately, her only job was to determine if the beneficiary was involved in Meadows’ death. If Morgan was innocent, American Mutual Fidelity Insurance would be out fifty million dollars.

Beth picked up her phone and opened her LinkedIn app. She sent a second message.

Who is this?

Finally, a reply.

Wrong question. Right one is who killed me?

Beth typed furiously.

Roland Meadows is dead. You’re not him. Stop pretending you are.

The respondent chose not to address her point. How is your investigation going?

Not well, Beth thought. Every conversation raised more questions. She decided to try a different tack. Who killed you?

A smiley face emoji appeared. Then a new line. That’s more like it. At least you now agree I was murdered.

I haven’t agreed to any such thing, Beth thought. But the person clearly wanted to pretend to be the late Roland Meadows. She could roll with that. Why did you up the insurance payout?

Who says I did?

Interesting. Implying Morgan did it herself. Maybe this is Jake. Did you know your son took your sailboat out the day before you did?

The room’s radiator rattled. Beth waited. Finally, a reply came. I know that now.

Okay. Next question. Why did you choose your mistress to take over your VC fund?

Quick reply. Are you sexist? She’s highly intelligent. The investment world doesn’t know what’s coming.

This could be Cindi, defending herself. Or perhaps Lois, given the reference to sexism. If you know who did it, tell me. Otherwise I’m done with you.

An arm-shrug emoji. Then a new line. You’re the investigator. Solve it.

Beth closed the app and barely resisted throwing the phone across the room. Instead, she pulled up her contacts list. Two decades of detective work connected her with helpful sources with access to useful information. It took a few calls, but she tracked down the information she needed. Time to get some rest. She had another flight tomorrow.

#

For the umpteenth time, Beth awakened from a poor sleep in a rundown motel room. She wanted to be done with this life. That would mean knowing what she’d do in the next one. She put on her only other suit, also gray, also from Marshall’s.

The drive to San Jose Airport and the flight to San Diego were uneventful. Beth had no trouble entering Mexico, as she always traveled with her passport. She took a ride-share to the beach town of Rosarito and had the driver drop her off at Puerto Salina.

The largest ship in the marina was Meadows’ Not a Care. Beth had learned last night that Mexican customs officials recorded the yacht’s arrival last week, and it hadn’t left the harbor. She passed through an open security gate propped open by a bucket of aromatic fish bait. Once at the yacht, she called out. “Roland Meadows? We need to talk.”

A well-tanned man looked down from the ship’s deck, his short salt-and-pepper hair matching a neatly trimmed beard. He looked fit for a man with serious heart issues. “My friends used to call me Rollie.” He gestured to a set of steps. “Join me, Ms. Shaw.”

“Call me Beth,” she said as she joined him on the yacht.

“Call me George. That’s my new name.” He wore a light-blue linen shirt and pink swim trunks adorned with white palm trees. Beth felt over-dressed. At least she had kept her hair down this morning. He led her to a pair of chaise lounges. She chose one and sat on the side of the seat.

Roland—make that George—reclined in the other chair. She hadn’t expected him to be so nonchalant at her arrival. “I’m impressed you found me. Quite smart, although Cindi didn’t tell me you’re also gorgeous,” George said. If Beth were capable of blushing, she would have. “What now?” he asked.

He had spoken with Cindi, which confirmed her theory. She still had questions. “Why fake your death?”

George smiled, his teeth glimmering in the Mexican sun. “It was time for a reboot. Morgan didn’t love me, just the life I gave her.”

“You had your children.”

“Did I?” George asked. “Jake was a lost cause. Lois pretended to love me. ‘Oh, Daddy, you’re so wonderful.’ I think she hated me more than Jake.”

“But still, it just seems so extreme.”

“I’m only happy at sea. I’m waiting for my yacht to be rechristened with new paperwork. Then she and I will sail the world.”

“Without your mistress.”

“Cindi Jansson was my protégé, not my mistress. She’s younger than my daughter.”

He had trained her in investing. “You won’t be broke, living off money Cindi siphons from the investment fund.”

“My foundation will still receive hundreds of millions every year. I’m not about to eat ramen noodles and drink Trader Joe’s wine.”

“Speaking of wine,” Beth said, “apparently, there was only one bottle on the sailboat the night you… didn’t die.”

“A Chateau Montrose Bourdeaux. Yes, I saved that for the special night.” He pointed into the interior of the yacht. “I moved the rest of the bottles onto here before hiding her.”

“The medical examiner. The death certificate. How?”

“Public servants are bought off easy. Let’s just say I did have to play dead for a few hours, and then he took care of it from there. Damn, that morgue was cold.”

“But should you be on the run with such a serious heart condition? You need surgery.”

George chuckled. “Did you talk to my primary care physician?”

“Um, no.”

“Right. My inside man told you about the heart condition.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I don’t have the heart of a twenty-year-old, but I’m doing just fine for a man in his early fifties.” He tapped his well-defined chest. “This ticker should last me a few more decades.”

Beth chastised herself for the sense of relief she felt. “The report listed a toxin in your system.”

George laughed again. Beth liked that laugh. “Yes, the atropine. That was my idea.” He sat up and faced her. Their knees almost touched. “The monthly payments for the life insurance policy spiked. Morgan had pretended to be me, convincing your company to up her payout to fifty million. I decided not to change it back. Instead, I just had the medical examiner include a detail that might suggest poisoning. Make it harder for her to get the money.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t suffer from lazy eye.”

George winked. “Does it look like I do?”

“You seem to find all of this amusing.”

“Every part except you finding me. I hadn’t anticipated being discovered by a top-notch investigator.”

Beth again savored his compliment but remained silent. She pulled out her phone, opened her LinkedIn app, and handed it to him. As he read the message exchange, his eyebrows lost their arch. He handed back the phone while staring at the yacht’s white deck. Beth chose not to speak. George finally broke the silence, the mirth in his voice gone.

“Is this why you thought I faked my death?”

She shrugged. “You wouldn’t have sent them. Why make me think you were alive?”

He nodded. “That has to be Lois, hoping to frame her brother.” He looked past her, his intense blue eyes echoing the shallow water licking the side of the yacht. “Do you see why I’m rebooting my life?”

Beth replied with a single word. “Yes.”

“So what now? Do you turn me in?”

Beth paused, then spoke. “I’m on this trip to determine if my company should pay out on a death policy. You’re not dead, so we shouldn’t pay.”

“I sense a but coming on.”

“But,” Beth said, “the policy’s beneficiary didn’t commit insurance fraud. Morgan believed you were dead. My job was to determine if you died of unnatural causes. You didn’t.”

“So?”

Beth stood and slid past George, stepping toward the mooring. “My work is done here.” She looked back. “I’ll return to Sioux Falls and close the case. You’ll remain officially dead.”

George sprang to his feet. “You’re an amazing woman, Beth Shaw. Everyone is making money off this except you. Would you let me remedy that?”

Behind George rose the yacht’s massive bulk. Roland Meadows, now George who-knows-what-last-name, had just surrendered billions to his ungrateful children while still positioned for a comfortable life. She forced out the words. “I think not.”

He stepped forward. Taller than her, George cast her in shadow, a ring of sunlight around his head. He leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Will you sail with me?”

Beth surprised herself by saying yes.

THE END