Page 23 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
He held up the envelope. “Ninth grade. Valentine’s Day. You stuck it in my locker.”
Her cheeks colored. “I remember that. If I hadn’t made the first move, you never would’ve.”
Fletcher opened it and read aloud, “‘I like your smile. And maybe your arms. Don’t tell anyone.’”
She groaned. “Kill me now.”
He grinned. “Why? That’s pure gold. Frame-worthy.”
They dug deeper. Photos, mostly. One of them standing in front of the old marina sign. Another of Audra, mid-tackle, landing on a juvenile gator while Ken and Fletcher shouted in the background.
“She was wild,” Baily said, laughing. “That gator never saw her coming.”
“She screamed, ‘This is for science!’ and dove.” Fletcher chuckled. “Ken nearly had a heart attack.”
“But then he bought her that damn T-shirt about how small her boobs were because when she surfaced with that gator, it was like a wet T-shirt contest, and all you boys were staring.”
“Was not,” Fletcher said.
“Right, like I believe that.”
“I only had eyes for your…breasts.”
She gave him a little jab in his forearm. “Your mom made Audra soak in bleach water after. Swore she brought home bacteria from the swamp.”
They laughed until their sides hurt.
Then, nestled between a stack of baseball cards and a cracked compass, Fletcher pulled out a worn brown notebook with a band around it.
He stilled.
Taped to the front was a note in rough handwriting: Please give to Fletcher.—Ray Mitchell
Fletcher blinked. “That’s your dad’s.”
Baily’s breath caught. “Yeah. That’s his.”
Carefully, Fletcher opened the notebook. The pages were filled with frantic, looping handwriting—thoughts scrawled in the margins, half-formed sentences, as if Ray had been trying to make sense of something and couldn’t.
Marina’s bleeding money. I can’t stop it. Every day’s worse, and every day, something weird happens or breaks.
Ken said the loan was a sure thing. That he had a connection who’d fast-track it.
Paperwork’s signed. But the money... Where is it? Ken says wait. Says it’s a glitch. It’s not. But Ken said he’d handle it. Said he’d make sure I’d get the money. He sounded nervous and angry at the same time. Something’s not right.
I should’ve talked to Baily. Should’ve talked to Fletcher.
It’s getting harder to keep this from her. From both of them.
Baily leaned closer, eyes scanning every word.
Called the bank again. No record. No transfer. Ken says it’s just delayed. He’s lying. I know it. But I don’t know why. He often avoids my calls or tells me that he’s working on the problem and that I need to trust him. I don’t. Not anymore, and that’s not a good feeling.
The marina’s hanging by a thread. What have I done?
Fletcher flipped the page slowly. The final line was written with a heavy hand, the pen digging deep into the page: I’m not sure I can fix this.
Silence stretched between them. Only the low whir of the ceiling fan filled the room.
