Page 57 of Murder in Calusa Cove
The case was still active. The past was still murky. But for the moment, they had each other. That counted for something.
He looked up at Chloe and brushed his lips against her temple. “I’m going to stay with Cole again,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” she replied, tucking herself into his side. “But I spoke to Buddy a few minutes ago, and?—”
“In this condition?” Hayes arched a brow.
“I’m tipsy, not drunk.” She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Buddy’s given me clearance to have Cole walk me through all six bone sites. All I need now is Dawson’s blessing.”
“I doubt that’ll be a problem,” Hayes said, his voice soft. “He trusts you.”
She gave a slow nod. “Still feels like a big step.”
He kissed her temple again. “It is. But you’re not alone in it.”
“I know.” Her fingers curled around his. “Can I ask a weird question?”
“You might get a strange response,” he teased.
“If this wedding was just family and close friends, why were Dewey and Silas invited?”
“Audra lived with Silas for a month after her father disappeared. He was the only one who would listen to her—believed in her. However, things went south quickly when she decided to run from Calusa Cove. Silas took it personally, and he saw it as a potential admission of…something.”
“He thought she was guilty?” Chloe asked.
“Not really,” Hayes admitted. “But their relationship is complicated. He’s like family to her, and Dawson and Silas have gotten close. As close as anyone can get to Silas. He’s still a bit of an enigma.”
“Okay. I can understand that. But care to explain Dewey? I don’t see the connection.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” Hayes lazily traced his fingers down her jawline.
“I don’t know him. But there’s something about him. I get this feeling I’ve seen him somewhere, and it wasn’t in Calusa Cove. I can’t place it, but it doesn’t give me a great feeling. It’s not a bad one. It’s just because I can’t figure it out.”
“I hate when that happens.” Hayes nodded. “Dewey has a connection to almost everyone in Calusa Cove. He’s kind of always just been here—lurking in the mangrove.” He chuckled. “He and Monty, Trinity’s dad, grew up living on the same street. They were friendly as kids. When Trinity’s family moved back, Dewey did some work for her dad. I believe they still have a somewhat unusual friendship. Dewey keeps the mangrove under control in front of the marina and Fletcher’s place. When a tropical storm took out half the docks and put a hole in Fletcher’s place back about twenty-five years ago, it was Dewey who helped them clear it, without asking, and he wouldn’t take a dime from them.”
“It’s weird. Everyone knows him, but no one really knows anything about him. I find that odd.”
Hayes arched a brow. “People have said that about me.”
“Not the same, Hayes. Not even close.” She sighed. “Let’s get some water, and then… cake.”
He smiled, nudging her gently toward the back porch. “Cake, a night in a holding cell, then a morning searching for bones. Sounds like a hell of a weekend.”
She laughed, the sound light and breathy against the heavy weight of everything else.
And for a moment, it felt like hope.
14
The next day, Chloe was deep in the Everglades, chasing fragments—of bones, of truth, maybe even ghosts. It was all they had. Whether the remains tied back to the Ring Finger Killer or not, they were leads and leads meant purpose. She needed that right now—something concrete to keep her from unraveling. The past few days had been a chaotic blur of celebration, dread, and the creeping edge of panic she couldn’t quite shake.
The air shifted as the boat eased through the dense, twisting channel, mangroves clawing at the edges like fingers reaching for secrets. Chloe adjusted her grip on the metal handrail, eyes scanning the underbrush. Mist clung to the water’s surface like breath held too long, and every insect hum and splash of movement felt amplified in the eerie silence.
Behind the wheel, Fletcher steered with practiced ease, his focus razor-sharp despite the early hour. He wore his standard uniform. The only time he didn’t was those nights around the fire pit, or when he gave airboat tours.
Hayes stood beside her near the bow, arms crossed, eyes sharp under the brim of his ball cap. She drew her strength from Hayes. Without him, she’d surely crumble under the gravity of it all.
Dewey Hale—grizzled, sun-worn, and shaped by a lifetime in the swamp—stood near the console, quiet and watchful. He didn’t speak much, didn’t insert himself unless asked, but he was always there. Reliable. Steady. The kind of man who blended into the background, until something needed fixing or someone needed help. Chloe didn’t know him well, but something about him tugged at her memory. A sense that she’d seen him somewhere before—not just around town. The thought slid past before she could latch onto it. Dewey might be rough around the edges, a bit of a loner, but he was always the first to show up when a neighbor needed a hand. Still, something about him tickled the back of her mind.
