Page 37 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
“So, how about you tell us why you called this meeting?” Dawson raised his drink and took a long, slow draw as he eyed Decker.
“I’m not even sure where to begin.” Decker exhaled slowly. “It’s a long, convoluted story, and there are still some holes and missing pieces that don’t make sense.”
Fletcher glanced toward Dawson, but continued to nurse his drink, which kept him from saying—or doing—something he might regret.
“That’s not helpful,” Dawson said. “Why don’t we begin with why you started coming around Calusa Cove four months ago?”
Decker stared into his dark liquid for a long moment. He sipped, scratched the side of his face, and sipped some more. “Have you ever heard of a private equity investment firm called Sea Glass Under the Stars?” Not once did he lift his gaze.
“We have,” Fletcher said. “But what does that firm have to do with you, this town, and your bid on the Old Crab Shack?”
“It’s a bit of a story.” Decker leaned back, tilted his head, and swiped a hand down his face. “Please give me a little time to tell it. I promise most of it will make sense in the end.”
“All right.” Dawson nodded. “The floor is yours.”
“But we reserve the right to interrupt and ask questions,” Fletcher added.
Decker blew out a puff of air and nodded. “About five years ago, I was working for someone else. Someone who knew I had aspirations of going it alone and seemed to be supportive of my goals, even though that meant I’d leave the company and start my own.”
“That’s mighty big of your old boss, especially since you’d become the competition,” Dawson said.
“Not in my mind.” Decker tossed his hand over the back of the booth. Some of his confident swagger had returned. “The man I worked for did mostly new builds and neighborhood developments. That really wasn’t my passion. I liked restoration, but definitely not remodels. I wanted to do things like remake old churches. And when I do new construction, it’s about adding flair and flavor to what’s already in the surrounding area.” Decker shook his head and laughed. “My old boss used to call me a hippy. Said my ideas were too…out there. But take my project over on Marco Island. I’m rebuilding a couple of old warehouses and turning them into?—”
“Restaurants and some local hangout,” Fletcher said. “We heard all about it and can’t say the locals were all that thrilled.”
“Well, now that depends on who you talk to because I nearly walked away from that deal.” Decker leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “You boys think I don’t care about people and community, when I know that matters. I understood that the county was torn. Afraid of change. I let them sit around and discuss it and figure out if it’s what they…and the townspeople…really wanted. Sure, there are a few who vehemently disapprove. And that will always be the case. Change is hard. But I’m not destroying the fabric of the neighborhood. I’m not changing the feel of it either. I’m hopefully adding to it.”
“I almost believe you.” Fletcher raised his drink.
Decker let out a sarcastic grunt. “I suppose I’m either a really good salesman and liar.” He took a good swallow of his bourbon. “Or I’m just fucking passionate about what I do.”
“We’re getting sidetracked,” Dawson said.
But before Decker could say another word, the waitress showed up with their food. That was probably a good thing, because it allowed tensions to settle.
Fletcher loaded his plate and mentally prepared for the rest of whatever was going to come out of Decker’s mouth. So far, he actually believed the man. At least about his passion. The gleam in his eyes couldn’t be faked.
“So, you were talking about Sea Glass,” Dawson said.
Decker nodded. “I made my move and left Tate Construction. Six months into putting a bid on my first project, Tate came after me, hard. Said I stole the plans right out from under him, which was utter bullshit because I didn’t even know that Tate was all of a sudden moving into the restoration business.”
“Is he doing that now?” Fletcher asked. “Because we did a little checking up on you and all that. It disappeared, and he went back to building track homes.”
“He went far enough to make it look good and make me nervous.” Decker polished off a shrimp, downed his drink, and waved to the waitress. “Can I get a Coke, please?”
“No more bourbon?” the waitress asked.
Decker shook his head, sitting up a little taller. “Tate made just enough noise that I struggled to get my business off the ground. I was considering leaving South Florida until Tessa Gilbert came strolling into my world. She was all glamorous and beautiful, and, at first, I was all in.”
“All right. Let’s cut to the chase,” Dawson said. “We know she funded your business. We know she was your girlfriend. What we don’t know is why this story matters.”
“I’m not surprised you know all that.” Decker wiped his fingers on his napkin and pushed his plate aside. The waitress set a tall, cold soda in front of him and he took his time slurping half that down. “For about five minutes, I thought Tessa was interested in me. The man. Two months in, when I was telling her about my problems with Tate, she offered to help. She’d give me the money I needed, and she’d smooth things over with all the people she knew. And she knew people, let me tell you. I didn’t think anything of it. She was my bed partner, and while I didn’t love her—never loved her—it worked. Until it didn’t.” He craned his neck. “She started putting projects in front of me that I wanted nothing to do with. Things that would tear communities apart. Or didn’t make sense to me.”
“What about the Marco Island one? Was that her?” Fletcher asked.
“No.” Decker shook his head. “As a matter of fact, she was downright pissed off when I agreed to take that one on. It’s one of the reasons I ended things with her, although she didn’t take that too well.” He sighed. “Then one night, about five months ago, she came to me and told me she needed me to start coming to Calusa Cove.” Decker arched a brow.
“Now, that’s interesting.” Dawson’s expression didn’t change.
