Page 14 of Secrets in Calusa Cove

Wow. Remy had aged, but he was still as handsome as ever, and she wondered if he was still as kind.

“We love it.” Paul nodded, glancing over his shoulder, waving to Dewey, the resident mangrove trimmer. “So, python hunting? Your dad would’ve loved to see you do that. One of his shining moments was the day you wrestled that gator without his help.”

“I know. It’s one of the reasons I’m doing it.”

He nodded and shifted his gaze nervously while the two men Dawson and Remy dealt with raised their voices. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to say what everyone is thinking.” Paul scratched the back of his head before readjusting his cap. “Your dad went missing out there, and you were with him.”

“That’s a kind way of putting that you and everyone else think I killed my dad.”

He frowned. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

“I don’t have to. Is there anything else you need to remind me of?” she asked. She should have known that Paul would go down this twisty road eventually.

“Your father was my friend. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what happened to him,” Paul said.

“You mean, you wonder if I had something to do with it.” Damn, she loved beating a dead horse.

“Little girl, you’re testing my patience.”

She squared her shoulders. God, she hated being called that, and everyone in this town older than fifty had called her that since she could remember. “I’m not a little girl anymore, and let’s be honest, Paul. I know exactly what you and everyone else in this town thinks. You all have since the day Trip Williams brought me in for questioning.”

“Don’t go disparaging a good cop who isn’t around to defend himself.” Paul lowered his chin. “Trip was a decent man. He served this community well for over thirty years. He did what he could to find out what happened to your dad—as did his son.”

“You can’t be serious. Trevor’s in jail.”

The two men were not equal, and she had never accused Trip of anything other than doing his job, even if she hadn’t liked how he’d handled things.

Paul let out a long breath. He glanced over his shoulder, lifting his hat off his head and raking his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “You don’t know the whole story regarding what happened to Trevor or what he was really doing. No one does.”

“I can’t believe you’re making excuses for Trevor. He was stripped of his badge and sent to prison a little over a year ago. I heard they brought in an outsider to make sure there was no chance of corruption happening in this small town again.” Having an outsider as chief of police gave her some confidence that the town's politics might have changed. However, it wouldn’t change how anyone perceived her, and that was something she had accepted the second she’d agreed to take the assignment forNational Wildlife Magazine.

She was just doing her job. At least, that’s what she told herself. Perhaps if her boss knew her history, he might have seen things differently.

“I didn’t come over here to argue with you,” Paul said. “I wanted to say hello. It’s been a long time. Stop by the restaurant. Gina would love to see you. Drinks are on me.”

No point in continuing to be combative. She figured over the next ten days, there would be enough of that to go around. “I’ll be sure to do that. Good luck out there.”

“You, too.”

She turned and made a beeline for the dock Baily had marked where her boat would be, and that’s exactly where the rust bucket had been docked. She paused at the edge. Some guy in the distance told Dawson he was making a critical error. Interesting choice of words when a cop was slapping on the handcuffs. She’d be sure to find out what had happened there. It would give her an excuse to talk to Dawson again.

She rolled her eyes. Right. Because a sexy cop was exactly what she needed.Not.

She climbed aboard and pulled out her cell, tapping on the challenge app. It had a map of the area, indicating all the ripe spots and marking places they shouldn’t go, primarily because of the time it would take the boats to make it back before dark. It was easy to get lost in the swamplands of the Everglades.

The app also showed the locations of the few scout snakes in the area. She found it ironic that they used male pythons as “scouts.”

But she supposed it made sense. They were looking for a female to mate with. Those snakes were off-limits. They were used to help hunters locate other snakes and also aid scientists in understanding the problem.

However, for her, today wasn’t about finding a snake anyway. She’d do that tomorrow.

Quickly, she pulled out a towel, slacks, and a long-sleeved shirt. Wrapping herself in her towel, she wiggled out of her shorts and hiked up her pants. Next came the shirt. That was a little harder to do, but she managed.

She pulled out her camera. Clicking in place the smaller lens, she lifted the apparatus to her eye, focusing on the beautiful surroundings and not the people. She snapped a few shots, zooming in on the lush trees, a couple of ospreys, and the mouth of the river leading to the Everglades.

God, how she hated to admit she missed this place.

A small town nestled between the winding channels of the Everglades, the ocean, and the hustle and bustle of seaside towns filled with tourists. In some ways, it was like a forgotten city. A ghost town, only the ghosts were real live people.

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