Chapter 55
By the time the fire department arrived, every last bit of money had been incinerated.
First responders swarmed. Red and blue lights flickered atop patrol cars. The acrid stench of burned plastic, rubber, and oil lingered in the air.
Paramedics and EMTs were on the scene.
"Let me get this straight," Sheriff Daniels said to me. "You planned to meet with Pedro and exchange the ransom for Kendra."
I nodded.
"And the ransom is now up in smoke."
"Yes. Exactly."
He gave me a stern look. "All of it?"
"All of it.”
"Because that money would be subject to civil asset forfeiture.”
"I’m aware.”
"And who are these other assholes?" he asked, noting Rico and his crew.
"A rival gang," I said.
"Where did the van come from?”
"It's complicated.”
His eyes narrowed at me.
With hesitation, I told him the full story.
His eyes filled with disbelief. "Okay, look. Just make something up that's halfway believable for your official report. Because nobody is going to buy the tomb thing.”
"I'm sure I can come up with something," I said.
Helicopters circled overhead, and news crews captured footage.
Mickey and Kendra were the stars of the show. Cameras and reporters mobbed them.
"Were you kidnapped by Pedro Sandoval?
"What happened to Pepe's money?
"What’s next for you?”
“Thanks to the swift action of the Coconut County Sheriff's Department, I have my daughter back,” Mickey said. “That’s the only thing that matters to me. I hope we can begin to repair our relationship."
Kendra teared up, nodded, and hugged him.
The media ate it up.
Paris asked me for an interview, but I declined to comment. I figured the less I said about the situation, the better.
JD recovered the drone. He and Flynn drove back to the Avventura. The sheriff gave me, Kendra, and Mickey a ride. He dropped me off at the dock, and Mickey and Kendra thanked me again and said they'd be in touch.
I strolled back to the boat, feeling accomplished. Boats swayed in their slips, and the moon glowed overhead. The water was calm and relaxing.
Buddy greeted me eagerly when I boarded the boat. I grabbed his leash and took him out for a quick walk. After I returned, I took a shower, still smelling like smoke from the noxious flames. I fell into bed and slept like a baby—the events of the night still lingered in my dreams.
I woke with the sunrise and stumbled down to the galley after going through my morning routine. Flynn was always up early. This time, he had taken charge of breakfast. “I’m taking requests. Let me know what you want?”
“Dealer’s choice,” I said.
“Ham and cheese omelettes, hash browns, bacon, toast, fresh coffee?”
“Sounds great.” I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the breakfast nook, trying to come to life as I sipped the hot java.
The sheriff buzzed my phone.
I dreaded answering. I thought he might give me an earful about the way we handled the kidnapping, but he had other things to focus on. “I need you and the nitwit to get over to the Law Office of Trent Keating.”
“What happened?”
“Somebody stabbed him.”
“Who?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called.”
I groaned. “We’re on our way.”
I ended the call, banged on the hatch to JD’s stateroom, and told him we had a fresh case.
Jack staggered out a few minutes later with tousled hair and sleepy eyes. He made a beeline for the coffee.
I figured Trent Keating wasn't going anywhere. Flynn finished grilling breakfast, and we dished up plates. The three of us ate on the sky deck as the morning sun bathed the marina in an amber glow.
I filled JD in on the situation.
"Who is this Keating guy?" Flynn asked.
"I have no earthly idea.” I did a quick Internet search on my phone. A few pages of results popped up. Trent was apparently an attorney who practiced family law—divorces and estate planning, mostly.
I sent Isabella a text and asked her to see what she could find out about the man.
The name bounced around my head. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn't quite place it.
After we inhaled the omelettes, we collected ourselves, then left the Avventura and hustled down the dock to the Porsche. Flynn stayed behind to look after the boat and the animals. He would probably never admit it, but I think he had his fill of adventure for the moment.
Trent had a home office on Banyon Way. It was a quaint little mint green bungalow with white trim, a picket fence, and a nice veranda. An American flag hung from a column out front. There was no sign in the yard.
EMTs and the medical examiner were already on the scene. A crowd of curious neighbors gathered on the street. Paris Delaney had arrived, and her camera crew captured footage.
Jack found a place to park. We hopped out and hurried to the scene.
Paris and her crew confronted us along the way. "Deputy Wild, what can you tell us?"
"Not much at this time,” I said dryly.
I continued past the camera, and we pushed through the gate and strolled the walkway up to the veranda. Deputies loitered around the entrance. Camera flashes spilled out as Dietrich snapped photos. Forensic investigators chronicled the scene.
Something told me this wasn’t going to be pretty.