by Dani Pettrey
A full-figured woman with a cheery smile entered with a tray. “I’ve got your tea, and I brought you some shortbread cookies. Fresh from the cafeteria kitchen.”
She set it on the tray table on the right side of Genevieve’s bed.
“Thank you,” Genevieve said, wasting no time in lifting the Styrofoam cup, wrapping her long fingers around it.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
“I’m fine, but thank you,” Genevieve said.
She turned her gaze on Rissi. “How about you?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Okay, you take care now, Miss Genevieve.”
Rissi felt like a heel continuing the questioning, but it was the job and the best way she could help a grieving wife. “I know this isn’t easy, and I hate to prod. . . .”
“I’m glad you’re asking. It means you’re interested in finding out what happened to my boo.”
Rissi warmed at the special name Genevieve had for her husband.
“When John didn’t come up to join us, I went to check on him.”
“And?”
“And the bathroom door was locked. I knocked, but he didn’t respond. I called out his name, but no response.” She took a couple deep breaths. “I started to worry. He hadn’t looked well, and now he wasn’t responding. That wasn’t like him. He never ignored me.
“I called his name louder. Another crew member—I think his name was Jack—must have heard me, because he came rushing downstairs. He tried the door and then told me to stand back, and he kicked it open. I looked in. John was on the floor, his head gashed and bloody. I rushed for him, but Braxton held me back.”
“Braxton was there too?”
“At that point, yes. He must have heard the door break down or my scream. I don’t know. I just wanted to get to John, but Jack rushed in and tried to rouse him. He checked his vitals and then looked at me, and I knew.” She rubbed her neck. “I got sick. . . .”
“That’s a perfectly normal reaction.”
She nodded. “Mo rushed in and asked what happened.”
“What about Marv?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t there. When we headed back up, he was at the helm. He must have been covering for Jack while he was down with me.”
“What did the crew do then?”
“Braxton got me a towel to wipe my face. And Mo instructed him to escort me up. I didn’t want to leave John, but he insisted—said I didn’t need to see John like that. Braxton took me to the bow for some fresh air, and next thing I knew there was this jarring quake and heat rushing at us. Mo came running up, saying we had to evacuate. It was all a blur from there.”
“The crew started evacuating everyone to the life rafts?”
“Yes, but I stood my ground, not wanting to leave John behind. I tried to get Mo to get him, but he kept insisting they needed us in the life rafts. That it was too late. Water from the cabin was spilling out onto the top deck.”
So many questions were swirling through Rissi’s mind. She needed to speak with Marv next. And once the Calliope was deemed safe to dive, Noah and most likely Finn, now that Sam was gone, would dive down and retrieve John Layton’s body so he could be autopsied.
“Did you tell any of the crew what John said to you when he came up from the dive?”
“No.” She bit her bottom lip and inhaled. “I just had this feeling not to. That’s why I was so anxious to speak with you away from the crew.” She leaned forward, her small blue eyes tinged with fear. “Do you think they killed my John?”
“I don’t—”
The door pushed open, and a woman who looked like Genevieve, only a couple decades older, rushed in.
“Mom.” Genevieve reached out her arms, her face crumpling in pain.
“Oh, honey.” She rushed to Genevieve’s side, enveloping her in a hug.
“John . . . is—” she hiccupped as sobs burst from her lips—“dead.”
“I heard. I’m so sorry, baby.”
Rissi stood. “I’ll let you two have some privacy.”
Genevieve reached for her. “Will you talk to them? Find out what happened?”
“I will make sure we look into everything.” She nodded. “I’m going to set my card with my cell number on it on the table, just in case you think of anything else.”
“Thank you.”
She greeted Genevieve’s mom with a dip of her head and saw herself out.
It was times like these, seeing a mother love on her daughter, that the realization of being an orphan tugged hard at her heart.
She’d dealt with years of heartache and loss of a different kind, but there’d been no one who could truly comfort her. Not since Mason.
thirty-six
Gabby and Tess pulled up to Dennis Fletcher’s house, a two-story Cape Cod on the outskirts of Wilmington. It was situated on the Golden River. Though, on closer inspection, dark brown was probably a more apt description. Tess told her the unique coloring was a result of the tincture of the trees leeching into it. Whatever the reason, it gave Gabby the willies to think that alligators were lurking just below the murky surface.
They pulled to a stop beside Fletcher’s burgundy SUV and found it unlocked. Gabby started with the glove box but had no luck in finding a matching pass to Will’s. She searched the passenger-side door pocket as Tess did the same with the driver’s side.
She was just about to give up hope of finding anything when Tess flipped down the visor to find a zipped compartment with a red-and-white pass inside.
“Good job.”
“I think I’m getting the hang of this.”
Now they had to figure out where the passes led to. Perhaps a garage or a storage unit? Wherever they led them, Gabby prayed it was one step closer to whoever was behind Will’s death.
What Will and Dennis were involved in kept tracking through her mind. And how were the drug runners tied to Litman Limited?
Why had Will gotten involved with any of this mess in the first place? She’d gotten to know him well during her three months in Wilmington last winter, seen how deeply he loved Tess. How he doted on her. How proud he was when she first announced her pregnancy. Gabby had been there for that happy occasion. Now, six months later, he was dead. His baby would grow up never experiencing his daddy’s love. Will must have been seriously strapped financially and worried about providing for his wife and baby to get involved in anything illegal, which was most likely the case.
“You ready, Gabs?” Tess asked.
“Yeah, sorry. Just running things through my head.”
Tess offered a smile—or at least the tug of a small one—though sadness still welled in her eyes. “I figured. Does that mind of yours ever stop?”
She shook her head. It made finding rest interesting at best. “Nope.” She exhaled, blowing a strand of hair from her face. Gooseflesh ripped up her forearms at the memory of Finn’s touch, of his fingers slipping the same loose strand—the one that always was unruly—behind her ear. How he’d lingered there, his face inching closer to hers . . . and . . .
She took a deep inhale. That was a place she couldn’t return to, couldn’t dwell in. She couldn’t risk her career for another man, even one as good as Finn. She’d risked her reputation for Asim, and he’d destroyed it along with nearly ending her life. If the SEAL team hadn’t come running over that desert mound, firing shots when they did, she’d be dead. The sight of Asim dropping lifelessly to caramel sand, granules puffing up in the wake of his collision, flashed through her mind. Gunfire resounded in a series of pops through her ears as her heart thudded—
A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped.
“Sorry,” Tess said. “You just looked off.”
Gabby smoothed her hair back. “I’m fine. My mind’s just racing today.” She straightened her shoulders, pushing the memories to the back of her mind, where they lived. “I’m good. I’ll head in, and you wait in the truck. And lock the doors.”
Tess frowned. “What?
”
“I don’t think there’s any chance of anyone coming by with Fletcher still in the hospital, and we’re legally here, but just in case, I’d feel much better if you’d wait in the car and keep the doors locked. Any sign of trouble, get out of here.”
Tess pursed her lips. “Pleeease . . . not happening.”
“Tess. I’m serious.”
“Just as I’m sure Finn and Noah both were when they told you to stay put.”
“Perhaps.”
“And just as you ignored them, I’m ignoring you.” She shut the driver’s door and strode toward the house. “Let’s go.”
Tess was just as stubborn as she was. She’d come in one way or another.
“Fine. But stay by me. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They crossed the lawn smattered with patches of grass and dirt. Climbing the front steps, Gabby opened the storm door. The lockbox was right where Val said it would be.
She punched in the combination Val had given, and it slid open as she depressed the button. Fletcher hadn’t changed it since his wife left.
Opening the main door, they entered the foyer. The living room sat to the right, and they moved into it. A cocoa brown reclining sofa and matching loveseat with burgundy pillows took up the majority of the space. An easy chair angled to face the large flat-screen TV.
“What are we looking for?” Tess asked, glancing around.
“Anything that might tell us what illegal activity Fletcher and Will . . .” Gabby bit her lip. She was pretty sure all they had learned indicated Will’s involvement, but she hadn’t meant . . .
Tears welled in Tess’s brown eyes.
“Oh, Tess. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say Will was into something illegal.”
“It’s probably the truth. It’s just . . . until you said it out loud, it didn’t really register. But the way he spoke about it and the stress he was under . . . he was clearly involved in something very bad, most likely illegal.” She rubbed her belly, tears falling.
Gabby wrapped her arm around Tess’s shoulder. “Will loved you fiercely. If he did anything illegal, I’m sure it was just as he said—he’d been trying to provide for you and the baby. He just went about it in the wrong way.”
Why had she spoken before thinking? Her mind had just been wound around the case so tightly. She hadn’t even considered her friend’s feelings before the word illegal left her mouth. She had to stop doing that. She feared Finn was right—that she put tracking down a story before everything and everyone. She hadn’t believed it when he said it, but now . . . What was driving her so hard? Her desire to be there for Tess or her desire to crack a story?
She felt like the greatest heel in the world. “He was getting out for you and Will Jr., because he loved you. He told you he was getting out.”
Tess sniffed and nodded. “You’re right.” She brushed back her tears. “Let’s get to searching.”
“Hang on,” Gabby said, pulling out two pairs of latex gloves she’d snagged from the box at the station. “We want to make sure we don’t contaminate any evidence, just in case the investigation leads here.”
“Right.” Tess slipped on the pair Gabby handed to her before sifting through the mail stacked on the hallway table.
Gabby surveyed the space. “I wonder if Fletcher has a study or home office?”
Tess nodded. “Spare bedroom upstairs.”
Right. With Dennis being Will’s superior and fishing buddy, it was only natural Tess would have been to Fletcher’s house before and spent time with him and Val.
Tess followed Gabby upstairs. “First door on your right.”
“Gotcha.” Gabby jiggled the handle. Locked. A smile curled on her lips. Rarely did one lock a home office unless one was hiding something.
Lifting up onto her tiptoes, she ran her gloved hand along the top of the doorframe. Her fingers clasped a slender bobby pin–like key. She lifted it down and smiled. Nearly every house came with several, in case a kid accidentally locked themselves in one of the rooms and was too little to open it. Popping it open, she stepped inside, Tess behind her.
Two matching bookcases lined the far wall, with a five-drawer black file cabinet in between. She strode to it, and as she’d expected, the drawers were locked.
“See if the key is in one of the desk drawers,” she said to Tess, who was already rooting through them.
“On it.”
She turned to the bookcase to the left. Mainly books—most on guns, ammo, and fishing—but a few knickknacks. One of Val’s touches, no doubt. Gabby’s favorite by far was the crystal duck on the third shelf. She lifted it up, surprised at its weight, and smiled at the key taped to the shelf underneath.
As she reached to pull off the key, a creak sounded below.
Tess’s gaze flashed to hers. “Was that—”
“Shh.” Gabby held a finger to her lips and moved for the door, the heavy duck grasped in her hand. She’d been so distracted by trying to get Tess to stay in the truck, she’d forgotten her purse—and thereby her gun—in Will’s cab.
Footsteps pounded up the wooden stairs.
Gabby signaled for Tess to hide behind the desk, and after a moment of flurried hand gestures between them, Tess ducked beneath it.
Gabby’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart racing. She pressed herself against the wall. Whoever it was paused a moment in the hall, then moved closer. One, two, three . . . She swung with all her might at the sight of a gun pointing through the doorway.
The man fell backward, slamming into the floor. Gabby looked at the blood dripping from the base of the duck, then to the man with a nasty gash on his head. Then her gaze tracked to the Glock on the floor beside him.
“Gabby!” a male voice called from the back of the stairs.
Finn? “Up here.”
His footfalls echoed up the steps, and he rounded the corner with fear in his eyes. His gaze shifted from her to the duck to the man on the floor. He kicked the man’s gun away. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking up at her as he bent to cuff the man.
Gabby nodded and turned to find Tess rounding the desk toward them. “Are you okay?”
Tess, trembling, nodded. “Are you?”
Adrenaline burned through her limbs, her heartbeat still spiked. Otherwise, she was fine. “I’m good.”
Finn glared at her, his face tinged red. “Good is the last thing you are. And I’m probably not half as mad as Noah’s going to be.”
She swallowed. “Wait a minute . . . how’d you know we were here? I mean, I’m assuming Caleb told you I was missing, but how’d you figure out—”
He rubbed his hands together. “I’m just that good.”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
He shook his head. “It’s a long story. One best saved for later.”
He pulled out his cell and, after explaining everything, requested Caleb’s presence. “I need you to escort the suspect into the station while Gabby and I see Tess safely home. Yes, he is still out.” Finn studied the man. “But I think I see some movement. I’d order a medic too. . . . Thanks.” He hung up and turned back to the man.
The man’s eyes opened, and anger flashed across his face. He yanked on the cuffs as an expletive slipped from his gritted teeth.
“Easy now,” Finn said, aiming the muzzle of his gun at the man’s bloody forehead. “There are ladies present.”
“I don’t care if the bloody”—a second expletive, crasser than the first, spewed from his mouth—“queen of England is present.”
“Let’s get you downstairs until Agent Eason arrives.” Finn hauled the man to his feet and headed for the stairs.
The man looked over his shoulder at Gabby. “I’ll be seeing you again, if you don’t let this drop.”
“You won’t be seeing anything outside a jail cell for a good long while,” Finn said, his hand gripping the man’s upper arm.
The man snorted. “How little you know.”
Gabby’s gaze narrowe
d. “Let this drop?” she hollered down the steps after the man. “What do you mean?”
The man strained his head back, creepy pleasure dancing in his eyes.
Gabby followed them into the living room, where Finn read the man his rights, before moving into questioning. “Did Fuentes send you?”
The man’s face pinched, confusion filling his eyes. “Who’s Fuentes?”
thirty-seven
Rissi found Marv Lewis in one of the ER rooms, stitches lining the gash on his forehead.
“How you doing, Marv?”
“Can’t complain. I survived an explosion.”
“I need to ask you a few questions when you’re done here.”
“As busy as they are, it’ll probably be a while before they discharge me. I’m fine with you asking me now.”
“Okay, great.” She turned and shut the glass door behind her.
“So what do you want to ask me?” Marv said, flattening out the sheet around his legs.
“Can you walk me through your day? Specifically, your dive with John Layton?”
“Sure,” he said, being oddly pleasant. Marv had always been polite but had never come across as friendly. “Everything was going fine. It was a normal day, a smooth dive, until he panicked on the ascent.”
“Panicked, why?”
“I don’t know. I can only assume the depth had gotten to him. It was only his second wreck dive, and as you know, the St. Marie has tight corridors. As soon as we exited, he shot for the surface. It’s no wonder he was disoriented and hit his head on the sink.”
“You saw him disoriented?”
“No. I made the required stops on the way up, so he was already in the bathroom by the time I surfaced. With that rapid of an ascent, he’d be feeling the effects. Not to mention, it was a bumpy ride back to the marina. A strong wave, the ship bouncing, it’d be easy enough for anyone to lose their balance. Poor guy just got knocked the wrong way.”
“Where were you when he was found?”
“I was talking with Mo at the stern about the dive and what happened and then we heard Mrs. Layton scream. Jack handed the helm to Braxton and raced down. Then we heard a huge crash, and Mo instructed me to take the helm and Braxton rushed down. Mo checked to make sure all the topside passengers were okay, then he headed down as well. Next thing I know, Braxton is escorting an extremely pale Mrs. Layton topside.”
