Page 61 of Murder in Calusa Cove
Chloe turned away, her voice low and cold. “She’s trying to make me the story, which will get her an injunction and shut her down. The Bureau doesn’t like that.”
“But the damage is done. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I thought you needed to know before this spiraled any further.”
“It already has.” Chloe’s mind raced. “Thanks, Remy. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“You got it. And Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth—you’re a damn good agent, and I’d work with you any day.”
Chloe exhaled, but the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. “Appreciate it.” She handed the phone back to Fletcher, her face hardening. “We’ve got a problem.”
Hayes nodded. “We watched Stacey’s segment.”
Her cell buzzed in her pocket. She groaned. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Buddy texted. Dawson’s not coming. Buddy’s boss asked him to bring Stacey in for questioning. Besides the fact that some of the information she had could’ve only come from the inside, she mentioned two things about Cole that disturbed my boss.”
“You mean the fact that she knew Cole had a picture of you, and she mentioned we had possible dump sites of other victims?” Hayes asked with an arched brow.
Chloe nodded. “I didn’t see the newscast, but this text stated that while Stacey mentioned that Dawson screwed up and about me and my sister in passing, not as the focus of her broadcast, they were there just the same.” She blinked, glancing up. “How did she know about Cole? There wasn’t anyone in the station but us during the questioning. It was late when we brought him in. No one saw us come in since we went through the canals behind Harvey’s Cabins. Where’s the breakdown?”
“Stacey’s a lying, conniving, backstabbing bitch who’ll do anything for a story,” Trent muttered from his perch on a split cypress stump, tugging absently at a frayed thread on his cargo shorts. “I don’t know the full story here, but that woman? She doesn’t fact-check. She gets a whiff of drama and runs with it and doesn’t care who she smears along the way.”
Chloe folded her arms. “You sound like you’ve got personal experience.”
Trent’s jaw flexed. “A couple of years ago, I applied for a salvage permit. I wanted to work in storm recovery, hauling damaged boats and debris after hurricanes. A legal gig—clean work. Stacey caught wind of a trespassing charge I got ten years ago—a dumb mistake, wrong place, wrong time—and turned it into a whole exposé. Made it sound like I was scamming insurance companies and looting from wrecked homes.”
Hayes frowned. “That wasn’t in your file.”
“It got buried,” Trent said. “Remy tried to help at the time, but she ruined that opportunity. She’s been looking to make a name off the backs of folks in this town for as long as I’ve known her.”
A beat passed, heavy with silence and tension.
Then Dewey’s gravelly voice cut through the air. “Yeah, well, she’s not the problem right now.”
Chloe turned toward him.
“The ring,” he said, nodding toward the cloth-wrapped bundle Hayes had placed carefully in a cooler. “That’s the problem. We’ve got blood, we’ve got a woman’s shirt, and we’ve got a ring. I don’t give a damn what Stacey’s saying on TV—we’ve got something real here, and someone out there may still be missing.”
Chloe exchanged a glance with Hayes, then looked toward the edge of the clearing. The thick wall of mangroves loomed ahead, cloaking whatever secrets might still be buried beneath the muck and roots.
“I might not be the cop, but don’t we need to start searching this area?” Dewey asked, his voice tight with urgency. “Before we lose light or the rain washes everything away?”
Trent pushed off the stump, grabbing his gear. “You’re assuming it came from nearby. I’ve been out here for three days. This isn’t the only place I’ve been.”
Dewey spun toward him, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You found it here, didn’t you? In that damn bag you’ve been dragging around like it’s nothing?”
“I killed that snake around the bend. Same with the gator,” Trent snapped. “But I keep that rope in that bag, and I didn’t check it this morning when I left the shack the locals let me stay in. I got up, grabbed my stuff, and left.”
“Are you saying you think someone planted that stuff in there?” Fletcher asked.
“Well, I sure as hell didn’t put it there, so it was either that, or when I scooped up the mess I made from…” he waved his hand over the meat, skins, and other chopped up parts from his kill. “…all that, I managed to collect that other stuff.”
“Maybe you should show us where you killed whoever you’re trying to dump out here,” Dewey said with some real venom laced in his words.
Chloe stepped in. “Enough. Both of you. We’re not getting anywhere slinging accusations.”
Dewey’s chest heaved, but he backed off, turning his gaze toward the tangled undergrowth. “I’ve lived in this town my whole life. Watched hurricanes nearly level it. Watched strangers come in and try to carve out deals for resorts and backdoor arrangements. I care about this place. I care about the people in it. If someone’s using these swamps to hide what they’ve done...” He trailed off, voice cracking slightly. “We need to find them. Fast.”
