Page 12 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
Silas nodded slowly. “Yeah. Thanks for asking. Just—Dewey being the Ring Finger Killer…it’s still so hard to believe. He came to my wife’s birthday party last year. It’s just... I don’t know. I can’t… I should’ve known.”
“We all feel that way, Silas,” Dawson said as he leaned against the post. “He was the last person on an interesting list of possible suspects. Kind of made me look like an idiot.”
“You are no fool,” Silas said. “Outside of Tripp, you’re the best cop this town has ever seen.”
“Means a lot coming from you.” Dawson gave Silas a nod.
No one said anything for a moment. The crackle of the fire filled the silence. Calusa Cove had a way of taking quiet, contemplative moments like these and stretching them out for as long as possible, prompting people to ponder what was truly important in life.
Silas ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not why I came, though. I was down by the Crab Shack. Saw Decker Brown walking around like he owned the place. Measuring distances, taking notes. Looked like he was surveying it.”
Fletcher’s jaw tightened. “Damn it. I knew that man was up to no good.”
“I don’t trust him as far as I can spit,” Silas said. “I know you boys are planning on putting in a bid when it goes up for auction. I think that would be good for the town. You’re all good for this place. You…just fit.”
“Was he alone?” Fletcher asked.
“He was,” Silas said.
Baily’s stomach churned. Decker had been hanging around for months. At first, she hadn’t had the same disdain for the man as everyone else, though his profession did give her pause. Developers were not welcome in Calusa Cove. Their town might be a little dated. A little run down. A little backward and old-fashioned. However, the people were solid. They enjoyed their life. While they knew change was necessary, a facelift here and there, they didn’t want to redesign the fabric of their world.
“Perhaps we should take a walk and see what he’s up to,” Dawson said. “We can even bring him a beer.” He chuckled.
Baily didn’t see the humor in it, but Dawson sometimes liked poking the bear. She supposed it came with the job.
“Didn’t you speak with him earlier about what happened at the marina this morning?” Baily asked.
“I did.” Dawson shifted his gaze, catching Baily’s and holding it. “He appeared shocked. Rattled even. Said he was in the cabin all night. I checked my security cameras, and his fancy Range Rover never left the parking lot.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t have a hand in it,” Fletcher said with a clenched jaw.
“You believe he stole Baily’s gas?” Silas asked with his arms at his side, fists clenched. “Why, I have half a mind to go back down there and shoot?—”
“Silas,” Dawson said with a low growl. “Don’t be saying things like that in front of me. That’s a threat. And as an officer of the law, you know I have to take that seriously if you finish that statement.”
“But we’re talking about Baily. She’s like a daughter to me. And someone threatened her.” Silas ran a hand across his scruffy face.
“I know. And I’m dealing with it. Now, let me handle Decker.” Dawson waved his finger. “Go home to your wife. Have a nice glass of whiskey. Watch a show. I promise I’ll fill you in on what happened.”
“Thanks.” Silas climbed back in his boat. “I’d sure hate it if you boys didn’t win that bid.” He fired up his engine and idled down the canal.
Keaton sighed. “Well, there goes our quiet night.”
Chloe crossed her arms, her eyes lit up with something that Baily couldn’t quite understand. “Might not be quiet, but it could be fun.”
Baily wasn’t sure how eight people confronting Decker regarding the Crab Shack could be seen as enjoyable, but she’d follow their lead…quietly and in the background.
Chapter 4
The path to the old Crab Shack was overgrown with palmetto and sea grape, a reminder of how quickly the Everglades reclaimed what man tried to tame. Fletcher walked ahead, boots crunched against the sand and crushed shells, and the warm, humid air clung to him like a second skin. Behind him, Keaton, Dawson, and Hayes moved in a loose formation, quiet but alert, each carrying the weight of what they were walking into.
It wasn’t a battlefield. They weren’t going to war. There were no bullets to dodge. No clear enemy to fight. But they certainly felt as though they were under attack.
Fletcher slowed his pace as the old structure came into view.
The Crab Shack had been a fixture of Calusa Cove for as long as Fletcher could remember, first as a bait shop, then a dive bar, and most recently, a half-hearted attempt at a seafood joint before it burned. Fletcher could still smell the charred wood if he let himself. Could still see the outline of the taped-off area where a body had been found.
Dewey Hale. Their friend. Their neighbor. The man they’d shared beers with, trusted with secrets, and who had turned out to be a monster.
