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Dean hung up the phone looking disbelieving. "Some old broad wants us to stay at her place for a week," he told Sam, staring at the phone like it might turn into something deadly if he took his eyes off it. "She's willing to pay."
"Haunting?" Sam asked. "Poltergeist, maybe? Or not sure?"
"She didn't say," Dean said. "Just that it's in the Hamptons and how soon can we be there."
Sam started looking at the phone like it might bite, too. "Trap. Probably the FBI." He darted a hunted glance around the Men of Letters Bunker, still new to them. They'd only moved in last week. "How did she get your number?"
"She didn't say," Dean said again.
"So we're not going, right?" Sam looked at him, wondering why Dean sounded so hesitant.
"It's just...she's offering a thousand dollars," Dean said, and he didn't have to explain to Sam what that would do for their finances right now. "Oh, and? And the house is on the beach."
Sam sighed, thinking it over—in spite of his better judgement. "I guess we could check it out."
Their eyes met, and they grinned at each other. A week's vacation did sound good and if it was for a hunt, all the better.
"Overton heir missing at sea, presumed lost," Sam repeated, once Mrs. Overton had interviewed them and then left them with the keys. "Nothing says this is a case."
"Oh, I've got a thousand dollars that says this is a case," Dean contradicted him. "Anyway, it could be vampirates."
Sam gave him an incredulous look. "That is not a thing."
Dean pulled out his phone. "Course it's a thing. Benny used to be one. Vampires who grabbed their vics off boats. Pirates. Vampire pirates."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, it could be vampire pirates. Could be any kind of monster doing that, almost. Could be regular human pirates. Or he could have gotten drunk and fallen overboard, and the storm pushed his boat to shore without him."
"Guy was in the army, he would've put up a fight if he could," Dean said. "So let's check out the boat." He fiddled with his phone, looking like he was considering calling someone, then glanced guiltily at Sam and put it back in his pocket.
"It could be your friend Benny out there, back to his old ways again," Sam said, ungraciously not willing to let Dean off the hook.
"I was just thinking, I don't know how to sail. Do you?" Dean shot back. "Whatever happened, it wasn't on land, which means we could have to go out on the water at some point here."
"You stick the motor in the water and point it where you want to go," Sam said stubbornly. "You don't need to call in help for that, do you?" He started walking along the beach towards where the small boat with a single mast was washed up a half mile away. "You coming?"
They didn't detect any EMF or blood spatter on the boat, although with the storm it had been through, that didn't mean much. Waves and rain had washed the deck clean of anything that might have left traces there.
"No scrapes on the sides," Dean said. "If another boat had pulled up alongside, it'd have scratched up the paint, right?" He looked disappointed that his vampirate theory wasn't bearing fruit.
"Unless they used those rubber bumper balloon things." Sam offered an olive branch.
"Buoys?" Dean scrunched up his face. "Is that what they're called?"
Sam didn't think they were called that, but he just shrugged. "Did he have a cell phone with him? Maybe I can do something with cell tower records."
Dean ducked into the cabin. The door was shorter than him, and there wasn't much headroom inside—or much room in any other direction, for that matter. Sam waited outside, on the theory that one of them should get to enjoy not getting a crick in the neck.
Dean was back out in a minute with a satellite phone. "This good enough?"
"Should be good for something," Sam said. He quirked his mouth. "Want to go put your feet up on some ridiculously expensive furniture in a ridiculously big house while we see what we can find?"
Dean grinned. "Now you're talking."
They managed to plot the course of the boat, ensconced in a pair of enormous leather sofas with a floor-to-ceiling view of the ocean. The signal had gone out in a straight line for two hours, then one hour back, then it had drifted off course and come to rest where they'd found it.
"There's no history of other similar disappearances in the area," Sam said. "Not unless you count assholes with too much money faking their deaths for tax evasion and turning up a year later in the Caribbean."
"So we look into Overton Jr's paper trail," Dean said. "Search this place top to bottom. Maybe he was into something. We know he was in the military; maybe he made enemies. Plus, I really want to take a whole tour here. The house is fantastic."
Sam shrugged. "It's as good a place to start as any."
The living room they were in had a huge vaulted ceiling, and there was a cushy study next to it with cabinets full of documents and a TV that took up nearly a whole wall. The sound system involved at least seven different speakers.
"Can you imagine watching James Bond in here, Sam?" Dean enthused. "Like our own private theater."
“Sure, Dean,” Sam said, trying to respond without sounding urgent. Something that didn't belong had caught his attention. When Dean looked, Sam jerked his eyes to the underside of a lamp.
There was a bug. Someone could be listening to them right now.
Suddenly the idea that this was all a trap seemed a lot more real.
“We should keep looking,” Dean said, cautious. Never let an enemy know you’re on to them until you’re ready to act.
Sam nodded.
There were more bugs, now that they were looking for them. In the gleaming white-and-chrome kitchen, in the spotless basement with its own pool table, even in each of the fourposter bedrooms and the jacuzzi-appointed bathroom. They took a moment from the second floor to look out at the street.
There was also a black Maserati sitting a block away, the shape of a man barely visible inside. The car had been there when they'd driven up. The neighborhood had a lot of flashy status symbols masquerading as cars, but most of them weren't parked on the street. And everyone these days might be glued to their cell phones, but only someone who didn't belong here would be spending all afternoon parked in a black car on a hot day staring at his.
Dean gave Sam a glance, still wary of speaking out loud if someone was listening in. A lifetime of working together meant Sam didn't need to guess what that look said—it meant, "Let's go get that guy."
Sam nodded, sharp and short.
Outside, they set off down the street. Dean walked just far enough away from Sam that it looked natural when they parted to pass on either side of the Maserati, talking casually about the weather.
Dean was on the driver's side. When he looked into the car, he could see that the man was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low. Amateur. He'd left the passenger door unlocked, too. Dean gave Sam a tiny go-ahead nod.
Sam opened the door and got in. Dean tried the rear seat door and was only a second behind him. He'd been fully prepared to break the window of this souped-up rich-boy ride with his leather-jacket-covered elbow, but whoever this was wouldn't even let him have that pleasure.
The man was maybe thirty, when they got a good look. Military haircut and posture. But behind the sunglasses he was unexpectedly familiar.
"You're Mrs. Overton's son," Sam said, so surprised he accidentally sounded more mystified than threatening. "Why are we looking for you if you've been right here the whole time?"
"Most people who fake their deaths want to get as far as they can, fast as they can," Dean added, thinking out loud. "You waiting around for us specifically or what?"
Overton Jr. looked extremely caught out. "It wasn't my idea!" he protested, pressing himself nervously against his door in a hopeless attempt to get farther away from Sam. "Listen, I don't want to get between you and Don, I was just doing him a favor…"
"Don?" Dean was still grasping for context. "Who the...Sam? Do you know who Don is?"
Because Sam...Sam was scowling like he'd just cracked the case, and found a bunch of clowns responsible for it all. "Would this Don be Amelia's husband, Don Richardson?" he asked.
"Is this a prank?" Dean demanded. "Is somebody going to jump out of the bushes going, 'Smile, you're on Candid Camera?'"
"What, so you can drive across the country to mess with Amelia's head but nobody's allowed to mess with you, is that it?" Overton was starting to be indignant enough to forget to be threatened. "She was really upset, but she'd barely talk to Don for weeks after you left, Sam! Did you threaten her?"
"What?" Sam looked genuinely taken aback. "No, I..."
Overton didn't leave him time to say anything. "Did you threaten Don? Her father? Anyone else?"
Dean slowly settled back into the seat, starting to grin.
"I didn't threaten anybody!" Sam said. He threw an accusing look at Dean. "I thought she was in danger, or I would never have interfered…"
Dean supposed, if he wanted to be entirely fair, it had been his fault Sam was there. "He's telling the truth," he volunteered. "Someone messed with his phone, made it look like she sent him an emergency text." No need to get into the nitty-gritty details of who that someone had been right now.
Sam was hunching into the front seat and burying his face in his hands. For someone as big as he was, he should have known it wouldn't be that easy to disappear.
The situation had lost any resemblance it had once had to an intimidation operation. "Who the freaking hell are you, anyway?" Overton burst out. "Why all the cloak-and-dagger bullshit? Why would Amelia be in danger because of your bullshit, and why is every single mention of you on the Internet complete horseshit?"
Dean was feeling a little incredulous himself. "So Don got his army buddy's rich mom to call us up and invite us to her house with a totally bogus case just so you could all satisfy your curiosity about us? What if we had turned out to be serial killer psychopaths, huh? Ever think of that?"
Overton didn't even pause. "Yeah, we did think about that! And if you were winding up to kill Amelia and Don in their sleep, we figured we ought to know about it!"
"Well, we're not," Sam said, finally looking up again. He gave Overton a look that was somehow hard and soulful at the same time. Dean had to admire Sam's knack for those looks. "So what now?"
Overton glanced carefully between the brothers. "That's up to you guys, isn't it? Don will be expecting me to check in soon, and if I don't, he'll know that you're the reason why."
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "If you're not trying to kill anybody, you're safe from us. You can tell Don whatever you want about us. But if the FBI finds out from you that we're not dead, you better believe that we can make your life a living hell."
Overton mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. "I don't doubt it. That won't be necessary." He sighed, studying them. "Look, I don't want you to feel like you came all this way for nothing, either—please consider the offer of a week in the house still good. My mother and I already have arrangements elsewhere."
Sam looked at him consideringly. "With the bugs still in place so you can get to know us better? If you're hoping that learning more about us will set your mind—and Don's—at ease, be careful. There are a lot of rabbit holes you really don't want to go down. Not if there's any way you can help it."
"That is exactly the mysterious crap that—" Overton started, but Dean cut him off.
"We're not kidding around, Sherlock. Keep your nose out of our business or your life expectancy gets shot to shit. Not because we go after you, just because that's how it is. Life sucks. Understand?"
Overton hesitated, giving them a long, considering look, but eventually Sam's earnest face and Dean's unusually serious mien paid off and he nodded.
Dean got out of the car and stretched. Sam said something else to Overton, too low for Dean to hear, and after a minute he got out, too, on the other side. Probably some message to pass on to Amelia. Dean waited for the usual flash of irritation, but he was surprisingly okay with it after all. Sam wasn't going to go back to her, not as long as he had Dean to hunt with.
They walked back towards the Overton's seaside mansion and the Impala in silence. The sun was starting to turn the sky pink and orange, and the ocean reflected the colors. It was beautiful, really.
Not a bad spot for a vacation at all.