Brent nodded. “That’s right. My grandmother lived right there, right across the street from the bay in the house I live in now. Ethan and I used to play there when we were kids. In those days, you could just stroll along a short wooden pier right into the ocean.”
“That means there is some validity to the County’s records,” Eastlyn put in. “What happened to the VW bug? What happened with the search?”
Colt lifted a shoulder. “The Volkswagen bug was held for a month until the Burrows family could send someone down to pick it up and drive it back to Washington state. As for the search, it went on for a week. But, they never located the kids. There is a mention of a skiff reported stolen from one of the boats moored in the harbor. Notes by the deputies indicate they found a raft adrift at the mouth of Smuggler’s Bay. It was empty. The most popular theory at the time was that Tate and Britta had stolen the skiff to runoff, and as they made their escape out to the sea, it overturned at the mouth of the bay because they were inexperienced on the water. The report says that one of the deputies surmised that both kids drowned.”
Brent’s face contorted into a glower. “With no bodies washing up on shore? Gimme a break. That’s not possible. That harbor is not that deep. Never has been. That’s why we don’t get major ships coming into port here. What asshole thought up that theory?”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just reading the notes from the official report.”
Brent scrubbed his hands down his face, then leaned back, locked his fingers behind his head. “It’s just that…during the time we’re talking about, there was a lot of speculation about drugs coming in here from somewhere else. My grandmother mentioned it more than a few times. Was DNA ever collected from the King or Burrows families and put into the national database for identification later?”
“The report says nothing about that,” Colt stated. “But I do have a phone number and an address for Sylvia King from the file. Keep in mind that the information is more than thirty years old. But I could try to get in touch with her and ask.”
Brent leveled a finger at Colt. “Do it. Contact the mother first thing tomorrow morning. I want to know everything Mrs. King remembers about her daughter’s phone call. I want more details than what’s in that ‘official’ file. Get her to go over everything she can remember.”
Tucker cleared his throat. “Just curious, but does the file mention what boat reported the stolen skiff?”
Colt scanned the file. “Jesus. It says here the dinghy belonged to the Stella Greer. The boat owner was…Joe Ferguson.”
Tucker leaned forward in his chair. “The circumstantial angle keeps piling up on Dad, doesn’t it? What’s the likelihood that those kids were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time the very night my dad’s boat explodes in the harbor? The kids go missing. After a weeklong search, they’re still missing. We know now that they end up stuffed in a concrete pillar at the boathouse. Drowned my ass. I can imagine who came up with that rumor.”
Brent scratched his jaw. “Okay. Let’s think this through. For the insurance scam to go off without a hitch, Joe couldn’t afford to leave any witnesses behind.”
“Looks like,” Tucker concluded.
“You both are forgetting one thing,” Bodie pointed out. “Joe is no longer alive to give us any answers. But the message on the wall in the alley means Joe had to have an accomplice. He couldn’t afford to get caught setting his own boat on fire, so he relies on someone else to do it for him. That night, the accomplice realizes there were witnesses around who saw the whole thing go down. Probably these kids. He gets rid of them, which means he had access to the renovation at the boathouse. Mr. Ferguson’s partner in crime had to be part of the construction crew.”
“Shouldn’t that be easy enough to track down?” Tucker wondered. “An employee list detailing who worked on the crew back then?”
“You’d think,” Brent grunted. “But the years haven’t been kind to official town records. Somewhere along the way, the files go missing. I’m told in a fire.”
“That’s convenient,” Tucker muttered.
“Maybe that’s on purpose,” Bodie proffered. “Another example of the killer covering his tracks.”
“At this point, we don’t know that my dad wasn’t the killer of the two kids,” Tucker pointed out. “It’s possible. We’re assuming he had an accomplice, a partner in the drug smuggling enterprise. But why do I keep getting this nagging feeling that his insurance scam-slash-arson-slash-double murder comes into play seven years later when Tessie ends up murdered.”
“That’s why you need to consider the accomplice theory,” Bodie pointed out.
Slumped in his chair, Brent put his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. “I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight knowing this kind of thing went on several yards from where my grandmother lived at the time. In the final analysis, you just never know what someone is capable of when they’re in desperate need of cash. That’s what this is all about, you know. I’m sorry you’ve suffered a loss, sorry your father was killed like that. I am. But your dad could be a real son of a bitch when he wanted to be. With him, it was always about the money, making it, taking it from others. I’ve seen him argue over fifty cents, witnessed it myself more times than I could count.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what I kept trying to tell Bodie. The man would do anything for a buck. How will we ever know what happened that night with any certainty?”
Eastlyn cleared her throat. “If we could get our hands on the evidence boxes from Tessie’s investigation, it might provide the clothing she had on. DNA is so advanced these days we could get lucky with M-Vac or even touch analysis.”
Tucker’s eyes brightened. “You mean whoever killed her could’ve left his DNA behind?”
“Skin cells,” Eastlyn stated. “I wouldn’t want to give you false hope or anything, but that’s how they’ve solved a lot of these cold cases after so many years—sending clothing and other evidence to the lab for retesting.”
Brent chewed his lip. “And hopefully, the medical examiner will be able to tell us the caliber gun used to execute those kids. Maybe we’ll be able to piece together the rest.”
“And start to look into Tessie’s murder, right?” Bodie prompted, knowing where Tucker’s mindset lay.
“Yes. Everyone in this room will dig deeper,” Brent promised. “We’ll get Tessie’s case files from County and go from there, start from scratch. After all, we know more than we did a week ago. And for cold cases, that’s a big deal.”
“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” Bodie told Tucker after they left the station. “Some welcome home you got.”
“I’m just glad to be home,” he said as he locked his arms around her shoulders. There was a press of lips to hers that took him back to that first night they’d spent together. “It seems like we’ve been apart for months.”
“I’ve spent more time with your dog than I have with you.”
“Lucky Lago.”
From his post on the front seat of the rental van, Lago greeted them with body bumps and tail wags as soon as Tucker opened the door.
“I missed, you fella, yes I did,” Tucker crooned, rubbing noses with the dog.
“What about me?” Bodie asked. “Did you miss me?”
Tucker grinned and reached over to fluff her hair. “Yeah, you, too. I missed you both.” Feeling more lighthearted than he had in two weeks, he pulled away from the curb. “Do I get to spend the night, or are you fed up with all my drama?”
“My house or yours, it doesn’t matter to me. I understand if you want to spend the night in your own bed.”
“I want to spend the night with you, Bodie,” he declared as he curled a finger around her hair. “I don’t care where.”
“My house, then,” Bodie decided, looking over at him as he drove. She wouldn’t admit that at that moment, her heart gave way to something she swore she’d never feel again.
Sitting in his car across from Philli
ps Park on Beach Street, he watched Tucker Ferguson, and the cops leave the police station to head home. One by one, they got into their vehicles and drove off. All because he’d sent Joe’s boy a little reminder to mind his own business.
Back in his day, he’d told Joe they should’ve taken the bodies miles out to sea before setting fire to the Stella Greer. He’d recommended that they dump them there for shark food. It would’ve worked. But no, Joe always took the easy way out. He’d insisted on doing things his way. Shoving the bodies down into that pillar had been all Joe’s idea. And just like old Joe, he’d cheaped out when it counted. He’d insisted on using the cheapest cement around, an inferior mix that had worn away over time.
The do-gooders around town who were always trying to spruce things up should have left that eyesore the way it was, let it fall into the ocean. But no, they had to fix it up, mess with the pilings, and now the house of cards might come tumbling down around his feet, revealing an ugly truth, a truth long kept between two men who’d once been as close as brothers. But secrets didn’t always bind people together. Sometimes secrets ripped that bond apart. That’s what had happened between him and Joe.
He let his mind wander back to that August night. Remembering every detail came easy. You didn’t forget that sort of thing—three murders in one night didn’t happen very often.
He remembered a warm, summer evening with almost no breeze. The water had been calm. By two in the morning, a marine layer had given him cover. Or so, he’d thought.
The town had been to bed for hours. The wharf sat deserted. Most of the boats had cut their running lights hours earlier because the crews were resting up for the next day’s catch.
Everyone except Gordon Carnaby.
It had all started with that stupid Gordon Carnaby.
How was he supposed to have known that the seasoned fisherman would decide to bunk on the boa that night? That part hadn’t been his fault or Joe’s.
Gordon had gotten paid earlier in the day and had talked about heading down to San Diego for Labor Day. But instead of leaving, Gordon had spent his wages at McCready’s on booze before coming back to the boat and passing out in his bunk.
Later that night, just as he and Joe had planned, he’d boarded the Stella Greer carrying a gas can, not knowing anyone else was on board. His footsteps must’ve woke up Gordon, who stumbled back on deck. He’d already poured the gasoline by the time Gordon realized why he was there. The two men had argued. He had done his best to calm Gordon down, but the man began to yell and make a scene.
He couldn’t allow Gordon to draw attention to the boat. He did the only thing he could do at the time to shut him up. He pulled out his hunting knife, stuck it right through Gordon’s heart, and then did it again. He barely had time to think about what he’d done when he looked back at the beach, noticed the kid sticking his head out of his tent, watching it all go down mere yards from where he stood on deck.
The kids had tried to run, but he’d caught up with them before they reached their car. He’d made them disappear. It had all happened fast. He’d done the dirty work, but Joe had helped him clean up.
Once it was all over, the bodies hidden where no one could find them, the stage set, he and Joe had stood in the glow of the firelight and stared out over the water watching the boat burn.
Even now, he could remember Joe’s face, his satisfied smile, his words.“Finally, no more trips to Mexico, no more risk of getting caught, no more dealing with people we couldn’t trust.”
Back then, they’d had plans—big ones. Even splitting the insurance money meant Joe would get to pull the family business out of bankruptcy, and he’d get his fat bank account. Neither man would have to put up with anyone else’s crap, ever again. They’d set their own rules, and people would dance to their tune for a change. They’d see to it.
He came out of his reverie and looked around. Glancing up and down Main Street before pulling out of the shadows, he thought he spotted someone walking through the park, and braked, pulling into Wally’s Pump N Go. He steered the truck toward the air pump, got out, nonchalant-like, and pretended to check his back tire. But no one was around to appreciate the cloak and dagger routine. The street was empty.
Since taking care of Joe, he needed to keep a clear head. What happened that night was ancient history. If the law came for him tomorrow, he needed to leave behind something that would incriminate Joe and only Joe. He’d need another new identity, another new passport, one that wouldn’t link him to the flight into Bradenton airport. He’d get a message to his forgery expert. Tonight. The guy was a genius when it came to faking the real thing. It was best to keep all his cash on hand, although he did still have access to his offshore accounts if need be.
He whooshed out a sigh of relief, knowing his escape plan was as fluid as he could make it. With Joe out of the picture, he needed to keep his eye on the son. Joe had always said the boy was a little on the dense side. But he hadn’t seen evidence of that yet. The kid seemed pretty sharp. Which only proved old Joe had been wrong about so many things. It made him wonder why he’d ever trusted him in the first place.
Fifteen
The alarm clock buzzed at five, rousting Bodie awake. Like always, she flopped over to silence the noise, hitting snooze to buy an extra few precious minutes. Then she remembered she wasn’t alone. Next to her, Tucker changed positions and wrapped his arms around his pillow. At the foot of the bed, Lago lifted his head and pretty much did the same thing. The pooch went back to sleep.
So much for a big, romantic send-off, she mused as she crawled out of bed.
“You’re on your own,” Bodie muttered as she switched the dial on the alarm clock to the off position and then tiptoed into the bathroom to put on her uniform.
In the kitchen, she opened the fridge and pulled out an energy drink with double the caffeine that she often used as her wake-up juice. Sitting there sipping from the can, she remembered how she’d felt having Tucker back. She told herself it was reasonable to feel that tug in the heart when anyone she cared about got home safely from a long trip. But was she being honest about her feelings?
She didn’t have time to beat herself up about it. Not when customers would begin showing up before she’d flipped the open sign around to let them in.
Such was her routine.
The rush to pick up breakfast or hot coffee continued all through the morning. She half expected to see Tucker show up for breakfast and was disappointed when he didn’t stop by or text.
But word had already traveled that he was back in town. Peppered with questions again, Bodie played dumb. Instead of giving anyone an answer, she made lighthearted jokes and chatted about what plants she wanted to buy, all the while hoping Tucker would call when he found the time.
Tucker slept like the dead until almost eight o’clock. He jumped out of bed to let the dog out, showered, and then got dressed. He didn’t have the luxury of lounging in bed for long when he had a business to keep afloat and a van to unload.
He texted Logan and Archer that he was back and that they could pick up their regular activities minus looking after the store.
His first stop was to check-in with his employees. When Tucker entered the main room from the rear parking lot, he was greeted with smiles all around. Surprised to see Novah Hensley running the register, he spotted Owen and Matty hard at work restocking the earthquake preparedness display.
“Man, we’re glad you’re back,” Novah said, skirting the counter to hug her boss. “So sorry about your dad.”
“We all are,” Owen added. “We don’t believe all that crap people have been spewing about him around town.”
“It’s okay,” Tucker assured them. “The rumors are already ginning up. I’ll deal with it when I have more time. I just wanted to stop in, tell you guys that I’m back, and let you know that everything will keep chugging like normal. Right now, I have the dog in the van, and a stop to make at home. I brought a lot of stuff back from Florida, and I need to get
it unloaded.”
“I could help,” Matty offered. “We’re almost done here. There was a run on earthquake preparedness kits last Sunday after we had a mild tremor. Next day it seemed like everyone wanted one of these.”
“We sold out,” Novah explained further. “Matty ordered more, and that’s why we’re restocking.”
Owen held up a tub filled with meal rations and medical supplies. “Any time we have a four-point oh shaker, people start panicking and come here to hunt down these babies.”
Tucker slapped Matty on the back. “Thanks for that and the offer, but I should be able to handle the unloading myself. You guys carry on here and keep up the good work. The thing that might take me most of the day is that I still have to drive over to Santa Cruz, drop off the rental van, and get my truck out of airport parking. After that, I’m free and clear for the rest of the week. I’m anxious to pick up my usual routine. Our usual routine,” he corrected. “I’ve missed you guys.”
“Does that mean you’ll be cutting back our hours again?” Novah wanted to know in a downhearted voice.
“Nobody’s hours are cut. In fact, I’d like all three of you to stay on at whatever hours you were working during the last ten days until otherwise noted.”
The Boathouse (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 14) Page 18
