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hello. Her hairdo was as always an amazing bouffant, but Annie wasn’t accustomed to the color change from gold to red. Hey, why not?
    â€œâ€¦you didn’t check it out at all?”
    Annie sped through the anteroom. The door to Max’s office was ajar. Knees bent, head down, hands firmly grasping the putter as he started his swing, he chanted, “Drop. Drop. Drop.”
    Annie skidded to a stop behind him. “Max! The most awful thing’s happened!”
    The club head jerked, the ball swerved left, clattered from the indoor putting green, caromed from the malachite base of a lamp and scooted across the wooden floor to roll through the open door into the anteroom.
    â€œThat one got my foot.” Barb’s voice was good-humored. “I’m almost off the phone. Be there in a sec.”
    â€œMax, listen.” Annie described the bogus and vicious flyer. “…and I’ll bet it’s tied up to the skywriting. You didn’t order that flight. Or me. And I’m sure it wasn’t Emma. So who did? Have you found out anything at all?”
    Max reached for another golf ball, tossed it up and down. “Barb’s checking out the skywriting outfits. There’s one in Beaufort and a couple in Savannah and—”
    Barb poked her head in the office. “There’s something funny going on about that skywriting. I talked to Gus Harvey. He runs Write It in the Sky and he’s the guy who flew over the island this morning.” She stepped inside, holding a legal pad.
    Annie was afraid she knew the answer, but she had to ask. “Who hired him?”
    â€œThat’s what’s strange. Mr. Harvey doesn’t have any idea. He found a letter shoved under his office door Tuesday morning. Harvey worked until after ten Monday night, so somebody left the letter late that night or early Tuesday morning. The message had been typed on a computer. No signature. The envelope contained twenty hundred-dollar bills.” Barb glanced down at her pad. “Here’s what the letter said: ‘As part of a book promotion on Broward’s Rock Island’”—she shot a pleased glance at Annie—“‘please skywrite WHODUNIT over the island at nine A.M . on Wednesday morning. This is a surprise for a friend.’” Barb stopped.
    Max frowned, twirled the ball on his fingers. “And…”
    â€œNada mas,” Barb replied. “He had the money. He had his instructions. He did the job.”
    Max rolled the golf ball in his hand. “Two thousand dollars. Somebody really wanted to get everybody’s attention.”
    â€œClever.” Annie’s tone wasn’t admiring. “And we don’t have any idea who did it. We don’t know anything—”
    Emma’s deep voice filled the room. “Morning,Barb, Max. Annie, Ingrid’s fielding calls faster than Sammy Sosa’s hitting home runs. I suggested she leave the phone off the hook, but she muttered something about customer relations, had to get the word out that the store isn’t to blame, but I told her and I’m telling you”—the bright blue eyes didn’t blink—“that more is at stake than the store’s reputation and my signing. Somebody’s broken open a wasps’ nest and we’re all going to get stung. We’ve got to find out who did this and tell the world. Now, I checked with my neighbors. They got flyers. And from the number of calls coming in—”
    The phone rang in the anteroom. Barb turned and hurried through the door.
    â€œâ€”I’m sure the flyer is all over the island. We have to find out who set us up for this.”
    Annie shoved a hand through her hair. “Emma, did you see the skywriting this morning?”
    Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Skywriting?”
    Annie explained, concluding, “Somebody anonymously arranged for the skywriting. All we know is that he—or