Page 33 of Murder in Calusa Cove
Hayes followed Dawson back to the table and sat down next to Chloe, taking her hand.
“That Stacey is a piece of work,” Chloe whispered. “Did Buddy tell you she’s called him five times today?”
“What did she want?”
“He only answered once, and she wanted confirmation about the body, the missing finger, and how many other cases we have on this serial killer. She wanted to know if it matched her source. Buddy asked for her source and how many murders she was told we had, because this was the first one. She went on to say that if that were the case, why was the FBI called in so quickly? He gave her a bullshit response about a tactical joint force between State, Calusa Cove, and the FBI because of Calusa Cove’s limited resources when it comes to certain crimes and the fact the chief will be going on his honeymoon.”
Hayes chuckled. “Stacey will think that’s a line.”
“Oh, she called Buddy on it, but Buddy told her to either give up her source and the information, or they had nothing to say to one another. That was the end of the conversation. She doesn’t have a source, and she’s grasping at straws.”
“How can you be so sure about the source?”
“Because if she did, she’d be reporting it, and she’d be asking different questions, not fishing for information. He won’t take her calls.”
“You don’t know Stacey. She doesn’t operate like most newscasters,” Hayes said.
“She’s asking questions based on the fact the FBI showed up after one body. Other outlets asked the same thing. I’m not worried about her, at least not right now.”
“She’s going to be a thorn in his side.” He lifted Chloe’s hand and kissed the swell of her palm. “Did Buddy say anything important about the case?”
“He sent me some files to go through. I’ll look them over tomorrow. We’re going to meet up later in the day to go through stuff,” Chloe said, all business-like.
“I’ve got to work a double. I tried to find someone to cover, but since I’ll be taking a few days off after that for the wedding, I couldn’t find anyone. Are you going to be okay?”
She smiled. “I’ll manage without you. Is it still okay if I use that wall in your office?”
“Of course.” He kissed her cheek. “I can go through things at the station, and if it’s quiet, you can come there, and we can wargame anything.”
“I wish we had more to go on.”
“Once you get all the forensics and the autopsy back, you’ll have more. The leads, they’ll come.”
“I wish I could be as positive as you are.”
It wasn’t that he had such a great attitude about everything. It was that he believed in her.
9
A few days later, Hayes hip-checked the back door of Fletcher’s house open, balancing a bundle of firewood against his chest. As usual, he was the one building the fire. Being the guy who knew how to light them—and often the one putting them out—made him the default fire master. He never minded. Then again, he rarely minded anything. That was kind of his thing. Go with the flow, don’t make waves, don’t complain. Just show up, do the work, and stay quiet about it.
He crouched by the fire pit and got the kindling going, expertly stacking the logs as flames sparked and smoke curled upward. Normally, this was the kind of task that calmed him—simple, steady, and quiet. But tonight, something felt off. His mood had soured, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Over the last few days, Hayes had been juggling a never-ending list of errands and obligations. Everyone assumed he had the most free time, which wasn’t even remotely true. He’d just come off a forty-eight-hour shift at the fire station. Granted, it had been a slow one—he’d helped rescue a cat, relocate an alligator, and assisted Dawson when Trent Mallor, the infamous snake wrangler, had celebrated his birthday by launching illegal fireworks. No fire, luckily. Just pissed-off neighbors and one night in lockup for Trent.
Still, Hayes was exhausted.
With two of his closest friends about to get married, the heavy lifting—both literal and figurative—had fallen to him and Fletcher. And Hayes didn’t mind that either. He was happy for them. He wasn’t bitter or resentful. But between the wedding prep, working Everglades Overwatch tours all day, completing paperwork for the potential Crab Shack deal, and diving deeper into the serial killer investigation with Chloe… Yeah, he was worn thin.
Maybe that explained his crankiness.
He added another piece of wood, watching as the fire stretched long red-orange fingers toward the twilight sky. Normally, nights like this helped him shake off the world, quiet the noise in his head, and breathe. But not tonight. His thoughts kept drifting back to Cole Delaney.
Cole hadn’t left his little hideaway in the Everglades. Fletcher was keeping tabs on him, and Nahele had taken over supply runs—dropping off food, water, even wood. Which meant Cole hadn’t had to show his face in town or personally deliver Chloe’s owl carving to the marina. Nahele had done that, too.
Hayes and Chloe had both been stunned by the craftsmanship. The piece was beautiful—haunting, even. Cole was incredibly gifted. It felt like a waste to see that kind of talent hidden away. But guilt only twisted through Hayes for a moment before logic took over. Cole might have snapped. Or maybe he’d always been unstable. They’d learned his wife had left him while he’d been deployed, and then she’d gone missing four years later, after she’d remarried. To this day, she hadn’t been found, but Bonnie Delaney hadn’t been on their radar because she’d lived in Virginia. Cole also hadn’t seen his daughter in over fifteen years. That kind of abandonment could hollow a man out.
Then again, not everyone broke under the weight of grief. Hayes’s father hadn’t crumbled—but he hadn’t stayed the same either. The first time Hayes had come home from deployment, arm in a sling, his father hadn’t asked what happened. He hadn’t offered a hug, or an apology, or even a welcome home. He’d just looked him in the eye and said, “Are you ready to accept God? Because if you’re not, I’m not sure what else there is to say.”
