Monterrey was relaxing. I started making a habit of running on the beach and into town. It wasn't too long before people stopped treating me like a sasquatch sighting and actually started waving and saying hello as I'd run by.

It was only a matter of time until the press descended upon the town like locusts. It was annoying enough having their cars following me and gumming up traffic. They'd also loiter at local businesses, buying nothing, just lurking for a chance encounter. Word got back to me that while everyone liked me, they'd be happier if I wouldn't come around anymore, so maybe the paparazzi horde would leave.

Maybe it was time to check out this boat of hers.

Boat was an understatement. Even 'Yacht' seemed too modest. It had more rooms than the house I grew up in, and was appointed as lavishly as the hotel suites I had on the tour. Captain Steve was right out of central casting. Retired navy and happy to be absurdly well paid to be on call for the rare occasions when Katherine took out the Dodge&Burn.

Dennis explained to me that the boat was actually owned by Hauteshot, Katherine's company. She had some sharp business partners and early in her modeling career, she became an LLC for tax purposes. So most everything was owned by her company, not by her personally. Of course since she WAS the company – and its sole product, it was essentially the same thing. Her silent partners ran the business and her job was simply being Katherine – and being well compensated for it.

I was so out of my depth. It seemed a bit fishy to me, but I guess that's how the wealthy get and stay wealthy.

Before I was declared 'seaworthy' I had yet another visit from Doctor Dale. More shots, which apparently included another round of sedatives and a touch up of his 'handiwork' and I was declared bikini-worthy, which for some unexplainable reason, gave me an anticipatory little thrill.

I learned from Dennis the only time Katherine wore a swimsuit was on a shoot. But she kept them all. I mentioned that some looked like they had been worn so hard they were coming apart. He just laughed and said that those were the ones she had been sewn into for a shoot. Once they were done, they had to sort of tear them apart to remove them. I found a few that were surprisingly flattering to Katherine's odd frame. They really flattered the legs and somehow gave the illusion of curves where there were none to speak of. Even the top seemed to pull and gather a pretty flat chest into a surprising illusion of modest but flattering cleavage. I began to understand the synergy of fashion and photography. They were both the science of shadow and light, and directed perspective.

Captain Steve and his crew of 6 seemed delighted to be tasked to take the Dodge&Burn out for an extended run down the coast. I learned the usual drill was just a schmooze cruise around the bay for business associates. I gathered quickly that they felt this to be a waste of a beautiful vessel and their skills, so they were in quite high spirits as we set off for a leisurely run down to San Diego and maybe a stop at Catalina on the return leg.

It was heavenly. I was adoring sunbathing, which initially seemed to startle the crew, since Katherine had a rep as a bit of a recluse. They quickly got over it, and kept me well supplied with cocoa butter and mojitos.

Mikey wasn't much for the sun and spent most of his time below decks with Dennis and the rest of the entourage, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves in their own way.

The morning of our second day out, Mikey came to me with his iPad. A conspiracy website was posting their 'exclusive' story that the difficult Katherine Keller had been forcibly abducted by evil studio execs and replaced by a substitute they referred to as her 'gleeful twin'.

I think I stopped breathing when I read the headline. But Mikey insisted that I read on.

All their 'evidence' was mostly paranoid claptrap. Their before and after pictures were both photos of me. Their 'secret source' claimed that Katherine was being held in solitary confinement in an insane asylum on a remote Canadian border town in northern Maine. So much was so laughably, provably, wrong that it was easy to dismiss. Still, it did get me wondering if amid all this conspiratorial nonsense, they had managed to accidentally publish something that was coincidentally true.

I began to wonder about the fate of the real Katherine Keller.

I brought the subject up to Dennis one evening when he brought me a sweater as I watched the sun set from the bow.

“I've been wondering the same thing myself.” he confided in a low voice. “Girl was a mess. Always disappearing for a week or two without notice... showing up naked and tripping at burning man or drying out for two weeks at a spa under a lame alias... but she's never been gone this long. And not even a phone call. That is not like her. When they brought you in, I thought 'good idea, girl can get some downtime while the double distracts the press' ...but you're not being a distraction... you're being her... the whole deal... even moving into her house... I thought whatever was going on, that you were in on it...” I shook my head, and he smiled. “I didn't know who to talk to about my suspicions... and it's been stressing me out. It's such a relief to talk about it... I never dreamed the one I could confide in would be you!”

I grinned and shook my head. “Well, I never dreamed I'd be sitting on a yacht in a bikini having this conversation. You remember the first night we met?”

He smiled, his eyes distant with memories ...and wonder. “So long ago...”

“Only a few months.”

He just shook his head and regarded me warmly. “Feels like forever ago... You've come a long way baby!” He chuckled.

“I think I have a lot longer to go.... First off, I'd like to find and chat with the REAL Katherine Keller.”

“How on earth are we going to do that? Anyone who knows where she actually is is probably in on it.”

I thought about it, and the notion that had obviously been simmering in the back of my mind came clearly into focus. Like a sniper's sight. Or a paparazzo's lens.

“I think I know a guy....”