Page 75 of Murder in Calusa Cove
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The shack sat like a scar in the earth—hidden by cypress trees, silent as a grave. Chloe’s breath caught in her throat as Dewey pushed the door open with a creak that scraped at her spine.
It was worse than she’d imagined.
The heat inside was stifling, the air thick with the stench of mildew, blood, and time. The lantern hung from the ceiling, swung gently, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Shelves lined the perimeter, sagging under the weight of dusty mason jars.
She stepped closer—and stopped cold.
Inside each jar, floating in some murky fluid, were fingers. Pale, puckered, shrunken. Ring fingers.
There had to be at least two dozen.
Chloe’s stomach rolled. Her knees buckled, but she caught herself on the edge of a rickety table.
“Jesus,” Hayes breathed beside her. “They’re all here.”
In the far corner, tied to a wooden chair, sat Fedora. Her eyes were glassy with terror, her mouth gagged, her wrists bound tight. Alive. That was all Chloe needed to see to keep going.
“Let her go,” Hayes said, his voice low and steady. He took one long stride toward her, but Dewey raised his weapon, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“I’ll shoot her.” He pressed his gun into Hayes’s side. “Or you. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Dewey looked at Chloe—really looked at her, his eyes flickering like faulty power. “You want answers?” he asked. “Here they are.” He gestured toward the jars with a slight sweep of his hand, like a man showing off a twisted collection. “This...is what happens when people lie. When they betray. I was in love once. With Izzy. Thought she was it for me. She wasn’t. She slept with another man while we were together.” His voice grew sharp. “Told me it was over like I meant nothing. So, I killed her. I didn’t do a very good job of getting rid of her body, but I learned over the years. You only found a few, and only because someone got too close.”
Chloe didn’t flinch. “And then what? You decided every woman who cheated had to die?”
“I didn’t decide,” Dewey said. “I just saw the truth. You give your love to someone, your loyalty, and they break it—there should be a consequence. When I happened to see that, or hear about it, because I hear everything, because I pay attention, I did what others were too afraid to do.” He took a step closer, his eyes shadowed, sunken from illness and obsession. “And then I saw you. At Heather’s funeral. From a distance. You didn’t see me, but I saw you...and your mother. I remembered her. One night. Years ago, after Izzy.” His voice dipped to a rasp. “She never told me she was married. Never told me she got pregnant. But when I saw you—saw the way you stood next to the casket—I knew.”
Chloe’s blood went ice cold.
“You’re mine,” Dewey whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it. Not at first. But I watched. I waited. I saw you chasing this case like it meant everything. Like justice was all you lived for. And I thought—maybe you inherited more from me than I expected.”
Her throat tightened. “You killed Heather. Your own daughter.”
“I didn’t know.” Dewey’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to regret. “Not until after. When I saw the obituary, I made the connection. The pieces snapped into place.”
“And now?” she asked. “Now that you know?”
“She lied. She cheated. I stand by what I did.” He exhaled slowly. “But I’m dying. Stage four. Lungs mostly. It’s not poetic or dramatic. It’s just slow. Ugly. Painful. I wanted to disappear quietly. I didn’t want to be remembered. But then you came back to this town, and everything changed. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you strolling across the parking lot the day Tim died, flashing that badge of yours to Dawson and this guy.” He jabbed Hayes with his weapon. “I was dumbfounded. But I didn’t know I had cancer then.” He shrugged. “I went about my business. I wasn’t worried. I’ve been killing and getting away with it for decades. However, once I learned I only had a few months left, and you stopped coming around so much, I wanted to see you in action. I wanted to see what my little girl was made of.”
“I’m not your little girl.” Chloe’s heart pounded so loud it drowned out the buzz of insects beyond the shack. “Let Fedora go. It’s over, Dewey. You got your story. You told your truth. Let her go.”
But he shook his head, almost sadly.
“No,” he said. “Not yet. You still don’t understand.”
“You said our lives for hers.” Hayes widened his stance, as if he were preparing for battle.
“I don’t know if I can do that anymore.” He stepped to Fedora, placing a hand on the back of the chair. “Look in the eyes. Look at the shape of them. And her cheekbones. The wave of her hair. Even the timber of her voice, and then look at Chloe. It’s so similar it’s scary.” He smiled. “She’s the end of this. One more chapter. One more lie to correct. Then maybe I’ll be at peace.”
Chloe took a step forward, Hayes matching her pace at her side. It was hard not to stare at Fedora. Her mouth tapped shut. Her eyes were wide with fear.
They were familiar. There were similarities. Could they be related?
“You hurt her, and I swear—” Chloe started.
“You’ll what?” Dewey’s voice was eerily calm now. “Kill me?” Dewey pressed the weapon to Fedora’s temple. “How will you do that? And before I manage to pull this trigger?”
