Page 69 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
But it was deeper. Darker. More dangerous.
“I can’t,” he muttered, not looking at her. “I know I’m missing something. Ken… He wouldn’t have left us to drown in this mess without a breadcrumb. Not if he was who I thought he was.”
She stepped inside. “You mean the man who lied to us? Hid all of this? The man who let my father sign a bogus loan and then make payments before he even got the check? The man you thought had good intentions, but screwed us all, even in the wake of his death?”
He looked up, jaw tight. “Yeah. That man. But I also remember the one who sat on that dock with me after my parents died and made sure I didn’t fall apart. The one who swore he’d always have my back.”
Baily knelt beside him. Her fingers brushed his. “Then maybe it’s not in here. Maybe it’s in a place that mattered more to both of you.”
Fletcher blinked, his mind ticking back.
Summer afternoons.
Cold sodas and warm bait buckets.
Girly magazines hidden where no mom or little sister would look.
The bait boxes. “My nightmare,” he whispered.
“What?”
“My fucking dream. He told me where to look right before he died.” He jumped to his feet and grabbed her by the forearms. “I can’t believe I didn’t put this together before.”
“What are you babbling about?”
Tears burned the corner of his eyes. “Right before Ken was killed, he said these words: Take care of Baily. And when she really needs help, you’ll find it behind the bait…” Fletcher blew out a long breath. His pulse thumped in an uneven rhythm. “That’s all he got out.” Thick emotion caught in Fletcher’s throat. “But whatever Ken knew about what his in-laws were doing, or about that loan…it’s in the garage.” He bolted down the hall, heart thudding hard enough to rattle his ribs. The garage door groaned open, sunlight streaking through the high windows in shafts of dusty gold. The old tackle bench sat untouched, flanked by crates of gear and rusted tools. He hadn’t touched those bait boxes since the day he’d buried his dad. He’d promised himself every weekend he’d muddle through, and then stuff would happen, and they’d sat there, collecting more dust.
A few times, he’d managed to make his way out to this spot. He’d stood in the middle of the garage, stared at all the things, and it was as if he’d been frozen in time. He worried, if he touched a single one of his father’s tools, it would be like destroying his dad’s memory. Silly, but that’s how it had made him feel. This house…the things in it…were all Fletcher had left of a childhood he’d always valued.
Always cherished.
And yet, he’d chosen to walk away from it as if it hadn’t held the key to his soul.
Sucking in a deep breath, visions of his dad moving around his convertible, working on the engine, like it was a fine piece of machinery, instead of a constant reason for his mom to pick a fight. Fletcher chuckled.
“What?” Baily shouldered against him, leaning into his body.
“I was just remembering how my mom would needle my dad about that damn Mustang, but she loved that stupid car as much as he did.”
Baily ran her sweet hand up and down his spine. “They drove it everywhere.” She shook her head. “Your dad got so mad when you broke the top. He grounded you for like an entire month.”
Fletcher smiled. “Yeah, but we had fun fixing it together.” He swiped the tear that dropped from his eye. “It’s almost fitting my folks died in that car.” He moved toward the old bench, knelt, and yanked the storage bin aside. Behind it, wedged between the wall and the back of the bench, was a weathered wooden box. The kind his dad had used for backup gear, always labeled but never locked.
His hands trembled as he pulled it free and pried it open.
Papers. Stacks of them filled the space, but none of them belonged to Fletcher.
Or his parents.
“What is all this stuff?” Baily mumbled, leaning over his body, hands pressed on his shoulders.
“That’s a very good question.” On top, sat a journal, leather-bound and cracked at the spine. He flipped it open, his breath catching when he saw the handwriting. “I believe this was Ken’s.”
“Oh, my God. What is it doing out here?”
“Ken and I used to hide shit out here when we were kids. Treasure maps back in elementary school. Chewing tobacco in middle school. Girly mags when puberty hit.” He sank onto the cold concrete floor, the first page already tearing into his chest. “You need to hear this,” he managed with ragged breath.
I never wanted any of this. Not the secrets. Not the deals. All I wanted was to go to college. To get out of this town and to take Audra with me. But I saw something I shouldn’t have. Did shit I shouldn’t have. And now I’m screwed. Massey said he’d destroy me. Said he’d make sure I never get into the Navy if I didn’t make Audra believe her dad went missing and she was mistaken about what happened. He had pictures of me selling drugs. Said he’d give those to the Navy. I figured I could talk my way out of that, but then Massy said he’d make sure Audra was the next to go missing. That he’d finish what he started. He all but admitted he killed Victor. What’s worse, when I was sitting in that hospital room, while Audra was talking to Tripp, Massey appeared out of nowhere. He shoved doctored pictures of me out there in the Everglades, pushing Victor over the side of that boat. Massey’s a real piece of work, and now I’m screwed. I’ve got to get Audra out of here.
