Chapter 6
SIX
For the first time since she’d found the boat yesterday, there were no cars parked alongside the road near the lake. The boat still lay there, abandoned, crunched against the shore like a giant forgotten toy. Ferd parked her car and got out.
Wind snapped against her face. Had Duke gone back in and looked through everything on that boat? What if they missed something? She searched the water, but with a threatening storm, there wasn’t any other watercraft in sight.
She dug a hair tie from her pocket and whipped her loose curls into a bun, then slid off her shoes as she made her way to the boat. No one would know. She could look around on her own time. If she found anything, she’d call Duke.
Every time you’re here, he shows up.
Ferd stalled for a second. Going on that boat could get her in trouble. Cody would fire her for this. Brilliant. Take the time you need, but get back here ASAP. Don’t make trouble. Her sergeant had been clear.
She unbuttoned her fitted dress shirt and draped it over a nearby bush.
Her cream-colored tank top and capris cooled her skin in the bright sun.
She trudged through the sand toward the stern.
The rope ladder the crime scene team had erected still hung from the rail.
She climbed, the rope biting into her palms and bare feet.
At the top, she hoisted herself over, then waited for her body to adjust to the tilt of the hull.
The stench of rot hung in the air. Ferd headed around the opposite way she’d gone the day before.
There was likely less than one hundred square feet of space, but cubbies lined everything.
Every inch had a purpose. Had they really scoured through everything, or had they assumed he’d died of drunkenness?
Connor, Lacy, and Duke had all mentioned his habit, even if they’d tried to be kind.
The police were likely familiar with Bailey because of it and might be even more likely than the general public to make assumptions. She refused. Not after seeing his battered body and face. He deserved answers as much as anyone else.
She couldn't open any of the drawers without proper gloves, and she had no evidence bags. But looking wouldn't hurt. If they'd removed the crime scene tape, they'd already photographed everything.
Dampness permeated all the wood. She pressed her finger against the top of one cabinet. Everything had gotten wet. Was that the storm, or some other factor? She walked around, taking her time, letting her gaze wander to anything that her mind caught on.
The wood had originally been painted white.
Over time, it had cracked and weathered, though the inside seemed sealed enough to keep rain out, at least, before all the windows had been broken.
She stood still, avoiding the area where she’d found Bailey.
Her chest clenched and heart raced even thinking about him lying there.
Helpless. Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she dug it out without looking.
“Ferd.”
“Hey, when can you meet me?” Duke asked.
“Depends on what it’s for.” Something seemed out of place in the corner, but she couldn’t immediately tell what. You’re trying too hard. Relax and let your brain find what doesn’t belong . . .
“The ME found blood under Bailey’s fingernails and it’s not his own.”
Blood. Always blood. “Meaning he put up a fight.” He was telling her case facts. Did that mean she was officially part of the case, or just someone he could trust and talk to? “What’s my angle here? I’m not on the payroll. Are you looking for questions from me or just someone to talk to?”
“I’ll let you decide how deep you want in on this. Do you want Nixon to call and get permission to hire you on as a temp? Or—”
“No. Don’t call.” Drat. She’d said that too quickly.
“Um, is there a reason? I’d like to have your help on this case because your instincts seem good.”
“Then use me as a consultant.”
“Ferd. What’s going on?” The exasperation seeped through the phone.
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” I’m on medical leave.
If I can work for you, I can work for them, and I don’t want to go back yet.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. My injury is still really bothering me, and I don’t know how efficient I can be.
I don’t know how much I can commit to.” I’m sorry for lying, Lord.
“So, you’re out on an injury. Healing. That’s why your leg was bothering you. Yet you managed to climb up into the boat just fine?”
Was he pointing out that she was lying or looking for exactly where she stood? She couldn’t answer. “I can push through. I was shot, okay?” She whipped around, unable to concentrate enough to hunt for anything but a steady voice.
He paused for a second. “I’m sorry. That’s got to be tough. Not only physically, but mentally. Facing the regular job the first time will be a head-game.”
“Tell me about it.” She didn’t need him to diagnose her.
She’d already bought the t-shirt. “I don’t feel like going into a long discussion about what happened.
Thanks for the observation, but I’d like to help you if I can.
As a test to see if I’m ready to go back.
If that’s not a good enough reason, then I’ll leave and let you handle it.
” She closed her eyes and prayed he didn’t ask what she meant.
“Leave? What do you mean? Leave Piper’s Ridge? If I said no, that would drive you away?”
“Yes. No. I mean.” She slapped her palm against her head. Why had her mother taught her to always be honest? “I mean, leave you alone.”
Silence stretched between them. She bit her lip and took a step closer to the corner that had caught her eye earlier. Her foot found an area spongier than the floor around it—and her bad leg went through. She screamed as sharply pointed planks wedged like giant slivers into her knee.
“Duke.” She swallowed hard, her voice already shaking. He wasn’t going to understand. “I’m at the boat and I’ve broken through the floor. I’m stuck.”
“I’ll be right there.” The line went dead.