Page 16 of Secrets in Calusa Cove

“Of course.”

“Why did your buddy and Remy arrest two men a little while ago? What did they do?” She lifted her press badge. “And let me say I’m asking for an article I’m writing.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Dawson.”

“Fair enough.” She snagged her ear protection and wrapped them around her neck. “Any chance you’ll let me interview you for my article? Dawson and Fletcher recommended I speak with you.”

“I’d be happy to.” He gave her boat a little shove with his foot.

“I’ll be in touch.” She fired up her engine. Time to visit the past.

CHAPTER3

Dawson openedthe back door of his patrol car. “All right, gentleman, let’s get you processed.” He helped James Huber out of the vehicle first. Then came Eliot Commings. Both men were from Miami and were partners in a dynamite distribution company. Both men claimed they were moving product for a client who lived in the Tampa area.

What a ridiculous story. As if any sane human would believe it.

“This is bullshit,” James said. “I showed you the purchase order to explain why we had the dynamite. It wouldn’t have been safe to leave it in my truck. We had no intention of using it out there during the hunt.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dawson sucked in a deep breath, choking on the humidity. “If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut, remembering that everything you say can and will be used against you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Eliot asked.

Dawson wasn’t about to waste his breath explaining somethingexpertsshould know. They had the necessary flameproof and moisture-proof tarpaulin protection in the truck. But why not make the delivery before the Python Challenge? And why was the amount so small? These questions had been asked, and the answers had sounded lame. The small construction company didn’t need them just yet and it wasn’t a big job.

Yeah, right.

“Listen, you’re lucky I’m only charging you with a misdemeanor,” Dawson said.

“What about our phone call?” Eliot said. “We know our rights.”

Dawson opened the door to the Calusa Cove Police Department, located in the heart of Calusa Cove and only two miles from Mitchell’s Marina. “Once we get the paperwork filed and get you fingerprinted, you can call whoever you want.” He despised guys like these two. Men who thought they could skirt the rules—and the laws.

They didn’t care about the Everglades. If they did, they wouldn’t be dropping sticks of dynamite in it to catch damn snakes or possible gators for a fast buck and a picture to show off to their buddies.

Anna, his secretary, greeted them at the entrance. “Hey, Chief,” she said with a smile. “I got the booking room all set up.”

“Thanks.” He held both men by the elbows. “The evidence is in my trunk. Mind collecting and processing it while I deal with these two?”

“You’re the boss.”

“Also, fax the arrest paperwork to the judge. Call him and get me the bond paperwork.”

“Sure thing,” Anna said.

He brought them past the front desk, which also housed a small kitchen area, and down the short corridor. The station wasn’t very big. It had three offices. One for him. One for Remy, his second. And the third was shared by the two deputies.

The station had one interrogation room, which was barely used. Across from that was an open area referred to as the booking room. And finally, three holding cells. Those didn’t get much use, either. They were occupied mainly by the drunk and disorderly and, usually, the same people.

Something like this was a rare occurrence for the quiet town, and it would become the chatter around every water cooler and, of course, Massey’s Pub. The story would grow from a couple of bundles of dynamite to barrels because this town liked to weave a good yarn.

Dawson would have to sit back and let people talk. He’d correct where he could and laugh at the way some embellished, especially those who’d watched him and Remy slap the cuffs on.

The joys of small-town life.

And they were joys.

“Have a seat, Eliot.” Dawson gave the man a little nudge toward one of the metal chairs in the hallway.

---