Awash (The Forgotten Coast Florida Suspense Series Book 6)

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  “He was never charged by the police,” the woman said, her voice an octave higher than it had been when she’d answered the door. “The girl didn’t press charges. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Between Stuart and the girl, or Stuart and the law?” Maggie asked.

  “I didn’t rape her,” Stuart said, trying for a little defiance in his tone. “She came on to me at the party.”

  “According to our information,” Evan said politely, “the girl agreed to go hang out with you. But when you took her to the park, she asked you to stop touching her and to take her to her dorm.”

  “That’s what she says,” Stuart said, his lip curling just a bit. “She was into it, man. She was just stoned and drunk.”

  “Stoned on what?” Maggie asked.

  “How do I know? I don’t do drugs, but there was all kinds of stuff at that party.”

  “Stuart doesn’t go to parties like that anymore,” his mother said.

  “Stuart probably doesn’t get invited very often,” Maggie said quietly. Stuart looked at Maggie a little less appreciatively. “Ms. Merritt, did you ask Zoe to leave because something happened between her and your son?”

  “No!” the woman answered.

  “Nothing happened between me and that chick,” Stuart said. “She’s a kid.”

  Maggie didn’t look at him, stayed focused on his mother. “Or because you were concerned that something might happen?” she asked her.

  “No, that’s not what happened,” Gina said. “It just wasn’t going to work out to have her here, that’s all.”

  Maggie caught something out of the corner of her eye, and glanced over at Evan. The cat was sliding itself back and forth across Evan’s ankle. Evan gently swept it aside with his foot.

  “Ms. Merritt, I’m a mother. I have a daughter and a son,” Maggie said. “I understand your need to protect your son. But you didn’t do anyone any favors getting him out of trouble in Gainesville, not even him. I believe that you took Zoe in because you’re a good person, and you cared about Zoe. Were you concerned about her being under the same roof with your son?”

  “She said no,” Stuart said.

  “No,” Gina said, but she wasn’t very convincing. “I just thought it best for her to be with her aunt.”

  “Is she saying I did something?” Stuart said.

  “No, she isn’t,” Maggie answered. “But you do match the general description we have. We’re exploring all possibilities.” She glanced over at Evan, who was carefully removing one cat hair at a time from his pants leg. She looked back over at Stuart as he piped up.

  “That’s bull, man,” Stuart said. “I haven’t seen that girl since she left here.”

  “You can clear this up pretty quickly, Stuart, by voluntarily allowing us to get a sample of your DNA. If you haven’t done anything, then you’ll appreciate being able to clear yourself of any suspicion.” She pulled a small labelled packet from her purse. “I have the swab kit right here and it’ll take just a few seconds.”

  “No way, lady,” Stuart said. “I didn’t do anything, and I don’t have to give you no DNA.”

  “Maybe you should just do it, Stuart,” Gina said. “Then they’ll leave us alone.”

  “No,” Stuart said. “Let her get a warrant.”

  “It looks better if we don’t have to,” Maggie said.

  “I don’t care what it looks like,” he said.

  “Stuart,” Gina said.

  “Ms. Merritt, maybe you could step out of the room for just a moment,” Evan said politely, as he gently lifted the cat from the arm of his chair and set it on the carpet. “Some things are difficult to discuss in front of your mom.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “We’re not here to make your son uncomfortable,” Evan said kindly. “You’re his mother. A woman. Just give us a few moments, please, and we’ll be out of your home.” He glanced at the cat as it hopped back onto the arm of his chair.

  Gina thought about this for a moment, then stood.

  “I don’t have to talk to you anymore, man,” Stuart said.

  “Stuart, just cooperate with these people so they know you didn’t do anything and they’ll go away,” Gina said. She looked at Evan as she started around the coffee table. “I’ll just be on the back patio.”

  Maggie watched the woman go out through a set of sliding glass doors at the back of the room, then she looked back at Stuart. He’d been staring at her chest, and he met her eyes with a smirk. She was about to say something when movement from Evan caught her attention.

  He dropped the cat into the sewing basket and slapped the lid shut, then stood up. “Listen up, Napoleon,” he said quietly to Stuart. “Cut the swagger. Nobody’s impressed.”

  Stuart watched Evan, wariness overshadowing the brave front, as Evan moved to stand in front of the coffee table.

  “If you didn’t have anything to do with Zoe, then you should be eager to cooperate with us.”

  “I didn’t do anything and I don’t have to give you none of my DNA,” the kid said.

  “It’ll grow back,” Evan said.

  The kid stood up. “You don’t have a warrant or anything,” he said. “If I tell you to leave, you have to leave.”

  Maggie stood up as well. “Are you sure you don’t want to help us out voluntarily, Stuart?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and this time he didn’t look at her chest.

  “That’s fine, Stuart,” Evan said. “But just let me mention that I’ve known quite a few bikers. Those old guys that hang out at your shop? A lot of them have daughters. It’ll suck if they get wind of the fact that you like to roofie innocent young women.”

  “You can’t do that, man,” Stuart said. “That’s libel!”

  Evan looked at Maggie. “University of Google Law School,” he said. He looked back at Stuart. “It’s harassment, dumbass, but only when you can prove it. Don’t move out of town. Go to work and come home. Run away from anyone who doesn’t have a penis. This is a small town with a lot of cops who don’t have anything better to do than keep an eye on you.”

  “That’s pretty good advice, Stuart,” Maggie said.

  Stuart worked up a trembling sneer. “How old is your daughter?”

  Maggie looked at him without expression until he blinked a few times, then she headed for the door.

  “You’re dumber than you look, which is remarkable,” Evan said, then followed her out.

  The sun blasted through Maggie’s eyeballs as she and Evan walked to the Jeep.

  “You don’t seem to like cats,” she said.

  “More than I like rapists, less than I like everything else,” he answered, sliding his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket.

  “Maybe you should get one,” she said, opening her door.

  “I have one. My wife’s cat, Plutes,” he said as he got into the Jeep. “He’s a jerk.”

  Maggie slid into her seat and started the car. “You have an interesting bedside manner,” Maggie said.

  “Entertainingly, Wyatt used to say the same thing,” Evan said.

  “If he’s not worried about his DNA matching what we have, he’s worried about it matching somewhere that nobody knows about yet,” Maggie said.

  “That’s my assumption,” Evan said.

  “Mommy got Zoe out of there because she was scared,” Maggie added.

  Evan nodded and put on his sunglasses as Maggie backed out of the driveway. “How old is your daughter?’ he asked her.

  “Forty-five caliber,” Maggie answered.

  “Too old for him, then,” he said.

  Bennett Boudreaux’s rather timid receptionist had eventually said that Boudreaux had walked over to Boss Oyster for an early lunch, so that’s where Wyatt went, too.

  When he walked in, he saw through the wall of windows that Boudreaux was out on the back deck. He walked through the screen door, let it slap shut behind him. Boudreaux looked up, and watched without expression as Wyatt walked across the deck.

&nb
sp; There were only two other customers outside, a pair of middle-aged shrimpers who paused in the enjoyment of their grouper sandwiches as they watched Wyatt approach Boudreaux’s table.

  “Hello, Mr. Boudreaux,” Wyatt said. His tone was pleasant, but his eyes were hard.

  “Hello, Sheriff Hamilton,” Boudreaux answered. “Are you here for lunch?”

  “No, I’m just here for you,” Wyatt answered.

  There was furtive movement across the deck, and Wyatt glanced over as the two shrimpers picked up their baskets and beers and tried to look like they weren’t scurrying inside.

  Boudreaux smiled. “You’ve frightened the clientele,” he said as the screen door scraped shut. “Please, have a seat.”

  Wyatt sat down. Boudreaux’s bottle of Red Stripe was covered with drops of condensation despite the fairly cool weather, but it was fresh enough that it hadn’t left a wet ring on the table yet.

  A plump young server with choppy red hair came outside, and Wyatt saw her slow her pace as her eyes darted between Boudreaux and Wyatt. Wyatt supposed it was a rather incongruous sight.

  He looked up and gave her his reassuring smile, the one with all of the dimples. “Hi, Brittany.”

  “Hey, Sheriff,” she said, brightening just a little. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Landshark,” Wyatt answered.

  “Sure thing,” she answered, and headed back inside.

  Wyatt and Boudreaux considered each other for a moment.

  “I’m having some oysters. Would you care to join me?” Boudreaux asked.

  “No, thank you,” Wyatt said pleasantly. “I seldom eat phlegm.”

  Boudreaux gave him a small smile. “You might be in the wrong town,” he said.

  “Well, be that as it may,” Wyatt said, and left it at that.

  Brittany came back outside with a tray. She put an aluminum tray of raw oysters in front of Boudreaux, then Wyatt’s beer in front of him. “You want something to eat, Sheriff? Grouper sandwich?”

  “No, thanks, Brittany,” he answered kindly. “Just stopped in for a minute.”

  She looked from one man to the other, seemed concerned with keeping them from speaking to each other. “I saw you in the paper this morning. You really gonna be the PR guy or something?”

  “Something like that,” he answered.

  “Paper said it was because of you getting shot, but I heard it was because of Maggie Redmond. For real?”

  Wyatt smiled at her. “You know how it is in a small town,” he said without saying anything.

  “Man, I wish somebody would quit something for me,” she said as she walked away.

  Wyatt looked back at Boudreaux and picked up his beer.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink on duty,” Boudreaux said.

  “That’s not as hard and fast as you would expect,” Wyatt said after he took a drink. “Why, are you planning on bringing it up at the next County Commissioner’s meeting?”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with a beer,” Boudreaux said pleasantly.

  “For the record, I don’t normally drink while I’m on duty,” Wyatt said. “But I’m having kind of a day.”

  “Have I murdered someone I don’t know about?” Boudreaux asked, trying not to smile.

  “I’m sure you’ve murdered someone I don’t know about,” Wyatt said without missing a beat.

  “Not recently,” Boudreaux countered. He took a drink of his Red Stripe, then set it down. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

  Wyatt watched as Boudreaux prepared an oyster, topping it with one drop of Tabasco and a squeeze of lemon.

  “Maggie,” Wyatt said. He took a drink of his beer.

  Boudreaux barely looked up from his oyster. “Are you sure you won’t have one?” he asked politely.

  “I’m sure.”

  Boudreaux slid the oyster into his mouth, closing his eyes for just a moment as he bit down. Then he finished it neatly and sat back in his chair. “Maggie,” he repeated.

  He seemed to wait for Wyatt to be more forthcoming, and his coolness both infuriated and impressed Wyatt.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Wyatt asked evenly.

  “Are you talking about the favor I’ve asked of Maggie?” Boudreaux asked.

  “I’m talking about all of it,” Wyatt said. “But sure, let’s start with you asking her to spend the night at your house.”

  “Miss Evangeline is the only mother I’ve ever known,” Boudreaux said. “Maggie is the only person I trust to care for her.”

  “Maggie’s a cop. You’re a criminal,” Wyatt said.

  “That doesn’t seem to have as much bearing as one would expect,” Boudreaux said, then put another oyster into his mouth.

  “It does from this side of the table,” Wyatt said.

  “Yes, I’m sure it does,” Boudreaux said after he’d swallowed. “May I call you Wyatt, to save us some syllables?” Wyatt lifted his beer in assent. “Wyatt, I understand your concern. I’m not trying to damage Maggie’s reputation.”

  “Having a slumber party at your house won’t help.”

  Boudreaux regarded Wyatt for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I won’t be there,” he said, almost kindly, Wyatt thought.

  He didn’t care.

  “The neighbors won’t know that,” he said.

  “I’ll see that they do,” Boudreaux said. “Would you like to stay there with her?”

  “Well, not if you’re not going to join us,” Wyatt said.

  “The offer is earnest,” Boudreaux said with an appreciative half-smile.

  “The offer is pointless,” Wyatt said. “The two of us staying there just looks bad in a different way.” He leaned forward. “What the hell is your game, Boudreaux?”

  Boudreaux stared at Wyatt calmly as he picked distractedly at the Red Stripe label. “There is no game. I genuinely care about Maggie.”

  “Care how?”

  Boudreaux gently scratched at his eyebrow for a moment. “I’m her friend.”

  Wyatt leaned in again and lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone on the deck. “I’m her friend. You’re her job description.”

  Boudreaux gently slid his oysters out of the way, then put his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “Believe it or not, I have a lot of respect for you, Wyatt,” he said. “I even like you, though I’m sure you’d rather I didn’t. So let’s not flirt with each other quite so much. Why don’t you just get to your bottom line?”

  Wyatt set his beer down on the table and leaned back in his chair. “My bottom line. My bottom line is this: if you do anything, anything at all, that puts her in any kind of danger, physically or emotionally, I will bury you.”

  “Do you mean that literally or legally?” Boudreaux asked mildly.

  “Whichever way is handiest at the time,” Wyatt said.

  Boudreaux looked at his Red Stripe for a moment as he slowly turned it around and around. “I normally react badly to threats,” he said finally. “But as a man who loves Maggie, you’re well within your rights to make that one.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your understanding,” Wyatt said without humor.

  Boudreaux gently pushed his beer aside and folded his arms on the table. “But let’s make sure we both know exactly where we stand.”

  Wyatt watched as the polite geniality slipped from Boudreaux’s eyes, and was replaced with a cold intensity that a few dead men would probably recognize.

  “If you ever hurt her,” Boudreaux said quietly, “I’ll scorch every square inch of earth you’ve ever stood on.”

  Wyatt smiled as though accepting a challenge, then took the last sip of his beer and set the bottle on the table. “I’d say we both know how things are,” Wyatt said.

  “I think so,” Boudreaux said, pushing back his chair as Wyatt stood. He held out a hand. “Have a nice day, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt took his hand and shook it. Neither of them bothered
to try for the hardest grip. “You, too, Boudreaux.”

  Wyatt turned and walked away, thinking that the last part there was the most believable thing Boudreaux had ever said to him. He’d have to give him that.

  The car was silent as Dwight drove slowly down Zoe’s street. Zoe had seemed disappointed when he’d shown up at the hotel instead of Maggie, but seemed to understand when he’d explained that she was in Port St. Joe following up on a lead. The aunt hadn’t seemed real happy when he said he couldn’t explain what lead, but Maggie wanted to be the one to talk to them about it, and it was her call.

  He pulled the cruiser into Paulette Boatwright’s driveway. Both of his passengers, Paulette in the front and Zoe in the back, sat silently after he turned off the engine. Dwight looked into the rear view mirror. Zoe sat very straight and very still, staring dead ahead, until she glanced up and met his eyes in the mirror. Dwight swallowed and opened his door.

  Paulette got out as well, and a moment later, Zoe got out more slowly. Paulette dug in her purse for her keys and then her cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Zoe stared over the roof of the car at her front door.

  Paulette had her back to Dwight, blowing a plume of smoke in the direction of the woods across the street. He cleared his throat.

  “Ma’am,” he said quietly.

  Paulette started for the door without turning to look at him, and he followed her there. As she unlocked the door, he heard Zoe’s soft steps behind him.

  “If you’ll let me just check real quick, I’ll make sure everything’s okay,” Dwight said.

  Paulette swung the door open, and stepped aside so that Dwight could go in. He’d already been over there the day before, and he knew the techs had cleaned up any sign of fingerprint dust, but he couldn’t think of anything else he could do to make Zoe feel better about walking in there.

  He took a quick spin through each room. Everything was as he’d left it. He opened each closet door anyway, and left them open, so Zoe would know he’d looked. When he got back to the living room, Paulette was opening the windows to let in some fresh air. Zoe stood on the front steps.

  “Uh, Miss Zoe, everything is all set in here,” he said.