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Luke suspected she was about as frail as Ma Barker.
    “Aunt Rosa, I am the cops, remember? I’m a deputy sheriff.” A dark-haired man, late thirties, maybe five-ten, two hundred twenty solid pounds, appeared behind the woman, with what looked like a .40 caliber Glock in one hand. He was wearing dark pants and a white underwear-type T-shirt. Like his body, his blunt-featured face was broad and bulldog aggressive. What he basically looked like was a charter member of Thugs-R-Us. Or, alternatively, a cop, as he claimed.
    “Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting.” Mrs. Castellano shook her head, adding under her breath: “It just don’t seem right, somehow, a Castellano turning deputy sheriff.”
    “Uh, I’ll just get up now,” Luke said, wincing slightly at the residual pain in his knee as he did so.
    “Don’t move!” Christy squeaked. Bristling with renewed suspicion and hostility, she re-aimed the Mace at him.
    “Just chill, would you?” Luke said with disgust. Heheld up his hand in an effort to keep her more aggressive tendencies at bay.
    “I got it covered,” Castellano said to Christy in a soothing tone, and moved purposefully forward, his eyes on Luke and his pistol not quite in play but ready in his hand. “So what’s the deal here? Where’s the fire?”
    “There’s not any fire.” Christy looked at Luke. “This guy—”
    Before she could continue, Luke jumped in, still in clueless good-neighbor mode. “Hey, I heard her yelling and came to help her and she freaked.”
    “Freaked!” Christy shot him a hostile look, then glanced back at Castellano. “He was hiding in the bushes on my patio! He claimed he was looking for his cat.”
    “Cat?” Castellano turned hard eyes Luke’s way. They were small and dark and mean, the kind you wouldn’t want to run into if you were a punk kid up to no good. Or a guy with no better excuse for being on a woman’s patio in the middle of the night than a nonexistent pet cat.
    “Marvin,” Luke said by way of confirmation. Hey, it was his story and he was sticking to it.
    “Christy Petrino, meet my great-nephew Gordie Castellano. The deputy sheriff.” Clearly oblivious to the turn the conversation had taken, Mrs. Castellano hobbled up to join the party. From her tone it was clear that matchmaking was on her mind.
    “Pleased to meet you,” Christy and Castellano said almost in unison. Now there was good, solid mafioso upbringing in action, Luke thought, observing the pairof them through narrowed eyes. In the mob, crimes up to and including murder were commonplace, but the children were invariably taught to mind their manners. Then his gaze sharpened on Christy. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were wary. This was an expression of distrust, and it was directed at Castellano. What was up with that? Was it her habitual attitude toward all members of the law enforcement community, or was it meant for this one in particular?
    “There’s a woman down on the beach …” There was an almost reluctant note in Christy’s voice. She looked Castellano up and down, and her frown deepened. Yep, distrust was there in spades. The question was, why? Luke was willing to bet the rent that she’d been genuinely terrified of something from the moment he’d first spotted her coming over that dune until Ma Barker and the deputy had arrived. Why, then, wouldn’t she welcome said deputy with open arms? Still looking at Castellano, she hesitated and added, “Uh, you didn’t happen to just come up from the beach, did you?”
    “Me?” Castellano shook his head. “Nah. I been watching TV with Aunt Rosa.” He frowned at Christy. “A woman on the beach, you say? What about her?”
    “There’s something wrong with her. She’s just lying there in the sand, and I think she’s been hurt. She needs help. I—we should call an ambulance.” The reluctant note was still there, which struck Luke as odd under the circumstances.
    “What? Where?” Castellano’s voice sharpened. Christy