Chapter 4
The path to the old Crab Shack was overgrown with palmetto and sea grape, a reminder of how quickly the Everglades reclaimed what man tried to tame.
Fletcher walked ahead, boots crunched against the sand and crushed shells, and the warm, humid air clung to him like a second skin.
Behind him, Keaton, Dawson, and Hayes moved in a loose formation, quiet but alert, each carrying the weight of what they were walking into.
It wasn’t a battlefield. They weren’t going to war. There were no bullets to dodge. No clear enemy to fight. But they certainly felt as though they were under attack.
Fletcher slowed his pace as the old structure came into view.
The Crab Shack had been a fixture of Calusa Cove for as long as Fletcher could remember, first as a bait shop, then a dive bar, and most recently, a half-hearted attempt at a seafood joint before it burned.
Fletcher could still smell the charred wood if he let himself.
Could still see the outline of the taped-off area where a body had been found.
Dewey Hale. Their friend. Their neighbor. The man they’d shared beers with, trusted with secrets, and who had turned out to be a monster.
Now, the skeletal remains of the Crab Shack sat at the edge of the inlet, fire-blackened timbers leaning like brittle bones, sun-bleached boards curling at the edges.
A wind chime made of bottle caps jingled mournfully from a warped beam.
Fletcher stepped over a sagging porch plank and scanned the property.
Decker Brown stood near the far edge, notebook in hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He was dressed in designer slacks and a long-sleeved button-up that looked too crisp for the Everglades, like he’d stepped off a yacht and not into a swamp.
“Afternoon,” Fletcher called, voice even, even though anger coursed through his veins. Decker was up to something, and it smelled like danger.
Decker turned, surprise registering in his eyes, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He smiled that smooth, salesman's smile, the kind that looked like it belonged on a billboard. “Gentlemen. Didn’t expect a welcome committee. How are you this fine evening?”
“That depends,” Keaton said, stopping a few feet back. “What are you doing with that notebook, because from where we’re standing, it looks like you’re surveying the property like you’ve got plans for it or something?”
Decker tapped the notebook closed. “You boys know how this goes. A property like this, even burned out, has potential. View of the water. Close to the main road. I’d be a fool of a developer if I didn’t assess its value and consider my options.”
“I don’t know. It’s also got the stench and lingering memory of a murder,” Hayes said bluntly. “That doesn’t factor into your resale value?”
Decker shifted his weight, eyes narrowing. “Right, because you boys aren’t considering that, too.”
“What would you do with this place?” Dawson asked.
“I don’t know quite yet. That’s why I’m out here. But whatever it would be, it would be something shiny. Something new. Something this town can be proud of, because regardless of what any of you fellas think of me, my goal is never to destroy the heart of a town. Only make it beat a little faster.”
Fletcher doubted that. “So, you’re planning on putting in a bid.”
“I’d be an idiot not to consider it.” Decker’s tone remained neutral, but there was a tightness at the corners of his mouth. Something defiant. Defensive even. “I keep my eyes open for opportunities. And this one just kind of fell in my lap, you know?”
“Any other properties catch your eye?” Dawson asked, watching him like a hawk.
“Not particularly,” Decker said.
“What about the marina? Or the empty lot down the street? Or even Dewey’s old place. His estate, once that’s all figured out, is gonna have to unload it,” Keaton said.
Decker tucked his notebook under his arm.
His jaw flexed. “Marina’s not on the market, and Baily’s not interested in selling.
Ever. That’s what she says. The empty lot?
I hear Keaton’s selling it to Hayes. As far as Dewey’s place is concerned, well, I’ve walked the property, but there isn’t anything I can do with it.
That land is zoned residential, and that’s not something I do anymore—at least not on a regular basis.
Besides, I don’t go after anything that’s not on the market.
That’s not how I operate. You can ask anyone I’ve ever done business with. I’m not a predator.”
“Funny,” Hayes muttered. “That word came up earlier.”
Decker cocked his head, as if he’d been slapped.
“Look, I didn’t come to Calusa Cove looking to scoop up half the town, or any of it for that matter.
I came here because I needed space. Quiet.
A little distance from the job site, that’s not far from here.
I do that a lot. Another thing you can ask people about. ”
Fletcher studied him for a long moment. He found it interesting how Decker had to justify and qualify his decisions. That smelled like guilt…but of what?
Even so, the guy said all the right things. But Fletcher had learned a long time ago that the devil didn’t come dressed in horns and fire. He wore a smile. Carried a clipboard. Promised renovations. Florida contractors sucked in general.
Decker spread his hands. “You think I’m trying to screw someone over? Say it now. Otherwise, I’d like to go back to my walk without feeling like I’m being interrogated for the second time in one day.”
Dawson gave a half-shrug. “Just a chat. No need to get riled up.”
Decker chuckled without humor. “In my line of work, being defensive is the difference between making money and getting sued. But I get it. Tight-knit town. Outsiders stir suspicion.”
“Especially ones who keep showing up around properties that’ve been through hell,” Fletcher said. He let the words hang between them, then stepped back. “Enjoy your walk.”
Decker nodded slowly. “You guys take care.”
They walked away in silence, boots kicking up grit and the occasional bottle cap embedded in the sand. When they reached the shade of the palms, Keaton spoke first, “I don’t trust him.”
“Me neither,” Dawson said. “But he didn’t say anything incriminating. Nothing I could use to even legally dig. He’s just an asshole we might have to bid against.”
“He’s smart,” Hayes said. “And he knows this game better than we do.”
Keaton kicked a chunk of charred wood. “We need to get ahead of him. If he puts in a bid, we need to make sure ours is better. Outside of people liking us and rooting for us, the town will need to do what’s best, and I’m sure he’s got more money.”
“He may have money, but we have something he doesn’t,” Fletcher said.
Hayes glanced over. “What’s that?”
“This place is in our blood.” Fletcher tapped his chest. “I might be the only one of us who was born and raised here, but you three have become part of this town. Money might talk, but it’s not what this place was built on.”
Fletcher’s house had emptied slowly, laughter trailing off into the night as the others headed home.
Now, the soft hum of cicadas filled the stillness, mingling with the occasional splash of water against the dock pilings.
The scent of smoked wood lingered in the air, curling through the open windows and mixing with the citrus tang of the candle burning on the kitchen counter.
Baily stood barefoot near the sink, hands braced on the edge of the countertop.
She wore one of Fletcher’s sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs.
His clothes always smelled like pine and the Everglades.
But more so, they felt like home and reminded her of simpler times.
She tapped her fingers, waiting for her cell to power back up. She desperately needed a new phone. Another thing that would have to wait since she didn’t have the money to drop on one, and the damn things were so expensive.
Finally, her phone buzzed where it rested on the charger, screen lighting up with a new notification. She grabbed it, unplugged the cord, and stared at the voicemail icon.
Her brow furrowed. Her heart hammered in her chest. She gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Fletcher asked as he walked into the kitchen, barefoot, wearing jeans and his favorite rock band T-shirt.
She didn’t look at him at first. Just stood there staring at her phone like it might jump off the counter and eat her for lunch.
“There’s a message on here from Julie. I haven’t heard from her since Ken died.
Since she told me I couldn’t see the boys, since everything from Calusa Cove was just…
too raw. Of course, she then said if I ever left, we could… talk.”
He shouldered in behind her, reaching for the phone and glancing at the screen. “I wonder what she wants.”
Baily sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve wanted to talk to her—left messages for her—but she’s the last person I ever expected to hear from.”
Fletcher crossed to her slowly. “I hope the boys are okay.”
“Oh, God. Don’t put those thoughts in my head.” She grabbed the phone from his fingers and tapped the screen, but didn’t hit play. “It looks like it came in around midnight. So, just twenty minutes ago. My phone only holds a charge for about three hours these days.”
He pressed his lips against her temple. “Don’t bite my head off, but my cell phone carrier has this deal where I can add a second line for next to nothing. We can get you a new one tomorrow if you’d like.”
She turned her head and glared. “It’s not just the monthly bill, Fletcher. It’s the freaking cost of the cell. Do you know how much an iPhone costs these days?”
“I just got a new one,” he said. “And I didn’t trade in my last one, which, honestly, was perfectly fine. You can have that one.”
“Why didn’t you trade it in?” she asked, not wanting to deal with the message from Julie yet.
“Honestly?” Fletcher asked. “I figured I should keep it as a backup in case I dropped mine in the water.”