I nodded. I did, too. I wondered if Ellington was just that guy in a small town who everyone turned to simply because there was no one else to turn to. Maybe he'd somehow become the default expert on all things.

Jake guided the cart past the clubhouse and we drove through the parking lot and onto the dirt trail that led to the lower campground.

“So you think he was just pissed that it was all gone?” I asked. “That he went to Ellington just to confirm?”

“Probably,” Jake said. “And vent a little. He probably was mad and probably initially blamed Ellington. That's not unusual when guys lose their shirts in the markets—they tend to blame their brokers first before realizing that they hired the broker to do something they didn't want to do themselves.” He slowed as the dirt road got bumpy. “But all brokers are just educated guessers. They're like weathermen. And it's not their fault when something happens to a company suddenly and the bottom drops out of their stocks.”

“So then why didn't Delilah know about it?”

The trail narrowed and Jake put his other hand on the wheel as we cut through the dense thicket of trees and bushes, dust kicking up all around us.

“Good question,” he said. “But my guess is that she didn't know he'd handed the money over to Ellington. I think that might be why he didn't want those goofball twins to know where he was going because they'd start asking questions or blabbing to anyone with ears. But he and Delilah opened the account together and then she seemed to leave it in his hands. So maybe he pulled the money out to give to Ellington and didn't tell her. She stayed away from it, then decided she needed the money to pay the bills and it was empty.”

I leaned toward the middle of the cart as some of the longer branches from the bushes that lined the trail reached toward us.

“I think Harvey was trying to do a good thing and Delilah was hoping he could come through,” Jake said. “But neither of them were being realistic. They were both hoping for miracles that didn't happen.”

I thought he was right. It was just sad to hear. I didn't like bad things to happen to good people and I thought both Delilah and Harvey were good people.

“So what happened to Harvey then?” I asked.

“That's the million dollar question, I guess,” Jake said.

“Because it can't just be coincidence.”

“It could be.”

“But it's not. No way. All of this stuff happens at the same time?”

“Maybe he killed himself.”

“We found him. It wasn't suicide.”

“Technically, you found him...”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, then shrugged. “I don't know what happened to Harvey. And my hope is we'll be gone before they figure it out because I think I've had enough of the goings-on up here.”

I sighed. I wanted to know what happened, but I was starting to agree with him. It seemed like fun was going to be hard to find at Windy Vista in the coming days and I didn't want to be a part of that. We were probably better served getting packed up and home to the kids.

We descended the bottom of the trail, leaving the trees and bushes behind us. The lower campground looked deserted. No one was out walking their dogs, no kids were out riding their bikes. But there were cars parked in front of campers so I knew we weren't alone. Jake maneuvered the cart down to a fork in the road and then continued on to the right. Then he slowed, leaning forward.

“What?” I asked.

“You smell that?”

I sniffed the air. “No.”

“Smells like gas.”

“Natural?”

“No. Like from a pump.”

He slowed the cart. The lots we passed looked abandoned, with rusted out campers and waist high grass.

“I don't think anyone's back here,” I said. “Why would we smell gasoline?”

Jake ignored me and leaned out his side of the cart as he drove, still sniffing at the air. Then he pointed straight ahead. “Well someone's back here.”

I looked to where he was pointing. The waist high weeds in the lot at the end of the path were flattened down in two rows. An old silver air stream trailer sat crooked on the lot, with two busted out windows, one flat tire and a sagging clothesline next to it. The flattened grass ran to the right of the trailer and disappeared behind it.

And I smelled the gasoline, too.

Jake hit the brake on the cart and we stopped.

I could barely make out voices on the other side of the trailer. Jake cocked his head to the side, then held his finger to his lips. The voices grew louder.

And we recognized them.

“Just pour it everywhere, I guess,” Jaw said, backing around the corner of the trailer, a red gas can in his hands. “Shoot, I don't know. I ain't never done this before.”

Chuck emerged on the other side, backing around the same way, an identical can in his hands, gasoline spilling out of it onto the grass. “Well, me, either, dude. I was just asking.”

“Just asking what?” Jake asked loudly.

Both of them froze and turned slowly in our direction. The blood drained from their faces almost simultaneously.

Jaw set his gas can down and wiped his hands together. “Uh, about watering the yard here. We ain't never, uh, taken care of a yard.”

“Watering a yard? With gas?”

Chuck and Jaw looked at one another.

“There ain't gas in here,” Chuck said. “It's water.”

“Smells a lot like gas,” Jake said.

“Probably because they used to hold gas,” Chuck said. “Yeah. That's why.”

“Are you going to set fire to that trailer?” I asked, horrified.

Both of them looked at me like they were seeing me for the first time.

Jaw then looked at Chuck. “Did you tell her?”

Chuck scowled back at him. “No, I didn't tell her. How could I have done that?”

“Well, how else would she have known?”

Jake had closed the distance between him and Chuck. Chuck realized it and dropped his gas can. Whatever was left in it spilled out and streamed toward Jake's feet. Jake took a step back and leaned toward the ground.

“Definitely gasoline,” he said.

“Aren't you guys out on bail?” I asked.

Neither said anything.

“Daisy, just pull out your phone and call the police,” Jake said.

“No!” Chuck yelled. “Don't do that!”

“We are so screwed,” Jaw muttered, shuffling his feet agains the weeds.

“Daisy, I'm serious,” Jake said. “Get your phone out.”

I reached in my pocket.

“It ain't our idea,” Jaw muttered.

“Quiet,” Chuck barked. “Or we ain't gonna get paid.”

“We ain't gonna get paid anyway if we go back to jail.”

“I'm not going back!” Chuck yelled, then took off running toward Jake.

Jake waited for him to close the distance, then slid over to get in his path. Chuck immediately recoiled as if Jake was going to tackle him and he fell to the ground.

Jake looked at me. “Well, that was easy.”

Jaw shook his head. “Man, you are so stupid.”

Chuck was sitting on his rear end, leaning back on his hands, unsure of what to do with himself.

“You said this wasn't your idea,” I said to Jaw, as I pulled my phone out. “What did you mean?”

Jaw bounced on his heels, like his feet were covered with biting flies. “I mean, it wasn't our idea.”

I looked around. I saw a couple of other abandoned trailers in the cul-de-sac. Overgrown yards. A red pick up. An old station wagon. Two bikes laid up agains one of the abandoned trailers, one of them missing a tire. But I didn't see another person.

“So whose idea was it?” I asked.

Jaw didn't say anything.

“And why were you going to burn it down?” I asked. “What's the point in that?”

“Just more trouble around here,” Chuck mumbled.

“So you're trying to make trouble around here?” I asked.

“It ain't us,” Jaw said.

“Well, I don't see anyone else around here,” I said, turning around, irritated. “I see a couple of old trailers. A truck. A station wagon. A couple of...”