Page 73 of Murder in Calusa Cove
“That’s true.” Chloe nodded.
“Also, if he suspects you’re his blood…his daughter…maybe he wanted to watch you. Observe how you work. See how good you were at ruling people out.”
“That’s a fucked-up game,” she muttered.
“Fletcher and Keaton were supposed to track him down and keep an eye on him.” He pulled out his cell. “Last text from Keaton was that Dewey’s car is in his driveway. His boat is in the slip, but they haven’t seen any movement. No confirmation that he’s in his house. No one’s seen him, but they’re looking. However, this letter proves it. Dewey’s kidnapped Fedora because I could see her carrying this letter across the state.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she’d know I might say no to attending her wedding.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to go?” she asked.
“She has a stepfather now, and while I love that kid, it wouldn’t be right.”
“That’s not true, Hayes. Stop hiding from the people who love and care about you.” Chloe pulled out her phone. She snapped photos of everything—jars, journal, letter—and sent them to Dawson and Buddy.
Hayes walked to the window and looked out into the dense trees. “This still doesn’t give us anything on Dewey. It still points directly at Trent.”
And that’s when he heard it.
The unmistakable sound of a boot crunching softly in the wet brush.
He turned. Chloe froze, eyes locking with his.
Another step. And then more, as the floorboards of the porch rattled.
Hayes reached for his weapon.
The door flew open, and there stood Dewey Hale. He stood in the center of the opening, backlit by the moon. His face was calm. Too calm.
In one hand, he held a lantern. In the other, a pistol aimed right at Hayes’s heart.
“Well,” Dewey said. “You two weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow, but that’s okay. I’m ready for you.”
Hayes stepped in front of Chloe, raising his weapon. “Drop it. Now.”
Dewey’s mouth curved, almost like he was sad. “I didn’t think it’d be you who figured it out, Bennett. But then again...maybe I did. You’re smarter than you look. Smarter than even you give yourself credit. Even I’m impressed.”
Chloe moved beside Hayes. “Where is Fedora?”
Dewey smiled—just enough to turn Hayes’s stomach. “Don’t worry. She’s still breathing.” He jerked his chin. “There’s another cabin a few hundred feet from here. You can’t see it from the water. It’s hidden real good. Not even the Seminoles know it’s here.”
Hayes’s hands trembled around the grip of his gun—but not from fear. From restraint. “You sick bastard.”
And still, Dewey just stood there.
Calm.
Patient.
Like the next move was theirs.
The Glades were silent—oppressively so.
Dewey didn’t shift his pistol. Hayes couldn’t read his eyes in the dim light, but there was something cold behind them. Hollow, but focused.
“What do you want?” Chloe asked, her voice low, measured.
