Page 29 of Murder in Calusa Cove
“I think Nahele sells them in the shop for thirty bucks.” Cole lifted his gaze.
She patted her pockets and grimaced.
“I gotcha covered.” Fletcher laughed, pulling out his wallet. “Think about what we said about the VA.”
“I don’t know,” Cole said. “Not sure anyone can fix what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, man.” Hayes stuck out his hand, taking Cole’s in a firm shake. “We’ve all got demons. You just haven’t figured out how to put yours in the right box. But you can, if you accept the right kind of help from the right people.”
“And you think you’re those people?” Cole asked.
“No.” Fletcher jumped from the porch.
Hayes followed, offering his hand to Chloe. Always the gentleman.
“We’re no experts,” Hayes added. “But we’re here if you ever need anything.” He waved his hand over his head. “Semper Fi.”
“Semper Fi,” Cole said somberly.
Chloe focused on the mucky ground as she put one foot in front of the other, careful not to put her toes in a snake or gator’s mouth. She panned back and forth for anything that looked slimy or had eyes.
Thankfully, she saw nothing, but she knew they were out there.
Once back at the boat and safely tucked in the seat next to Hayes, she allowed the thoughts that had bothered her back at Cole’s shack to creep into her brain. “Did either of you see what was on that table?”
“Yeah, we saw it,” Hayes said. “Not sure what to make of it, though.”
“He was hiding a picture of something,” she said. “What are we going to do about it?”
“Find a way to get him away from that shack so we can search it.” Fletcher plopped himself down in the bow of the boat. “I’m hoping we’ll hear back from the boys at the Aegis Network in the next day or two regarding Cole’s whereabouts during the time of the murders we know about.”
“Based on what I know about serial killers, he certainly could be one, but I have my reservations Cole could be an organized one. The few things we have to go on about this murderer tell me that our man is methodical,” Chloe said. “He picks his victims carefully, and while he’s not killing the same person, they have a specific meaning for him. Cole doesn’t fit that bill, but something about him has my hackles up.”
“Like what?” Hayes leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“Either I don’t know who I’m looking for, or that man isn’t who he seems.” She dropped her head to the console and groaned.
“Perhaps it’s a bit of both,” Fletcher offered, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
The truth of the matter was that in thirteen years, she was no closer to finding her sister’s killer.
8
Later that evening, Hayes found himself leaning against the bar at Massey’s Pub with Fletcher, Keaton, and Dawson, while the girls were huddled around a table on the outdoor patio. It had been an unseasonably warm fall, and all the weathermen were calling for the same going into the winter months.
Hayes had grown up in Utah. Sometimes, he missed the winters, remembering the cold, icy air and the way it hit his skin as opposed to the way the Florida humidity clung to his pores. He’d always loved the landscape of Utah. The big mountains. The vastness of the state. How could he drive for miles and not see a single thing but wilderness.
However, every time he went home for a quick visit, he was forced to relive his worst nightmare—and that wasn’t just about Max’s death. It was most of his childhood. It wasn’t about not feeling loved, because really, his parents did love him. He knew that. But after Max had died, there had been a fundamental shift in his family…in him. When he looked in the mirror, he no longer saw himself; he saw the ghost of his twin. The people of the community always did a double-take. His mom’s eyes would always stare into his for a long moment, searching for something, then turn away, as if disappointed she hadn’t found what she’d been looking for. His dad seemed more reserved. More distant. So did his siblings. It left Hayes feeling void of…something. He could admit that over time, those feelings subsided, eased even.
But it was always there, right under the surface, struggling to break free, reminding him he’d survived.
It was easier to bury that guilt when he left Utah and his family, when he’d abandoned all that he’d known and understood. All that Max had known. It had probably been easier on his family, too. They hadn’t had to see the constant reminder and could focus on the other ten children they had. The ones that hadn’t so closely reminded them of the pain of the one that had been…so special that God had called him home.
That thought had been what was supposed to make everyone feel better about Max’s death. He suspected, for them, it did. But having the identical twin snub his nose at their beliefs…well, that disrespected their belief system, and therefore, disrespected Max.
It was a never-ending cycle. Hayes could never give his parents—his siblings—the one thing they craved: utter submission to the doctrine.
Most people had thought his family was from the Fundamentalist Mormon Church—the one where men had multiple wives, some of whom were child brides. They were nothing like them, but the mainstream Mormons? Their religions were similar. However, Hayes’s community had been stricter and more cut off from the outside world. They were more like the Amish when it came to the way they lived their lives—closed off from civilization.
