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“What do you mean, there’s no boat?” I asked.
“I mean exactly what I say. There is no thirty-two-foot sailboat, named Benny Boy or otherwise, in that marina.”
Surely JD hadn’t tried to bug out in a boat with a dead body on it. It was possible the Big Bads, or someone else associated with them, had moved the boat. But why leave the body there, then decide to move it and the boat twenty-four hours later? What was the trigger?
“You might want to take a close look at the guys working at the marina—the bar and the convenience store,” I said. “Someone tipped the Big Bads off that JD was there, although he took his sweet time about it. That same someone could have tipped them off that the body was about to be discovered when I called this morning to complain about the smell. And one of the
