Chapter 5
Trent was restless, pacing back and forth through the Hideaway kitchen.
After two days haunting the marina, he had zero viable leads for his case.
He’d walked the area, booked a fishing charter, and taken paddle board lessons.
Anything that would keep him near the water and the constant action down there.
It wasn’t a matter of running out of excuses to be in the area.
There was plenty left to explore. He was simply frustrated with his lack of progress.
The locals were starting to recognize him wherever he went. They knew he was here for what amounted to a working vacation, and they knew he had professional ties to Jess Billings at the Guardian Agency office.
Genuine, neighborly interest was part of life on Brookwell Island.
Although it was now a rental, the Hargrave Hideaway was situated in a neighborhood rather than a tourist area.
He didn’t mind the questions or impromptu conversations.
Instead, he found the innocent curiosity strangely soothing, despite the secrets he had to keep.
Every morning, no matter where he went, folks asked how he was doing.
They all wanted to know that he wasn’t bothered by staying so close to where a murder victim had washed ashore.
That first day, he’d tried to shift the narrative away from murder, to no avail.
And when the Chief of Police, backed by the state investigators, held a press conference asking for information, he gave up.
Maybe, if everyone in town was looking for the killer, they would flush out Trent’s target.
The only person he wanted to be transparent with was Natalie.
She believed he was a consultant for the Guardian Agency—close enough to the truth that he shouldn’t be bothered.
But something about her made him want to tell her the whole story.
Not in the cards. He could practically hear his bosses raking him over the coals for that mistake.
He chalked up the unprecedented urge to how much he liked the Hideaway hostess and admired her bright spirit and bold courage. Someday, he’d enjoy taking her out, getting to know her better.
After he solved this case.
His watch chimed and he smiled at the message. Grabbing his key for the Hideaway, he headed out to the Pelican Pub, eager for a change of scenery. With luck, he’d catch some chatter from the locals about trouble out on the water.
Everything he’d learned about the boat thieves he was tracking led to a connection here at Brookwell.
And yet, his suspect list remained empty.
He’d eliminated several people over recent weeks.
Even Natalie. At one time she had been on his list of potential connections.
Foolishly maybe, but he couldn’t afford to overlook anything.
Especially now that bodies were dropping.
He enjoyed the walk to the pub. The evening was quiet out here and soothed the rough edges left behind by the case.
Inside, he spotted Nash Billings and Boone Reynolds right away.
Both men had deep connections to the island and had a good feel for the people here.
Nash was born and bred here on Brookwell and married to Jess, now the regional personnel coordinator for the Guardian Agency.
Although raised on the island, Jess had spent years down in Key West, Florida as a cop before returning.
Boone was a Guardian Agency protector, married to Nash’s sister, Nina.
And she owned Island Bloomers, a shop on Central Avenue.
If there was any concern about stolen boats or other property around town, odds were good Nash or Boone would’ve heard about it.
“Another round?” Nash asked Boone, sliding out of the booth.
“Count me in,” Boone replied.
Nash grinned. “What’re you drinking, Trent?”
“Whatever’s on tap,” he replied. With a nod, Nash went to the bar. Trent turned to Boone. “How are things going?”
Boone stretched his arms across the back of the booth. “Great! I’m making the most of my hours away from teething,” he explained.
“Smart man.”
Boone raised an eyebrow. “You have kids?”
“Not me, no.” Trent shook his head. “Just a big family. My youngest sister was born when I was fifteen. I have many less-than-fond memories of teething.” And everything else that went along with newborns.
Looking back, he focused on the good stuff.
The rough times had been so short-lived in comparison.
He had a great family, and with the distance of maturity, he eagerly embraced the time with his youngest nieces and nephews when they were all together.
Boone snorted. “Bet that was effective birth control.”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Although he remembered being grossed out over the idea of his parents having regular sex. For fun. At their age. Couldn’t dwell on it even now. “Fatherhood looks good on you, man.” He and Boone had worked together on assignments in the past. “How’s it feel?”
“Good.” He shook his head. “Great, actually. Even on teething days. Makes a big difference having a partner like Nina. She’s amazing.”
“I look forward to meeting her.” During his visits, Trent had seen her around town, usually in her delivery van, but he’d had no reason to speak with her.
Nash returned to the table with a fresh beer for each of them. “Enjoy!” He lifted a glass of soda. “Proud designated driver here. And house chips are on the way.”
“Thanks.” Trent raised his glass in salute. “I walked over, just so y’know.”
“Just don’t walk into the ocean,” Nash cautioned. “It’s not as impossible as it sounds.”
Trent chuckled. “I’ll be careful.” He had no plans to dull his senses while he was working. “Have either of you heard anything recently about stolen boats?”
“Not a peep.” Nash did a double take. Scowled. “Is that why the body washed up? I assumed it was an accident or a drug deal gone bad.”
Trent glanced around, confirming no one was too interested in them. “I’ve got reason to believe that body was tied to the boat theft ring I’ve been working on,” he said. At Boone’s raised eyebrow he added, “No official connection, yet. And I’m hoping they don’t announce a connection too soon.”
“You think someone’s stealing boats and using them for smuggling drugs?” Boone asked.
“That’s my working theory. We’ve seen a rash of incidents up and down the Eastern seaboard,” he said.
“I’m still looking for leads and ties to a few people capable of setting this kind of thing in motion.
” Thinking of Frank Royer, convinced he was involved, Trent linked his hands around his beer mug and took a deep breath.
“I’ve been on this a while now,” he admitted.
“I’ve shifted my viewpoint to the victims and I still can’t figure out how this crew is choosing their targets. ”
“Victims?” Nash drummed his fingers on the table. “I haven’t heard of any losses out of our marina.”
“With luck, my investigation will keep it that way.” Trent clocked the folks around the bar again, not seeing any familiar faces or anyone who seemed concerned with his presence in the pub.
It was a longshot that the local tie to Royer would be a Pelican patron.
Then again, Trent hadn’t heard of much competition for the pub, though surely there was a dive bar somewhere close. “Is this the only bar in Brookwell?”
Boone nodded. “Officially, yeah. A few guys hang out on their boats or near the marina’s repair shop.”
“I didn’t realize.” And he should have. It would be tough to crash those private gatherings. Something like that would require a plan.
He’d been out on the water with the team, when everything had gone wrong just off the coast of Brookwell.
The intercept had turned into a blood bath as the thieves fought like hell to escape seizure.
The viciousness of the fight had shocked everyone involved.
Nothing he had seen leading up to that arrest indicated the crew would fight so hard.
Much less kill one of their own. They’d gotten zero intel when the last man on the boat forced authorities to use deadly measures.
But that man hadn’t possessed any weapon that could’ve created the wounds on his dead crewmate.
Trent still wasn’t sure if the excessive violence had been a deliberate distraction or an inconvenient accident.
Either way, he was hopeful that the autopsy would come up with some evidence to tie the most recent body to Royer.
“Speak of the devil,” Boone murmured. His gaze flicked to the door. “Not regulars.”
Trent recognized a couple guys walking in from the marina repair shop. Men he had on his radar to investigate more closely, but he hadn’t found a way in. If they were here, this could be a good opportunity to go through their shop for clues. Maybe his only chance.
“Do me a favor? If you hear any rumors, pass them on?”
Boone studied him before giving him an understanding nod. “You got it.”
“Thanks,” Trent slid out of the booth.
“You can’t leave,” Nash pointed at the beer sitting in front of Boone.
“No worries. I just need to get some air,” he explained. “I’ve been cooped up most of the day with meetings.” A small but valuable untruth.
“Fine. Don’t go walking into the ocean,” Nash warned one more time.
Trent chuckled. “I promise if my feet get wet, I’ll turn around.” He dropped some cash on the table and left the pub.
The fastest way toward the marina was likely down the beach. And the best explanation if he was intercepted. He’d been doing his best to get to know the area, but he still hadn’t identified the places where thieves wanting to lie low would hide out.
There couldn’t be too many options in a town of this size.
Trent went over it all in his head as he crossed the dunes that protected the beach.
Only one man had been apprehended alive.
With stolen equipment and a few kilos of cocaine for good measure.
Of the two men who went overboard, one was still missing.