Page 67 of Murder in Calusa Cove
That was the last time he’d reached out to Betsy. He’d believed she had a right to know, and if she was uncomfortable with him having any contact with Fedora, then he’d break the poor kid’s heart again. But Betsy had been fine with it, and he’d begun what some might think was an odd friendship.
Betsy paced near the windows, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, worry etched into every line of her face. Her blond hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was pulled back into a low, practical braid, though a few strands had come loose and framed her sharp cheekbones. The lines around her mouth and eyes were deeper now, carved from years of holding her own, of raising a daughter mostly on her own. She wore fitted jeans and a soft flannel button-down, with her sleeves pushed up, and her posture was tense yet composed. There had been a time when she’d radiated unshakable confidence, but tonight, there was a fragility beneath her practiced calm—a mother fraying at the edges, trying not to come undone.
“She said she wanted to see you,” Betsy repeated, her voice brittle. “That she had something personal to say. She was excited—nervous, but excited. I thought it was sweet, honestly, her wanting to tell you about the wedding herself.”
Chloe leaned against the counter beside Hayes, phone in hand, scanning her messages. Chloe had sent him a text with a name.
Dewey Hale.
That had rattled his nerves.
“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find her,” Chloe said. “Dawson’s putting out a BOLO, and Buddy’s checking traffic cams and gas stations along the way between St. Augustine and here. We’re looking at credit card logs, everything. We won’t leave a single pebble unturned. If she made it into town, we’ll find out where she went.”
“I have no idea how far she made it,” Betsy said, voice low, more fearful than hopeful. “I kept joking we should turn that find my phone stuff on, and her fiancé, George, said the same thing. God, he’s worried sick, and he’s pissed at me for not telling him I was coming here.”
“Why didn’t he come with Fedora?” Hayes asked. “She wanted me to meet this boy. We’ve been talking about it for a few months.”
“He had to work, but now he’s thinking about driving down here.” Betsy sighed.
“Tell him to stay put.” Chloe glanced up. “I don’t mean to freak you out. We’ve a million things going on right now, but I sent a field agent to the address you provided. He should be there in about twenty minutes. He’ll talk with George, and he’ll stay there with him in case any leads come in or we hear from Fedora. I don’t want anyone alone right now.”
“You’re scaring me,” Betsy said softly.
“It’s been a long couple of weeks for us, but we need to trust Chloe. She’s good at her job.” Hayes rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Fedora was always a sharp kid. Whatever’s happening, we need to hold onto the idea that she’s okay.”
Betsy smiled faintly. “I’m trying.”
Chloe’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and straightened. “They’ve got Stacey in custody. I’m going to change and head to the station. Buddy wants me in the room. He thinks I’ll be able to rattle her. Dawson agrees. I’m not about to argue.” Chloe touched his arm, lingering for a second, before disappearing down the hall.
Silence settled in the room like dust. Betsy stopped pacing and turned toward him.
“You’re different,” she said quietly.
Hayes leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Older, wiser, I suppose. The last few years in the military changed me. It changed all of us.”
Betsy studied him for a moment, then offered a tired smile. “You look more grounded than I’ve ever seen you. Like your feet are finally planted somewhere.”
“I’m about to buy land and build a house. One that I own.” He swallowed. Hard.
“Wow. That’s something. Really something,” she whispered. “You were never really built for roots, back then. Not with everything you were carrying—Max, your family, the way the past weaved into the present. You never could bring yourself to live and look to a future fully.”
He didn’t respond right away. The weight of old memories rose like steam between them—long nights, half-spoken truths, a thousand quiet moments they both tried not to name.
“You have to know I cared deeply about you,” he said softly.
She folded her arms, looking down at the floor. “But not enough.”
“It wasn’t about you. I couldn’t give anything to anyone, not the way you deserved. I was still halfway living in my past, and the other half of me was pretending none of it mattered. And it had nothing to do with our age difference.”
Betsy nodded. “That’s why I didn’t hate you when it ended. I was angry, sure. Hurt. But not surprised. However, Fedora, she loved you even more than I did.”
“I’ve always kind of hated myself for that, and I’m grateful she and I have been able to come full circle.” Hayes looked down at his hands. “You and Fedora… you made something solid. I was never gonna be part of that, and maybe I shouldn’t have been in the picture at all.”
“Don’t say that. You gave her something,” Betsy said. “Even if it was only a few afternoons fishing, or fixing that old bike. She remembers that. She wanted you at the wedding because you matter to her, unlike anyone else ever has, because you love her, and don’t tell me you don’t.” Betsy inched closer, patting his chest. “You might not have loved me, and I accept that. I moved on. I found my soulmate, and I’m happy. But you fell in love with my baby girl, and you gave her unconditional love. Not many people can do that. You’re a special man, Hayes, and I’ll always be grateful for the time we spent together.”
His throat tightened. “We’re gonna find her.”
Betsy’s voice trembled. “I’m so scared. I can’t help thinking this isn’t random.”
