"She'd have to put on some weight before I'd consider making a meal of her," Elizabeth mindspeaks.

I grin and nod. Then I stand and motion the couple to their seats, introducing them to Arturo, Jeremy and my bride. Once Santos has taken his seat, I sit facing him, the sunlight streaming through the window behind me so he has to squint when he looks at me. I make no offer to lower the shades, knowing Arturo would be scandalized if I did anything to lessen the man's discomfort.

"Well, Mr. Santos, I gather you've been anxious to speak with me," I say.

He looks from me to Elizabeth, to Jeremy, swivels around to glance at Arturo behind him. "With you, yes. But I didn't expect your whole office."

I smile at his bluntness. "Mr. Tindall is my attorney. Mr. Gomez is my close business associate. They've expressed concern that you don't wish me well and have requested they be allowed to sit in to make sure my statements aren't misrepresented. As for Elizabeth"-I nod my head toward Casey Morton-"surely if I have no objection to your girlfriend being in attendance, you'll have no objection to my wife doing the same."

"I just thought we would talk, you and me…" Santos looks at Elizabeth. "Of course, I don't mind if she's here. But them…"

"They are in my confidence. I'm afraid I must insist on their presence."

Santos shrugs. "They don't matter very much," he says, almost to himself and Morton.

She nods agreement, and says, "Go ahead."

He looks at Elizabeth again, knits his eyebrows and asks, "Did Maria know you were married?"

"Mr. Santos, your sister waited on me just once-at Detardo's Steakhouse. I wasn't married at the time, but had I been, I doubt it would have been discussed. Whatever conversation we had couldn't have encompassed more than fifty words. We certainly didn't address anything of a personal nature. After my meal, she did give me her phone number and she did ask me to call her. But I never bothered to."

"You have to understand my sister is… was very important to me," Santos says, lowering his voice, looking down as he speaks. "After my father died-when my mother was too busy grieving, we took care of each other. We never stopped. I could always tell her anything. I could always count on her support. She could always count on me too. When she disappeared, it was like somebody stole a part of my heart…"

Casey Morton leans forward, stares at me, her pale blue eyes hard. "Two men said they saw a tall, blond man meet Maria on the dock. She left in his boat. No one has seen her since."

"And how many tall, blond men are there in South Florida? How many more vacation here?" I ask, then turn my attention to Santos. "I understand your grief. From the small interaction I had with your sister, she seemed to be a sweet person. But I have to tell you I resent the implication of your questions."

"Mr. DelaSangre, where were you on the night of March eighteenth?" Casey Morton asks.

"At home, on my island."

She glares at me. "Do you have any proof?"

I feel a flush rise on my face, and wonder why her questioning bothers me. It's not her place, I decide. The matter of Maria belongs between Jorge and me. "First," I say, returning her cold stare, "I agreed to meet with Mr. Santos and answer his questions. I agreed to nothing with you. You are here as a guest and an observer. I suggest you let Mr. Santos handle his own questions from now on. Otherwise, this meeting will be at its end.

"Second"-I look at Santos, lock eyes with him-"I'm under the impression you've been quite active in investigating me. If you have and if you've been in the slightest bit competent, then you know I prefer to live a fairly secluded lifestyle. I spent almost all my nights at home last year, alone. And no, I can't prove that."

Santos nods, ignores Morton's stiff posture, her red face and tight lips, and leans toward me as if we have a game of chess going and he's about to move another piece. "Have you ever owned a classic wood runabout? A Chris Craft or one like it?"

I lean forward too, smile at him. He forces a grin in return, both of us acting like old friends, deep in discussion. "Once again, I have to refer you to your own investigation. Haven't you checked what boats I have registered?"

Santos nods.

"And what did you find?" I ask.

"A Grady White," Santos says.

I lean back in my chair, swivel so I can look out the window to the bay. "Mr. Santos, do you boat?"

"I sail."

"Do you know where my island is out there? How far offshore it is?"

He nods.

"Have you ever been caught out there in a storm?"

"Of course I have," Santos says.

"Then you know how wicked it can get. Do you think I would care to use anything as unseaworthy as a runabout when I own a wide-beamed, deep-V hulled boat with twin, two hundred Yamahas that was built to handle the worst the ocean can throw at it?"

"Some people use different boats for different purposes."

I turn back. "And I use mine for transportation."

Santos shrugs. "You could still have more boats than you've registered."

"I could, but I don't. Mr. Santos, your sister may have been abducted by a tall, blond man in a wooden runabout, but she wasn't taken by me."

Shaking her head, Casey Morton shoots up from her chair, her small blue bag spilling from her lap, the purse landing by Elizabeth's feet. The blonde slaps both hands, palms down, on the desk, and spits out, "Then why the hell have you been so tough to get hold of?" She glares at me. "Where the hell have you been for all these months?"

Jeremy Tindall cuts into the conversation. "Miss, who do you think you are? Sit down. The man told you to stay quiet. Do you have a hearing problem or comprehension difficult ties?"

She turns toward him, the veins in her neck visibly throbbing. Before she can answer, Santos places his hand on her forearm and says, "Casey, honey, relax, sit down, let me handle this."

"It's a fair question to ask," he says to me as Morton sits.

I shrug, watch my bride from the corner of my eye as she bends over, and picks up the blonde's purse, Elizabeth's charm falling out of the dress top as she does so. "Careful!" I mindspeak. But it dangles for only an instant before she tucks it back in with one hand while she hands the purse to Morton with the other.

Santos shows no reaction, gives me no sign that he noticed. He continues speaking, his voice and expression the same as before. "Max Lieber told me he saw you months ago at Detardo's and gave you my phone number then. You never called."

"No, I didn't." I look at Santos and his woman and marvel at the difference between them. His questions are polite, his tone noncombative, while she almost vibrates in her chair. Her breath exudes the acid tinge of the bile building in her stomach. "I had a marriage and a honeymoon to think of," I say. "I think you'll understand my desire to focus on those things first."

Santos nods and examines Elizabeth. "Sure, if Maria was only a waitress you met once. I guess I can understand. But, if you don't mind my asking…" He points to Elizabeth. "Just how old is she?"

Elizabeth glowers at him. "Why don't we just be done with these two?" she mindspeaks. "I don't understand your patience."

"Just a few minutes more, then they'll be gone."

I turn my attention to Santos. "I'm not sure what this has to do with this conversation, but Elizabeth's twenty-one. She's also, as you may notice, a little miffed to be listening to someone suggest her husband had an interest in someone else shortly before he married her. Which, once again-I must insist you believe this-I did not."

"You told Lieber, Maria was far too young for you."

"I didn't want to say anything unkind." I look at Santos and see the resemblance to Maria in his eyes and mouth. I wish I could tell him how much I had wanted not to harm his sister. But, instead, I go on. "Nor do I want to be rude to you. I had no interest in your sister for a number of reasons which I prefer not to list, not the least of which were my plans to marry the woman I love."