SCOOTER SLUMPED INTO a chair and I passed him the rest of the chocolate. While he scraped every last morsel from the wrapper, I looked around the patio, wondering if someone who had been at the barbecue earlier in the night had killed Captain Dan.
A small crowd had gathered, watching the police go back and forth between the parking lot and B Dock. Sandy and Jack stood at the edge of the group. Sandy appeared agitated, pulling on Jack’s arm and whispering something in his ear. Everyone gasped as two officers wheeled a gurney with a body bag on it past them.
Sandy hurried over to us, Jack in tow. “Did you see that?” she asked, pulling up a chair next to mine. “I wonder if Mr. Kennedy had a heart attack. Did you know he’s in his late eighties and still living aboard his boat? He’s been havi
