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men were not, in fact, law enforcement, and within minutes uniformed officers flooded the area in hopes of finding the suspects.
    The missing Sergeant Fauth arrived shortly thereafter, apologizing for not being at that morning’s interview, having only just returned from the morgue. Apparently he was there for Pickering’s autopsy. “You have no idea what they were looking for?” he asked Remi and Sam.
    â€œNone,” Sam replied. “Honestly, we wrongly assumed you and your partner had set up this interview in order to come up here and search.”
    â€œIllegal searches aside, I’d like to think we’d have done a better job with a fake warrant. More than likely they were watching your hotel, waiting for you to leave. Which means that whatever they were trying to get from Mr. Pickering, they think you now have.”
    Remi, who was going through her suitcase checking to see if anything was missing, said, “Whatever it was couldn’t have been all that big. They were searching in the lining of my suitcase. And the small zipper compartments. The book I bought would not have fit there.”
    â€œWhere is this book?”
    â€œAssuming the concierge did as asked, it’ll be arriving on my front porch anytime this afternoon.”
    â€œIs there anyone who can check it when it arrives?”
    â€œOur researcher, Selma. I’ll give her a call.”
    â€œAppreciate it.”
    Remi took her cell phone from her purse, then called Selma’s office number. There was no answer, and she left a voice mail.
    She disconnected as Sergeant Fauth said, “So let me get this straight. You get back from the PD, walk into the hotel, and the Guest Services manager says the police are here searching?”
    â€œThat’s right,” Sam replied. “He was watching for us the moment we walked in the door.”
    The manager, still shaken, nodded in agreement. “I tried calling the Fargos as soon as they served me with the warrant. I wasn’t able to get through. And, well, what was I supposed to do? Between the official-looking papers and their guns, I—”
    â€œGuns?” Sergeant Fauth said.
    He nodded. “I suppose I should have asked for ID, but . . .”
    â€œMr. . . . ?”
    â€œBryant.”
    â€œMr. Bryant,” Sergeant Fauth said. “Did either man say what they were looking for?”
    â€œYes. They wanted to know if the Fargos had said anything about a key. Maybe asked to put it in a safe. Finding one, hiding one. I—I don’t remember. Just—they definitely said they were looking for a key.”
    â€œA key?”
    â€œYes. I thought maybe they were talking about the necklace Mrs. Fargo was wearing when she left this morning.”
    Remi fingered the diamond-studded charm, asking Sam, “Something about this you’re not telling me?”
    â€œAn expensive trinket but a trinket nonetheless.”
    She smiled at the sergeant, trying to keep her tone pleasant. “I think we can all agree that whatever these people think we have, we don’t. So if there’s nothing else . . . ? We were on our way to check out. Or, rather, we were supposed to be.”
    He eyed their suitcases. “What I need to do is take a look at any surveillance video in the lobby. I expect Mr. Bryant can help me.”
    Sam closed Remi’s suitcase and his own. “You have our cell numbers, should anything come up.” He ushered her out of there without waiting to hear the sergeant’s response. The manager started to follow, but Sam stopped him. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
    â€œOf course.” He backed off, and Sam escorted Remi onto the elevator with their luggage.
    The moment the door closed, she asked, “What day was this relaxing vacation supposed to start?”
    â€œDid I say today? I meant tomorrow.”
    â€œHmm . . .”
    â€œFor the