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multiple-story waterfront houses located in a gated community called Bluewater Bay. No sale price was listed, but the flyers showed photos of swimming pools, huge state-of-the-art kitchens, and cathedral-ceilinged great rooms with spectacular waterfront views.
    She plucked the flyers from the bulletin board and headed back to the office.
    â€œEb’s not there,” she reported.
    â€œYou could try the store,” Ginny said, clearly not interested in Eben Thibadeaux’s whereabouts.
    â€œWhich store?” She wondered if the Ginny got a thrill from being deliberately cryptic and unhelpful.
    â€œHometown Market,” Ginny replied. “Three blocks up, turn right, you can’t miss it.”
    *   *   *
    â€œHaven’t seen him,” the cashier at the supermarket said. “Try city hall.”
    The clerk at city hall smiled apologetically. “You just missed him.” She turned to a young man with muttonchop sideburns who was busily tapping away on a computer keyboard. “Did Eb say where he was headed when he left here?”
    â€œI think he was gonna show one of those condos over on the south end.”
    â€œCould you give me his cell number?” Greer asked politely. “I really need to speak to him.”
    The two clerks conferred quietly. “I guess that’d be okay,” the woman said. “He usually likes to be accessible to constituents.”
    *   *   *
    Greer found that if she stood on the top step outside city hall, her phone got exactly one bar.
    And she was not surprised when the mayor’s phone went directly to voice mail.
    â€œHi, Eben,” she said brightly. “My name is Greer Hennessy. I’m a film location scout and I’d love to talk to you about using Cypress Key for the film we’re going to be shooting in this area very soon. It’s a terrific opportunity for your beautiful little community to really shine for the whole world to see. But it’s urgent that I meet with you today. I’m staying at the Silver Sands Motel, but you can reach me at this number, at any time. Looking forward to meeting you!”
    She popped her head back into city hall. The clerk gave her an expectant look.
    â€œI left the mayor a voice mail. Any other guesses as to where he might be?”
    â€œWell-l-l … it’s Friday, and it’s lunchtime, so if I had to guess, I’d say he’s either at the Deck or the Boathouse.”
    â€œThose are local restaurants?”
    â€œThe Deck is. It’s on the bayside, right after you come across Kiss-Me-Quick.”
    Greer’s face showed her confusion.
    The girl smiled. “Kiss-Me-Quick is the last bridge after you come over the causeway from the mainland. The Deck is on the right side of the road. You’ll see all the trucks out front. Today’s Friday, all-you-can-eat shrimp boil.”
    Greer nodded her understanding. “What about the Boathouse? What’s the special there?”
    â€œNo special. It’s just where Eb keeps his boat when it’s not running, which it usually isn’t. Keep going on the state route, after you’ve crossed Kiss-Me-Quick. The sign is so faded you can’t hardly read it anymore, but I think it says Maring Marina. That’s on the right side of the road, before you cross the humpback bridge.”
    *   *   *
    Greer found the Deck with little trouble, and just as the clerk had predicted, the sandy parking lot was crowded. The restaurant was a low, rambling affair, a faded driftwood building surrounded on two sides by decks that looked out on the bay.
    Inside she was greeted with the sharp scent of spicy seafood boil, fried fish, and beer. As she glanced around the crowded room, she realized she had no idea what Eben Thibadeaux looked like.
    A hostess looked up from behind the cash register near the door. She was young and pretty, with short, pale blond hair tucked