Death on Daugherty Creek

It was no secret that he hated camping. So why was he in Janes Island State Park?
Because Neal had asked him to come.

Neal had danced around the reason for the call, but he was in trouble, and the most likely source of that trouble had been Eric Girard, Neal's partner, and all round, smirky, larcenous jerk.

But what particular malfeasance and/or incompetence of Eric's could have made a client decide that incinerating him by planting a bomb on his yacht was just the perfect solution?

Or was the explosion an accident?

Sergeant King of the Natural Resources Police wouldn't say, but kept boring into his relationship with Eric. He hadn't killed Eric. So Eric might have fired him from Girard-Hartmann Accounting? So they might have had a spirited screaming match when that went down? So?

So he was sitting on a dock with a fire-burnt face, singed hair, and barnacle slashed legs. He had been two steps away from Eric's yacht when it had exploded; okay, maybe it had been ten, but he'd still been smacked off the dock into the tepid, blue water of Daugherty Creek.

Eric was gone, but Neal was still freaking out. And who was this new girlfriend, Ellie, who had cemented herself onto Neal like one of the aforementioned barnacles?

And Neal was suddenly telling him that he could go home now? That everything was just as rosy as a park sunset?

He couldn't go; Neal was his friend, and he was in danger.