Chapter 17
Dylan
Dylan sat in his truck in the parking lot at the marina, waiting for Kelsi to meet him for their interview with Mr. Graves.
He was still stuck on what his mom had told him the night before and the way Kelsi had been tucked under Sheridan’s arms. He’d seen the man around town and hadn’t had a problem with him before, but now he was overwhelmed by thoughts of the man’s demise.
Instead of acting on his darker ideas and peeling out of the parking lot, he rolled around the idea of her having feelings for him all those years ago.
There’s no way he could have missed it. He’d thought once that she did, but he’d been wrong.
If she did, she wouldn’t have frozen him out, right? Not after what happened.
He groaned, rubbing the sides of his temples as a headache brewed behind his eyes.
Her SUV pulled in next to his truck at the marina, shocking him from his thoughts. She gave him a small wave through the window as he caught her eye, and his heart rate kicked higher as they both turned off their engines and met in front of their cars.
“Hey.” She smiled a little lopsidedly, and she picked at the skin around her fingernails, her nervous habit.
He could remember seeing her do that exact motion countless times over the years, especially when they sat in the library of their law school the morning before an exam, doing some last-minute studying.
“Hey,” he replied, giving her a soft grin of his own. He wondered what she was nervous about. Seeing him after her date? Meeting with Mr. Graves? Or was there something else bothering her that he didn’t know about? And why did not knowing bother him so much?
“You remember that time we came here with your dad?” she asked, surprising him.
“I forgot about that,” he said, chuckling. “His engine kept stalling, and he couldn’t figure out the problem. He was not happy when Mr. Graves told him he had water in his gas tank and he found out you’d dumped buckets of creek water into it while we’d played pretend all morning.”
“Me?” she gasped. “I remember you being the water dumper. I was the captain, thank you very much. Only the crew would handle the fuel.”
“Agree to disagree, Red.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, the air between them charged with the years of shared memories.
“You ready?” she asked him.
“Yeah.” He looked out at the colorful sailboats bobbing with the waves against the dock, and the red-sided building that had a section over the water and a separate building behind it on the land.
A few boats were already up on blocks at the second building, where Mr. Graves did his repairs.
“I have a good feeling about this meeting.”
Dylan noticed Kelsi bobbing her head in agreement from the corner of his eye, hers also trained on their destination. She started off toward the repair shop, Dylan tagging along behind her. A bell chimed as they pushed the door open, finding a quiet front office when they stepped inside.
A head peeked out from behind a propped-open door in the rear of the room. “Ay, we’re closed. Come back in two hours when we open.” The head retreated again.
Dylan and Kelsi shared a raised-brows look, amused. This was not unexpected. Mr. Graves was a rigid man, never deviating from routine.
“Actually, Mr. Graves, it’s Kelsi Cameron and Dylan Holloway. We’re here to talk to you about McGuinness. We’re the prosecutors on his case. You did some work on his boat after the accident?” Dylan yelled this toward the door where they’d seen Mr. Graves.
A second later, he popped his head back out the same door.
“Ay,” he grunted, “I remember, all right.” He heaved a deep sigh, looking at the ceiling as if asking for patience in dealing with them in his off hours.
“Fine. You had both better come to the back. If I have to speak with ya, at least let me get some work done at the same time, all right?”
Kelsi and Dylan both gave their agreement immediately, shuffling toward his workshop.
It was a large, open space, with a few boats taking up real estate inside. Tools lined the walls, and spare propellers and rotors were littered about. Dylan looked around in wonder. It was a mess, but everything seemed to make sense, at least to Mr. Graves.
“Sit.” He gestured to two overturned buckets on the ground.
He and Kelsi both eyed them warily, patting them to make sure there was nothing that could stain their suit pants.
Finding nothing questionable or concerning, they took their makeshift seats gingerly.
Dylan winced when the plastic creaked underneath his weight and cursed internally when he realized that the low and precarious seat meant he had to keep his legs tensed.
His injury was already inflamed, but this position felt like he was actively tearing it apart.
Trying not to draw attention to himself and his weakness, he did his best to act normal.
Kelsi still cut his leg a glance from the side of her eye, so quickly that he might have imagined it.
He itched to hide it somehow, but he had nowhere to move.
Mr. Graves reclined on a rolling cart, dragging himself underneath the hull of a jon boat. They all sat in silence for a minute, then two, before Kelsi nudged Dylan with a heel, begging him with her eyes to lead the questioning.
He coughed. Right. They weren’t here to watch Mr. Graves work.
“Mr. Graves?” he implored. “We don’t want to take up too much of your time, but we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind talking to us about the damage you repaired to the boat, or any other damage you noticed when it was brought in.”
Another grunt came from underneath the boat. “Yes, there was damage to it.”
Silence again, as Kelsi and Dylan waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. They shared a pained but equally amused look.
“Right,” Dylan began again. “Can you describe the damage you saw for us, please?”
“I could.” Mr. Graves was quiet again for a second, and Dylan thought he would have to drag the man out and force him to give them actual answers.
Luckily for all of them, Mr. Graves rolled out from underneath the hull with another of his heavy sighs.
The man could trademark those. “Would it be easier if I showed you?”
Dylan and Kelsi looked at each other, shocked.
“Show us? You have pictures?” Dylan held his breath. Yes, he and Kelsi had hoped that he would have photographic evidence to share with them, but they hadn’t been sure.
Mr. Graves clambered to his feet, walking to a digital camera they hadn’t noticed before hanging from its strap on the wall of tools.
He pulled it down and fiddled with it, pressing a couple of buttons before he passed it to them.
Kelsi grabbed it carefully, and, holding it between the two of them, they flipped through the pictures.
Clear as day, a large and jagged scratch sat along the starboard side. This was exactly what they had needed. Dylan and Kelsi locked eyes over the camera, having a silent conversation.
Seemingly satisfied, Kelsi asked if they could get copies of the pictures.
Mr. Graves grunted a yes, and they were able to transfer the photos to Kelsi’s phone with a SIM card adapter that she apparently carried with her in case of this exact situation.
Dylan would never understand how women always seemed to have anything and everything imaginable in their purses.
He tilted his head at different angles and squinted his eyes to look at the dimensions of her bag.
Seriously, were those things bottomless?
“Why didn’t you tell the police you had these?” she asked Mr. Graves.
“Well, that’s ’cause they didn’t ask. Not my job to do the work of the police for them. I got enough to do around here to keep me busy.” He waved his wrench around to emphasize his point.
When all the pictures were uploaded to her phone, Kelsi spoke gently. “Mr. Graves, would you consider testifying in this case?”
“Don’t see why you need me. You got them pictures.” He stuck his hand with the wrench back into the engine. “No.”
“No?” Dylan echoed.
“No,” Mr. Graves repeated.
“Please, sir.” Kelsi jumped back in the conversation, casting Dylan a look while Mr. Graves still had his back to them.
Dylan cleared his throat to help her. “The pictures are incredible, really; they will make a difference in this case. But we can’t introduce the photographs unless we have someone on the stand to testify that they’re accurate representations of the boat and its damage. That’s where you would come in.”
Mr. Graves was silent for a long time, hands frozen, eyes trained on the engine in front of him.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I can take a day off, I guess. The boats ain’t goin’ nowhere without me.
If only so that boy gets what’s coming for him.
Ya know, he told me my work was subpar. Subpar!
” he emphasized, waving the wrench in his hand agitatedly, causing Kelsi and Dylan to each jump from their stools and take a giant step back out of the danger zone.
Dylan’s leg screamed at him in protest, but he leaned his weight to the right and ignored it.
“Now, I haven’t forgotten what you two did to that poor boat all them years ago. I don’t want you around these ones any longer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Kelsi gushed sincerely, before she and Dylan cast each other conspiratory smiles.