Page 69 of Secrets Along the Shore (Beach Read Thrillers #1)
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Despite having left multiple messages, I’m already halfway home and haven’t heard from Tasha or Keel. I’m hoping they’re knee-deep in preparation for the sentencing tomorrow, and her failure to answer isn’t due to some unwelcome development in the case.
Like another body.
It’s a horrible thought, but I can’t help but go there.
My call to James also goes unanswered, which isn’t a surprise. I’m sure his dad’s got him schmoozing whatever investor he’s brought in. Probably turned into a golf game with rounds at the nineteenth hole, if I had to guess.
I did manage to connect with Sheriff Vickers and update him on my progress. But since everyone else has stopped answering their phones, all I can do is drive, which of course turns into a mental rehash of everything I’ve learned in the last several hours.
Once someone gets back to me, I’ll run that license plate and find out who decided I’m interesting enough to follow around Birmingham on a Sunday afternoon.
I suppose it’s possible it isn’t related to Fogerty or the Kamden Avery case—I do have other cases where I’ve ticked people off—but I won’t bet on those odds .
Regardless, the fact that someone knew where I was is troubling. Either there are eyes on me enough of the time to know I left town this morning or—and this is much worse—someone has a connection on the inside who told them where I would be. Neither option is a good one.
Next, I make a note—literally, because I tell my phone to remind me—to have Goat run Kamden’s last Instagram post through his programs to try to identify the place where it was taken.
I’m doubtful he’ll be able to ID it with how little there is to go on, but experience has taught me to never count him out.
If it goes my way, maybe he’ll have something for me by the time I head back to Birmingham, which will be as soon as I can swing it.
Fogerty’s impending sentencing has hung a ticking clock over this investigation, and I still need to track down the servers at The Smoked Glass who worked with Kamden, her previous manager, and Reggie the drug dealer, ASAP.
When I pull into the courthouse parking lot thirty minutes later, the lights are on in the D.A.
’s office, but Tasha still hasn’t called.
A nervous twinge picks at my brain, concern growing that something really has happened.
I hustle up to the war room to find Tasha and Keel in the same spots as yesterday.
Did they even leave last night?
“Hey!” I say, and their heads snap up. “I’ve been trying to reach you guys for an hour and a half. Everything okay?”
“Sorry…sorry.” Tasha grimaces, gesturing at the mounds of papers stacked around her. “We got bogged down in this.”
“You haven’t been here since last night, have you?”
Keel scoffs. “’Course not.” He falls against the chair back, clasps his hands behind his head and spins a full 360 degrees. “Though it does feel like it.”
“Okay, well, you’re not the only one who’s been at it.” I drop my backpack on the floor with a clunk, then launch into an explanation of where I’ve been and what I’ve learned.
Keel drums the table with his pen, running a hand through his spiky, auburn hair.
“That sure muddies the waters. I mean, none of it points to Fogerty, but Kamden had his Perfect Princess calling card on her arm. So…what? Some Birmingham drug dealer’s connected to him somehow?
Or made it look like it was Fogerty’s doing? ”
I shift my stance. “I’d say the latter makes the most sense, but I don’t know at this point.”
“Or it could be a copycat, completely unrelated to her Birmingham contacts,” Tasha adds. “Or…a partner.”
Stark apprehension tweaks my gut and, from their tight expressions, I know Tash and Keel feel it too. If Kamden’s murderer isn’t Fogerty, that means another killer is out there. Whether it’s his partner, someone taking advantage of his notoriety, or a copycat, we need to take them off the streets.
“I want Goat to take a stab at a couple of things—try to find something that’ll at least tell us if we’re headed in the right direction.
In the meantime, I’ll head back down to Birmingham and keep following the leads we have.
Maybe Fogerty will give us something helpful when I sit down with him again. ”
“About that,” Tasha says, “I got a call from Tommy a little while ago. Fogerty’s back at the jail, but he doesn’t want to see you.”
My eyebrows scrunch. “What? He’s the one who asked for the meeting in the first place.”
Tasha shrugs. “I touched base to see if Tommy would let you come by tonight, so you could see him before the hearing. He said Fogerty changed his mind about talking to you.”
“Awfully coincidental that he changed his mind after he was attacked.” Keel crumples an empty can of Red Bull. “You think someone was warning him to shut up?”
Tasha drops her pen on the papers in front of her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It could be as simple as him deciding that yanking you around isn’t worth it now that he's hurting so much. Maybe he just can’t be bothered.”
“If that’s it,” Keel says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he changes his mind in a week or so, when the pain’s gone down and he gets bored.”
“Whatever his reason, I’ll be at the courthouse first thing in the morning, in case he wants to talk before the sentencing hearing. What about you guys—are you ready? ”
“As we can be,” Tasha says. “March came in a little while ago and we ran through it with him. He’s good with what we’ve got.”
“Yeah…” Keel groans, “we’re just crossing i’s and dotting t’s at this point.”
I chuckle. “I think you’ve got that backward, buddy.”
“I’m so tired, I’d probably get my name backward.” Keel leans forward, propping his elbows on the table to hold up his chin. “I think I’m gonna head on. I don’t want that thing”—he jerks his head at Fogerty’s whiteboard photo—“staring at me one minute more.”
“Better the on-paper version than the live one,” I say, acutely recalling Fogerty’s creepy vibe in the jail interview room. “Trust me. Sitting alone with that man and that stare of his…it’s like being wrapped in a blanket of evil.”
With any luck, tomorrow will be the last time I’ll ever have to endure it.
I’m dying to go home, rinse off the day, and crawl into bed. But I can’t. I’ve got one more appointment this evening and I can’t miss it.
When I step into the Ink & Ivy, the place is packed.
A persistent dull murmur of voices mixes with the jazz instrumental playing in the background.
Sundays are routinely busy here, with more kids than any other night.
I imagine it’s partially due to parents making it to the end of the weekend and wanting a break before the cycle starts again.
“Hey, Grace.”
She looks up from cleaning the bar and her face breaks into a warm smile.
“Is Jake here?”
She nods. “Same table. He’s pretty excited. Can’t wait to see what you’ve got for him.”
I run my plan by Grace to make sure she’s okay with it before I explain it to Jake. When she lets out a belly laugh and snorts, I know I’m cleared for takeoff.
I find Jake finishing off a sourdough grilled cheese. A few pieces of crust lie abandoned on his plate. His green beans look untouched .
“Better eat those.” I point to the vegetables as I drop into the chair opposite him. “If you don’t, Grace might give you only veggies next time.”
Jake ponders this for a moment, then shovels a quarter of the beans into his mouth with one go. “You’re right,” he mumbles through a full mouth. “Can’t risk it.” He swallows and leans toward me, his forearms on the table, like he’s about to share state secrets. “So, did you figure something out?”
I narrow my eyes and mirror him, leaning in. “I did. I think you’re gonna like it.” I reach into my backpack, pull out the object I brought with me, and slide it across the table, glancing left and right for dramatic effect.
Jake reaches out to take the plastic jar I’ve set in front of him. He turns it over in his hands, then cuts a glance at me. “What is it?”
“Colorless powder dye—wait!” My hand shoots out to cover his when he moves to twist off the cap. “Don’t do that. It’s a bear to wash off.”
The corner of Jake’s mouth rises conspiratorially. “I get it.”
“Okay, so the powder is clear until it's heat-activated. When Grace makes your lunch, sprinkle some of it on the outside of the sandwich bag. The second Dale Peyton grabs it, the powder will stick to his skin, then turn bright purple. Like I said, it comes off, but not without a lot of scrubbing and soap. If he tries to take your lunch tomorrow, you’ll know it, and so will everyone else.”
“This. Is. Awesome!”
“The thing is”—I lean in again—“your teacher might not like it. And his parents really might not like it. But I think they’re going to have a hard time complaining about what you did to your own lunch.”
“I don’t care if they get mad or not. It’s soooo worth it.” The grin on his face tells me he’ll survive whatever chastisement follows the sting operation. A shadow of worry passes across his face. “Did you tell Gigi?”
I nod. “She’s on board.”
His grin returns.
For half a minute I wish I could be there to see the bully get his, even if he is a kid. I’ve had about all I can take of bullies—whatever form they might take.
I’m ready for a win for the good guys.
Here’s looking at you, sentencing hearing.