Rudge and Jenner ate in the parking lot next to the taco stand, in the pouring rain. They sat in the Taurus, the engine running, the AC blasting icy gusts of mold-scented air into the greasy fug of carnitas and refried beans.

Their visit to Weiss’s shack had been uneventful. The cops at the Bel Arbre substation met them at the cottage with the landlord, an excitable little man who peppered them with questions about selling off the boy’s things to cover the rent and the cost of the front door, replaced just that morning.

The cheap wooden door had been locked, with no evidence of forced entry through the door or windows. The place was no messier than any other apartment lived in by a twenty-two-year-old male. Nothing broken or obviously out of place. A good-quality wristwatch sat on the bathroom sink, and there was a laptop out in the open on the table.

There was nothing to see, but the case was high-profile, so Rudge had called in Crime Scene. They left the uniforms at the cottage to calm down the landlord, who was convinced the criminalists would tear up carpet and cut out sections of wall.

Before opening his dinner, Rudge set Weiss’s notebook on the dashboard, open to a list of eight names. Six of the names were ticked off, and of those, four had been marked with a star: UFL Tomato, La Grulla Blanca, Pinewhite’s, Endicott.

Rudge said, “They’re farms.”

Jenner nodded.

They ate in silence, listening to the rain on the car roof, occasionally glancing at the list.

After a few minutes, Rudge maneuvered the rest of his last taco into his mouth, cupping his hands around the tin foil to stop the juices spilling down his shirt. He wiped the corners of his mouth, then blotted his goatee.

“So, Jenner. Anything you want to share with me?”

Jenner looked at him blankly. “Such as…?”

“I see.” Rudge, nodding gravely, squeezed the damp napkin into a ball and pushed it into the paper bag. “Well, I think we need to have a little talk.”

“A talk?”

“Yeah. Time I straightened you out on a couple of things.”

They pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway.

Jenner leaned back expectantly. “Okay. This oughta be good.”

“So, you lived in the city most of your life?”

“Pretty much.”

“Thought so. Well, Port Fontaine is different. Don’t let the Armani and Chanel stores down on the Promenade fool you—this is still small-town Florida, and everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

“Uh-huh.” Jenner grinned. “I’ve seen stuff like that on TV.”

“I’m serious. The whole of Port Fontaine—me, everyone at the municipal building, that fucker we just bought our tacos from—we all know all about your business.” Rudge turned onto the feeder road to the highway. “And don’t think I’m kidding.”

Jenner was becoming wary. “Go on. This is interesting…”

“Jenner, everyone knows you got with Chip Craine’s daughter.”

Jenner froze. “But…but that was only…”

“Last night? Sure, why not, whatever. But everyone already knows. Including the sheriff.”

Jenner was puzzled. “So what if the sheriff knows? What, he’s going to enforce some weird sex law they still only have Down South?”

“Weird sex law?” Rudge pursed his lips. “What exactly did you do last night?”

When Jenner didn’t answer, he grinned, then said, “Y’see, this is what happens when you go poking little Jenner around without knowing what you’re getting into.” He shook his head.

“Maggie Craine is a fine woman—very fine. And for that, by the way, mad respect.” Rudge paused, relishing his impending revelation. “But…she’s also Tommy Anders’s ex-wife.”

“What? His wife?” Jenner couldn’t imagine Maggie and the sheriff in the same decade, let alone the same bed.

“Oh, relax, player—this is years ago. She went away to college, grad school or something in New York, came back pregnant and single. She knew Tommy from the Polo Grounds—his daddy was a big deal back then. Tommy saw his chance, she said yes, and they got hitched. She dumped him a couple months after the baby arrived.”

“Wow.” Jenner looked at the detective. “So why are you telling me this now?”

“I figure it’s good to know when the guy you’re working for probably doesn’t like you too much.”

“Are you warning me?”

Rudge threw back his head and laughed. “No, doc, you’re on your own…Maggie Craine is a fine-looking lady, no doubt—you know Charlotte Rampling, the actress? That’s who she reminds me of. But just be careful with her, you know what I’m saying? She’s been with a few men here, and the landings are never easy—once I had to arrest her at that motel out by the Miccosukee reservation, had to take her out of there in handcuffs.”

“Well, thanks for the heads-up.” Jenner looked at Rudge. “I don’t know what’s going on. I thought she’d have called me by now.”

“You call her?”

“No.”

Rudge shrugged. “Well…”

He grinned, then gestured to the road ahead. “It’s getting late—let’s hit the list. UFL first, then La Grulla Blanca on the way home.”

“Why those two?”

“Weiss may have visited these farms on Workers’ Solidarity business, but we know he’s been doing his own investigation, and these are the last names he wrote down.”

Jenner looked at the list. “I’m betting he’s ticked off farms he’s visited, then…what, put asterisks next to the ones that made him suspicious?”

“Maybe.” Rudge settled back against the headrest. “This is where it might get a little tricky. These are some big properties—big money here, know what I’m saying?”

“UFL Tomato has been in the news all year. Workers want a nickel more a bushel, the company and the fast food chains say no way. Last November, the WSM held a meeting to organize the workers. Maybe twenty showed up; when they were all inside the WSM building, someone blocked the door with a chair and tossed in a Molotov cocktail.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, we figured it was UFL Tomato, but no one saw anything, no one said anything, and the fire marshal finally shit-canned it. We tossed it to ATF, but they had nothing to go on and buried it a couple months later.”

“So UFL is high on the list?”

Rudge shrugged. “Eh. Maybe. But you gotta figure it’d be a pretty risky play for a company already under the microscope.”

“And the other three?”

“Well, we’ll see.”

They drove on.