Page 22 of Murder in Calusa Cove
Hayes leaned forward. “Then maybe it’s time we go back to the one case we do know inside and out—Heather’s.”
Buddy glanced at Chloe. “It’s not like we haven’t picked that case apart a hundred times.”
“I brought the case file, along with my notes when we tried to use me as a potential victim,” she said, sifting through the pile in front of her until she found a worn folder. “It doesn’t give us much, other than showing how different Heather and I were. She was the rebel, and I was...the rule-follower. She broke boundaries. I created them. We butted heads a lot. The night she disappeared, I didn’t even want to go to that party. But my dad was worried. I learned later that he knew about her cheating. I promised to keep an eye on her.” Chloe turned, swiping at her cheeks. “I didn’t.”
“But you went,” Hayes said gently.
“I did,” she admitted. “But as soon as we got to her friend’s house, I peeled off. I grabbed a book from the shelf in the family library and went to the beach to read. I came back for a soda about an hour later and started looking for her. Couldn’t find her. I did see her boyfriend and asked if he’d seen her—he said she was probably off screwing someone else, and then he left. I stayed until everyone else was gone... and still couldn’t find Heather.” Her voice cracked. “That’s when I called the cops. They told me I had to wait twenty-four hours. She was found dead before I even got the chance.” She drew a shaky breath.
“Did many people know she was cheating on her boyfriend?” Dawson asked. “And what about the other victims?”
“Same story,” Buddy answered. “Every significant other reported infidelity. They were all ruled out as suspects early on. What’s also interesting is that all the bodies we’ve found have been within a 150-mile radius of Calusa Cove. My office is doing a deep dive into missing persons across the state but taking a closer look at ones near here.”
“That’s usually my job,” Chloe muttered. “I already have a list of missing women labeled as cheaters.”
“I know,” Buddy said with a nod. “But you’re on leave, and I can’t?—”
“Spare me,” Chloe cut in. “Just make sure the new files get to me so I can compare them to what I’ve already got.”
“I’d like to take a look, too,” Dawson added. “Maybe there’s a pattern we missed. Dates, timelines...something.”
“We’ve already tried that,” Chloe said, leaning against the railing and twisting her ponytail. “There’s no date pattern—no season, no anniversary. The only common threads are that the victims are all women, they were all cheating, and they were all young.”
“Young women between twenty-one and twenty-five,” Buddy said. “This latest one is the oldest so far. Chloe’s original list capped at thirty, but for this case, I expanded it to include women up to forty.”
“Dawson.” The sound of Dewey’s voice caught Hayes’s attention, and he shifted his gaze. Dewey jogged across the neighbor’s yard. “Audra told me you’d be here,” Dewey said, breathlessly, slowly as he approached the back deck. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you.”
“What’s going on?” Dawson turned, smiled, and waved. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” Dewey shook his head. He was a bit of an odd duck, but a kind enough man. He was always willing to help his neighbors. When a storm blew through town, he was the first one to move tree branches from the street or cut away debris from someone’s yard. But the man didn’t socialize much outside of having a beer or two with Silas and his crew.
Mostly, Dewey kept to himself…and the mangrove.
Dewey leaned over, pressed his hands on his knees, and heaved in a deep breath.
“Do you want some water?” Hayes asked.
Dewey nodded.
Hayes reached into the cooler, snagged a bottle, and made his way down the steps and into the yard. “Here.” He thrust the water in front of Dewey.
“I ran all the way from the B&B.” Dewey took a hearty swig, shifting his gaze up toward Dawson, pointing his finger. “I saw something strange today.”
“What do you mean, strange?” Dawson asked. “And where?”
“Deep in the Everglades.” Dewey wiped his forehead. “Way past Snake River. Up by Amelia Bend.”
“What were you doing way up there?” Hayes asked.
“There’s a big break in the mangrove from the last hurricane, and I’ve been working on fixing that for the last year.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Since it was high tide, I decided to take a ride up toward Coopers Head, but just as I made the turn, I saw that stranger who moved to town last year. I think his name is Cole something.”
“Cole Delaney?” Dawson asked.
“Yeah,” Dewey said.
Hayes glanced over his shoulder and caught Dawson’s gaze. The look said enough—they both remembered their last run-in with the ex-Marine man turned recluse. The guy was a mess. Severe PTSD, ghosts in his eyes, and a silence that ran bone-deep. They’d seen more than a few men come out of the military twisted by the things they’d seen and done, but this one... He hadn’t just been scarred. He was unraveling. Last they’d heard, he’d left town months ago, and Dawson had hoped he’d stayed gone. There’d always been a quiet fear the man might break—badly.
“What was he doing?” Dawson asked.
