Chapter 39
thirty-nine
JUDE
Ever since I was accused of misappropriating the boats, I’ve been stopping by Bayou Blue Charters more often to poke around. If I go to prison, it’s not going to be because of something Rob does and pins on me.
I cruise right past the entrance, parking right next to the big ass dually truck that I said Rob can’t keep.
The showy truck is so new there’s still a paper tag on the back window, and he’s already had it customized.
Why does he need a snorkel for riding in flood waters and mudding?
He’s never going to risk the paint job with either.
Company vehicle, my ass. As usual, the man is trying to use the business to finance his lifestyle.
Eager for a confrontation, I search the office and the outbuildings for Rob, only to come up empty.
Fishing and boat tours are a morning activity. By lunchtime, every boat is in its dock, cleaned, and the tanks filled.
Still, I do a quick check. The houseboat is gone, but it’s booked out for months.
The covered pontoon we use for bayou tours is in its bay, as are the catamarans for fishing excursions. With quick steps, I scan the harbor for the rest of our fleet.
One, two, three…
Motherfucker
The Dolly’s gone.
During a severe hurricane twenty years ago, federal agencies couldn’t access crucial areas. As the floodwaters rose, the Cajun community launched their airboats into the dangerous waters left by water surges to help those in need. The next year, Dad joined the group's ranks.
When Willa and I officially took over ownership, we bought a sporty commercial airboat so he could continue his volunteer work wherever it was needed.
It’s twice the size and three times the price of the average airboat, but its speed and maneuverability are needed in a time of crisis.
It was one of the few things Dad would let us do as a thank you for running the company for us for so many years.
It’s not supposed to be used by anyone except my father, and then only in an emergency.
This is not a fucking emergency.
It all makes perfect sense now. If Rob’s using the boats off hours for what I suspect, he’ll have to explain the loss of fuel and the wiped GPS history. Pointing the finger at me gives him the perfect cover.
My phone is in my hands as I dial Couyon. He clips out a “Yeah?”
“Problem at my family’s harbor. Can you gather hands and meet me here? We’ll need to be waterbound.”
“What type of situation are we dealing with here?”
“The kind the club takes care of before it gets out of hand.”
“We’ll be there in thirty.”
Pulling the key from my pocket, I try to unlock the office. The deadbolt doesn’t give way.
That mother fucker changed the locks.
With a swift kick, the doorjamb splinters, giving me passage through the entrance.
I’d hoped Rob was just a money-hungry idiot and a shitty husband, and that my fears were those of a loving brother and uncle.
Looks like that was in vain. He’s up to something.