Emerald Waters

A RICK WATERS NOVEL

CARIBBEAN ADVENTURE SERIES

BOOK TWENTY

ERIC CHANCE STONE

Copyright © 2025 by Eric Chance Stone

Published by Lost & Found Publishing LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

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Emerald Waters

by Eric Chance Stone

Chapter

One

Rick used a crowbar to crack open the wooden crate parked under his condo in the parking garage of the Palms of Destin Towers. It had been sitting in the garage ever since they left Italy. They had spent a while on the Big Island before finally returning home to Destin. When Olivia told him he had a crate delivered from Italy, he was thinking of a small crate with some Italian cheese or something inside. This crate was twenty feet long and five feet tall.

“What do you think it is, Jules?” asked Rick.

“I have no idea. A tank?” she said with a laugh.

It took Rick a while to get the front of the crate open, and next, he worked on the side. Inside was something covered in a huge shipping blanket. He reached down and pulled it all off in a quick jerk. His jaw hit the floor. Inside the crate, under the shipping blanket, was the Ferrari 308 GTSi with a yellow bow on top of the hood, which he had rented back in Italy. Gary was in charge of returning it to the rental location because Rick and Jules had to fly out before him.

“That son of a bitch! He knew I loved this car. I can’t believe he bought it,” said Rick.

Tears welled up in Rick’s eyes as he gazed at the same model car from the '80s TV show Magnum P.I. He squeezed around the side of the car and cracked open the door. He could barely fit inside and found the keys on the passenger seat. He stuck them in the ignition and fired it up. It started right away, and he killed the engine so he wouldn’t suffocate from the fumes. He climbed back out, loosened the straps that held the car down inside the crate, then climbed back in, started it up again, and drove out. It still had Italian plates on it, but he didn’t give a shit.

“Let’s roll, Jules!”

Jules helped Rick take the top off and secure it behind the seat, then climbed in.

“Where to?” asked Jules.

“Let’s drive down toward 30A on Hwy 98 and blow the carbon out on Hwy 283 that drops down to Grayton Beach. We can grab a Collective Arts Hazy IPA at the Red Bar. It’s been a while since we’ve been down there,” said Rick.

Rick pulled out of the parking garage and turned left onto Hwy 98 heading east. He sped past several cars until he was beyond Destin Commons and pressed his foot down for a few seconds. Jules's jet-black hair danced around in the wind like a flag in a hurricane. She quickly braided it into a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes.

“Woohoo!” yelled Rick as the finely tuned engine roared.

Nothing quite sounded like a Ferrari engine with tuned dual exhaust. They were excited to be home. It seemed like forever since they had left Destin. When they arrived the day before, they were too tired to pay attention to what was in the parking garage and spent the late afternoon playing with Chief and Choco, their beloved cockatoo and dogsled dog. They ended up staying in and ordering a pizza from Merlin’s. Merlin’s still rocked the pizzas! Rick loved their meat-lover's pizzas with meatballs and green olives. Jules was more of a Margherita pizza fan, but she indulged Rick because she was starving and tired. She’d kick his ass in the gym, and it would all be worth it.

“Slow down, Mario. You’re gonna get a ticket,” said Jules.

“I don’t care. Good luck catching me,” said Rick.

“You can’t outrun a radio, genius.”

“True dat.”

Rick slowed down until he turned onto Hwy 283, which went down to Grayton Beach. As soon as he turned, he floored it, and the wheels smoked as the car went sideways for a second before he righted it. He hit a hundred ten in no time and slowed down quickly before getting close to Grayton Beach.

“That should clean the carburetor. I’ll take it to Destin Imports tomorrow to see if they can do a tune-up. I’m not sure they work on Ferraris. We may have to go to a larger city for that,” said Rick.

“Don’t tell them to adjust the carburetor; they will laugh at you. This car is fuel-injected,” said Jules.

“Well, look at you! You were paying attention. Ha-ha. I always say carburetor. It’s like when I ask for Coke, but I really mean whatever is cold in the fridge.”

“I know. I’m just busting your balls, Mr. Waters,” said Jules with a laugh.

Rick found a good spot close to the Red Bar to park. A few people pointed at his car, and it made him grin. He ordered two Collective Arts Hazy IPAs, and they went outside and sat at a table. Rick took a sip of the near beer.

“Damn, this really is the best damn non-alcoholic beer I’ve ever tasted,” said Rick.

“I agree,” said Jules as she took a big swig.

They finished their beers and climbed back into the Ferrari.

“Let’s head down to Destin HarborWalk and show Johnie the car,” said Rick.

“Sounds good. I know they have a nighttime shark fishing trip on Nine-Tenths, and he’s on the boat getting her ready. I saw him on the cameras.”

“You little spy, you,” said Rick with a wink.

Rick took the backroad to Destin on 30A so they could see the beach and enjoy the Gulf breeze. He reached a straightaway and couldn’t help himself, so he pushed his car to top speed again through a wooded area past WaterColor, a beach resort near Santa Rosa. They parked at the AJ’s parking lot and walked down to the yacht. Johnie was polishing the stainless steel when they walked up.

“Johnie, Johnie, put down the rag. I wanna show you something!” exclaimed Rick.

Johnie wiped his hands clean with a wet nap and stepped off the transom onto the dock.

“What is it, Rick?” asked Johnie.

“Wait until you see it.”

They walked around the boat storage building and in the corner saw the Ferrari.

“Check it out!” said Rick.

“Damn, she’s even prettier in person. Gary told me what he did and promised me not to tell you. It was hard to keep that secret. I’m happy for you, Rick. She’s a beauty.”

“No doubt. I don’t know whether to kick Gary’s ass or give him a big bear hug.”

“Just thank him. It’s a drop in the bucket for him. You know how he hates wasting money on rentals. I bet he got a good deal and got the rental bill dismissed,” said Johnie.

“You’re probably right. Where is that scoundrel, anyway?”

“He’s back in Africa with Kelly. I got a text from him, and he said he’s bringing her here soon. She is so excited to see Destin. She’s training a new geologist so she can have more time off to spend with Gary. She’ll still be head of operations at the mines, but she wanted a solid second person so she could get away more often.”

“That’s a great idea. It’s hard to be married if you live on different continents,” said Rick.

“Not if you’re Gary Haas. He can fly over with his private jet as often as he wants.”

“I guess that’s true. Anyway, how’s the boat?”

“She’s good. I did a PM on her yesterday. Those MAN engines have a ton of life left in them,” said Johnie.

“Alright, Johnie. I don’t wanna hold you up. I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Sounds good, Rick. Listen, we have a shark fishing trip that leaves at 10:00 p.m. If you and Jules want to go out for a little sunset cruise, be back at the dock by five. I want to run the engines and make sure the new turbo I installed is up to speed. Bring Chief and Choco too. Oh, and ask Olivia if she wants to go.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll see you at five.”

Rick and Jules headed back to the Ferrari and drove to the condo. They stopped at the office, where Olivia was behind her computer. Chief was sitting on his perch, and Choco and Mattie were at Olivia’s feet. Chief hopped up and down as Rick and Jules entered. Rick wandered over and let Chief nuzzle him under his chin. The phone rang, and Olivia picked it up before she could even say hi to Rick and Jules. When she got off, she waved at Rick and Jules with both hands.

“Hi, Olivia. Been busy?” asked Rick.

“Not too bad. That was the guy for the shark fishing trip, just confirming the time. We have three charters this week after tonight already. No private detective cases worth taking. The usual bullshit of some woman wanting us to surveil her husband because she thinks he’s cheating. I always tell them we don’t take those kinds of cases and refer them to someone else.”

“Thanks for taking care of Chief and Choco for me.”

“Are you kidding? They were great company. I love having them all around. It makes the day more pleasant. Oh, you’ve gotta see this. It’s something Chief and Choco started doing,” said Olivia.

She took Chief from Rick and placed him on the ground. Chief waddled over to Choco, who leaned his head down, and Chief climbed over his face and sat on his back, gripping his collar with his feet for balance. Choco walked around the office, and Chief flapped his wings.

“Jesus Christ. Choco thinks he’s a horse, and Chief thinks he's Roy Rogers. I gotta get that on camera,” said Rick.

“I’ve got tons of videos. I’ll AirDrop them to you.”

“Thanks, Olivia. I’m gonna take them upstairs to the condo and grab some lunch. You want some?”

“I would, but I still have a few things to take care of, and I ordered a sub from Lenny’s.”

“Oh, we’re going out on a little sunset shake-down cruise at five. You wanna join us? We’re bringing the animals. You can bring Mattie.”

“Sweet, yeah, count me in. I’ll meet y’all there. I need to go into Fort Walton after.”

“Alright, Olivia. See ya later.”

Rick picked up Chief, and Jules put the leash on Choco's collar. They then took the elevator up to the condo. Rick kept spinning his Ferrari keychain around his finger and grinning.

“You love that car, don’t you?”

“Only second to you, Jules.”

“It better not be a close second, Mister!”

“Not even close at all, baby.”

Jules kissed Rick on the arm. Once inside, Rick plopped down on the couch like a sack of potatoes.

“I’m still tired. I haven’t recovered from the boat delivery from Ecuador,” said Rick.

“You’re just getting old, Rick Waters,” said Jules with a laugh.

“Never!”

Jules packed a cooler for the boat ride later. She filled it with Diet Cokes, Collective Arts Hazy non-alcoholic IPAs, and some water. She also threw in a bag of red grapes and some Beggin' Strips for the dogs. In a separate backpack, she prepared chicken and cheese wraps for everyone. Rick pulled Choco into the Ferrari and tried diligently to get him to sit in the middle between the two seats. He couldn’t wrap his dog’s head around it and kept moving over to the passenger seat. Once Jules got in with Chief on her lap, he moved over to the driver’s seat.

“Listen, dog, unless you can drive, I can’t sit in the middle,” said Rick.

As if Choco suddenly understood what Rick said, he moved over next to Jules and sat back on his haunches between Rick and Jules. On Jules’ lap was the cooler, and on the cooler sat Chief.

“We should’ve taken the Bronco,” said Jules.

“We couldn’t,” replied Rick.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a Ferrari.”

“Smartass,” said Jules.

They took off and headed toward Destin Harbor. You’d think that Rick would be sick of boats for a while after the long journey he and Jules had just completed delivering a yacht from Ecuador to Destin through the Panama Canal, with a stop in Sèvres Island in the Caribbean chain for fuel and provisions. The yacht they delivered belonged to Keifer Kamao. It was left to him by his late mother. Before her passing, she had it retrofitted and completely restored to its former glory. She left that, along with a condo in Laguna Beach, California, to him in her will. Unfortunately, Keifer wasn’t a very good boy and had decided to choose a path in life that led to his early demise. Had he not died and become fish food in the Pacific, he would’ve no doubt spent the rest of his life in prison for kidnapping and extortion. Rick had docked the yacht at Galati Yacht Brokers, and it had been lifted on the hard. Since Keifer had no will or next of kin, Rick had placed an order of salvage on it. It could be up to the courts to decide if he would be allowed to keep it under U.S. salvage laws once the FBI had gone through it with a fine-tooth comb.

“It’s weird, Jules, but I’ve surprisingly been stoked to go out on Nine-Tenths today. After all that time on Keifer’s yacht, I thought I needed a break from boats for a while, but since Johnie is captaining and it’s a sunset cruise, I’m pretty ramped up about it.”

“Me too, Rick. Maybe because it’s Nine-Tenths and she is special to you. Or maybe it’s the company.”

“I’m gonna go with that,” replied Rick with a wink.

When they arrived at the Destin HarborWalk, heads turned when Rick drove by. The Ferrari was such an iconic car. For most of the '80s, that car had been plastered on TV sets all across America on the fast-paced Magnum P.I. weekly TV series.

Johnie was on the stern polishing the rails of the new fighting chair they had just ordered. It was made from a mix of the highest-quality stainless steel, teak, and plush, soft leather. The Murray Elite Fighting Chair cost significantly more than Rick’s first jon boat, which he still owned and stored in Texas. They chose real leather instead of industrial marine-strength Naugahyde vinyl because Johnie kept the cover on most of the time, unless there was a fish on. He used saddle soap to keep the leather soft and supple. Johnie was the best and only first mate Rick ever had. He hired him several years back on the spot when they met, looking at a message board in the harbor for available crew jobs. But Johnie was more than just a first mate; he was a diesel mechanic genius. He had designed computer racing chips before the NHRA banned him from racing because he blew away all the competition. His diesel engines were stomping traditional alcohol-fueled dragsters. He brought similar technology to the MAN diesels on Nine-Tenths.

“Y’all ready for a nice evening on the water?” asked Johnie.

“Hell yeah. Let’s do it,” said Rick.

Olivia texted Jules that she was tied up and couldn’t make it. Choco jumped over the transom onto the deck of the sport fisher as if he owned the place. Jules climbed aboard with Chief on her arm, and Rick handed Johnie the cooler while untying the stern lines. Jules went forward and released the bow and spring lines, and Johnie put Nine-Tenths in gear.

“You see that leather, Chief? If you shred that, Johnie’s gonna use you for chum,” said Rick as Chief hopped up and down on the deck behind the new fighting chair, looking up at it as if it was a chew toy.

As they idled through the channel, Jules started pointing and got Rick’s attention.

“Look, Rick. That boat you said you liked when we came into the harbor has plastic tape around it.”

Rick grabbed some stabilizing binoculars hanging in the saloon and scanned the boat. It was a sixty-foot treasure hunting vessel with two large sand blowers hanging off the stern. They were used to sift sand on the ocean floor while searching for precious metals. Police tape surrounded the boat, and a CSI van, along with two Okaloosa County Sheriff cruisers, was parked in front. A crowd had gathered around, and then Rick saw the coroner’s van. The boat was named “X Marks The Spot,” which Rick thought was a clever name for a treasure-hunting vessel. He quickly searched for it on Google and discovered it belonged to Texas oil tycoon Nate Wilson. There were no details online about who may have died on the boat, but it was clear that someone did.

“I wonder who kicked the bucket?” asked Rick.

Jules slapped Rick on the arm.

“Don’t say that!”

“You’re right, Jules. I wonder who’s pushing up daisies?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” said Rick.

As they turned the corner into the channel, Crab Island was still about half full of boats. They headed south towards the Gulf, and when Johnie passed the center channel marker, he turned the boat west so they could pass by the Okaloosa Pier. At the end of the jetties, several pelicans sat stoically, as if they were statues, as the waves lapped up against the granite rocks. Jules snapped a couple of photos of them with her iPhone. Rick cracked open two Collective Arts Hazy IPAs and put them in Buc-ee’s beer koozies. The sky was clear, and it was going to be a beautiful sunset. Johnie put some Stick Figure on the stereo, and Rick and Jules climbed up to the wheelhouse to join Johnie. There was a PVC bird perch up top for Chief. Choco was busy up on the bow barking at dolphins and quite content.

“I hope he doesn’t jump in the water,” said Jules.

“He’s never been in the water. Only snow. He’s probably intrigued by it,” said Rick.

The tide was in, and the water was crystal clear. In the Florida Panhandle, the Gulf Stream came very close to the shore, making the water bluer than most parts of Florida. The sand in Destin was also very white because it was mainly composed of pure quartz crystals. After Hurricane Ivan in 2005, the city undertook a sand replenishment project, hiring contractors to dig up sand from several yards offshore to match the color of the existing sand. One contractor tried to cut corners by bringing sand from another site, but the city forced them to dig it all up and remove it. They were also heavily fined and went bankrupt.

“Ahw, Ahw, Ahw!” squawked Chief as he mimicked nearby seagulls.

“You are one crazy bird, Chief,” said Rick.

Chief made seagull sounds for a while, then switched to a dog barking, which caught Choco’s attention.

“I wonder if he can climb up here?” asked Rick.

Rick pulled out the Beggin’ Strips and called Choco. He sat at the bottom of the stairs that led to the flybridge. As if he had done it a thousand times, he backed up, ran, jumped, and scaled the stairs in two leaps.

“Holy shit! I guess that answers that question,” said Rick.

“Getting him down will be quite a challenge,” added Jules.

“Damn, I never thought of that. We’ll figure that out later.”

As they passed the pier, most of the old-timers Rick usually saw fishing were in their spots with lines in the water. The sun set as they turned around, not far from Navarre Beach, running parallel to the shore. They got back to the dock just as the last sliver of light remained and the glowing moon rose into the night sky. Rick ended up carrying Choco down the stairs, which was no easy feat, and they headed home. Johnie stayed and got the boat ready for the night’s shark fishing charter.

Chapter

Two

Rick called Island Wing Company and ordered two dozen wings, some fries, and side salads for takeout. It was just an excuse to take the Ferrari out again. Jules wasn't fooled but didn’t care and jumped in the shower. She loved their wings. Rick texted Possum, who was in his condo down the hall, and asked if he wanted to join them. He declined, saying he was going to take Malia to Fudpucker’s for dinner. Fudpucker’s, or Fud’s as it was known locally, was a popular tourist spot. The main restaurant and bar sat on stilts, and underneath, the owner had built a beach with a lagoon that had hundreds of small alligators. They even had vending machines with food that tourists could toss to the gators. Malia had never seen one in real life, and Possum thought she’d enjoy it. Besides, Possum knew all the bartenders by first name and always got strong pours. Possum was a semi-retired professor who grew up with Rick and had moved to Destin to help him with his cases and be the critical thinker in the group of misfits. He got his nickname from his love of George Jones, who was also nicknamed “The Possum.”

Rick climbed into the Ferrari and revved it a few times. He still couldn’t believe Gary pulled that off without him knowing. Gary was Rick’s partner in business and was still in Africa with his new wife, Kelly. Several years back, he won the Powerball in Texas and invested wisely, turning everything he touched into profit. Money hadn't changed him, though. He still wore cut-offs, T-shirts, and drank Busch Light Tallboys. He was a redneck through and through.

Rick picked up the wings and fries and stopped at the light on Highway 98. A guy in a Corvette ZR1 pulled up next to Rick and revved its engine. Rick looked over and saw that the guy wanted to race. He tried to wave him off since there’s often a speed trap up ahead around the bend, but the guy kept egging him on. Rick revved his engine, and when the light turned green, he lunged forward, then braked hard and turned right onto Indian Bayou Trail, the road that led to his condo in the Palms of Destin Resort. He saw the flashing lights back on Emerald Coast Parkway and laughed.

Better him than me.

Rick was glad to be home. They had been on so many cases out of town and out of the country that it felt good to be back on home soil. He realized he had lived in Florida as long or longer than he had in Texas, where he was born and raised. He planned to stay for a while and work on local cases. He was in no hurry to take one on, but that changed with a voicemail he got on his cell phone in the parking garage.

“Mr. Waters, my name is Jeremy Wilson. I got your name from a CSI officer with the Okaloosa County Sheriff’s Department. Could you give me a call in the morning or whenever it’s convenient for you? My father, Nate Wilson, was murdered, and I need your help. Thank you.”

Rick sat in the car for a second and thought about calling right back but decided he’d better talk to Jules first to make sure they had the time to get involved. He knew Jules was interested in getting some skip trace gigs now that they were back home. He went up to his condo and decided it would be best to discuss it with her over dinner. They enjoyed the wings and sides in the condo and planned to get to bed reasonably early. Rick downloaded an app called Zero, that was a motivational fasting tracker. Jules showed Rick how to set his app so he could track his first official fast. He wasn't happy about it, but he knew Jules was much more on top of health trends than he was.

“Jules, I got a call from Jeremy Wilson. He is the son of Nate Wilson, the guy who died on the boat in the harbor. I guess one of the CSI guys gave him my number. I wanna call him tomorrow and see what he has in mind. Gary and Kelly should be back soon, so they can assist. Do you have any fugitives you wanna go after?” asked Rick. “I can pass on this and help you instead.”

“There’s no reason we can’t do both. I checked with Olivia yesterday, and there wasn’t anything I wanted, but I’ll check again in the morning to see if there are any new ones worth pursuing,” said Jules.

They settled into bed and watched a little CSI, then drifted off to sleep. Rick had set the sleep timer on the TV for an hour, but he zoned out long before the TV went off.

When Rick woke up, he rolled over to put his arm around Jules, but she wasn’t in bed. He usually got up before her, but she beat him to the punch that morning. When he went to the kitchen to get some coffee, Jules had already made a pot in their thermos coffee maker and put a sticky note on it.

Rick,

Get some coffee. I’m downstairs in the office with Olivia. Remember, no breakfast or sweetener in your coffee.

xxoo Jules

“Damn,” Rick said under his breath.

He had already put a Splenda in the empty cup out of habit and had to remove it before pouring his first cup of the morning. After taking a sip of straight black coffee, he knew it was going to take some getting used to. By his second cup, he was okay with it. He fed Chief, filled up his Buc-ee’s travel mug, and made his way down to the office.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” said Jules.

“You’re up early.”

“Yeah, Olivia texted me a hot lead on a bail enforcement offer. It’s for a guy I brought in once for failure to appear. He’s non-violent, but this time he failed a drug test and broke his probation. He knows if he comes in, he’s facing a year inside Okaloosa County Corrections. It’s known as the punishment jail in Crestview. No one wants to go there. It’s worse than prison,” said Jules.

“You don’t need to tell me about it. I spent three days there when I got pulled over for an expired tag and was mouthy with the cop back in the day. He threw me in on a Friday because I forgot my wallet at my hotel. I was visiting here after high school graduation. Since I was such a smartass then, he arrested me because he couldn’t prove who I was without any ID. He knew the judge wouldn’t be able to see me until Monday morning. I call it a life lesson: never argue with a cop, and if you do, do it earlier in the week. Judges don’t work weekends,” said Rick.

“You never told me that. What happened on Monday?”

“Nothing. I called my friend, and he brought my wallet down. The judge released me with no charges. The cop just wanted to teach me a lesson. It’s been 'yes sir, no sir' ever since.”

“Well, you’re still a smartass, but I love you. So, listen, there’s this kid named Greg Goodman. AAA Destin Bail Bonds bonded him out for $150,000. I called AAA, and they are willing to pay me twenty-five percent instead of the usual ten because he is a flight risk. I call bullshit. His parents put up the money, and I think AAA just wants to get this over with. The pay is above average, but the main reason I want to take this one is because I know the kid. He’s a good kid, but he’s got an addiction. As hard as it sounds, I think inside will get him clean, and he can start fresh with no probation. It sucks to have that hanging over your head. I also know the kid’s habits. I took him in once before for failure to appear. He loves to party, and he’s a headbanger. His two favorite spots are AJ’s and Club LA. There’s a band playing at Club LA in two nights called “The Crüe,” a Mötley Crüe tribute band. I’d bet my last dollar he’ll be there. Until then, we can stake out AJ’s happy hours, and we might get lucky. You up for a little headbanging, Rick?”

“Hell yeah, I’d go see that cover band even if we weren’t working. I need to get some Got2B Glued for my hair so I can spike it like Nicolas Cage in Valley Girl,” said Rick.

Rick’s hair was finally growing out since he shaved it for a case in Italy. It was about two inches long now and would spike up easily. He might even spray some blue coloring in it, like he did back in high school once.

“Do you have any Spandex?” asked Rick.

“Nope, but I wanna head over to Silver Sands Outlets later. You wanted to try on some of those Skecher Slip-Ins anyway, didn’t you?” asked Jules.

“Yeah, I do. I need to drop the Ferrari off at Destin Imports for a tune-up. How about I head over there now, and you can meet me in the Bronco in about half an hour so I can give them the full rundown on the car before they start?”

“Perfect, Rick. I’ll call AAA and tell them I’ll take the case.”

Rick walked to the parking garage and started the Ferrari. It sounded incredibly smooth. He noticed a slight miss happening sometimes when he was idling at a traffic light or stop sign. Most car tune-ups cost on average under two hundred dollars, but he had read that Ferraris could cost anywhere from fifteen hundred to seven thousand dollars. He was hoping it would be on the low side. Either way, it had to be done. When he pulled into Destin Imports, the lead mechanic, Sherwood, greeted Rick.

“That’s a Magnum P.I. car, isn’t it?”

“It sure is; it’s a 1981 Ferrari 308 GTS,” replied Rick.

“Are you having issues with it?”

“It’s missing a little on and off when it’s at idle.”

“Okay. I can put it on the radar and see what’s going on. Do you need an oil change as well?” asked Sherwood.

“Yeah, go ahead and replace all the fluids. It was delivered here from Italy, and I have no maintenance records, so to be on the safe side, let’s just do it.”

“Can I have it for a few days?” asked the mechanic.

“Sure. I have a ride coming.”

“Can you start it up again? I wanna listen while we do the paperwork.”

“Sure,” replied Rick, as he turned the key in the ignition.

Sherwood took down all of Rick’s info and listened. It ran smoothly for a minute or so, then he heard it.

“There it is. Could be dirty fuel injectors or the timing is off a little. Doesn’t sound like a big deal. I can change all the spark plugs and get her tuned up for you. How’s a thousand for that with the oil change sound?” asked Sherwood.

“That sounds extremely fair,” said Rick as he handed him back the clipboard.

“If we come across anything else, we’ll call you first.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” said Rick.

Jules had pulled up and hopped over to the passenger side of the Bronco. Rick climbed in, and they headed to Silver Sands Outlet to get their hard rock attire.

While Jules was trying on Spandex in the dressing room at Chico’s, Rick called Jeremy Wilson.

“Hi Jeremy, it’s Rick Waters, returning your call.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Waters. Thanks for getting back to me.”

“Sorry I took so long. I got your call last night and had to run some errands this morning. Let me start by saying how sorry I am for your loss. How can I help?” asked Rick.

“That’s fine, thank you, Mr. Waters. As I mentioned in my message, I got your number from one of the CSI techs on the scene. He had nothing but good things to say about you. The Okaloosa Sheriff’s Department investigator seemed to be quite thorough, but we have the wherewithal to hire outside help, and he said you seem to have a good rapport with the local authorities,” said Jeremy.

“I do. It can be delicate when it comes to investigating cases with them sometimes, I have to be honest, but I try not to step on any toes, and I share all my findings with the lead investigator. I don’t care who solves a case as long as it gets solved. It’s best to have as many eyes as you can on these things sometimes.”

“I agree. We can pay double your expenses, and in my dad’s will, it clearly states that there is a reward of 100k and ownership of the Quest Box.”

“The what?” asked Rick.

“It’s silly. I’m okay with paying you more than 100k, and you can forget about the Quest Box—it’s just a box in his safe on the boat that supposedly has a treasure map belonging to Billy Bowlegs. I don’t buy into that nonsense, but my dad was obsessed with it. I was being prepared to take over the business, and Dad had partially retired. He had that treasure hunting kit in Australia and shipped it over. Oh yeah, it also says that the boat comes with the box. Apparently, he said the boat was needed to find the treasure because it has a shallow draft, whatever that means.”

“Disregard what I said about not caring who solves a case. I want to solve this one. I will work with the Okaloosa detectives, but if the spoils go to the victor, I’m all in. You see, I’m a treasure finder like your dad, and I am very interested in this case. I’m also from Texas, and I bet we would’ve hit it off well if we had ever met,” said Rick.

“Treasure finder? You mean treasure hunter?” asked Jeremy.

“No, finder. I find things, not just hunt for them, and I will find out who did this.”

“Rick, it sounds like you're the right person for the job. Consider it done. I’ll be staying at Emerald Grande until I have to leave to prepare the funeral arrangements back in Odessa. They need to release my dad's body after the autopsy. Drop by later if you can, and we can discuss the contracts. I’ll give you the keys to the boat once CSI has cleared it. They might have already.”

“Sounds good, Jeremy. I look forward to meeting you. Again, sorry about your loss. I’ll see you soon,” said Rick.

Jules stepped out of the dressing room in black Spandex pants and a fishnet blouse over her shoulders under a Scorpions T-shirt, exposing her midriff. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a 1980s heavy metal video.

“Holy diver, girl, you look rockin’!” Rick exclaimed.

She did a 360, and Rick liked what he saw. She wore high-heeled shoes with leather laces up her calves and two studded leather bracelets for effect. On the day of the show, she’d wear super dark goth eye shadow to complete the look. Jules paid for her outfit and met Rick over at Skechers Outlet. He bought a sweet pair of Slip-Ins. He didn’t mind tying his shoes or bending over, but they were quick and convenient when he was getting on and off the boat often.

“I’m gonna text Jeremy now, and we can head over to Emerald Grande and sign the contract and see what he thinks. You good?” asked Rick.

“Yep, let’s do it.”

Rick drove to Emerald Grande and parked in the back where the bands load in. He had a friend who played there, and no one ever parked there because they didn’t know about the spots. They entered through the back door and took the freight elevator up to Jeremy’s floor. Rick rang the bell, and Jeremy’s wife answered the door.

“Rick Waters?”

“Yep, this is Jules.”

“Nice to meet y’all. I’m Jackie, Jeremy’s wife.”

“Hi, Jackie,” they both said simultaneously.

“Mr. Waters, thanks for coming,” said Jeremy as he walked out of the bedroom. “Have a seat on the couch.”

“This is my wife, Jules. Please call me Rick.”

Jeremy handed Rick a folder with a contract for Rick’s services. It was pretty straightforward. Rick looked it over, signed in all the highlighted spots, and handed it back to Jeremy. Jeremy handed Rick the keys to Nate’s treasure-hunting catamaran and a leather bag. Inside the bag was an old steel box about the size of a football. It had a lock on it and a key attached to the lock with a rubber band. Jeremy pulled out a copy of the will.

“Rick, according to the will, whoever solves his murder will receive $100K plus expenses, along with the boat and the box. As I said, I’m taking over the oil business and have no time for his nonsense. I have a list of possible suspects. Everything I knew about Dad’s enemies and people who might want to do him harm is in this folder. I noticed the crime scene tape is gone, so the boat is available for you to look for clues.”

Rick glanced over the list on the first page.

“There’s a problem with this list,” said Rick.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Jeremy.

“Don’t be offended, but if you’ve ever seen even one episode of Dateline, you know those closest to him have been cleared. Why is your name not on the list? Or his wife?” asked Rick.

“You can add my name to the list. I was in Dallas when Dad was shot. But I am impressed that you are so direct. Mom died fifteen years ago from cancer, and he never remarried. He dated some women, but scared most of them off with his wild treasure hunting adventures. I honestly can’t remember the last time he was in a relationship. Between you and me, I think he rented women, if you catch my drift.”

“I understand. Is Lisa your sister?” asked Rick.

“Unfortunately, I would definitely look closely at her. She’s spoiled rotten and always has been. She lives what can only be described as an alternative lifestyle. Here’s her latest photo from Facebook,” said Jeremy as he turned his phone screen toward Rick.

She had orange hair, a nose ring, and wore a shirt that read “Fuck Fossil Fuel!”

“I take it she wasn’t fond of Dad’s business.”

“She’s fond of Dad’s money, but she’s a bit of a nut. She’s always protesting something and even spent time with the Sea Shepherd fleet. She’s never worked a day in her life and has lived off Dad’s allowance. To keep her safe, he placed most of her money in a trust fund and managed it to stop her from overdosing. Drugs and protesting are all she ever does. We don’t get along, and I haven’t spoken to her in two years,” said Jeremy.

“So, you said you were in Dallas. Can that be verified?”

“Yes, I am on camera from 7:15 a.m. until 3:30 p.m. Then I was taken to AT&T Stadium by my driver, where I had a meeting with Jerry Jones and his marketing team about adding Big Dog as one of the sponsors for the home games.”

“The Jerry Jones?” asked Rick.

“Yeah, he's hands-on all the time. Some say it's way too much. Dad has had season tickets for the Cowboys for as long as I can remember. He also owns a luxury suite, and I’ve been to more games than anyone I know. Dad went occasionally, but lately, he's been off searching for some lost treasure or investigating some conspiracy theory. He was obsessed.”

“I see. I’ll need you to provide proof for your alibi. No offense.”

“None taken. I can tell I made the right choice. You are leaving no stone unturned,” said Jeremy.

“Do you know where your sister is now?” asked Rick.

“No clue. I do know she will be at the funeral. The will said she must attend. She is gonna flip out when she hears what Dad put into the will for her to take control of her trust. I can’t legally tell you that now, but if you attend the reading of the will—which I suggest, since I am the executor—you will see the real Lisa. I’ve asked the lawyer to read it to dodge some of the heat. She’s gonna blow her top. I’m talking Three Mile Island meltdown. I’m kinda stoked about it. Dad had quite a sense of humor.”

“Why did he hire a private detective in his will? Was he expecting to be murdered?” asked Rick.

“He had a lot of enemies. Check out the third guy on the list. He hired Dad years ago before Dad went on to start his own company. Everything is in the folder.”

“Okay, thanks for your time. I’ll do everything in my power to solve this. I’ll get out of your hair. You have my number,” said Rick.

Before they left, Jules asked some questions that Rick had overlooked, and Jeremy seemed even more impressed that he had hired Rick’s team. Rick and Jules headed back to the condo and spread the files all over the kitchen table. It was clear before they went to bed that they were going to have to set up a war room in the office and spread out some of the potential suspects between Possum and Gary. Gary was supposed to be back in Destin in the morning with Kelly.

Chapter

Three

Rick texted Possum and asked him to come over with Malia. He wanted to divide up some of the suspects, and Jules wanted to talk to Malia about the tribute concert the next night at Club LA. The girls went into the bedroom, and Jules showed off her outfit. Possum agreed to take the files for Nate’s old boss, Fred Loren, and a guy named Ralph Hankey, who had invested in Big Dog Oil Company when Nate first started it. Ralph tried to remove Nate from the board and have him fired from his own company, but it backfired, and Ralph was pushed out and threatened Nate in front of several people. He was a hothead, according to the files, and very capable of violence.

“Rick, I’m gonna search the dark web for Fred and Ralph. I’ll create a Google Doc, and we can share anything we find out there easily.”

“That will work, Possum. I’ll focus on Jeremy and his sister. I honestly don’t think Jeremy had anything to do with it. He was getting the company anyway, but I have to clear him. His sister, Lisa, on the other hand, has potential. She has a motive, too. With Nate dead, she will finally take over control of her trust fund instead of getting an allowance. It’s quite an allowance, I must say—$25K a month. Who couldn’t live on that comfortably?” asked Rick.

“A drug addict?”

“Bingo.”

Jules gave Malia a list of clothes she’d need to truly be a headbanger chick and borrowed Possum’s keys before heading to Destin Commons for some shopping. She chose skin-tight, ripped jeans and a Mötley Crüe T-shirt from their “Shout at the Devil” tour. She found everything she needed at H&M. Jules was excited that Malia and Kelly were all set to join her for a girls' night out at Club LA, while the guys handled the doors. She wasn’t sure if she was more excited to catch the fugitive or go to the show.

Gary and Kelly were scheduled to arrive at noon and meet everyone for lunch at Possum’s condo. Possum planned to order BBQ from Moe’s Original BBQ. They did a fantastic job; their ribs and smoked wings were the stuff dreams are made of. Jules reminded Rick that he couldn’t eat until 2:15 p.m. according to his Zero app. The look on his face reminded Jules of a sad hound dog. There was no way he could be in the same room with Moe’s BBQ and not eat. After talking with Possum, they agreed to push lunch to 2:30 p.m.

Jules texted Kelly the moment they landed, and Gary took her to Chico’s to get some Spandex pants as well. She planned to wear red Spandex and a Sammy Hagar concert tee. The Red Rocker himself would’ve been proud of her outfit. Gary got settled into his condo, showed Kelly around, and they all headed over to Possum’s place. Rick and Jules arrived right at 2:15 p.m. The BBQ arrived a few minutes later. Rick devoured several ribs and wings before the plates were even set down. Fasting was something he’d have to get used to.

Before they officially started lunch, the girls did a little fashion show for the group and showcased their new rock outfits. They looked like trouble, and Possum put on the Mötley Crüe song “Girls, Girls, Girls” on the stereo.

After lunch, Gary filled everyone in on his and Kelly’s recent adventure in Africa. Kelly managed Gary’s cobalt and diamond mines in the Congo, but since they recently got married, she planned to spend more time with him in the U.S. and trained a new guy to oversee most of the geology work at the mines. She was the perfect girl for Gary. She could party with him all night and leave him in the dust if she had to. She also knew how to take care of Gary, who tended to overdo things, and she kept him on a more even keel.

Rick and Jules returned to their condo and got ready to head over to AJ’s, where Greg could show up for happy hour. He went most nights when Black Eyed Blonde played, but he liked to pregame at happy hour to save money. He was known to show up before happy hour started and close down the place.

Rick found a table by the water upstairs where Jules could clearly see the two main entrances to Club Bimini, the second-story deck, as it was called. They got there before happy hour started and stayed until Black Eyed Blonde finished their first set. Greg was a no-show. Jules was confident they’d nail him at Club LA the following night. There was no way Greg would miss a Mötley Crüe tribute band.

Rick’s eating window closed at 6:00 p.m., and he started a new fast on his app, aiming for a 21-hour fast this time. As long as he stopped eating fairly early and got plenty of sleep, it wasn’t too difficult. He was already noticing the results: his Academy fishing shirt seemed a little looser than the last time he wore it.

“Alright, Jules. Let’s call it a night. Chief is probably anxious for us to get back.”

“Yeah, if I weren’t looking for a fugitive, I would’ve taken him to AJ’s,” replied Jules.

They took Chief to various spots around the harbor, and he always brought smiles to people's faces. Most bars and restaurants didn’t mind him. When Rick showed up at his usual haunts without Chief, people often asked where he was. He had become the unofficial bird of Destin HarborWalk, sort of. Rick and Jules had been traveling so much lately that people probably thought they fell off the face of the earth. Everywhere they went, bartenders asked where Chief was, as if they weren’t concerned that they hadn’t seen Rick or Jules in several months. Chief was a star, and neither Rick nor Jules minded one bit.

Chief jumped up and down when they walked through the door. Since they had missed him so much, Jules let him sleep in the bed with them. Most cockatoos and other exotic birds poop every fifteen to twenty minutes, and when Chief wasn't in the bed, he did as well. But when he was in bed with them, he would hold it all night. He never had an accident on the bed. He would snuggle up between them, put his little head on a pillow, and sleep all night with them. It was adorable.

Rick’s phone vibrated and woke him up. He reached over and looked at it. The clock read 6:30 a.m. There was a text from Possum.

Come over when you wake up. Have info to share.

I’m up now. Thanks to you.

Oops, sorry, Rick.

No worries, be over shortly.

Rick slipped out of bed so Jules and Chief wouldn’t wake up. Chief opened one eye and stared at Rick. Rick reached down, picked him up, and held him over the toilet. Chief did a big birdie dump, and Rick brought him into the kitchen to get some grapes. After making coffee, Rick put Chief on his day perch and fed Choco. Choco had a bed inside his kennel. He was so well-trained that he would stay inside all night long with the door wide open. Rick quickly took him down the elevator to do his business, then returned to make a big cup of coffee and head over to Possum’s. He peeked in, and Jules was still fast asleep. He left a note on the coffee carafe and walked over to Possum’s condo. He knocked on the door.

“Come on in, it’s unlocked,” hollered Possum. “Sorry, I woke you up. I thought your phone would’ve been on Do Not Disturb.”

“It was. I have you as an emergency override, though. It only vibrated, but I felt it because my hand was lying against the nightstand. It’s all good.”

“Okay, I was up late on the dark web and gathered a lot of information about Fred Loren, Ralph Hankey, Nate, and his company. Let me start with Nate. He began working for Fred Loren’s company, Permian Basin Drilling, also known as PBD, in 1971. He started as a roughneck but quickly moved up to a supervisor and eventually a landman. He was given many stock options early on, and by 1980, he had purchased millions of shares. When oil prices hit $45 a barrel, which is equivalent to about $134 today, he sold all his stock and became an instant billionaire. He then quit PBD and founded Big Dog Oil Company. Several key employees from PBD followed him, which greatly upset Fred. Fred was quite publicly outspoken about it in several magazine interviews I found. Nate named his company after his dog for a good reason, and he also named his dog Big Dog. Big Dog was a Newfoundland/Mastiff mix,” said Possum.

“That’s the dog on the logo,” said Rick.

“Yep, that’s him. Here’s a pic of him and Nate together in 1985. They went everywhere together until he died in 1990.”

“Wow, he is massive,” said Rick.

“Nate went public in 1991, and one of his main investors at the time was Ralph Hankey, a businessman from Dallas. He bought enough shares to secure a seat on the board. In 2006, Ralph tried to remove Nate as CEO, but his plan failed. After that, Nate sold a large portion of his own stock and carried out a split and dilution of Ralph’s shares, which made them basically worthless. Ralph left the company and vowed revenge on Nate, making him a prime suspect. Ralph lost approximately $600 million when his shares were diluted. Despite that, he had many other investments and managed to survive and thrive. However, he still held a strong grudge against Nate and tried to stop him and the success of Big Dog at every turn. I’ll be digging deeper into him. Now, more about Nate.”

Possum scrolled through his Google Docs until he came to Nate’s section.

“Nate was highly successful with Big Dog Oil. He worked hard and played hard. One winter in 1996, he went on a vacation to Key West. There, he met Mel Fisher at Sloppy Joe’s Bar. He had no idea who Mel was or that Mel had discovered the Atocha shipwreck. According to local lore, they clicked instantly, and Nate paid Mel’s bar tab. Mel was so impressed that he invited Nate to join him the next day for salvage work. Nate quickly took a probably illegal scuba diving course and ended up finding a gold chalice encrusted with emeralds and rubies. Mel let him keep it. The treasure discovery ignited Nate’s obsession. He dove with Mel for the rest of that winter and managed Big Dog by phone. He was at Mel’s funeral in 1998. He kept treasure hunting more and more, and a few years later, sold his smaller boat and had the current catamaran custom-built by Commercial Marine Australia. CMA built the boat to Nate’s specifications. He wanted a lightweight, shallow-draft vessel capable of accessing even the shallowest spots as well as crossing oceans. It’s a fantastic boat, and if we solve this case, it’s ours,” said Possum.

“Oh, that reminds me. I’ll be right back,” said Rick.

Rick ran over to his condo and returned with the metal box Jeremy had given him.

“I got this as part of our deal from Jeremy. I wanted to open it with you.”

Possum watched as Rick put the key in the lock and turned it. Inside was an old scroll. Rick unrolled it, placed it on the table, and read aloud.

Underneath quartz sandy sprawl,

Where Billy Bowlegs roamed and called,

A treasure hides, as legends sing,

Gleaming gold in a secret spring.

Elusive as stopping age

Its whereabouts are in the cage

Beneath the sands where dreams abide,

The pirate's hoard and youth's spring collide.

“Shit, it’s not a map; it’s a riddle,” said Rick. “Jeremy said it was a treasure map.”

“It is sort of. If we can figure it out, we can use it to find the treasure. I’ll take a photo and work on it.”

Possum snapped a quick photo, and Rick rolled up the scroll and put it back in the box. Possum continued to go over what he had found on the dark web and through other sources.

“PDB was founded in 1952 by Ralph Loren’s father, Larry Loren. He inherited it in the late '70s. Larry is about fifteen years older than Nate. He’s all business, and Nate was responsible for much of PDB’s success until he left. Before leaving, Nate went to North Dakota and tried to persuade Ralph to lease land in the western part of the state. Ralph was completely opposed, and shortly after, Nate left PDB and leased the land himself. That move helped Big Dog grow into a billion-dollar company when fracking surged in the late 2000s. Fred was furious at himself for not listening to Nate but publicly claimed that Nate misled him about the potential profits from fracking. He tried to sue Nate, but the case was thrown out. The judge scolded him and his counsel for bringing such a frivolous lawsuit to the courts in the first place,” said Possum.

“How high do you think he is on the suspect list?” asked Rick.

“Not much. They haven’t held any public meetings or anything in years, and he’s almost 80 now. I guess it’s possible he hired someone, but I don’t get that vibe. I know you said you’d research the son and daughter, but I couldn’t help myself after seeing her Facebook photo. Wow, she’s quite a piece of work. She’s been arrested about six times and nearly convicted of assault once against an ex-boyfriend. The charges were dropped after Nate paid an undisclosed amount. The state wanted to proceed without the victim, but the prosecutor eventually gave up. They don’t like to lose. Prosecutors would rather dismiss than have a loss in their records. They are all elected officials, but of course, you already know that.”

“Do you want to go to the funeral with me in Texas? She will be there, according to her brother.”

“Can Malia come?” asked Possum.

“I don’t see why not. Maybe we can catch a Cowboys game. Nate owns a suite at AT&T Stadium.”

“Oh, hell yeah!”

Possum pulled up the Cowboys’ schedule.

“They are playing Sunday at 3:25 p.m. When is the funeral?” asked Possum.

“I’ll find out from the ME when they are going to release Nate’s body. I’m guessing the funeral will be this weekend. It's Tuesday today, so I’m guessing Saturday or Sunday if they release him soon. You ready to rock out tonight?”

“Like a hurricane!” exclaimed Possum.

“Okay, well, I’m heading down to the boat to check it out and see if the detectives missed anything. We’ll see y’all tonight at Club LA around 8:30 p.m. The girls are gonna go in alone, and you, me, and Gary will handle the front, side, and back exits. I’ll text you a mugshot of the kid,” said Rick.

Rick checked with Jules, and she said she had some laundry to do, so he headed alone to Destin HarborWalk. The first thing he did was look for any cameras that might have caught someone entering or leaving the boat. Rick noticed a camera on one of the food trucks selling gourmet grilled cheese. He talked to the girl running it; she told him he’d need to speak with the owner and gave him a business card. He looked around but didn’t see any more cameras. The catamaran was in a slip but was so wide it was blocking part of the slip on its port side. Rick remembered there used to be a parasail boat in that slip. They might have taken the boat further south since Destin was in shoulder season and the weather was starting to cool down. Many boats go to Tampa, Fort Myers, or Key West during the slow winter season.

Rick donned his latex gloves and stepped on board. He began recording with his Meta Ray-Bans and unlocked the companionway door. Nothing appeared disturbed, as if a struggle hadn’t taken place. There was a visible stain on the sole of the boat where a pool of blood was. He also noticed high-velocity blood spatter on the wall leading to the hallway of the rear cabins. According to the detectives, the gun used was most likely an automatic, or the shooter picked up the shell casings because it was a 7.62 mm. The body had taken five shots. Rick strongly suspected that the shooter used an AK-47 with a silencer. That was the most common weapon for that caliber of bullet, although several handguns also used that caliber.

Since no gunshots were heard, the weapon probably had a suppressor and therefore wasn’t a revolver. Rick began the tedious task of looking for clues. The entire catamaran had already been swabbed for DNA and fingerprints. Rick was looking for something—anything—that could’ve been missed. He opened every drawer, cabinet, and floor storage area. The boat was well-equipped with every conceivable household gadget and modern technology. It had a full-size washer and dryer, a stove, a convection oven, a microwave, a massive 20-kW generator, and the roof was covered in high-output solar panels and a substantial bank of lithium batteries. Beside the sink was a dishwasher. Rick sat down on the settee, admiring the stunning galley, when he saw that the dishwasher had a tiny crack opened up on the side, and it was a little loose, most likely from the vibration of traveling from Texas to Florida. He walked over and pushed it back in, and it snapped into place. He turned around and leaned against the sink counter, and when he did, he felt the dishwasher move in and make a snapping sound. When he pushed it in again, it locked back into place.

That’s odd.

He put both hands on the face of the dishwasher and pushed it in harder, and it snapped again and slid back out.

“The seal holding the dishwasher in place must be worn,” Rick said to himself.

He placed his hand on the side and pulled it out to see what was causing it to come loose. When he did, the entire thing rolled out on a steel guide. He pulled his tactical flashlight from his backpack and looked behind the dishwasher to see if a fork or something was blocking it from sliding all the way in and locking into place. When he did, he was shocked to see a safe behind the dishwasher. He checked his notes, and a safe was mentioned in the detective’s report, but it was the one in the master suite, not in the galley. Without moving the dial, he grabbed the handle, and it opened right up. Whoever was in there last hadn’t spun the combination when they closed it.

Inside the safe was a large stash of handguns—all revolvers. Not a single semi-automatic. There were also several boxes of ammunition. Every gun was loaded. Some were five-shot revolvers; others were six. He pulled out an extremely rare Colt Python .41, flipped out the cylinder, and saw six unspent rounds inside. Beside it was a box of .41 ammo. When he opened the box, six bullets were missing. He set the gun aside and picked up the second pistol. The next weapon was a loaded Smith & Wesson .45 Schofield revolver. Beside it was the ammo box, also missing six bullets. Each gun was loaded, and the number of shots matched. There were five handguns total and one extra box of ammo. When Rick pulled it out, it was missing six bullets. The caliber was 7.62×38mmR. When he looked up that caliber on Google, it was used by only one gun—a Russian-made Nagant M1895 revolver. As he scrolled down, he came across a YouTube video of someone shooting the weapon with a silencer on it. He discovered that the only revolver that could use a silencer was the Nagant M1895.

“Bingo!”

Rick was now 99% sure the murder weapon was that missing handgun rather than an AK-47. Those guns were rare, as was most of Nate’s collection in the safe. Nate had a fondness for high-caliber revolvers, and the person who shot him most likely used his own Russian-made firearm from the safe. That ruled out many suspects. Anyone who knew Nate knew the safe was hidden in the empty space behind the dishwasher and also knew the combination. It was a valuable discovery, and he’d keep it to himself for now.

Rick headed back to the condo to catch a quick nap before the night's all-out headbanging event at Club LA. He coaxed Jules into taking a nap with him. A back rub led to a kiss, which then led to what came naturally. They both rested for a while but didn't fall asleep at first. Jules got out of bed before Rick to do her rock-n-roll makeup. He was lying in bed, resting his eyes for a while longer, and drifted off.

Chapter

Four

Rick heard a faint creak from the condo door opening. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom, so it wasn’t Jules.

Possum.

Rick slipped on his shorts and stepped out of the bedroom. A masked man stood in the open doorway, pointing a gun with a long silencer attached to the end at him. Before he could react, the man fired, hitting Rick squarely in the chest. He fell to his knees and grabbed his chest as blood spurted out from between his fingers. The man unloaded the gun into Rick’s torso, and he fell backward. The man turned and ran. Jules heard the thud of Rick’s body hitting the floor and came out wearing a towel wrapped around her. She saw Rick lying on his back on the floor, half in and half out of the bedroom door.

“Rick, Rick!” she yelled.

She began giving him CPR and pressing on his chest with her hands. He was still conscious. She stopped and called 911, but instead of grabbing her phone, it was ringing. She set the phone down beside him as it rang and continued performing CPR.

“Rick, answer your phone,” she said, pushing down on his chest.

Rick’s eyes snapped open, and Jules sat beside him on the bed, with her hand on his chest, encouraging him to wake up. His phone was ringing on the nightstand. He had just had a terrible nightmare. When he finally realized what had happened, he looked at his phone, and it was Jeremy. He cleared his throat and answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Rick. It’s Jeremy. My dad’s body has been released from the morgue. We’re flying him to Odessa and holding the funeral on Saturday. They’ll read the will that day at Dad’s office in Odessa after the funeral. I would like you to attend both if possible. I can introduce you as one of Dad’s financial advisors. The day after the funeral, we’re having a celebration of life at Dad’s suite at AT&T Stadium in Arlington, and you can bring anyone you need from your crew. The Cowboys are playing the Commanders. It should be a good game. You’re welcome to stay and watch,” said Jeremy.

Rick did a silent fist bump.

“We’ll be there, Jeremy. Just text me the address for the reading of the will.”

“No problem. We decided to have the funeral on Saturday because of the game. I know Dad will be there in spirit to root for the Cowboys. Alright, thanks, Rick. I’ll get off now and text you the address.”

“Thanks, Jeremy. We’ll fly in on Friday. Can you suggest a good hotel in Odessa?”

“Nonsense, stay at Dad’s deer camp. It’s not your typical deer camp. It’s a four-bedroom barndominium located quite close to the funeral home. It’s incredibly luxurious. My dad never cuts corners. I’ll send you the address for the reading of the will and the deer camp. I’ll stop by on Friday night so we can talk. I’ll have catering arranged for dinner. Sound good?”

“That’s very hospitable of you, Jeremy. See ya soon.”

Rick ended the call and wiped his forehead. His palm was covered in sweat. The nightmare he had really got to him. He took a quick shower, threw on some ripped jeans and a Guns N' Roses concert T-shirt, and strapped a red bandana over his forehead. He walked over to Possum’s condo and rang the bell. Possum opened it, wearing a RATT T-shirt and jeans.

“Man, did I just shave a nightmare!” said Rick.

Music was playing in the background, and "Stayin' Alive" came over the radio. Instead of telling Possum about the real nightmare, the song reminded Rick of a joke, and it was the perfect time to tell it.

“Yeah, man, I dreamed that disco was making a comeback. It was a terrifying nightmare. At first, I was afraid; I was petrified.”

“Go on,” said Possum, not getting the reference.

Rick sang what he had just said.

“At first, I was afraid; I was petrified.”

“Ha-ha. That was a pitiful joke.”

“I kinda liked it.”

“Okay, Seinfeld. Malia is almost ready. We’re gonna meet y’all there. Gary is out with Kelly, and he said they’ll be there by 8:30 p.m. as well. Let’s all park by Alvin’s Island and let the girls go over by themselves.”

“Alright, remind me later to tell you about my nightmare,” said Rick.

“If it involves disco songs, count me out.”

Rick smirked and headed back to his condo.

“Guess what, Rick?”

“What?”

“Check your Zero app.”

Rick opened it, and he had been fasting for twenty hours.

“Wow, it does get easier.”

“Are you hungry? I can make us a sandwich or something before the concert.”

“Naw, you know what? I’ll keep going. Maybe I can make it to twenty-four hours.”

“Good for you, Rick Waters,” said Jules.

Jules finished getting dressed. Rick cinched up his Levi 501s, and they drove over to Alvin’s Island. It was a tourist store just across the parking lot from Club LA. Rick parked on the side beside Possum. A few minutes later, Gary and Kelly pulled up. Rick almost doubled over laughing when he saw Gary. He was dressed like Billy Idol—shirtless in full leather, with spiked gloves and a belt. He even sprayed temporary color to make his white hair match. He wore a massive, oversized cross on a chain.

“Are you gonna be dancing with yourself?” asked Rick, referencing one of Idol’s hits.

“Ha-ha. You look like an ‘80s reject.”

“Perfect. That’s what I was going for. Sort of an Axl meets Bon Jovi look.”

“Well, you succeeded,” said Gary.

The boys approached, paid for their tickets at the door, and went inside. The house DJ was already blasting Poison through the speakers. Rick positioned himself near the front entrance, Gary stood by the side entrance, and Possum took a spot near the rear emergency exit. After thirty minutes of searching for Greg, their wanted man, the stage lights dimmed, and fog started to roll out. In the darkness, the band took the stage and began with “Shout at the Devil.” Rick was mesmerized. The band looked just like the real Mötley Crüe did in 1983, with a super skinny Vince Neil. The guy playing bass was the spitting image of Nikki Sixx, and the drums looked like the same set Tommy Lee played on the Theatre of Pain album. When Mick Mars, the guitarist, ripped his solo, Rick was immediately taken back to the time he saw Mötley Crüe open for Ozzy at the Houston Summit in 1984. Rick still tells people to this day that the concert was the best show he’d ever seen in his life. Rick was so into the show he had forgotten to look for the bail jumper. His phone vibrated. It was Jules.

He's here, corner bar, AC/DC T-shirt, black pants. Kelly is gonna try to lure him outside to smoke a joint. Take him down!

Rick glanced toward the bar and saw Kelly approaching him like a wildcat on the hunt. She stood beside him for a moment, sipping her cocktail, then leaned in and whispered something in his ear. She started walking toward the door, and he followed her like a little puppy. As soon as they stepped outside, Rick followed them. Kelly led him to the side of the building. Rick circled to the other side and sneaked up behind them. Kelly, with a joint in her hand, appeared to struggle with her lighter. As soon as Greg reached into his pocket, Rick ran over and tackled him. Jules quickly appeared with handcuffs, followed by the rest of the gang. The look in Greg’s eyes when he saw Jules was priceless.

“You’re under arrest for skipping out on your bail from AAA,” she said.

“A fucking hair band is arresting me?”

Rick chuckled. Greg wasn’t wrong. They all looked like '80s rejects.

“I gotta take him in alone, Rick. Can you bring the Bronco around?” asked Jules.

Rick ran over to Alvin’s Island and pulled up by the side of the building. Jules secured Greg in the back seat and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Rick, you may as well watch the rest of the show. It’s gonna take a while to get him booked.”

“Okay, Jules. Text me when you are on your way back. If it’s after the show ends, I’ll catch a ride with Possum or Gary. Be careful.”

“I will.”

Jules drove across the Destin bridge toward Fort Walton Beach. She pulled into Okaloosa County Corrections for booking. She received a few whistles when she walked in wearing the Spandex, but the deputies treated her with respect. She handed the man behind the desk the paperwork from AAA Bail Bonds, and he took custody of the inmate. Once he was fingerprinted and his mug shot was taken, they returned her paperwork, and she headed to AAA. They were happy to see her and wrote her a check on the spot. She preferred cash, but she knew the check would clear. She stopped and deposited the check into the Synovus ATM machine in Fort Walton.

Rick’s head was beginning to hurt from banging it so much and from the music. Gary and Kelly had already left, but Possum and Malia were still hanging around, waiting for Rick. Malia liked the band more than Possum did. He had grown up listening to old country music and never got into the hair band craze in high school like Rick did, although he could appreciate the musicianship of the players. The band did an encore of “Home Sweet Home,” and then the lights came on. They received a huge ovation. To Rick, he couldn’t imagine a better tribute band than he had just seen. They had the look and the sound, and he figured backstage they might even have the vices, but he wasn’t interested in that.

“You ready?” asked Rick.

“Yep, been ready,” replied Possum.

Rick stepped into the condo and heard the shower running. Jules got home earlier than he expected, and he was happy. He played with Choco and Chief while she was in the bathroom. On most nights like this, he would have ordered a late-night pizza, but he had many hours left in his fast. He knew the best way to get through was to get some sleep. Jules came out smelling delicious.

“Hi, baby, any issues at booking?” asked Rick.

“Nope, it was quick tonight. I already got the check and deposited it.”

“Damn, if you did that every night, I could retire.”

“Don’t count on it, Mister,” said Jules with a laugh.

“Okay, I’m gonna hop in the shower. I’m pooped,” said Rick.

“Me too. I’ll turn down the bed.”

Rick took the world’s fastest shower and was in bed within fifteen minutes. He started a rerun of Dateline but didn’t get halfway through before sunlight was coming in through a slit in the curtains. They planned to fly to Odessa with Possum and Malia at noon. Jules yawned and told Rick she’d make some lunch to take on Gary’s jet since their fasts would end halfway to Texas. Rick knew better than to go over to Possum’s condo because he was probably cooking bacon or his world-famous sausage gravy and biscuits. Just the smell would break a fast.

Rick’s phone vibrated, and it was Jeremy.

Give me a call when you can.

“Hey, Jeremy. It’s Rick.”

“That was fast.”

“Yeah, I was holding my phone. What’s up?”

“Do you have a car rented in Odessa yet?”

“No, I was about to do that.”

“Don’t. I’m sending a car for you and whoever you’re bringing. The car and driver will be at your disposal during your stay. There’s also a Ford F-150 Raptor at my dad’s deer camp. The keys are hanging inside the door. You’re welcome to use it anytime as well.”

“Thanks, Jeremy. I appreciate it. As soon as I board the jet, I’ll text you our ETA.”

“Sounds good. See ya soon.”

“Jules, I’m gonna take Choco down to the office so Olivia can watch him and ask her to check in on Chief later.”

“Okay, I’ll pack our carry-ons. Four days’ worth?” she asked.

“Yeah, and don’t forget my Cowboys jersey. We can pick one up for you there.”

“Yay!”

Instead of driving, Rick ordered an UBER XL, and they all met down at the bottom of the towers.

“Y’all ready to stay in a deer camp?” asked Rick.

Possum raised an eyebrow, and Rick burst out laughing.

“It’s actually a barn.”

Possum’s look was frozen in time.

Rick showed him the photo of Nate’s barndominium.

“Damn, that totally alters the ‘Were you raised in a barn?’ question,” said Possum.

“No kidding. Jeremy also mentioned there’s a dry-aged beef locker in the kitchen, and we can grill whatever we want. It has grass-fed Angus, as well as venison and elk.”

“Now I’m excited about sleeping in a barn,” exclaimed Possum.

“Hey, Clay. Is the new rental jet good?”

“Yeah. Gary’s still waiting on the insurance money for his last jet fiasco, so he rented this one for a month.”

“Rented? He hates to rent,” said Rick.

“He told me he’s tired of dealing with small jets. He’s been sending me to look into Airbus A220s and some Boeing 737s. Either way, I’ll need to get re-rated. Both of us favor the 737 route because they are made in the USA, and Southwest Airlines exclusively uses them, so parts are widely available. If he chooses a 737, even though it’s manufactured in Renton, Washington, I’ll have to go to school overseas.”

“Really? Where?” asked Rick.

“The most highly regarded school is the Aviacom Flight Academy in Vilnius, Lithuania,” said Clay.

“Wow. Lithuania, huh? I have no idea where that is,” said Rick.

“It’s in the Baltic region, north of Belarus.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll take your word for it. Are we ready to roll?”

“Yep, have a seat, and we’ll get out of here,” said Clay.

Clay received clearance from Destin Executive Airport and taxied onto the tarmac. The jet took off bound for Odessa, Texas. Once they leveled off, Possum asked Clay if Malia could sit in the cockpit. She had never been in a private jet before and was excited about the experience. Clay flew down the coast and pointed out Biloxi to the left side of the aircraft. As they continued, he showed her the Mississippi River Delta below New Orleans, then the Beaumont, Texas area, and Galveston, where Rick, Possum, and Gary grew up. They flew over the plains of West Texas, and Clay began the descent. He allowed her to stay in the cockpit but told her to remain quiet when he was on approach with the tower. She thoroughly enjoyed the flight.

“Rick, I have to fly to Phoenix to check out a couple of 737-200s Southwest is unloading because they have upgraded to the larger 737-800s. Text me when you're ready to head back to Destin. I’ll be there in Phoenix a couple of days at most. I might also look at some in Dallas, so I’ll be close on Sunday,” said Clay.

They all stepped off the plane onto the tarmac and into the long black stretch Hummer limo.

“Damn, go big or go home, I guess. Does the Wilson family own this limo?” Rick asked the driver.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Nate Wilson bought it eight years ago. I’ve been driving for him for over fifteen years. We are all devastated about what happened,” he replied.

“Did you know Nate well?” asked Rick.

“Yes. My name is Jamey. Jamey Williams. He treated all of his employees like family. He expected greatness at every level. If someone was slacking, he’d talk to them as if they were his own son or daughter and demand better. That’s just the kind of guy he was. We know Jeremy will do right by him, too, with the oil company,” he replied.

Rick introduced everyone, and Jamey headed toward the ranch. He pulled up to the deer camp barndominium. It was impressive—a steel building with a stunning stained-glass front door and numerous windows. When they stepped inside, it was a sight to behold. The walls were adorned with mounted deer and elk heads. The great room was luxurious, featuring a large, wraparound leather couch and a dual fireplace in the center, which divided it from the spacious stainless-steel kitchen. Behind that was a meat processing room, and in the corner was the dry-aged steak locker Rick had mentioned. The rooms were all in the loft above, forming a horseshoe shape starting above the kitchen and extending toward the front of the building with twenty-foot ceilings above. In the center of the great room hung a chandelier made from antlers.

“I’ll go unpack. Which room should we take?” asked Jules.

“I think they are all the same. Pick one,” said Rick.

The front corner of the great room had beautiful winding stairs leading up to the loft, and between the great room and the kitchen on the side, there was an elevator. Jules and Kelly placed all the bags on the elevator, while the boys checked out the kitchen. It was fully stocked with fresh veggies from the farm and a pile of black Angus dry-aged steaks.

“I guess we should have cow tonight,” said Possum.

“Did you notice that combo grill and smoker on their deck outside?” asked Rick as he pointed through some French doors beside the Sub-Zero fridge.

Possum looked out at the massive BBQ masterpiece and all the chairs and big black walnut table.

“We should grill and eat out there,” said Possum.

Rick lifted a huge bag of chicken wings out of the freezer.

“You grill the steaks, and I’ll smoke the wings. Deal?” asked Rick.

“Deal!”

“What should I do?” asked Gary.

“You can drink and watch,” said Rick as he opened the Sub-Zero fridge to reveal several cases of Busch Light tall boys.

“Nate may be gone, but he damn sure had good taste,” replied Gary.

He cracked open a beer and stepped out onto the deck. It was on the side of the barndominium and covered with an awning, with glass garage doors that could be closed if it got too cold or hot. There was a wall-mounted dual-zone air conditioner with a remote control on the table, along with Paramount Flame patio heaters.

Everyone selected a steak from the dry-age locker, and Possum placed them on a large tray and covered them so they could warm to room temperature. Rick had already thawed the wings on a rapid defrosting tray and heated the grill to six hundred degrees. He seared the wings at that super high temperature to melt away the fat. That was the key to smoking wings—they had to be seared first, or they'd come out rubbery. Once they were all browned, he tossed them onto the smoker and used applewood pellets for the best flavor. They had a wonderful dinner and great conversation. They all turned in early. Rick wanted to be well-rested for the funeral the next day.

Chapter

Five

The Odessa funeral home was quiet under the mid-morning sun, the kind of still heat that made you sweat through your suit. Rick tugged at his tie, hating how it choked him, and scanned the crowd gathering for Nate Wilson’s funeral. It wasn’t often that Rick wore a suit; he was honestly a wedding and funeral suit wearer only. Jules stood close, her sunglasses hiding her eyes, with her hand inside his arm. Possum and Malia hung by the entrance, while Gary and Kelly loitered near a water fountain. Gary yanked at his collar like it was a noose. They all had a job to do. Rick’s main focus would be on Lisa. Gary had Fred, and Possum’s eyes were on Ralph. They also would observe anyone else acting strange or looking out of place, like they shouldn’t be there.

Rick’s eyes landed on Lisa Wilson, his first time seeing her in person, standing off by some roses. Her black dress was tight, her neon blue, blonde, and black hair yanked back in a bun, but her face was blank, like she was staring through the world, possibly under the influence of something—the direct result of years of substance abuse—or actual sorrow. Rick wasn’t sure. No tears, unlike her brother Jeremy, who was shaking hands by the chapel, his eyes red and puffy. Lisa’s calm demeanor bugged Rick. Something wasn’t right.

“Jules, check out the weird chick,” whispered Rick, referring to Lisa.

“Nice hair,” said Jules sarcastically.

The service started, and everyone hurried inside. Rick took a seat in the back with Jules, Possum, and Malia. Gary and Kelly slipped in late, just as the organ player began. Possum’s eyes drifted to two faces up front: Fred Loren, Nate’s former boss, and Ralph Hankey, a loudmouth investor with a short temper. Fred sat stiffly, tapping his knee as if he were wired or had drunk too much coffee. Ralph looked like he’d rather be at a bar, with clenched fists and a tight jaw. Rick’s internal radar was on high alert. Nate had been shot and murdered in cold blood, not an accident. Who wanted him gone? Who had the most motive? Or, as they say on Dateline, motive, means, and opportunity. Rick didn’t have access to cell phone tower ping records like they do on TV shows. He had a love-hate relationship with the Okaloosa County Sheriff’s Department. They had jurisdiction, and even his friend Carson, a retired FBI agent, could only do so much unless Okaloosa brought them into the case. Rick knew he could access anyone’s cell phone call logs, which was right up Possum’s alley. Possum could hack any business website, but getting tower pings required a process that needed warrants and judicial approval.

The pastor rambled about Nate’s oil empire and big heart, but Rick wasn’t listening. He watched Lisa, her eyes flicking to Fred—quick and sneaky. Was she scared? Guilty? He leaned to Jules, voice low. “Lisa’s acting weird. Keeps eyeing Fred.”

Jules tilted her head. “You think she’s in on something, or just on something?”

“Maybe both. Fred’s twitchy, too. And Ralph looks like he’s gonna deck someone.”

The service wrapped with a hymn, and the crowd moved outside to their cars for the drive back to the ranch for the burial. Rick hung back, catching Lisa talking to Fred by the hearse. Their words were too soft to hear, but Fred’s face tightened, and Lisa touched his arm before pulling away. Ralph stood off to the side, glaring at them, his face red as a stoplight. Rick’s instincts screamed.

Trouble’s brewing.

The family cemetery was a short drive from the funeral, the midday sun beating down. Nate’s casket sat surrounded by flowers, Jeremy at the graveside, looking beat. Lisa hovered nearby, her face still blank. Fred and Ralph kept apart, like they couldn’t stand breathing the same air. Rick whispered to Possum, “Ralph’s ready to blow. You see him?”

Possum nodded. “Yeah. I read he’s always been a hothead. You think he did Nate?”

“No idea yet. But he’s not here for the memories.” Rick’s mind churned.

Ralph had sunk cash into Nate’s oil deals, but word was they’d clashed over money many times. Fred, too—he’d been Nate’s go-to guy until they split years back. Bad blood lingered. Now Nate was dead, and they both were here. Coincidence or just respect? The burial ended, and folks started to scatter to their cars. Jeremy walked up to Rick, looking drained.

“Thanks for coming, man. Will reading’s at Dad’s office in an hour. You still coming?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, shaking his hand. “You okay?”

Jeremy shrugged, glancing at Lisa as she headed for a black SUV.

“Trying. See you there.”

Jules nudged Rick. “Lisa didn’t even talk to Jeremy. That’s cold.”

“Yeah,” Rick muttered. “Real cold.”

Jeremy’s office was all glass and steel, a big shot’s playground. It had been handed down to him from Nate when Nate began to make treasure hunting his biggest priority and groomed Jeremy to take over once he was fully retired. The conference room was crammed with family, lawyers, and a few employees. Rick and his crew sat in the back, blending in like Jeremy wanted. A big wooden table took up the room, with a lawyer in a fancy suit at the head, papers stacked high. Jeremy stood by a window, staring at oil rigs in the distance. Lisa sat across, stiff as a board, eyes on the table. Fred was in a corner with his arms crossed. Ralph slouched by the door, looking pissed.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “We’re here to read Nathaniel Wilson’s will. Let’s get started.”

He droned through legal jargon, and Rick watched the room. Lisa was shredding a tissue in her lap, her fingers restless. Fred’s foot tapped like a metronome, his eyes darting to the door. Ralph stared at Jeremy, practically growling. Rick leaned to Jules. “Ralph’s gonna lose it. And Lisa’s nervous as hell.”

Jules nodded. “She’s tearing that tissue to pieces.”

The lawyer got to the good stuff. “To Jeremy Wilson, I leave full control of Big Dog Oil, all shares, all operations.”

The room buzzed. Jeremy stayed calm, but his shoulders eased. He knew it was inevitable, but still good to hear it. Lisa’s lips twitched, almost a frown. Ralph grunted, his fists balling up. Fred’s eyes narrowed, silent.

“To Lisa Wilson,” the lawyer continued, “I leave the Dallas condo and her ten-million-dollar trust she already has, paid out monthly as before.” The lawyer paused.

It says to read this part as if I were your dad.

“Lisa, until you can prove that you have kicked your addiction, your terms will remain the same. I do this because I love you, and I know if I release your trust and you receive it all at once, you will be dead from an overdose within a month. I’m sure you hate me right now, and I promised to give it to you if I was passed early, but over the years you have slipped in and out of sobriety, and it is for your own good. You will be tested monthly, randomly. If you can stay clean for one year, I have instructed the firm to grant you full access to your trust, plus an additional ten-million-dollar bonus. Good luck, my dear. Dad.”

Lisa’s head jerked up, her eyes frowning. Ten million dollars was a lot of money, but to her, she just got screwed over. Rick caught a flash of something—disappointment? What’s she hiding? he thought.

The lawyer finished covering the smaller issues for employees and charities. Fred got nothing. Ralph got nothing. The atmosphere grew tense, like a storm was brewing. When it was over, Ralph jumped up, his chair screeching. “This is crap!” he yelled, pointing at Jeremy. “Your dad owed me! I was promised a cut of those new wells!”

“Ralph, Dad paid you back years ago. It’s done,” said Jeremy.

“Done?” Ralph snapped, stepping closer. “He screwed me, and now you’re screwing me!”

“Enough!” the lawyer said, standing. “Take it outside.”

Ralph’s face was red as hell. He stormed out, slamming the door. Fred slipped out quietly, avoiding eyes. Lisa stood, smoothed her dress, and left without a word, her hands visibly shaking. Rick watched as his brain ticked.

Outside, by the Hummer limo, Possum chewed some Big-League Chew bubble gum. “That was a mess. Do you think Ralph’s got a reason to be mad? I need access to their original agreement.”

“Yeah, but Lisa’s off,” Rick said. “She’s too quiet, too jumpy. And Fred’s hiding something.”

Jules crossed her arms. “You think one of them killed Nate?”

Rick shrugged. “He didn’t shoot himself. Ralph’s got the temper, but Lisa and Fred—they’re sneaky. I need to learn more.”

That night, Rick couldn’t sleep. He sat on the barndominium’s deck, sipping a Diet Coke, staring at the dark Texas sky. Jules came out, with a blanket over her shoulders. “You’re obsessing,” she said.

“Can’t stop,” Rick said, sipping his soda. “Nate was murdered. I owe Jeremy answers.”

“You think Lisa did it?”

“Maybe. I know she’s pissed that her dad didn’t give her full access to her trust, but why’s she so shaky? Fred’s got history with Nate, who had the rug pulled out from under him. Ralph’s just a loudmouth, but that doesn’t mean he’s clean.”

Jules sat beside him. “What’s next?”

“Tomorrow, at the stadium, I’m gonna poke around. See who breaks.”

The next day, AT&T Stadium was alive, Nate’s suite packed with people toasting his life as the Cowboys warmed up below. Rick moved through the crowd, watching. Lisa was at the bar, nursing a club soda, with a fake smile on her face. Fred was by a window, talking low with some guy Rick didn’t know. Ralph wasn’t there—until he barged in, half-drunk, yelling.

“To Nate!” Ralph hollered, raising a glass. “The guy who screwed us all!”

The room froze. Jeremy stepped up, jaw tight. “Ralph, cool it.”

“Cool it?” Ralph laughed. His eyes were wild. “You’re sitting on billions, kid, and I got nothing!”

Rick inched closer, watching Lisa. Her face went white, her glass hitting the bar with a clink. Fred slipped toward the door, too smoothly. Rick followed, catching him in the hall.

“Fred,” Rick said, keeping it light. “Hey, can I speak to you?”

Fred turned, his smile tight. “Have we met?”

“No, I’m just an old treasure-hunting buddy of Nate’s. Did you and Nate make nice before he died?”

Fred’s eyes flickered. “We talked. Business stuff.”

“Business involving his gun?” Rick asked, leaning in.

Fred went pale. “What’re you getting at?”

Before Rick could push, a crash came from the suite. Ralph had flipped a table, and drinks and chips were everywhere.

“I’m done with you Wilsons!” he shouted, stomping out.

Rick let Fred go, his mind racing. He had tested him enough. Lisa’s nerves and history of substance abuse, Fred’s shock when Rick mentioned Nate’s gun, Ralph’s anger—someone was lying. He just needed to figure out who. Rick reentered the suite and asked the bartender if they had any non-alcoholic beer. He was feeling tense. The only thing the barkeep had was Budweiser Zero. It would have to do. When no one was looking, he squeezed twice the usual amount of Buzz Drops into his beer. He was excited to see the Cowboys play but felt nervous tension because he knew he was on a case at the same time, and it was a balancing act.

Rick caught up with Jeremy. “Why did Lisa leave?” he asked.

“She hates football. Always has. She only came here because she had to. Once the pleasantries were gone, so was she. She’s probably heading back to the Dallas condo. I can almost guarantee that within an hour, she'll be wasted beyond recognition. I doubt she’ll ever stay sober long enough to open her trust. She can live comfortably on her monthly allowance if she doesn't party too hard with the wrong people. It all depends on her drug of choice and whether she gets a sugar daddy or not. She goes through them like a fat kid goes through cake. Sometimes she slums with guys her age or younger, but if she’s low on cash, she’ll look for a big spender. She even dated Fred for a while, which really upset my dad. He’s almost old enough to be her grandfather. She’s my sister, and I love her, but I definitely don’t like her. Her moral compass has been run over by a semi-truck and shattered into a thousand pieces,” said Jeremy.

“Wow, she dated that old guy, Fred? How long ago?” asked Rick.

“It was like five years ago, but like I said, it wouldn’t surprise me if she calls him up for a booty call when she’s low on money.”

Rick shook his head in disgust. He scanned the room, looking for anyone acting odd. The game was about to start, and some people had gone out to the stadium seats on the balcony. A twenty-something kid who didn’t seem to fit in was scarfing down BBQ from the chafing dishes. Rick watched him for a while and noticed he put a couple of rolls in his jacket pocket.

“Who’s that?” asked Rick.

Jeremy looked over to see if he recognized him.

“I have no idea.”

Rick noticed he had track lines on his arms and walked over to him. “Friend of the family?” asked Rick.

“Lisa invited me,” he responded. “Where is she?”

“She left already,” replied Rick.

Rick noticed the kid’s eyes were sunken in, and he looked gaunt. His face and body were ravaged from years of drug abuse.

“I’ll leave,” said the guy.

Rick looked in a cabinet under the buffet line and found some aluminum foil. “Here, kid, make yourself a to-go plate. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it; you shouldn’t be here. This is a family event, but I don’t want you to go away hungry. Do yourself a favor and get some help. You won’t live to thirty shooting that poison in your arms.”

The kid looked embarrassed and sad. Rick made him several brisket sandwiches, wrapped them in aluminum foil, and handed them to him. He walked the kid out the door.

“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry for coming. Lisa didn’t tell me. She just wanted to score some dope. I met her outside of a bar in Pleasant Grove a while back. We hooked up, and she took me in for a few months until she ran out of money, then kicked me to the curb. I’m used to it. She gets hold of me now and again, and we use together,” said the guy.

“Where do you live?” asked Rick, catching a whiff of the guy’s body odor.

“I mostly couch surf. I wasn’t always like this. I had a good job and was going to get married, but I got in a bad car accident and was prescribed Oxy. Once the insurance money ran out and I got fired for missing work, I had to switch to heroin. I’m ashamed of myself.”

“I know if I give you money, you’re just gonna blow it on dope.”

The kid didn’t argue. He knew Rick was right.

“Do you want to change your life?”

“You have no idea,” he replied. “I hate what I’ve become.”

“Wait right here.”

Rick stepped back into the suite and asked Jules for the burner phone she had in her purse. She always carried one in case they needed it for a case. It was brand new and had never been used. Rick copied the number into his phone, then put his name and his own number into the burner phone and stepped back out into the hallway. He handed the phone to the young man. The kid looked confused.

“This could be the turning point in your life. The decision you make today could be the trajectory for the rest of your life. By the way, I’m Rick Waters. I put my name and number in the phone. I never got your name and what you did for a living before the dope got hold of you.”

His eyes were welling up.

“My name is David, David Kimball. I was a mechanic. Mostly diesels, but I can work on anything. I sold my Snap-On tools, but I occasionally steal a cheap tool set from Walmart and troll the parking lot to see if anyone has car trouble. Then I’ll return the tools and get a refund. I know it’s wrong.”

“I understand. I am quite surprised by your candor and honesty,” said Rick.

“I’m a junkie, not a liar. Never have been.”

Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of Benjamins. He peeled off ten of them and handed them to the kid.

“I know you’re gonna buy some junk, but take some of that money and get yourself a room, a shower, and some clean clothes. This is your chance. If you call me from a rehab center, I’ll cover the cost. If you can get clean and stay clean, there will be a job waiting for you in Florida if you want it. I have several commercial boats, all diesel. My first mate, Johnie, will put you to work. My partner Gary can even set you up with a condo until you get on your feet. Think about it. It’s your chance to change your life,” said Rick.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just decide.”

The kid stuck out his hand, and Rick shook it. It was obvious the kid was grateful. Rick felt confident that he’d do the right thing. The kid shoved the money in his pocket and thanked Rick repeatedly.

“I’m going to do it. Just last night, I stepped into a church to get warm, and I ended up praying to Jesus for a miracle. I think you are my miracle, Mr. Waters.”

Rick watched as the kid walked away and felt good about what he had done. Johnie had mentioned that they needed to hire a second mechanic. He hoped the kid would come through. Everyone deserved a second chance.

Jules poked her head out of the door. “They are about to kick off,” she said.

Rick stepped inside with her, grabbed another Budweiser Zero, and sat outside with her. The plush leather stadium seats looked impressive. Some people stayed inside, watching the game from the suite through the glass, but Rick preferred to be where the sights and sounds were louder. Jeremy came in and out several times. Rick wondered if the kid was doing drugs or taking a long shower. He knew it was in God’s hands now.

Chapter

Six

Rick’s alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. Jules groaned and covered her head. Rick rubbed her back and climbed out of bed. He could already smell the coffee. He pulled on his jeans and boots, put on a warm shirt, and grabbed an orange vest from the closet. Jeremy was meeting them shortly to take them to the deer blinds. Only Rick and Possum chose to hunt that morning. Gary was entirely too hungover from partying at the game. Possum filled two thermoses with coffee and handed Rick a fresh cup. Jeremy lightly knocked on the door and popped his head in. Rick waved him over.

“Y’all ready to get a buck?” asked Jeremy.

“Yep.”

“Okay, let’s pick out our guns and head out,” said Jeremy.

Rick and Possum followed Jeremy through a coded door in the rear of the kitchen that opened up to a huge gun room and shooting range.

“Wow, this is amazing.”

“The code is 2039 if you need it. Pick out any rifle you want.”

Jeremy handed each of them a Buck knife in a sheath. Rick chose a nice Browning bolt-action .30-06 with a Leupold® VX-Freedom scope. Possum went with a Benelli 300 Magnum and a Crimson Trace Hardline scope. Jeremy grabbed his usual Winchester .30-30, and they all went out the rear door. Rick and Possum picked a four-wheeler, while Jeremy climbed into a Polaris Ranger with a bed rack and straps. The four-wheelers had rifle racks and rear locking cases for the coffee and extra ammo. Rick and Possum followed Jeremy over the dusty flat terrain for a few miles. They parked near a mesquite tree line.

“We walk from here,” said Jeremy.

The terrain was sandy with patches of cacti and crooked, bent mesquite trees. Jackrabbits skittered about, but there were no signs of deer.

“How’s the deer population here?” asked Rick.

“Generally, it’s low in the Permian Basin area compared to hill country or areas east of Dallas, but this land is like a preserve. My dad bought it in a fire sale when the bottom dropped out of oil prices. He brought in a lot of deer from a farm in Bandera. There are dozens of feeders, and our whitetail population is ten times that of the other areas. We also have mule deer and some elk. He even brought in some Axis deer. Whatever you shoot, we can have it processed and shipped to Florida if you wish, at a place in Odessa.”

They hiked for about fifteen minutes. Off to the west, the terrain changed as Texas edged up to New Mexico and the low mountain ranges came into view. Jeremy noticed Rick staring off at the horizon.

“That’s the Sierra Diablo range. It goes into New Mexico,” said Jeremy.

“Devil Mountain range, huh?”

“Exactly.”

They walked to a ridge, and the manmade deer blinds came into view. They were steel tower blinds that looked like a line of soldiers standing at attention among the hundreds of pump jacks.

“All I ask is that you don’t shoot toward the pump jacks. The deer will be off to the west heading east. The front of the towers face that way,” said Jeremy.

“How many pumps do y’all have here?” asked Rick.

“Not sure. They come and go. Some are dead, and we have some new ones that have side drilling. I’ve lost count. Okay, so we can all get a deer within an hour. Once we all get one, we can go out and field dress them, then retrieve the ATVs to haul them back,” said Jeremy.

“You say that like it’s guaranteed.”

“You’ll see.”

Rick climbed into his blind and took a seat. He cracked open the front gun window. The blinds had cup holders, a battery-powered heater, and gun rests in the window. Rick laid his rifle in one of the rests and removed the scope caps. Off in the distance, he saw a herd of cattle moving toward the blinds. He looked through the scope.

Holy shit! Those aren’t cattle.

Hundreds of whitetail deer, a few elk, and even an albino deer were walking toward the blinds—bucks and does of all sizes. What he didn’t realize was that the blinds were set up on a trail with feeders several miles to the east that operated on timers. There were also feeders miles to the west timed to go off in the evening. So, whether you were hunting in the morning or afternoon, you were almost guaranteed to see a deer. It was illegal to shoot deer at feeders, but their setup created a daily migration pattern. This was perfectly legal, and the population indicated that harvesting a deer would maintain the preserve’s health. Rick could literally pick any whitetail he wanted and went for one with a massive rack. He took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger. The huge buck dropped instantly. The other deer scattered.

“Nice shot,” hollered Jeremy.

“Sorry, I scared all the deer off,” replied Rick.

“Give it fifteen minutes. You’re up next, Possum,” yelled Jeremy.

Rick watched and waited, and Jeremy was right. A shot rang out from Possum’s blind, and a big buck fell.

“Let’s roll. I’m good,”

Rick climbed down and began to walk toward his buck.

“You’re not taking one?”

“Nah, I need another deer like I need a hole in the head. I’ll run and grab the Polaris while y’all field dress the deer. I’ve been holding out for a big spotted Axis with bent antlers, but I haven’t seen him lately. He won’t come today. He’s skittish. I’ll get him one day,” replied Jeremy.

Rick started field dressing his buck. He must’ve weighed close to two seventy-five—a nice-sized buck. Possum’s was a tad smaller but had a bigger rack. They were nearly finished field dressing the deer when Jeremy pulled up in the Polaris.

“You want the hearts?” asked Jeremy.

“Nah, just the venison,” replied Rick.

Jeremy put both hearts in a Ziplock bag. “I have a great marinade back at the barndominium for the grill. I’ll marinate the hearts and return later this afternoon to grill them. I’ll take the bucks to the processor for y’all. When are y’all heading back?” asked Jeremy.

“Most likely tomorrow. Gary’s pilot is in Dallas.”

“Sounds good, Rick. Y’all can stay as long as you like, you know, and you're welcome to come back anytime.”

“Thanks, Jeremy.”

They laid the deer across the bed rack and strapped them in. A shot rang out from the distance, and Jeremy fell.

“Oh no! Stray bullet!” yelled Rick.

He crouched down to check on Jeremy. He was bleeding badly and unconscious. The bullet had gone through his right shoulder just above his collarbone. Rick reached around his back and pulled his jacket off. There was a small exit wound in the upper part of his back just above his shoulder blade.

Possum took off his vest and waved it to get the attention of the hunter. Suddenly, several more shots rang out, and bullets ricocheted off the Polaris.

“Shit. It wasn’t an accident.” Rick dragged Jeremy behind the Polaris and picked up his rifle. Possum jumped behind it and started firing in the general direction from where the shot came from. Jeremy came to, and Rick put pressure on his wound.

“Cover me, Possum.”

Rick handed Possum his rifle and picked up Jeremy, pushing him over to the passenger seat. He started up the ATV as Possum kept firing.

“Jump on!”

Rick peeled out and threw sand and dust everywhere as Possum leaped on top of the two deer on the bed rack. Rick drove with his left hand and kept his right hand tight over the wound.

“Call 911!” yelled Rick.

Possum dug his phone out of his pocket while he held on and bounced around in the rear of the ATV.

“They are on their way.”

Rick stopped by the four-wheeler, and Possum hopped on it, taking off to meet and direct the ambulance driver. He left Rick in the dust. Rick drove with wild abandon as fast as he safely could. Jeremy was going in and out of consciousness and losing a lot of blood.

“Hang in there, buddy,” said Rick.

When he pulled up to the barndominium, the two EMTs already had the gurney out. Rick jumped out and helped them get Jeremy on the gurney. They slid Jeremy onto the ambulance. Rick grabbed his hand.

“You’re gonna be okay,” said Rick.

“Put my hearts in the fridge and call Jamey. He’ll take the deer to the processor.”

“Just take care of yourself, Jeremy. We’ll handle the deer.”

Rick was blown away and amazed that Jeremy was more concerned about processing Rick and Possum’s venison and putting the deer hearts in the fridge than his own health. He was a hell of a guy. Rick watched as the ambulance drove off.

Rick hugged Jules and told everyone who had come outside what had happened. He called Jamey, and he arrived twenty minutes later in the Ford F-150 Raptor. Rick and Possum loaded the deer into the bed of the truck and quickly showered. Jamey gave Rick the keys to the Hummer and the address of the hospital.

They all loaded up in the Hummer limo and headed toward the hospital. It was a short drive, and when they arrived, Jeremy had been moved into a private room.

“How are you, buddy?” asked Rick.

“I’ve seen better days. The doctor said the bullet nicked the top of my clavicle, but it’s not broken. I was really lucky. They stitched me up and gave me a lot of blood. They’re keeping me overnight and pumping me full of antibiotics to keep me from getting infected.”

“Any idea who was shooting at us?”

“No clue. I had my men scout the area. Whoever was there is gone now. They found some ATV tracks by pump jack 137. Whoever it was must’ve been hiding behind that and shooting. My men found a spent .223 casing. Probably from an AR-15. Can you do me a couple of favors?”

“Sure, Jeremy. Anything,” replied Rick.

“Can you find the bottle in the fridge marked Special Sauce and marinate the hearts in a container, then go to the blinds with a metal detector and see if you can find the bullet that hit me and any casings? My men are great for security but don’t have your treasure hunting skills. There may be more than one shooter. Maybe check another nearby pump jack. We have a detector in the closet in Possum’s room. We need to run the bullet through ballistics. Whoever shot me is gonna pay for it. They are probably responsible for my father's death too,” said Jeremy.

“You got it. But I’m a treasure finder, not a treasure hunter. I’ll get lunch sent up to you as well. Any special requests?”

“I stand corrected, sir. I could go for a Whataburger with cheese, to be honest.”

“I got you!”

Everyone wished Jeremy well, and they headed out. Rick ordered Jeremy’s lunch through Uber Eats, and it was scheduled to arrive at 11:00 a.m. They went back to the barndominium, and Rick put fresh batteries in the metal detector. Rick, Possum, and Jules all climbed into a Can-Am Maverick Sport MAX DPS, which was a four-seater side-by-side. The two-seater Polaris that Jeremy had taken earlier that morning to the deer blinds still needed to be cleaned of a mix of Jeremy’s and deer blood from the morning hunt. Additionally, Rick’s four-wheeler was still out on the hunting path, where he had left it when they rushed Jeremy to the hospital. They arrived a little after 2:30 p.m. Possum parked by Rick’s four-wheeler, and they all began the hike to the tower blinds. To Rick’s surprise, not a deer, elk, or any other animal except for the occasional jackrabbit was spotted on the hike or upon arrival. It was a stark contrast to earlier that morning when herds of wild game hoofed it across the sandy terrain.

“This is where he was shot. See the blood?” asked Rick.

Both Jules and Possum nodded while they scanned the area for a potential shooter. They were sure he had left the area, but weren't taking any chances.

“Rick, I’m gonna go search the area near that pump jack and see if I can find any spent casings or other clues. You wanna come with me, Jules? Since we only have one metal detector, we’ll be in Rick’s way,” said Possum.

“Sure.”

Possum and Jules walked over to pump jack 137. Possum saw boot prints and what he thought might have been a knee print where the shooter could have knelt to rest his rifle against the pump jack for a better shot. Jeremy’s men had destroyed the crime scene. Their boot prints were all over the place. Possum tried to remember how many shots he heard but was sure it was too many to count after the initial single shot that hit Jeremy. Since Jeremy’s men had found a few .223 casings, he would expand his search to areas the men may have missed. He leaned over the side of the pump jack and saw something shiny. He donned a pair of latex gloves and picked it up. It was a spent .223 casing. He examined it and found it was a Remington .223. He remembered the exit wound on Jeremy. It was small, most likely from a .223 full metal jacket. If it had been a hollow point, the exit wound would have been jagged and much worse. FMJs are designed to penetrate and, when passed through flesh, can cut through like a puncture wound. They are suitable for penetrating helmets and ballistic body armor. Hollow points mushroom or explode on impact, causing devastating tissue damage, and are best for personal protection when stopping power is needed. Possum was certain that Jeremy was hit with a full metal jacket round.

“See any more, Jules?”

“Nope. Let’s check those other two pump jacks,” she replied.

Possum walked over to the pump jack to the south, and Jules took the north one.

“Possum, come quick,” yelled Jules.

Possum jogged over, and Jules pointed to a spent round on the ground. Possum picked up the round and examined it. The headstamp read Frontier REM 223. Possum was familiar with these casings because he had ordered some before from a company online called Midsouth Shooters. They were primarily target rounds or used for law enforcement training. If he was right, this was most likely a 55-grain full metal jacket and could very well be the bullet that hit Jeremy. There was only one set of footprints. He popped it into a plastic bag.

“Great find, Jules. Let’s go see what Rick found.”

They walked over to Rick, who had placed several bullets on the fender of the Can-Am. They were all hollow points. Possum looked at the pump jack where Jules had found the single casing and lined up his sight with the spot where Jeremy had been hit.

“Rick, may I?” asked Possum as he reached out for Rick to hand him the metal detector.

Possum walked away from the area where Jeremy was hit, out of line of sight of the pump jack from the single casing, sweeping the area with the detector as he slowly moved forward. Once he got about thirty-five yards from where Jeremy was hit, the metal detector went off like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. He carefully dug in the sand with a stick and found the bullet. It looked like it was brand new, shiny, and undamaged—full metal jacket. He picked it up and put it in a new bag. He was certain Jeremy’s DNA would be found on it.

“Rick, we have two shooters. I’m certain I found the bullet that went through Jeremy. Someone fired hollow points from pump jack 137, and the shooter that hit Jeremy came from that pump jack over there,” said Possum as he pointed to the pump jack where Jules found the single .223 shell casing.

“Let me see,” said Rick.

Possum handed Rick the Ziplock bag, and he held it up to the sun.

“We need to get this to forensics, ASAP. I’ll call Carson and see if they have an FBI field office nearby.”

The phone rang six times before Carson picked up.

“Hey, Rick,” said Carson, out of breath.

“You jogging?” asked Rick.

“You caught me on the stair stepper. What’s up?”

“Is there a field office near Odessa that I can have some forensic testing done?”

“Hang on. Let me check.”

A few moments went by, and Carson got back on the cell.

“The North Texas Regional Computer Forensics Laboratory is located in Dallas and works closely with the FBI. If you want fast results, that’s your best choice. Or, you can FedEx it to me here in Virginia. The decision is yours,” said Carson.

“Okay, we are flying out of Dallas. I’ll drop it off there on my way to the Odessa airport. Thanks, Carson. Don’t have a heart attack on that thing.”

They searched a while longer but found nothing of evidentiary value and decided to head back. Jules wanted to drive the four-wheeler, so Rick and Possum led the way in the ATV. When they got back to the barndominium, Gary and Kelly were in the great room with their bags packed.

“Y’all leaving?” asked Rick.

“Yeah. Kelly needs to follow up with the new guy on the diamond mine in the Congo, and I’ve got to have a meeting with Boudreaux and Tungsten in Mississippi. We got government approval for a new strain of cannabis, and we are going to discuss the first indoor crop. We’ll see y’all back in Destin in about a week or so. I called Clay, and he is staying at the Marriott by DFW. We’ll fly commercial, so you can take the jet back to Destin. I think I may have found a new plane. We’re gonna take a puddle jumper out of Odessa to meet Clay now and check it out. I’m tired of renting,” said Gary.

“So shocking,” said Rick sarcastically. “Well, y’all be safe.”

“We will. Talk soon.”

They hugged everyone goodbye and met the driver. Rick handed Jamey the baggies of evidence and asked him if he could get them to the lab in Dallas fast. He said he knew a courier service that could do it. He put away Gary and Kelly’s bags, and they headed out in the Hummer limo.

After a nice grilled elk steak dinner, Rick and Jules hit the bedroom to watch some Netflix and give Possum the great room to do some research. Rick’s phone whistled, and it was Carson.

Call me.

Rick clicked the call on Carson’s text.

“Rick, I just spoke to a detective in Odessa PD. His name is Harlan. He goes way back with Nate, apparently, and is on point with this case. I’ve asked him to run ballistics on the casings and bullets. I don’t want them to feel left out. It’ll take longer to get the DNA results from the lab in Dallas, so he is gonna pick it all up after they swab it and take it back to his little forensics lab in Odessa. They are actually quite thorough there, I found out. I gave him your number. Expect a call from him.”

“Okay, thanks, Carson. It’ll be good to have a contact with the local PD.”

Rick unpaused Forensic Files, and he and Jules watched several episodes before they drifted off to sleep.

Chapter

Seven

Rick’s phone vibrated on the nightstand in the barndominium’s loft bedroom, yanking him out of a half-dream about the Ferrari roaring down Hwy 98 with Chief squawking in the passenger seat. The Texas sun was already peeping through the blinds, casting antler chandelier shadows below on the floor. He grabbed the phone. It was Harlan, the detective from the Odessa PD Carson had told him about. Rick slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Jules, who was tangled in the sheets like a cat in a yarn ball. He tiptoed downstairs in his socks, the tile floor cold enough to make him wince, and answered in the great room, where the smell of last night’s grilled elk steaks still lingered.

“Hello, Harlan, is it?” Rick said, keeping his voice low.

“Good morning, Mr. Waters. I got your number from Carson. Got the ballistics on that slug you pulled from the sand at the deer camp. It’s a .223 Frontier—standard stuff out here; coyote killers, beer can plinkers, but you already knew that. Sold at every sporting goods store from Odessa to Lubbock. No unique rifling, no serials on the casing bits you found. Could’ve come from any AR-15 or bolt-action rifle, and trust me, every roughneck’s got one in their truck. Nate used to rib me about my old hunting rifle—owed him a few favors over the years for bailing me out of some tight spots, so I rushed this for you. Ain’t much, but it’s what we got. Your buddy Carson asked me to collect it from forensics in Dallas once they swabbed it. It was a damn eight-hour round-trip drive.”

Rick wandered to the kitchen, firing up the coffee maker, wondering where Possum was. He was usually up and had coffee ready, and breakfast started.

“Thanks. And call me Rick. Nate had a way of collecting favors, I understand, didn’t he? Send me the report, and I’ll buy you a Hazy IPA next time I’m in town.”

“Deal. Watch yourself, Rick. Nate’s enemies don’t play nice.”

Rick hung up and poured a mug of black coffee, grimacing at the lack of Splenda—Jules and her damn fasting app. He glanced out the French doors to the deck, where the massive BBQ grill sat, still dusted with ash from the night before. Those elk steaks had been a hit—Jeremy’s “special sauce” (soy, garlic, and a splash of Jack Daniel’s) made them tender and smoky, even winning over Malia, who usually stuck to salads. But the shooting nagged at him like a splinter. Someone had targeted Jeremy, and it wasn’t a stray hunter’s bullet. It was tied to Nate’s murder back in Destin, where the Russian Nagant revolver had blown a hole through the oil tycoon’s chest. The puzzle was coming together, but half the pieces were missing.

Jules shuffled downstairs, her silky black hair a mess, wearing one of Rick’s old Van Halen T-shirts. She wrapped her arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I am running a few minutes late; my previous meeting is running over.”

“Up early chasing bad guys or just craving coffee?”

“We got ballistics on Jeremy’s bullet,” Rick said, sipping the bitter coffee.

“Nothing really on the FMJ or hollow point .223s, no leads. We have to match the rifle to the casings or bullet grooves. Without knowing where the rifle is, it’s kinda useless. My gut’s screaming Fred and Lisa are neck-deep in this. Fred has old grudges, and Lisa has the trust fund motive. Plus, Jeremy’s quick to point fingers at them—maybe too quick.”

“You think Jeremy could be involved?” asked Jules.

“Not really. I just think he’s sick of his sister’s weak morals and promiscuity and hates Fred.”

Jules grabbed a raspberry Bubly from the Sub-Zero fridge; the hiss of the can opening sounded like a punctuation mark.

“Let’s tail Fred in Odessa. We can go undercover. I’ll play the high-roller investor, you be the scrappy sidekick. He never saw me at the game, and if you wear that brown wig and weird glasses, he won’t recognize you. We’ll see if he’s meeting Lisa or anyone else shady. Possum can stay here, dig into their bank accounts. Where is he anyway?” asked Jules.

“Solid plan. I’ll text him, see where he’s hiding.” Rick fired off a message to Possum. He then texted Olivia back in Destin; Olivia was keeping Chief and Choco entertained—Rick could picture Choco sprawled in the office, tail thumping, while Chief mimicked seagull cries to mess with him.

His phone pinged with a text from Gary.

Call me when you can.

Rick quickly called Gary.

“Hey, how was the puddle jumper?” asked Rick.

“I hated it. Anyway, Clay’s got the jet ready. It’s at your disposal. Kelly and I are staying in Dallas an extra day—got some mine contacts to charm. Oh, big news: Pulled the trigger on a used 737-200 from Southwest. Clay checked it out thoroughly at DFW—low hours on rebuilds, engines tight. Getting it painted black and silver. Refurb’s gonna have four small bedrooms in back for long trips, captain’s chairs and desks up front for working cases. Clay’ll fly you back to Destin tomorrow or when you’re ready, then he’s off to Lithuania for 737 flight school. The new bird’ll be ready in a month. I’m going to christen it with a Bermuda run when we get back. Kelly’s never been. Y’all are welcome too, of course.”

“Sounds good, Gary. Call you back. Possum’s calling.”

“Rick. Sorry, left early this morning. Took the F-250. I’ll be back in a bit. Have something interesting to share with you.”

“Okay, if we’re not here, we’ll be back soon. Going undercover. Yay! We’ll grab an Uber and rent a little BMW or something in Odessa. Need to look the part.”

Rick hung up.

“Gary doesn’t mess around, does he? He’s buying a 737-200 from Southwest. He’s putting bedrooms on the plane—that’s some rock star shit. He had mentioned Clay’s getting his rating in Lithuania.”

“Gary’s allergic to subtle,” Jules said, grinning. “The last jet he rented, he bitched about the legroom for a week. This 737’s gonna be his palace. Good for Clay, though—Lithuania’s a hike, but he’ll come back ready to fly that beast.”

By ten, Rick and Jules were at the Odessa airport, climbing into their rented BMW. The car purred as Rick started it, the Texas plains stretching out like a canvas. Rick’s mind churned—Fred’s history with Nate, Lisa’s drug-fueled resentment, and that damn riddle from the treasure box Jeremy had handed over. Underneath quartz sandy sprawl, where Billy Bowlegs roamed and called… Quartz sands had to mean Destin’s beaches, pure as sugar. Billy Bowlegs, the pirate, was a Florida Panhandle legend, stashing gold from here to Apalachicola. The treasure felt like a side quest, but Nate’s obsession with it might’ve drawn a killer.

They drove to Fred’s office and did some recon. They walked over to the business beside it because they were sick of being in the car. Waffle House made the best damn waffles, and the waitresses didn’t care about your business. Possum’s dark web dive had pinned Fred’s office in a sleek building downtown, a holdover from his days in the Permian Basin drilling industry. Rick ordered a double with pecans and watched across the street, nursing a cup of coffee while Jules scoped the entrance with mini binoculars.

“There,” she said after ninety minutes, pointing. “Fred—gray suit, shiny head, looking twitchy.”

Fred hurried out and jumped into a silver Mercedes that screamed “midlife crisis.” Rick and Jules hopped into the BMW and followed him at a distance, weaving through Odessa traffic with ease. Fred pulled into a restaurant called The Bottoms Up Bar & Grill—a small chain vibe, with neon signs reading Hot Dames, Cold Brews, Tasty Chews. Rick and Jules split up: she grabbed a window table, pretending to be a solo diner; he slouched at the bar, hiding behind a laminated menu.

To their surprise, Lisa slid into a booth across from Fred, her now orange hair tamed into a ponytail, a black blazer over ripped jeans making her look more corporate than a protestor. They leaned close, voices barely carrying over the clatter of plates and the buzz of frozen drink blenders.

“We gotta cover our tracks,” Fred hissed, stirring his rum and Coke like it owed him money. “That safe on the boat—if they figure out I gave you the combo…”

Lisa shot him a look, sharp as a switchblade. “Chill, Fred. Jeremy’s too busy playing oil king to notice. Dad’s gone, and once I contest that bullshit will, my trust fund’s mine. You’ll get your cut for those tech secrets you ‘shared’ with him back in the day. Just don’t screw this up.”

Rick’s adrenaline kicked into gear. Jules caught his eye from her table, her raised eyebrow saying jackpot. Fred grumbled about Nate stealing his drilling innovations, building Big Dog while Fred’s own company tanked. Lisa ranted about her “slave wages” allowance—25K a month, pocket change to her. It reeked of a plot: greed, revenge, and maybe a murder to seal the deal.

Fred slid Lisa an envelope—cash, papers, something else? They split fast, Fred heading back to his office, Lisa toward her next drug or booze fest. Rick and Jules regrouped at the BMW. Rick carried a piece of his half-finished waffle with him into the car, syrup dripping on his shirt.

“They’re in it together,” he said, wiping his chin. “Fred’s feeding her money, probably to keep her quiet or bankroll her schemes. The safe combo ties them to the Nagant—Nate’s own gun.”

Jules nodded. “Besides that, you’re in trouble, mister. You’re supposed to have another hour in your fast. It’s okay. I know how much you love Waffle House. Lisa’s got motive out the ass—hates Nate for controlling her trust, hates Jeremy for getting the company. Fred’s just a bitter old bastard who wants a piece of the pie he lost.”

Rick’s phone rang—Possum, again.

“Rick, I couldn’t wait. I got dirt. Fred has been wiring Lisa $15,000 a month for a year, labeled ‘consulting.’ Bullshit—his accounts are bleeding from bad fracking bets. Lisa’s trust is her golden ticket, but Nate’s rules keep her on a leash. Oh, and get this: Those payments spiked two weeks before Nate got popped.”

“Nice, Possum. What about Jeremy?”

“Gary and Kelly just called the hospital, and Jeremy was released, so Gary called Jeremy’s office. Jeremy’s talking up a storm—mentioned Nate’s journal, locked in a safe at the ranch. Says it has proof that Fred stole tech in the ’80s and used it to jumpstart Permian Basin Drilling. Nate let it slide at the time, but after he quit, he held it over Fred’s head for years. Fred’s been pissed ever since. Jeremy’s emailing a scan of the journal tonight.”

“That makes no sense. I just overheard Fred tell Lisa he gave her the combination to the safe on the boat. Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe he meant the safe at the deer camp. I didn’t see a safe. Did you?”

“Nope, but I’ll search for one.”

Rick hung up, his brain spinning like the Ferrari’s tires on Hwy 283. Fred and Lisa’s meeting, the money, the safe combo—it all pointed to collusion. But Jeremy’s eagerness to share the journal felt like a neon sign. Was he steering them toward Fred and Lisa to cover his own tracks? The riddle bugged the shit out of him, too—quartz sandy sprawl was Destin, no question. Billy Bowlegs screamed pirate treasure buried somewhere along the Emerald Coast.

“We’re heading back to Destin tomorrow,” Rick told Jules, tossing a syrup-soaked napkin in the back seat. “This case started there, and I’m betting the answers are too. Plus, I miss Choco and Chief.”

Jules grinned. “Choco’s probably driving Olivia nuts, begging for Beggin’ Strips. And Chief’s mimicking every seagull in the harbor.”

The next morning, Possum made deer heart omelets—Rick slathered his with hot sauce, fasting be damned—and met Possum and Malia at the Odessa airport. Clay had flown the jet over from Dallas and had it purring, ready for the flight to Destin.

“Last run on this rental,” he said, adjusting his cap. “Gary’s new 737’s gonna be a beast. I’ll drop y’all off, then I’m Lithuania-bound for flight school. Gotta learn how to handle that big bird.”

“Safe travels, Clay,” Rick said, clapping Clay on the shoulder. “Don’t pick up any weird Baltic habits.”

The flight was quick, the Gulf shimmering below like a sheet of emeralds. Clay landed them at Destin Executive, and they piled into an Uber Rick ordered. Back at the condo, Olivia greeted them with a laugh. “Choco’s been a couch hog, and Chief’s got a new trick—mimicking my phone ring. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Chief hopped onto Rick’s arm, nuzzling his chin, while Choco barreled over, tail wagging like a metronome on speed. Rick tossed him a Beggin’ Strip, and Chief squawked, “Pizza! Pizza!”—a leftover from Merlin’s delivery nights.

“Thanks, Olivia,” Rick said, scratching Choco’s ears. “Any chatter at the office?”

“Just rumors—some treasure hunters sniffing around Nate’s boat. Oh, and a couple skip-trace gigs, but nothing worth Jules’s time.”

By afternoon, Rick’s phone lit up—David Kimball, the kid from the stadium suite. His voice was clear, stronger than it had been before. “Mr. Waters, it’s David. I’m in rehab, thanks to you. Got a mechanic job lined up in Dallas once I get out, if you’re not ready for me, but I heard something in rehab. Lisa was at a dive bar, talking to some rough Dallas types—oil rivals, maybe. Said she needed to ‘settle scores’ with her dad. Sounded serious.”

“You’re a lifesaver, David,” Rick said. “Keep it up. We’ve got a spot for you in Destin if you want it—Johnie needs a diesel guy. The job is yours if you can get clean and stay clean.”

“Thank you, Mr. Waters.”

“You’re welcome, David. Call me Rick.”

Hanging up, Rick relayed the tip to the crew over Merlin’s Pizza—meat-lovers for him, Margherita for Jules. Choco sprawled at their feet, eyeing the crusts, while Chief perched on the couch, squawking “Bowlegs!” out of nowhere. Rick froze, pizza halfway to his mouth. “That damn bird’s onto something. The riddle—quartz sands, Billy Bowlegs. It’s all pointing to Destin’s beaches.”

Jules nodded, wiping sauce from her chin. “Fred and Lisa are neck-deep, but Jeremy’s too clean, too helpful. He’s nudging us toward them like a used car salesman.”

Rick leaned back, the case tightening like a noose. Fred’s money to Lisa, her resentment, the boat safe—it screamed conspiracy. But Jeremy’s fingerprints were on this, subtle but there. The treasure, the murder, the shooting—it all swirled together, and Rick was ready to dive back into Destin’s emerald waters to find the truth.

Chapter

Eight

Rick pulled the Ferrari out of Destin Imports; the engine sounded amazing after its tune-up. The tuned pipes almost seemed to sing when he revved the engine. Sherwood had nailed it—no more idle miss, fresh fluids, and new spark plugs, all for under a grand. The Italian plates still drew stares as he cruised down Hwy 98, with the wind whipping through the open top. It felt good to be home, the Gulf breeze carrying that smell that screamed Destin. Back at the condo, Chief hopped up and down on his perch, squawking, “I hate fasts!”—a new trick from eavesdropping on Rick’s complaints. Choco bounded over, planting wet kisses on Rick’s hand. His tail thumped on the floor as if it were on the beat of a song. Olivia had kept them spoiled, but Rick missed the chaos.

“Missed you too, Chief,” Rick said, letting the bird nuzzle his chin.

Jules had already unpacked and tossed laundry into the washer.

“Let’s check Nate’s boat before dark. Olivia mentioned treasure hunters sniffing around.”

They drove to the harbor in the Bronco, Choco riding shotgun with his head out the window and his ears flapping in the wind. The catamaran, “X Marks The Spot,” bobbed in its slip. The police tape was long gone. Rick donned latex gloves and stepped aboard, the deck creaking under his boots. He fired up the engines—smooth, no issues—but when he checked the wiring in the engine compartment, something was off. A bundle of cables looked tampered with, insulation nicked as if someone had probed for a hidden switch or maybe rigged a short.

“Sabotage?” Jules asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Could be. But why? Makes no sense. Nate’s already been killed. Let’s set up those tiny hidden cameras. I brought two of those that have night vision from the office.”

They mounted two: one in the galley, overlooking the dishwasher, and another on the helm, facing the companionway. Back at the condo, Rick synced them to his phone app, testing the feeds. Crystal clear.

“If anyone boards, we’ll know.”

That night, over wings from Island Wing Company—two dozen hot ones slathered in sauce—Rick’s phone buzzed with a motion alert. He pulled up the app. A shadowy figure slipping aboard the catamaran, hood up, flashlight in hand. The person headed straight to the galley, fiddling with the dishwasher. Rick zoomed in—orange hair peeking out. Lisa.

“Got her,” Rick said, grabbing his keys. “Stay here, Jules. I’ll call if it escalates.”

He sped to the harbor in the Ferrari, parking a block away and sneaking down the dock. Lisa was inside, the dishwasher pulled out, rummaging in the safe. Rick stepped aboard quietly, his tactical flashlight ready.

“Looking for something, Lisa?”

She spun around, her eyes wide. She had a small yellow envelope in her hand.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Waters. I guess you don’t remember me from the funeral or the game. Your brother hired me to find out who killed your dad. Looks like I found a thief instead.”

Lisa stuffed the envelope in her pocket, her face flushing.

“This is family business. It’s my envelope. Dad owed me. Papers in here prove it.”

Rick blocked the door.

“Papers or not, breaking and entering is a crime. What’s really going on? You and Fred cooking up something?”

She scoffed, but her eyes darted.

“Fred? Ancient history. I’m just grabbing what’s mine.”

He let her go. Better to watch than arrest, but tailed her to a bar on the harbor, Red Door Saloon. Rick texted Jules, and she met him there, slipping in undercover as a tourist. She sidled up to Lisa at the bar, ordering a club soda.

“Rough night? Saw you storm out of that boat. Boy trouble?”

Lisa eyed her, then softened with a few sips of her vodka tonic.

“Family crap.”

Jules nodded sympathetically.

“Sucks. I get it. Is it financial or emotional? I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

Lisa smirked. “It’s okay. I don’t give a shit who knows. Both. Working with a lawyer. My stupid brother is dangling some fast-track BS, but I don’t trust him.”

Rick listened from a corner booth, nursing a Collective Arts Hazy IPA. Lisa vented more, resentment toward her father for her “jail of an allowance,” how he’d cut her off during benders. Jules played it cool, swapping stories until Lisa loosened up. No direct murder admission, but the motive burned bright.

Back home, Possum called from his condo. He was still digging remotely.

“Hacked into some deleted texts between Lisa and Fred. They’re plotting, alright. He is feeding her intel on Jeremy’s schedule, promising a cut if she flips the will. Fred’s almost broke, needs the payday. He went in big on a stock tip and it hit zero.”

“Keep at it,” Rick said. “Johnie went out diving near Grayton and found quartz samples matching the riddle. Pure white, like the beaches here.”

Johnie texted mid-call.

“Quartz chunks everywhere off Santa Rosa. When Kelly gets back, I bet she says it’s geological gold and ties to the riddle’s ‘sandy sprawl.’ Nate’s boat’s a beast for this.”

In the office the next morning, Chief squawked and laughed from his perch, mimicking Rick’s voice. Olivia laughed, handing over the mail.

“Treasure hunters called again. They want to charter Nate’s boat. Told ‘em no dice.”

Rick’s phone rang. He glanced down and saw it was Jeremy.

“Rick, good news. Talked Lisa into coming to Destin with me. We’re flying in tomorrow, staying at Emerald Grande. Told her I’ve got a shark lawyer who can crack her trust open faster, sober or not. She bought it—wants to ‘reconnect as family.’ Figure it’ll keep her close, maybe loosen her tongue.”

“Smart play. About that. Lisa is already here. I caught her taking an envelope from the boat safe,” Rick said.

“What? I just spoke to her yesterday morning. She said she’d fly with me. Was that envelope yellow?” asked Jeremy.

“Yep, it was.”

“Doesn’t matter. She thinks she’s so fucking smart. I put that envelope in there after the cops cleared the boat and you did your search. I told her it was in the safe. She had the combination. It’s just the original agreement Dad made with her about her allowance. I told her if she came, I’d give it to her. I guess she doesn’t trust me. We all had the combination to that safe.

“We’ll meet you there. Oh, and after we left Odessa, you grabbed that journal from the barndominium safe?”

Jeremy paused.

“Went back right after y’all headed out, and the safe was empty. The journal’s vanished. Someone got in there. Pissed me off, but I’ve got backups on a drive.”

Rick leaned back.

“Damn. Well, on a brighter note, we ate those deer hearts. Your special sauce was killer. So freaking tender and smoky, best I’ve had. Possum tricked me and put them in an omelet. I thought it was beef.”

Jeremy chuckled.

“Glad y’all liked it. The secret’s in the bourbon. It’s Dad’s recipe. See you soon.”

Hanging up, Rick eyed Jules. “Jeremy tried to trick Lisa into coming. His ploy worked better than he thought since she beat him here. But she’s sneaky; bet she’s got her own agenda.”

Sure enough, that night, the camera app pinged again. Lisa? No, Fred, slipping aboard like a ghost. He beelined for the safe. When he saw it was empty, he stomped his feet before vanishing. Rick replayed the feed: Fred was on his phone, whispering. Possum enhanced the audio.

“Lisa, you already got it from the safe? Fuck, I told you I’d get it. I’ll meet you at Emerald Grande.”

“She invited him,” Jules said. “Secretly. Whatever’s in that envelope, it’s key.”

Rick wasn’t convinced. He nodded anyway, but he already knew what was in the envelope, and so did Jeremy. The collusion was thickening like fog over the harbor. Fred and Lisa were dancing around murder, but Jeremy’s missing journal nagged. Was it really stolen, or did he make the whole fucking thing up? The riddle pulled at him too: quartz sandy sprawl was Destin, Billy Bowlegs the pirate’s haunt. Grayton Beach called, with its springs and secrets.

The next day, Jeremy arrived at Emerald Grande, the luxury spot overlooking the harbor. Rick met him in the lobby, Choco on a leash.

“Just walking the dog.”

Jeremy shook his hand, looking polished in a polo and slacks. Lisa walked up but hung back, her eyes looking red, though she forced a smile.

“Rick, this is Lisa. Oh yeah, you met already. Sis, Rick’s the PI I hired. Top-notch.”

Lisa nodded. “I know Jeremy. I’m not stupid. Jeremy says you’re solving Dad’s mess. At this point, I don’t give a fuck. I just want my trust. All of it.”

“Working on it,” Rick said. “Welcome to Destin’s Emerald Grande. Tourist mecca, locals’ eyesore.”

Jeremy pulled Rick aside while Lisa fumbled with her purse.

“She bit on the lawyer ploy hook, line, and sinker. Thinks this guy can bypass the sobriety clause. It’s bullshit, but it buys me time to watch her.”

“Good thinking,” Rick replied. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

That evening, Rick staked out the resort hotel from the Bronco, parked in the shadows. Sure enough, Fred slunk in through a side door, flowers in hand. He headed to Lisa’s suite. Rick texted Jules.

Fred’s here. Secret rendezvous.

On it. Jules had paid a woman she had befriended who worked at Emerald Grande to bug Lisa’s room.

Audio crackled through Jules’ earpiece.

Lisa’s voice sounded tense.

“You got the contract?”

“Yeah, the contract Nate hid in the barndominium safe proves he skimmed from Big Dog early on. We use this to blackmail Jeremy, force him to release your trust.”

Lisa laughed bitterly.

“You fucking idiot. Dad screwed us both. Jeremy already made copies of that. He’ll change them and say you faked it.”

Rick’s blood ran cold. Collusion confirmed, but for what? Extortion, or cover for murder?

Johnie swung by the condo later, with quartz samples in a Ziploc.

“These match the riddle. I sent a photo to Kelly, and she agrees but will have to test them.”

“Pure quartz, like Destin’s sand. ‘Sandy sprawl’—we’re on the right track.”

Chief squawked again. “What are you doing?! Secret spring.”

Rick froze. “Did he just say secret spring? That bird’s a genius. The riddle’s ‘secret spring’—Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth myth, right here in Florida. They are historic springs.”

“Dive tomorrow?” Johnie asked.

“Count on it.”

But as sunset began, Rick got another camera alert.

Fred was back on the boat, tampering with the sand blowers. Rick raced over, confronting him dockside.

“Second time’s the charm, Fred?”

Fred bolted, but Rick tackled him. “What’s in the journal? Why’d you meet Lisa?”

Fred wrenched loose and said, “None of your business. Nate owed me—tech, money, everything. Jeremy was embezzling. I can prove it.”

Cops arrived and hauled Fred away for trespassing.

The journal? Old ledgers showing Nate’s early shady deals. Blackmail fodder.

Rick’s brain was foggy now. He was about ready to say fuck it and drop the case.

Lisa texted Jeremy later, playing innocent.

Thanks for the lawyer hook. Family first?

Jeremy called Rick and told him, but Rick knew better. The web tightened—Fred and Lisa were scheming, Jeremy was pulling strings, but could be involved as well. The treasure waited, and Rick was too deep to cut his losses now. He knew it.

What a fucking family.

A few hours later, Rick met Jules in front of Nine-Tenths, and she was sitting in the new captain’s chair.

“Damn, this thing is nice. I should get one for the condo,” she said.

“Why not? You could put it on the balcony.”

Rick told Jules about busting Fred on the boat and having him arrested for trespassing. She was surprised because she had overheard him on the bug, and before she could tell Rick, he asked about it.

“Anything new from the bug in Lisa’s room?”

“I was just about to tell you. Yeah, I almost puked. Fred showed up at her room, and I could hear them snorting coke—I guess it was coke. They were snorting like two pigs on a farm. She paid him with sex. Gross! He could be her grandfather.”

“It seems there’s no line she won’t cross. I guess Fred paid a cash bail at Okaloosa. I was hoping they’d keep him overnight at least. Bail reform pisses me right off. He might have just had to sign a release and not even pay. I’ll find out,” said Rick, incredibly frustrated.

“I know. Listen, Possum and Malia invited us over for dinner. She has to head back to Hawaii tomorrow for some family business. Possum said he needs to stay and work the case. She’ll be back in a week or so. You hungry?”

“As a horse. Let’s roll. The Bronco is still parked behind Emerald Grande.”

They walked hand in hand along the HarborWalk boardwalk. When they arrived, Rick saw flashing lights. He noticed a Deputy Sheriff he had met before standing next to his cruiser and an ambulance.

“What happened?” asked Rick.

“Someone OD’d in Emerald Grande. An oil guy from Texas,” said the Deputy.

“Fred Loren?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I’m looking into the case of one of his former employees. You know... the guy who got shot at the harbor.”

“Oh yeah. Another oil guy from Texas. Connected?”

“Most definitely. Thanks, stay safe.”

“You too,” replied the Deputy.

“OD’d, my ass,” murmured Rick. “I need to get my hands on the autopsy report.”

Jules nodded, looking a little shocked. They headed back to the condo and checked in on Chief and Choco, then strolled over to Possum’s condo. Rick knocked lightly.

“Come on in. It’s not locked,” hollered Possum through the door.

When Rick stepped through the door, his nose caught a whiff of something good.

“Damn. What is that?” asked Rick.

“Kalua pork. Malia insisted on making it. I told her I would cook so she could pack, but she insisted,” said Possum.

“Fred is dead.”

“What?!”

“I saw a bunch of lights over by Emerald Grande, and that Deputy I know from Okaloosa said he overdosed. Jules had Lisa’s room bugged, and she heard they were sniffing something. She assumed coke. Who knows? Maybe it was heroin. I’ll know more tomorrow. Listen, if you wanna go with Malia, we can handle it.”

“I appreciate it, Rick, but she has some loose ends to tie up on the Big Island. I’ll just be in the way. She wouldn’t go if she didn’t absolutely have to. It may only take a few days. I booked her an open-ended round-trip flight so she can come back early if possible.”

“You sure, Possum?”

“I’m positive. It’s all good.”

Jules stepped into the kitchen to give Malia a hand, and she set the table.

“Sit down, ohana,” said Malia. “Rick, I made your favorite treat before dinner.”

She lifted the silver tray covering the dish.

“Spam Masubi! Yes!”

Jules laughed. She couldn’t understand why Rick loved Spam so much, but he did.

They all sat down at the table, and Malia put everything out family style. Besides the Kalua pork, she prepared pineapple rice, tako poke, and Hawaiian banana bread—an indoor luau fit for a king.

“Damn, Malia, this is quite a spread. What’s the occasion?” asked Rick.

“We call it ‘Thursday’ back home.”

“We’re gonna love having you around. That’s for sure,” said Rick.

Jules playfully slapped him.

“What he means is we love having you around, even if you don’t cook.”

“I know what he meant. All good, Kuʻuipo.”

They all ate and talked over dinner. Malia explained that she had to sign some paperwork from her former boss. Most likely an NDA, since he was a prominent rancher and businessman on the Big Island, and his daughter was involved in a terrible crime that had captured Hawaii's true crime fans’ attention. He was in discussions with a major film studio to make a feature film about her life and involvement in the major jewel heist.

“How do you like Destin so far, Malia?” asked Rick.

“I like it a lot. It’s different from Kona, but the beaches are just as nice. I’m not sure if I’ll be moving here yet. Possum has asked me to, but we are taking it slow.”

“You are always welcome here. Are you gonna be visiting Hawaii more, too?” Rick asked Possum.

“Yeah. We’re gonna split our time between cities, somewhat.”

After dinner, Rick and Jules decided to go for a walk and let their food go down. They walked from the condo towers down to Publix in the Destin Commons and back. It was a beautiful Destin night on the Gulf Coast. Johnie texted Rick and reminded him about the dive in the morning. He told him he’d be ready.

Chapter

Nine

Rick and Johnie loaded four scuba tanks in the back of Rick’s Bronco. Johnie put their gear bags on the back seat. Rick drove down Hwy 98 and turned by Destin Commons onto the toll bridge over Choctawhatchee Bay. Once on Interstate 10, he continued east, and when he arrived at Ponce De Leon Springs State Park, there were only two cars in the park. They loaded the dive gear in a small cart and dragged it to the edge of the springs. Rick pulled out a laminated copy of the riddle and read it aloud again:

Underneath quartz sandy sprawl,

Where Billy Bowlegs roamed and called,

A treasure hides, as legends sing,

Gleaming gold in a secret spring.

Elusive as stopping age

Its whereabouts are in the cage

Beneath the sands where dreams abide,

The pirate's hoard and youth's spring collide.

“Do you think it’s here?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never dove here before. I’m wearing my 30-mil suit, you?” asked Rick.

“Yeah, it’s freaking cold in that crystal clear water,” replied Johnie.

They began their first dive. The water was so cold it shocked their bodies until their wetsuits warmed a thin layer against their skin. They weren’t sure what they were looking for, but Rick relied on his instincts to explore areas that probably would have been overlooked. They exhausted their first air supply and managed to stay submerged for over an hour. The search area was limited. They changed tanks and started their second dive. They covered the entire cavern floor and walls within an hour without finding anything. They weren’t equipped to dive the cavern tube. Rick wasn’t fond of technical diving, and they’d need different gear and more time. Over the years, there had been thirteen fatalities among deep cave divers, and in the ’90s, a crew built a steel grate in the cavern at 310 feet. There was no way Rick was going to dive that deep, even with proper gear. They surfaced, and Rick took off his mask.

“It’s not here. I have a gut feeling.”

“What makes you feel that way?” asked Johnie.

“Well, pirates used to hide treasure in the banks of rivers and springs. That’s where the word 'bank' came from, as in Bank of America. Plus, back in those days, they didn't have scuba gear. It wasn’t even invented yet. So, if they were gonna hide something in that spring, they'd have to do it at snorkel or free dive depths. They didn’t even have snorkels or masks back then, either. They’d be just swimming in the water with no gear. It’s not here. Let’s regroup and study the riddle more.”

Rick and Johnie dried off and warmed up in the sun. Families began to arrive, and the park was getting busier. Rick looked around the park and wondered how it might have looked back in the days of Billy Bowlegs and even before that, during Ponce de León's time. In 1513, Juan Ponce de León led an expedition that historical debate and local legends suggest took him to the panhandle, specifically near modern-day Ponce de León, Florida. His 1513 trip involved exploring the coast, landing to claim land, seek resources, and look for the elusive Fountain of Youth. Several springs in Florida were linked to and rumored to be the Fountain of Youth, including Warm Water Springs and Wakulla Springs in central Florida, as well as Ponce De Leon Springs and nearby Vortex Springs.

“Ready to head back?”

“Yep,” replied Johnie.

Rick drove back to Destin, and they discussed history as Johnie used his iPhone and the Grok app to research the famous ancient explorer. They also talked about Billy Bowlegs, for which a huge festival had been named in Fort Walton. Rick never paid much attention to the festival or Billy Bowlegs folklore, for that matter, but he was intrigued now. Just as Rick was pulling into the condo, he got a call from a tipster in the Okaloosa County Medical Examiner’s office.

Got tox report. Check your email.

Thanks!

Rick had received tips from someone inside before. The text number was always blocked, and the email address changed every time. He had no idea who the person was but was grateful. He had a hunch but would never ask. He was pretty sure it was the head M.E., based on his body language when Rick visited the office a few times. There was a history of deputies clashing with private detectives and good people who genuinely wanted convictions but found ways to navigate around that environment. Johnie went back to the harbor, and Rick stopped in the office to check his email.

“How’s it going, Olivia?” asked Rick.

“Good. Pretty slow. Jules came down to check on some skip trace offers, but there ain’t much worth looking at.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna step into my office and check a few emails.”

Rick closed the door to his office and opened up his iMac. He had an email with an attachment from YTS768657em@gmail.com. He opened up the .pdf, then printed it. It was Fred’s toxicology report. Rick scanned through it.

Toxicology Report

Report Number: TOX-2025-9876

Date of Report: October 6, 2025

Issuing Laboratory: Okaloosa County Forensic Laboratory

Case Number: MC-2025-0423

Subject: Fred Loren

Date of Birth: March 12, 1956

Date of Death: October 5, 2025

Autopsy Performed By: Dr. Emil Carter, Chief Medical Examiner

Toxicology Analysis Performed By: Dr. Michael Nguyen, Forensic Toxicologist

Specimen Information

Specimens Received: Blood (peripheral), urine, vitreous humor

Collection Date/Time: October 5, 2024, 10:30 PM

Condition: Properly sealed and stored at 4°C prior to analysis

Analytical Methods

Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS) for drug screening and confirmation

Liquid Chromatography-Tandem Mass Spectrometry (LC-MS/MS) for quantitative analysis

Enzyme-Linked Immunosorbent Assay (ELISA) for initial screening

Findings

Blood Analysis

Heroin (as 6-MAM)

320 ng/mL < 10 ng/mL

Toxic level, consistent with acute intoxication

Cocaine (as benzoylecgonine)

150 ng/mL < 50 ng/mL

Positive, indicative of recent use

Alprazolam (Xanax)

15 ng/mL

10–50 ng/mL (therapeutic)

Low therapeutic level, not contributory to death

Urine Analysis

Positive for: Heroin metabolites (6-monoacetylmorphine, morphine), benzoylecgonine (cocaine metabolite), alprazolam

Note: Urine results confirm recent use of heroin, cocaine, and alprazolam, consistent with blood findings.

Vitreous Humor

Positive for: Morphine (heroin metabolite), benzoylecgonine

Note: Vitreous humor findings corroborate blood and urine results, indicating systemic distribution of substances.

Toxicological Interpretation

Heroin: The blood concentration of 6-monoacetylmorphine (6-MAM), a specific metabolite of heroin, at 320 ng/mL is within the toxic to lethal range. This level is consistent with acute heroin intoxication, which can cause respiratory depression, coma, and death.

Cocaine: The presence of benzoylecgonine at 150 ng/mL indicates recent cocaine use. While not at a lethal concentration, cocaine may have contributed to cardiovascular stress or agitation, exacerbating the effects of heroin.

Alprazolam (Xanax): The concentration of alprazolam at 15 ng/mL is within the low therapeutic range and is unlikely to have significantly contributed to the fatal outcome. However, its sedative effects may have compounded central nervous system depression caused by heroin.

Synergistic Effects: The combination of heroin and cocaine (commonly known as a "speedball") increases the risk of fatal overdose due to synergistic effects on the cardiovascular and respiratory systems. Alprazolam, though at a low level, may have further depressed respiratory function.

Cause of Death

Based on the toxicological findings and autopsy results, the cause of death is determined to be accidental overdose due to acute heroin intoxication, with cocaine use as a contributing factor. The presence of alprazolam is noted but not considered a primary cause.

Additional Notes

No other substances (e.g., alcohol, amphetamines, or synthetic opioids) were detected in the specimens.

The pattern of drug use suggests recent administration, likely within hours of death.

This report is intended for investigative and legal purposes and should be interpreted in conjunction with autopsy findings and case history.

Signed:

Dr. Michael Nguyen, PhD

Forensic Toxicologist

Okaloosa County Forensic Laboratory

Date: October 6, 2025

“Hmm, looks like he partied himself to death.”

Rick took the elevator upstairs with the report in hand. Jules was in the kitchen mixing some creatine in water.

“How was the dive? Any luck?” asked Jules.

“Cold and a waste of time. It was so freaking clear, though—endless visibility. Check this out,” said Rick as he handed Jules the tox report.

She scanned through it.

“OD’d, huh?”

“That’s what it says. I still have my doubts,” said Rick.

“Well, he was sixty-nine years old, trying to hang with a party girl in her late thirties. Plus, she had a much higher tolerance than he did, I’m sure.”

“Do you have access to the audio bug in the room?”

“Yeah, it’s recorded. I’ll text you the link so you can download all or part of it. I had to stop listening when they were doing the dirty deed in the bedroom. It's quieter from that room, but you can still hear it. Gross,” said Jules.

Rick opened his MacBook and airdropped the link Jules had texted him. He downloaded the recording from the time when they hooked up in the bedroom until the EMTs arrived. He put it into a single track he made in Logic Pro X and used a noise filter on it. He raised the volume of the track to the maximum dB just below clipping and added a compressor to it. After adjusting the EQ, it sounded much clearer. He put on his noise-cancelling Bose headphones and listened. The sound of them shagging on the bed was gross, just as Jules had mentioned. When they finished, he heard Lisa speak.

“I need a bump.”

The bed creaked, and Fred let out old man groans as he got up and headed to the living room. Rick heard someone tapping, like a credit card on a table. Most likely Lisa making lines on the table right after she took two long snorts. Then there were footsteps as someone walked, followed by two more snorts, then a grunt and a big thud followed by silence. He then heard footsteps and something inaudible in the background. He pulled up that little waveform and highlighted it. He saved it into a new track and raised the volume more. He changed the EQ until he could make it out. It was Lisa’s voice whispering.

“You fucked me, now I fucked you, Fred.”

Then he continued to the other track and heard the sound of a hotel telephone being picked up. Lisa whispered again.

“You can do this.”

Then the sound of the phone being put back, shuffling in the living room, and the flush of a toilet.

She’s flushing the drugs.

Then he heard the patio door open and her grunt as she was straining.

She threw something into the harbor.

From the vantage of the floor she was on in Emerald Grande, it would be easy to throw something into the water down below. The patio door closed, and she picked up the phone and whispered to herself.

“Now, I can do it.”

Rick had to throw the headphones off when she started screaming into the phone. He had it cranked up so loud to hear her whispers; when she yelled at the 911 operator, it damn near blew out his eardrums. He rewound it and lowered the volume.

“Help me. I think my boyfriend had a heart attack.”

The operator was speaking to her, but Rick couldn’t hear it.

“Room 945. Hurry. I’ll start CPR and open the door. Can I call you back on my cell phone?”

Rick heard her put down the hotel phone receiver and walk to the bedroom. Then the sound of the door being cracked open and her pulling out a chair. No sounds of CPR whatsoever. After a few minutes, she called 911 back.

“I hear the sirens. I’m doing CPR, but I have no pulse!” she yelled.

Rick could hear sirens, and shortly after, the sound of footsteps getting closer. Then he heard the chair being pushed back and CPR sounds. Within a few seconds, the sound of the door flying open.

“Help me, he’s not responding. I think he had a heart attack.”

That little bitch killed him.

Rick saved the audio as an .mp3 and uploaded it to a SoundCloud account he used with an alias email address. He copied the link and then immediately opened the email address of the person who had sent him the tox report. He attached the link and wrote an email telling whoever it was to check for a needle mark and other poisons. He sent the email and got an undeliverable return immediately.

“Fuck! They already deleted that email address.”

He copied the link to SoundCloud on a piece of scratch paper and then searched for what injectables could cause death. It was determined that he had a toxic amount of heroin in his system, but they were snorting it.

Maybe she injected him with pure heroin when he bent over to snort coke or heroin.

The Google search returned a few substances, including arsenic, phenol, heroin, and ethylene glycol. Some of those would show up on a tox return and weren't detected. So, he opened Grok and asked, “Give me five toxic liquid substances that can be injected to cause immediate death and are easily purchased online or in person, which are checked for on most standard tox reports.” It immediately returned five possibilities:

1. Insulin

2. Succinylcholine Chloride

3. Potassium Chloride Solution

4. Nicotine Concentrate

5. Cyanide Solution

He searched each item individually, and only two seemed easy to obtain: Nicotine Concentrate and Cyanide Solution. The cyanide could be made from rat poison mixed with saline or another liquid and would require a lot of planning and mixing. However, the nicotine concentrate could be purchased from nearby vape stores. Rick did a search of local vape shops in Destin and was surprised there were five shops within walking distance of Emerald Grande. He printed it all up, wrote the SoundCloud link at the bottom, and called Possum.

“Hey buddy, can you do me a favor and see what cameras are in view of the vape shops I’m gonna text you?”

“Sure. I’m driving back from the airport now. Malia is on her way.”

“Okay, buddy. I’ll hang up and text the list now.”

Rick texted the list and only three other words.

LOOK FOR LISA

Rick knew Possum could either charm his way into the video files or hack into them.

“Jules, I have to head to the M.E. office. You wanna ride with me?”

“Sure. Let me grab my shoes.”

Rick texted Olivia that they would be gone for a while and asked her to check on Chief and Choco sometime after lunch. She said she would bring them down to the office after feeding them. Her own dog, Mattie, was always by her side. She was a pet lover and took good care of the animals when Rick and Jules couldn’t. Rick decided to drive the Bronco and not the Ferrari. He would make the Ferrari his “Sunday Funday” drive car. Rick pulled into the Okaloosa M.E.’s office and stepped inside.

“May I please speak to Dr. Michael Nguyen?” Rick asked the woman behind the glass.

“Please sign in and take a seat.”

Rick signed in, sat down, and picked up an Emerald Coast Magazine. He flipped through the pages while Jules scrolled through Instagram on her phone. A few minutes passed by, and a short, thin man stepped out of a side door. Rick recognized him from the few times he’d seen him.

“Hello Dr. Michael. I’m Rick Waters, a private investigator. I understand I can’t access the autopsy report for Fred Loren, but I heard from a reliable source that you handled the tox report. I’ve come across some information that might be of interest to you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have obtained some knowledge that he may have been poisoned.”

“How did you get that information?”

“I was forwarded a link to a SoundCloud account and did a little research based on what I heard. I have no idea where the audio came from, but it’s quite incriminating. Here’s what I found,” said Rick as he handed Dr. Nguyen the papers he had printed.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Waters. We’ll take it under consideration. Have a nice day,” said Dr. Nguyen with a slight smirk on his face.

That was the body language Rick had hoped to see. He was positive now it was Dr. Nguyen who had been feeding him information secretly. They left and headed back over to Destin. Rick’s phone started vibrating; it was Jeremy.

“Rick, I’m on my way back to Emerald Grande. I had to drive over to Tallahassee to visit with a friend I went to university with in Texas. I needed a break from my sister, so I turned off my phone. I should’ve told you. I just turned it back on, and my sister has been blowing it up—Fred is dead? Overdose?”

Rick paused for a second and decided whether he should let Jeremy in on what he had discovered about Fred’s death. His instinct told him to keep it under wraps for now.

“Yeah, man. It’s crazy. We were there when they took his body in the ambulance. How’s Lisa?”

“I don’t know. Everything with her is drama, so it’s hard to tell. I haven’t returned her five thousand messages yet. I wanted to speak with you first.”

“After you speak with her, can we meet?” asked Rick.

“Sure. I’m about an hour out. I’ll text you when I’m free.”

Possum pulled into the Target parking lot and parked. He walked toward Boardwalk Vapes and searched the area for cameras, counting five. This was the furthest of the five vape shops he planned to check. The man behind the counter didn’t recognize Lisa from the photos that Possum showed him and said he had been working there all week. After a bit of coaxing, he let Possum review the camera footage from behind the register. It was clear that she had not set foot in that shop, so he moved on to The Vapor Master.

It was a young guy working that shop, and when Possum flashed him the badge he had gotten while working a case in Canada, he almost jumped out of his skin and cooperated with Possum. He smelled like he had just smoked a blunt behind the store, which probably made him high as a kite and paranoid. Again, no sign of Lisa. As Possum exited the door, he heard the kid let out an audible sigh.

Possum drove down a little closer to Emerald Grande and parked at The Red Door. He stepped into the Vapor Wizard, which was also a tattoo parlor.

“I’ll be right with you,” said the ink-covered man as he finished up the last bit of a little heart on a young tourist girl’s lower back.

Possum eyed the cameras in the room, in addition to the one on the corner of the building, as he waited for the young tourist to pay the tattoo artist. She was wearing a skimpy bikini as a cover-up, which didn’t cover anything.

Her daddy must be so proud.

“What can I do for you?” asked the man as he puffed on a vape.

“Has this girl ever been in the store?”

Possum slid the printed photos of Lisa across the counter toward him.

“Maybe,” he replied with a devilish grin.

“I see. Let me have a pack of Zig-Zags.”

The man reached below the counter and put them on the counter.

“Three-twenty-five.”

Possum handed him a twenty.

“Keep the change.”

“Yeah, I remember her now. She had a distinctive tattoo on her wrist. It was an oil well with no symbol over it.”

“You mean a pump jack?” asked Possum.

He pulled out his phone and Googled pump jack photos.

“This?”

“Yeah, an oil well, like I said.”

Possum didn’t bother arguing with him. Most people didn’t know the difference between a pump jack and an oil well.

“What did she buy?”

The man looked at the ceiling with a tilted head, trying to remember. He clicked his tongue.

“We get a lot of customers here. Hard to recall,” he said.

Possum slid another twenty across the counter.

“It just came to me. She didn’t buy anything. I sent her over to Destin Minimart and Smoke Shop.”

“What was she looking for?”

He paused.

“Fuck it.”

Possum slid him two more twenties.

“She wanted some extra-strength nicotine vape liquid. Hadji sells it over there.”

“Hadji?”

“Hadji, Abdul, Muhammad… whatever his damn name is. He owns the store. You can’t miss him. He’ll be the one behind the counter with a towel on his head.”

Possum shook his head at the man’s obvious Muslim nickname. He had heard it before in many military movies. It was the name the troops in Desert Storm gave to Arabs, taken from the cartoon character Johnny Quest, but it was a nasty nickname used for Indians or Pakistanis, pretty much anyone from that part of the world. He walked over to the mini-mart.

“Excuse me, do you remember this girl?”

The man looked at the photo and noticed Possum’s Canadian badge half showing from under the leather wallet.

“She was over 21, sir. I checked her ID,” he replied nervously.

“What’s your name?”

“Hadji Singh, sir.”

Possum had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. His actual name was Hadji Singh—the same exact name as the character on Johnny Quest.

“What did she buy?” asked Possum.

“She bought the Naked 100 Salt Liquid, sir. Strongest we sell. Eighteen milligrams,” said Hadji.

“Do you have a record of the purchase, and can I get a copy of that camera footage?”

“I told you, sir, that I checked her ID.”

“We believe that e-juice was used in a murder!” said Possum with a raised voice.

He could tell the store owner was shaken up by that comment.

“If you cooperate, you have nothing to worry about.”

He started typing in his square point-of-sale system and printed a receipt for the sale. She had used her debit card.

Busted.

The man led Possum to the back room where the surveillance hard drives were and showed him how to use them. Possum traced back until he found her. He burned a copy onto a blank DVD the man gave him and put it in his pocket. It wasn’t definitive proof that Lisa had poisoned and murdered Fred, but it was certainly strong circumstantial evidence. Possum knew Rick would be thrilled once he told him.

Chapter

Ten

Jeremy puffed on a Rocky Patel Sixty Sixty stogie on the outside deck at Marina Café while he waited for Rick to arrive. He was alone on the back deck. It was a slow day at Marina Café, and it would be a while until the happy hour crowd started pouring in, as they did every day.

Rick arrived about ten minutes into Jeremy’s cigar session. He offered Rick one, and when he saw it was a Rocky Patel, he accepted. They were considered one of the highest-ranking Cuban cigars in the world. Some cigar aficionados said they were number one, while other websites ranked the H. Upmann No. 2 as the best with ninety-eight points.

“You hungry?” asked Jeremy.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Jeremy ordered a second Bisquit & Dubouche V.S.O.P. cognac, and Rick asked for a club soda with lime.

“Okay, I have some info about Fred’s involvement in Big Dog prior to my dad's death that may be of interest.”

“I’m listening,” said Rick.

“In 2021, my dad met with Fred after years of not talking. I knew about the meeting, but Dad was still grooming me then, so I wasn't there. When I was going through some of his papers, I found a note my dad had written on the back of a restaurant receipt from when he met Fred. I knew for sure it was that meeting because it was Saint Patrick's Day, and my dad was complaining because he wanted to meet in our office, but Fred insisted on buying some green beer. My dad liked to party, but he hated crowds. I remember him bitching and moaning that Fred wanted to meet him at Tall City Brewing Company in Midland and how he knew the place would be packed with obnoxious drunks. They were known for having huge Saint Patrick's Day parties,” said Jeremy.

He slid his phone over with a photo of the note. It read: Bid by Bradford County April 10.

“The receipt is from March 12, 2021, and on April 9, my dad told me he had greased some politician in Pennsylvania and was aware of the big fracking contract for the Appalachian Basin. The bid on April 10th never happened. I remember Fred having to be escorted out of the building by the police when he found out.”

“So, what are you thinking, exactly?” asked Rick.

“I can’t prove it because I wasn’t at the meeting, but my gut tells me that Fred brought that information to my dad to get him to go in as a partner on the bid, and my dad went behind his back and closed the deal before it became public. In 2021, Fred had money, but he was leveraged to the max, and he would’ve never had enough of his own capital to win that bid. I think he came to bury the hatchet with my dad and bring him in because he needed my dad’s deep pockets, but my dad buried him instead. All I know is that before April 10th, 2021, we had never even sent a landman to Pennsylvania. It just wasn’t on our radar. We were all over the Permian Basin and up in North Dakota but had never done any drilling or fracking in the Appalachian Basin before that. My dad was as crude as the oil he took from the ground.”

“Wow, so that’s motive—revenge,” said Rick.

“Exactly.”

“But Fred is dead now, and I believe he was murdered.”

“What?! The word is that he overdosed.”

“I know, but I have circumstantial evidence that he did not overdose. I’m waiting on a new tox report.”

Jeremy tugged at his collar.

“Do you think Lisa was involved?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so. It’s looking that way.”

“You know, as much as I dislike my sister’s life choices, she’s still my sister. I hinted that she may be involved in my dad’s death, but I never really believed it until now. If she did indeed kill Fred, then it’s possible. The thing is, she hates guns. Despises them. Poison, I could see. But not a firearm. She wouldn’t get within twenty feet of a gun.”

“I’m not saying she pulled the trigger. Maybe Fred did, and she was involved. She did have the combination to the safe on the boat, right?”

“Yeah, we all did. Fred didn’t, though, but I guess she could’ve given him the combination,” said Jeremy.

“I’ll know more when I get the new tox report. How long are you in Destin?”

“I need to head back tomorrow. I’m flying out at 4:00 a.m., private. I have a company to run.”

“Okay, Jeremy. I will figure this out for you. I give you my word. Is Lisa heading back?”

“Who knows? I gave up a long time ago trying to figure her out,” said Jeremy as he extinguished the stub of his remaining cigar.

Rick took another sip of his club soda and slipped the unlit cigar into his pocket. He headed back to the condo to meet Jules.

“Did you break your fast yet?”

“Nope. But I did get a $40 cigar for free. I only drank club soda when I met with Jeremy,” said Rick.

“Good boy.”

Jules checked her watch. “Why don’t we have an early appetizer at dinner around six?”

“I made your favorite—giant freaking cheese planks. I even used smoked mozzarella.”

“Can I kiss you all over?!” asked Rick.

“Please.”

Rick nuzzled and kissed Jules on the neck as she preheated the oven. The cheese planks were enormous. Rick loved cheese sticks but worshipped cheese planks. The first time he ever had them like that was at a bar in the BVI on Tortola called Bat Cave/Spaghetti Junction. The owner, John, brought some out during one of his poker tournaments. Rick was hooked ever since. The second time he found similar ones was in Destin at Hogsbreath Saloon. Both places had closed, but Rick had heard that the Bat Cave had moved to a new spot in Village Cay, Tortola. He hadn’t been back since it opened, closed, and moved locations several times.

Over the delicious cheese planks, Rick got Jules up to speed on the case. If he was right, and he was certain that he was, he would take his evidence to the Okaloosa County Courthouse and present it to the DA. He was certain he could get an indictment for Lisa for Fred’s death.

Jules had another surprise for Rick. She bought some whole flounder from a local guy who ran a little seafood truck on Choctawhatchee Bay just before the big bridge, and she had prepared them the way Rick loved them the most—scored into squares and rubbed with butter, lemon, and Slap Ya Mama Hot Blend Cajun Seasoning. She then broiled the flounder in the oven and served it with some dirty rice and steamed broccolini. It was one of Rick’s absolute favorite meals on earth.

After dinner, Rick stepped over to Possum’s condo and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he hollered.

“Hey Possum. I texted you to see if you wanted any flounder. Jules has a couple more in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Dammit. I keep missing texts. I accidentally keep putting my phone into silent mode. Thanks, though. I already ate. Come take a look at this. I was about to call you over anyway,” said Possum.

Rick pulled up a chair beside Possum’s desk and sat down as he played a video on his iMac.

“I found her. She bought some high-potency nicotine liquid from Destin Minimart and Smoke Shop. I even got the receipt from Hadji.”

Rick gave Possum a look.

“I never heard you be racist.”

Possum burst out laughing.

“That’s his name, man. I swear. Hadji Singh, just like on Johnny Quest.”

“No way!” exclaimed Rick.

“Way! He told me himself.”

Rick shook his head in disbelief, and it reminded him of how much he loved that cartoon as a kid. His favorite Saturday morning shows growing up were Underdog, Johnny Quest, Looney Tunes—especially Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner—and of course, Land of the Lost. As the video played, there was clear proof that Lisa had made the purchase. That, along with the audio evidence, would definitely lead to an indictment now.

“Did you listen to the audio I sent over?” asked Rick.

“Yeah, that’s another thing I wanted to discuss with you. I ran it through a spectrum analyzer and adjusted the EQ and noise reduction to improve it. Listen to this.”

Possum put on a pair of headphones and handed Rick a second pair. Possum always had the best of the best when it came to electronics. These headphones were far superior to Rick’s Bose QuietComfort Ultra, which were damn good to begin with. The Bang & Olufsen Beoplay H100 headphones were crazy expensive but made for audiophiles. They felt like velvet on your ears. Possum played the audio section where Lisa had whispered, “You fucked me, now I fucked you, Fred.”

“Yeah, I already heard this. What am I listening for?”

“I don’t think that’s Lisa whispering. It’s a whisper; sometimes it's impossible to tell if it’s male or female to the human ear. However, the spectrum analyzer detected lower-frequency tones around 250 Hz. Plus, if you listen closer, just before Fred snorts whatever it was he snorted, you can hear a door open. Close your eyes and focus.”

Rick closed his eyes and concentrated on the audio. This time he heard the door open. He ripped off the headphones.

“Someone else came into the room!”

“Exactly. I think someone injected Fred while he was bent over snorting some kind of nose candy. I can picture Lisa holding her finger over his mouth to keep him silent as she approached Fred from behind. There are two people implicated in Fred’s demise.”

“Possum, you are something else. It throws a wrench into my theory, though, and now I need to hold off until we can gather more evidence. One indictment would have been easy. Two will be much harder. By the way, I’ve asked Johnie to look all over the harbor for whatever Lisa or whoever threw off the balcony. It’s a long shot but worth searching. The current in Destin harbor just circles and stays pretty stagnant. That’s why they put that pump on the far end of the harbor to keep the water from getting nasty. It flushes out pollutants and increases dissolved oxygen levels. Otherwise, the harbor would smell like dead fish worse than it already does sometimes.”

“Yeah. I always said they need to cut a channel in the south side of the harbor to allow for proper flow.”

“Those huge-ass beach house owners would never go for it,” said Rick.

“I know. Money rules everything here.”

Rick thanked Possum for his excellent work and texted Johnie to see if he’d had any luck. He called Rick over to Nine-Tenths to show him what he’d accomplished so far. Rick stopped by the condo and asked Jules if she wanted to join him, and she told him she wanted to cozy up with Chief and finish a book by Wayne Stinnett she’d been reading. Rick hopped in the Bronco and headed to Destin HarborWalk. He parked in the AJ’s parking lot, walked up, and listened to Black Eyed Blonde for a few minutes, then went down the steps to Nine-Tenths. Johnie had a tarp laid out over the dinette in the salon of the sport fisher and had all the lights on full blast.

“Hey Rick. I just went around in the dinghy and scooped up everything I saw in the net. This was two hours’ worth of searching.”

“Damn. People are pigs.”

Rick put on latex gloves and started sorting through the debris Johnie had gathered from the harbor—wet packs of empty cigarette boxes, beer bottles, plastic cups, lost fishing lures, and various pieces of plastic and other trash that had either been thrown from shore, off a boat, or simply fallen into the water somehow. As he examined each piece, he threw away worthless junk into an empty contractor bag.

“I’m keeping this lure. Put it in the tackle box when we’re done, please,” said Rick.

The lure was a Madness Balam 300, valued at over a hundred dollars. It was a ridiculous price to pay for a crankbait, and Rick would never pay that, but it was a nice score.

“I guess we keep searching,” said Rick.

“What are we looking for?” asked Johnie.

“If I were to take an educated guess, it would be a hypodermic needle or a small glass tube with nicotine in it. I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve read that DNA can be retrieved with today's technology, even from something that has been submerged in salt water. The sooner we find it, the better, obviously, as it will degrade with time. It’s out there, somewhere. I have a gut feeling.”

“Unless it sank, we’ll find it,” added Johnie.

“I’m gonna call it a night. Text me if you find anything in the morning. When’s the first charter tomorrow?”

“We have a 6:00 a.m. half-day trip by Kevin. The new backup captain is taking it. I wanted him to run one alone. It will give me more time to search.”

“Awesome, Johnie. I also might have a new diesel mechanic for you. I’ll keep you posted. He’s from Texas. It’s a long story, but I have a good feeling about him.”

“Sounds good, Rick. I’ll holler at you later.”

Rick stepped off the boat, and Johnie made a sandwich. He thought about grabbing his spotlight and searching the harbor at night, but he didn’t want to get hassled by the Coast Guard or deputy sheriff patrol, since he knew someone would call in about a spotlight being used in the harbor. Then he remembered the RNV-31S Night Vision Binoculars Possum had ordered that were still in the box. They were designed to see clearly in murky water and even slightly below the water’s surface. He figured it was worth a try. He grabbed some empty contractor bags and latex gloves and hopped in the dinghy.

“Wow. These work great,” he said aloud.

He did his best not to look at the lights on the harbor because they nearly blinded him, even though he used binoculars. He spent four hours picking up debris floating in the harbor and filled two contractor bags. He was about to call it a night, and on the way back from the mouth of the harbor, he decided to scan the seawall one more time near Emerald Grande. After thirty minutes of searching, he spotted a small white plastic cap bobbing on the surface against the seawall. At first, he thought it was just a cap to something, but as he focused in and looked below the surface, he saw it was the cap to a little glass bottle, with the glass part underwater. He motored closer and scooped it up with the net. He shined his pocket flashlight on it, and the writing on the bottle read: Naked 100 Salt Liquid. With his iPhone, he snapped a photo of it and texted it to Rick, then placed it in a plastic evidence bag.

Johnie searched for another hour, but his eyes grew droopy, so he headed back to his condo and called it a night. He left the evidence in Rick’s office downstairs and texted him so he would see it when he woke up the next morning. Rick often put his phone on silent mode after 10:00 p.m.

Rick yawned, stretched, and climbed out of bed quietly. He went to the bathroom and planned to try to sleep a little longer, but when he saw Johnie’s text, he put on his shorts and a shirt and booked it downstairs to his office. It was the highest concentration of nicotine in the liquid available over-the-counter. If it hadn’t been degraded, there was a possibility that DNA could be lifted from it. Rick opened his iMac and saw he had a new email from an unknown Gmail address. The subject line read: Updated Tox Report. Rick scanned through it. It looked nearly identical to the last one until he got to the bottom. It was the words he was hoping to read and the proof in black and white.

Cause of Death

Based on the new toxicological findings and autopsy results, the cause of death is determined to be murder, and the manner of death is acute nicotine poisoning.

This is what I need to take to the grand jury.

Carson, his buddy from the FBI, answered on the third ring.

“Carson, it’s Rick. I have a little bottle of nicotine that may have been the bottle used in a murder. Can you pull trace DNA from it and run it in CODIS? I think I know who it will belong to, and I will try and get a DNA sample too for a match. I need info this yesterday.”

“FedEx it to my house, and I will personally run it in. You know what? Scratch that. Let me call Okaloosa Regional Airport. I can speak to the station manager and have you send it on a flight. I can have it by this afternoon. Go ahead and head to the airport. I’ll call or text while you're on your way.”

Rick hopped into his Bronco. He hoped to be back before Jules woke up. He weaved through traffic and reached the airport quickly. His phone buzzed with a message asking for Gary Schmitz at the Delta counter. There was no one in line, only two girls and a gray-haired man behind the counter.

“Are you Gary Schmitz?”

“I am.”

“I’m Rick Waters. I need this rushed to D.C.”

“We have a flight that leaves in twenty minutes. I already have the package prefilled from the phone call to my station manager.”

The man pulled out a small box, and Rick placed the plastic bag with the bottle inside on the counter. The agent sealed it and said he’d return shortly. He disappeared through a door to the tarmac and returned a few minutes later.

“It should arrive at 12:45 p.m. It’s a through flight with a stop in Atlanta. The same crew is going on to D.C., and the pilot said he’d make sure to personally hand it off to the Feds. They have all the details.”

Rick thanked the agent and hurried back to his Bronco, which was illegally parked before the parking Nazis could ticket or tow it away. Destin’s Regional Airport wasn’t as bad as many he’d flown out of, and while the parking cops would make you move if you stayed too long at the curb, Rick had dealt with far worse at airports like LAX and Atlanta, to name a few. He checked his watch—it was only 8:12 a.m.—when he pulled into the condo towers. Jules hadn’t texted him, so she slept through the whole thing. He went upstairs and made some coffee.

“You’re up early,” said Jules with a yawn.

“That’s an understatement. I’ve already been to the airport and back.”

“Destin Executive Airport?” asked Jules.

“No, Destin Regional in Valparaiso!”

“Holy crap. You were up early,” said Jules. “I didn’t even know you left.”

Rick explained the new developments to her over coffee. It was becoming increasingly clear that Lisa was involved in her dad’s murder and Fred Loren's as well. Rick’s phone vibrated, indicating activity on the motion-detected video cameras on Nate’s treasure-hunting catamaran. A second later, a massive explosion shook the windows in the towers. Rick ran out onto the balcony and saw a huge fireball in the sky in the direction of Destin Harbor.

“There’s been an explosion in the harbor! It may be one of the fishing fleet’s boats. I’m gonna go check Nine-Tenths.”

Rick’s phone vibrated again, and the video that had just been recorded came in. On the video, Lisa had opened the sliding door into the salon, and the screen went white and the video was lost.

“Oh my God. I think Nate’s boat just exploded. Let’s go.”

Jules quickly changed into shorts and put on some shoes. She was still wearing a T-shirt from the night before because she had gotten cold. They rushed to the elevator, and Rick tore out of the parking lot. They parked at AJ’s and ran down to the HarborWalk. They could hear sirens in the distance and reached the scene before any emergency vehicles arrived. Rick was right. Nate’s catamaran was fully engulfed in flames, and it had caught the boat next to it on fire as well. The wind was blowing away from Nine-Tenths, and Rick’s boat was more than ten slips away, so he wasn’t worried about the fire reaching his sport fisher. However, he would move it across to Noriega Point if he needed to. Johnie jogged up a minute later.

“Damn, Rick, what happened?”

“Nate’s boat exploded. I think Lisa was on board.”

“Are you serious?”

“You tell me,” said Rick as he showed the video to Johnie.

Fire trucks arrived, and it took them over forty minutes to extinguish the fire. The boat sank in the slip and was a total loss. The entire superstructure had burned down to the waterline. There was nothing left except parts of the twin hulls that had flooded with seawater. Rick found the fire chief and showed him the video, and he told the deputy on duty to call the M.E.’s office. This was now considered a search for a body. It didn’t take long to find Lisa’s body. It had been burned beyond recognition and was placed in a body bag. The case had taken a new twist, and Rick didn’t know what to think. It was highly unlikely an accident since the engines were diesel and there was no propane on board. This had to be a motion-activated bomb. Rick checked prior videos and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The last person on the catamaran before Lisa entered was him, and that was days ago. The smell of gasoline was overpowering, and there was a sheen on the water. When Rick got a closer look, he could see the hulls of the catamaran looked mushroomed outward. It was apparent that someone filled the hulls with gas and ignited it, causing a massive explosion. The fire chief confirmed that an accelerant was used on the fire, and it was immediately ruled an arson. Rick looked around for cameras and saw one facing the catamaran’s direction on the corner of a food truck. He had no intention of waiting for the sheriff’s department to pull a warrant and get the footage. He wrote down the model of the camera and texted it to Possum.

Can you hack into this? Rhombus R540 Standard Zoom?

A minute went by, and Possum texted back.

Look over your left shoulder.

Rick looked over and saw Possum walking toward him.

“I woke up and saw the explosion. I would’ve come sooner, but I had an early call with Malia. She’s coming back in two days and was flying this morning to Maui to have her old boss's new house manager sign an NDA. It’s the last thing she has to do, and she never has to work there again. She’s relieved and sad at the same time.”

“I understand. Can you hack into it?”

“We just need the IP address. I bet you anything they are using HarborWalk’s free WiFi. Give me a minute.”

Possum logged into the free WiFi and found the camera. He tried the usual passwords with no luck, then used some hijacking software known as Hydra, which he downloaded from the dark web. Within ten minutes, he had the system request a password reset, made one easy to remember, and changed it on the spot. He downloaded the last five days’ video footage to his hard drive, and they all returned to the office to watch it.

Thousands of tourists passed by the food truck, and whenever one stopped to admire or get a closer look at Nate’s catamaran, Possum would pause the video, jot down the timecode, zoom in, and take a screenshot. This went on for hours, becoming boring and monotonous. Nothing unusual occurred until a few hours before Lisa entered the catamaran. A small dinghy pulled up behind the catamaran under the cover of darkness. Someone dressed entirely in black slid a hose onto the boat. They could see his elbow moving up and down.

“Someone’s pumping a handle, like from a portable fuel drum,” said Rick.

Once the perp finished pumping, he or she climbed on board, cracked open the side window, and placed a package inside with wires attached to it and linked to a cell phone on the other end. He climbed down off the boat and boarded his dinghy. As he pulled away, they could clearly see a fifty-five-gallon drum in the moonlight as the dinghy disappeared into the night. Rick immediately called Jeremy. He didn’t want to be the one to tell him the news, but felt like he should. The call went straight to voicemail.

“Jeremy, it’s Rick. Call me when you get this.”

Rick pulled up the flight info for all flights leaving Destin Executive early that morning. According to Flightradar24, a plane with the registration number N898NW left the airport at 3:59 a.m. When Rick checked the registration number, the Lear Jet was registered to Nate Wilson of Big Dog Oil.

“Possum, what is the last timestamp on the video we just watched?”

Possum scrolled to the end, and the time as the dinghy went out of the camera’s view was 5:02 a.m.

“Jeremy has a rock-solid alibi. Whoever was on that dinghy wasn’t Jeremy. He was halfway to Texas by then. We need to expand our suspect list.”

“Well, whoever did that has experience in explosives. Was Jeremy in the military?”

“Not that I know of. I will double-check, though,” said Rick.

Rick’s brain was in a spin. His two prime suspects were dead now. It felt like starting all over from scratch. I will send an urgent text to Jeremy. I want him to know before he sees it in the press. I know he didn’t like his sister that much, but I’m sure he loved her. She was family.

URGENT: Call me as soon as you land, Rick.

Rick checked Flightradar24 again for Jeremy’s flight, and it was due to land in fifteen minutes. He prayed Jeremy would call him before he found out another way. Rick went through all the possible suspects and went over the case in his head again and again. He needed the DNA results badly from that vial of nicotine. It may prove useless, and then he’d really be up shit creek without a paddle.

His phone began to ring. It was Jeremy.

“Jeremy, I guess you just landed?”

“Yeah, we had a fast flight today. What is so urgent? I have a ton of meetings today.”

“I don’t know how to say it. Ummm, I uh…”

“Rick, just spit it out,” demanded Jeremy.

“Lisa’s dead.”

“What?! Overdose, I assume?”

“No, she was entering your father’s catamaran, and it blew up. There’s nothing left of it.”

“Oh my God. Was it a fuel leak or something? I’m so sorry for your loss, Rick.”

Rick held the phone away from his face and looked at it oddly.

Did he just say that?

“My loss? She was your sister, Jeremy.”

“Yeah, thanks. I meant the boat. That was part of your pay.”

Rick couldn’t believe how callous Jeremy was being. He had just lost his sister, his own flesh and blood, and he was worried about a boat?

“That’s no big deal. I’m not worried about the boat. I have plenty of boats. I’m worried about who did this.”

“I guess I’m not thinking straight. Let me know when the coroner releases her body. We won’t have a funeral for her. No one would show up. I’ll have her cremated,” said Jeremy.

They finished the call, and Rick was still stunned by Jeremy's reaction to his sister’s death. Maybe he didn’t love her after all. It might have been one of those things people say. He definitely didn’t sound like he was grieving. His response made Rick pause, and Jeremy moved up the suspect list. He may not have been the one to set the bomb, but that didn’t mean he didn’t pay someone to do it. He certainly had the means, now that he was running Big Dog Oil and worth billions. Rick pulled out the list of Nate’s enemies, but none of them stood out. He looked into Ralph Hanky’s background. He was indeed a hothead and had been arrested before, but not convicted of assault. He was involved in a bar fight and broke a bottle over a guy’s head. The case was dropped, and apart from that, he had a clean record. Rick checked his social media and found that he had been in Australia since a few days after Nate’s funeral. There was a photo of him in front of the Sydney Opera House that had been uploaded just a few days earlier. If he was in Australia, then he couldn’t have blown up Lisa. That didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible for Nate’s murder, though. So, Rick scrolled through Ralph’s Instagram and saw that he had posted he was in North Dakota on the day Nate was killed. Rick also read that Ralph had signed a deal to partner with a small fracking company called ND Energy, providing investment capital for new infrastructure and operations. The agreement was dated and signed the same day Nate was murdered, according to Oil and Gas Journal, an online publication about big oil, fracking, and LNG. Rick scratched Ralph off the list. He received a text from Jules, who was upstairs in their condo.

Would you like to go for a walk with me? I’m coming downstairs.

Some fresh air and exercise might clear Rick's head, and there was no way he was going to say no to a walk with Jules on the beach. They hopped in the Bronco and sped off to Princes Beach, which was just a mile or so past the Destin Bridge on Okaloosa Island. It was usually fairly sparse with people at that time. It wasn’t even noon yet, and Rick felt like he had worked a whole day. They started walking toward the Okaloosa Pier. Hand in hand, sometimes Rick would have to let go as she would see a shell she wanted to pick up.

“Maybe I should just let this case go, Jules. My two main suspects are dead. Jeremy is the only one left, and that’s a stretch. He had nothing to gain by killing his father. He was inheriting the company anyway. He didn't like his sister very much, but I don’t think he had a reason to kill her. I’m at a loss. I need some good news and a sign. Part of our pay was getting that catamaran, and now it’s gone. I guess Jeremy can pay us the value of it if we solve this, but I was more excited about getting that boat than money.”

“Rick Waters, you have never given up a case in your life. Why start now?”

“I know, Jules, but this one is hard, and my incentive is gone.”

“Just pray about it before you decide. I know you're upset, but these things tend to work themselves out and improve.”

Rick prayed and asked Jesus to give him a sign. The second he said Amen, his phone rang.

“Wow, Jesus, that was fast,” whispered Rick sarcastically.

He answered the phone without recognizing the number, but it was a Dallas, Texas area code.

“Hello?”

“Rick, it’s David. David Kimball. I’m here and I’m ready to work.”

“David? You’re out of rehab, huh? Isn’t it usually thirty days or something?”

“Yeah, but once I finished detox, I started visiting with the pastor and saw the light. I got baptized and decided to follow in Jesus' footsteps. Lisa sent me some money through Venmo, and I recovered my iPhone from the pawnshop. No offense, but it’s impossible to text with that tiny flip phone you lent me. I need to earn some money to pay Lisa back. I’m ready for a fresh start. Is the offer still available?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m staying at the Tru by Hilton next to Walmart. I was gonna grab an Uber and go visit Lisa to thank her. She told me she is staying at the Emerald Grande,” said David.

“Stay there. I’ll give you a ride. Don’t waste your money on Uber,” lied Rick.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Give me twenty minutes. Jules and I are walking on the beach. We’ll swing by. It’s close.”

“Okay, thanks, Rick.”

Finally, some good news for once. That was David. He’s in Destin. That’s what Saturdays are for—good news and boats blowing up, said Rick.

“See, I told you things would get better.”

Chapter

Eleven

Rick texted David to meet him in the lobby and dropped off Jules at the condo before heading over to meet him. David had picked a convenient hotel without even realizing it. Rick could have literally walked there from the condo, but he thought it might be a good idea to take him over to Nine-Tenths and introduce him to Johnie. David walked out of the double sliding glass doors as soon as Rick pulled up under the carport of the hotel. He was dressed in blue work pants and a Dickies short-sleeve shirt. He looked ready to work.

“Hey, David. You look like you’re dressed to be a mechanic.”

“Hi, Rick. Thanks for picking me up. This is basically what I wore at my last mechanics job. You can’t go wrong with Dickies.”

“Well, Johnie will be impressed. Listen, how well do you know Lisa?”

“I met her a couple of years ago when I was drinking at a bar I never would have gone to before my addiction. She had just started using hard drugs and looked good. She was way out of my league, but for some reason, she started chatting me up. We hit it off and went on a three-day bender. She racked up a huge hotel bill and then took me to her condo in Dallas. I stayed there for nearly a month, and then one day, she kicked me out. She was out of money. I found out later that she was getting an allowance from her dad’s trust. There were only a few days left in the month, and she was broke. I didn’t have any money either, so I was of no use to her. I saw her a couple of days later with some old guy all snuggled up to him at that same bar. I found out he was some rich guy—a sugar daddy. I saw her again about three weeks later, and we picked up where we left off. It was like that with her, and I’m not judging her. The only thing I had to offer her was a connection—to score smack. When she had money, she’d find me. When she was out, she’d find someone who did have money. That’s just the way it was, and I can’t judge her. I know how being an addict is and that you’ll do anything to score. I’ve done things I’m ashamed of.”

“There’s no easy way to say this, David. Lisa is dead.”

There was a silence in the Bronco as Rick gave David time to process what he had just said.

“Did she OD? One of the main reasons I wanted to quit was because it has been getting harder and harder to get junk not laced with Fentanyl. I’ve lost several friends because of it,” said David.

“No, she didn’t OD.”

David looked confused.

“What happened?”

“She was murdered.”

“Oh my God. By who? How?”

“I don’t know by whom yet, but she was going onto her dad’s boat in the harbor, and it blew up. It was no accident. Someone filled it with gasoline and set a timed explosion with a cell phone. I’m not a hundred percent sure; it was bad timing on her part or someone was watching and waiting for her to step on board and called the phone to detonate the bomb. I feel strongly it was the latter. If I’m right, they were probably watching from a balcony at Emerald Grande. It has the perfect vantage point. Do you have any idea who would want to kill her?”

“I’m not from here. In Dallas, yes. She made a lot of enemies over the years, mostly dealers or other lowlifes she screwed over. I need a minute. I think I’m in shock. I wouldn’t have been if she had overdosed. I’ve been expecting that to happen sooner or later, but murdered? That one is a surprise.”

Rick drove in silence toward the harbor. He took the long route so David could process Lisa’s death before meeting up with Johnie. He wanted David to make a good first impression. He only told him because he knew he planned to meet Lisa later, and it would be better to find out from him than from the hotel staff or some other way. Rick finally parked in AJ’s, and they walked toward Nine-Tenths.

“David, if you’d rather meet Johnie another time, we can come back.”

“No, I’m good. Can we see Mr. Wilson’s boat first? Is it in the harbor?”

“Yeah, it’s a few slips down from Nine-Tenths.”

Rick pointed out Nine-Tenths to David. Johnie was inside and didn’t see them as they passed. He then showed him SoundWaves, Rick’s sunset booze cruise/live music pontoon catamaran.

“Can you work on outboards too, or just diesels?" asked Rick.

“My boat had the same exact four-stroke on it before I lost it to the bank. I know them like the back of my hand. I was actually considering opening a small outboard motor repair shop in Dallas before my accident, but you know how that turned out.”

In the sunlight, Rick could see how clear David’s eyes were compared to the last time he saw him when he was still using. It was a night-and-day difference. He didn’t have black circles under his eyes and had put on a little weight. He looked healthy.

“That will make Johnie super excited. He hates outboards. He is strictly a diesel guy. We own the vessels with diesel engines. Nine-Tenths, a treasure-finding ship, is currently being rented out in Charleston. Captain P-Roy runs that. You’ll meet him eventually, and this is the third boat. I don’t officially own it yet, but I delivered it from South America, and I have salvage rights to it. It’s just a matter of time for the paperwork. I might sell it. It’s a beauty but not really my style.”

“Man, I love that boat. You delivered it all the way from South America? What kind is it?”

“She’s a custom. Her name is Eliki, which means elder in Hawaiian. The boat came from Hawaii. It has a long story behind it.”

“Man, I would love to love on a yacht like that. Someday!” exclaimed David.

As they kept walking, David suddenly stopped as Nate’s boat, or what remained of it, came into view. It was clear that no one onboard could have survived such an explosion. The boat’s hulls looked like they had been torn apart by a divine force. David felt relief, knowing Lisa had to have been killed instantly and didn’t suffer. They surveyed the damage for a few minutes, and David knelt down to say a silent prayer. Rick put his hand on his shoulder to console him. Afterwards, they turned around and headed down to Nine-Tenths. Johnie was on the stern now, wiping down the stainless on the new fighting chair.

“Johnie, hey, this is David, the mechanic I told you about,” said Rick.

“Step on board. Nice to meet you, David,” replied Johnie as he shook his hand.

“Get this: besides being a diesel mechanic, David says he knows those Mercury four-strokes on SoundWaves like the back of his hand.”

“Oh, thank God. I was about to call Galatti and have her serviced. I can’t stand outboards. You wanna do the service? They need oil, filters, the whole nine,” said Johnie.

“Sure. I don’t have tools yet, but I’m happy to do it.”

“We have everything you’ll ever need onboard Nine-Tenths.”

Johnie snatched a piece of paper from the printer sitting in the salon and wrote down a number.

“Call this number and tell them what parts and oil you’ll need. They will deliver right to the boat. Just tell them it’s on the Rick Waters account. You might as well go ahead and order a DeWalt 204-Piece Tool Set for yourself. We can keep that on the booze cruise boat. It’s a nice starter set in a carrying case. That way, we won’t be mixing up tools too much. You’re welcome to borrow anything on Nine-Tenths, though. Just bring it back when you're done. I’m particular about my tools.”

“I totally understand; I used to own a rack of Snap-On tools in Texas.”

“That’s right. Rick mentioned you’re from Texas. Nice to have another fellow Texan on the crew. Funny how all the guys are from Texas, and the girls are from other places. Jules is from Colombia, Malia is from Hawaii, and Kelly is from... where’s Kelly from, Rick?”

“You know I can’t remember. Maybe California? I’ll have to ask Gary next time I see him,” replied Rick.

“Are you staying at one of Gary’s condos in our tower?”

“I’m at the Tru hotel for now.”

“I completely forgot. Gary told me all the condos are currently rented out. One will be opening up next week. Johnie, hand me those keys to Eliki.”

Johnie rushed inside and grabbed the yacht keys. He tossed them to Rick.

“David, you can stay at the Tru hotel until the condo opens up, or if you prefer, you can make Eliki your home. Since you don't have wheels yet, it’s really convenient because it’s so close to Nine-Tenths and SoundWaves, and there are plenty of restaurants in the harbor, plus Publix delivers here. Johnie gets all the provisions from there delivered here for charters,” said Rick as he handed David the keys to the Hawaiian yacht.

His eyes welled up, and he was overwhelmed with emotion. He gave Rick a big hug and wiped his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say, Rick. I’ll pay rent.”

“Nonsense. Accommodations were included in the package. How about you just look after Eliki and treat her like your own? You can do maintenance in exchange for room and board. When Gary gets back, we can talk about your pay, but for now, just go ahead and move your stuff on board and order some groceries on the business account from Publix. Get yourself a steak and grill it on the boat if you want to,” said Rick.

Rick peeled off a couple of hundred-dollar bills and handed them to him as well.

“Here’s some run-around money.”

“Rick, I’m at a loss for words. I won’t let you down. I had an idea. How many staterooms are on Eliki?”

“Four. There’s a master in the stern, two on the starboard and port forward, and another decent size in the v-berth.”

“Would you say it could sleep eight comfortably?”

“Yeah, four couples max, I guess. Why?” asked Rick.

“As soon as I saw it, I got an idea, and it’s entirely your call. If you like, I can manage it as an Airbnb, and it will generate income instead of costing you. I used to rent out my motorhome in Texas, and it made quite a bit. People would be willing to pay big bucks to sleep on a yacht like that in Destin Harbor. I also have my six-pack captain’s license. If they want to do a sunset charter in the harbor or at Crab Island, we can offer that for an extra fee. I would do that in my free time when I’m not working on the boats or helping Johnie with whatever he needs. What do you think?”

“I love that idea. Are you sure you want strangers on board with you? It will be your home.”

“A stranger is just someone I haven’t made friends with yet. I’m more comfortable around people. It’s only that moment that messes me up,” said David.

“It’s settled then. We can crunch numbers later, but if you are managing the yacht on Airbnb, you ain’t doing that for free. We can work out a percentage. I’ll run you back to your room, so you can get your stuff and get settled.”

Rick drove David back to the Tru and waited in the parking lot for him to grab his belongings. His phone rang while he waited.

“Hey, Rick. I have good news and bad news.”

“Okay, I’ll play, Carson. Hit me with the good news first.”

“We got two sets of DNA markers from that nicotine bottle.”

“What’s the bad news? No, let me guess. No hits on CODIS.”

“Exactly. But one was male and the other was female. You said you think you know whose DNA it is. We’ll need a swab or something to compare to.”

“I can get that. Her body might still be at the M.E.’s office, but I can guarantee she has some personal items in her hotel suite. I can probably get a hair sample or her toothbrush.”

“A toothbrush would be the best if you don’t have access to the body. I assume you’re talking about Lisa Wilson, the girl you had mentioned?” asked Carson.

“Yep. She’s a crispy critter now, but I think she was involved. I’ll drop it off with Gary Schmitz, the contact you provided for me at Delta, again. You should have it by tonight.”

“I’ll be here.”

David came downstairs and tossed his duffel bag onto the back seat. Rick dropped him off at Eliki, parked at Emerald Grande, and went up to Lisa’s floor. He found a housekeeper and flashed her the Civilian Criminal Investigator badge, known in Canada, where he had been issued it, as a CCI badge, and she let him in. It had no jurisdiction in Florida or anywhere in the States, but it sure came in handy when Rick needed a little leverage to get some answers. Gary and Possum were also issued badges on a case they had been working on up in the True North.

Rick headed straight to the bathroom, saw her toothbrush lying on the bathroom vanity as well as her hairbrush. He pulled out some toilet paper to pick them up and placed them both in a plastic laundry bag from the closet. After he let himself out, he made a quick run to the Destin Regional Airport and found Gary Schmitz at the ticket counter, handed him the package, and he told Rick it would be on the next flight. Rick headed back to the condo to catch up with Jules. When he stepped inside, she wasn’t there. He quickly dropped her a text.

Hey, babe, where are you?

I’m in Fort Walton. I left you a note on the fridge.

Rick walked over to the fridge and saw the note. He had been avoiding the fridge during fasting hours. He pulled it off and read it.

Rick,

I drove over to AAA Bail Bonds to sign a contract for a skip trace. I was going to text, but my iPhone is updating. I’ll bring it with me. I’ll give you a call when it’s done and I’m on my way back. There’s chicken enchilada verde casserole in the fridge. Heat some up when you break your fast.

xxoo Jules

Rick checked his watch, and he had thirty more minutes until he could break his fast. He decided to take Chief and Choco for a bike ride. He had ordered a small trailer that he could attach to his bicycle. Choco could go ahead of Rick on his extendable leash. He was so well-trained from being the lead dog on Rick’s dog sled team in Alaska that Rick was confident he wouldn't pull too hard or go off track and cause a crash. Rick took them both downstairs, hooked the small trailer to his Trek bike, and placed Chief's travel cage on it. Chief was super excited, flapping his wings and raising his crown. Choco was also excited to be outside and eager to run. His fur was too thick for Destin in the summer, and Rick would need to either give him a kennel cut or order a doggy treadmill for the condo. He needed daily exercise to stay healthy.

“Let’s go, boys,” said Rick.

He started pedaling down the sidewalk toward Winn-Dixie and cut across Harbor Blvd. on Gulf Shore Drive. He rode all the way to Noriega Point. He was so disappointed with what had happened to Noriega Point in the name of progress. There was a charge for parking, even for locals, and the whole area had been roped off because of new high-rise buildings planned to block Rick’s favorite hangout. He remembered the old days when he and his friends would gather at Noriega Point, each with a guitar. Russ Gray and “Tropical Wayne Forest,” as he was known, two of the original gang, had passed away. However, he still kept in touch with the mayor of Noriega Point, Dennis Hoover. Rick had given him that nickname as a joke one day because he was always coordinating parking and organizing the beach chairs for the harborside hootenannies. Rick had so many fond memories of Noriega Point. He felt a little melancholy at the changes that were taking place at that beautiful spot. Rick put out his kickstand, took Chief out of the travel cage, and sat down on the sand beside Choco. Tourists walked by taking photos of Chief and petting Choco. Rick said a little prayer for his friends who had moved on to that beach spot in the sky.

“His name is Chief,” Rick told a kid who walked up. “You want to hold him?”

Chief loved kids. He became extremely excited whenever one came into view. The young boy held Chief on his arm and laughed when Chief started mimicking seagulls, which made Chief and Rick laugh as well. Chief seemed to understand human emotions and laughed when something funny happened. It felt more genuine than just mimicking. After half an hour on the sand, Rick put Chief back in the travel cage and pedaled back to the condo. He had passed his fast stop time by an hour and a half and was ravenous. He began to heat up the enchilada casserole when Jules came through the door.

“Honey, I’m home,” she said, copying what Rick often said when he came home.

“You hungry? I still haven't eaten,” said Rick.

“Yes. I’ll cut up some avocados too if you’d like.”

“That sounds great, baby. Tell me about the new skip trace. Good pay?”

“Yeah, let me just get cleaned up, and I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“You know what? After dinner, I’m gonna call my old buddy Dennis Hoover and see if we can get together. You’ve never met him,” said Rick.

Chapter

Twelve

Rick leaned back from the table, stuffed full of enchilada casserole. He was surprised he didn’t want a second helping. His stomach had shrunk, yet he felt fuller with less food. During dinner, Jules explained to Rick about the guy she was trying to bring in. He was wanted for assault on an elderly person and failure to appear. He was a real piece of shit. He had been charged with first-degree assault and armed robbery of an 80-year-old man who nearly died and was still in the hospital. Jules was going to take him down. She planned to run her operation alone and let Rick and the boys continue with the other case. Rick had mixed feelings about it but knew arguing with her would only make things worse and also knew if she needed help, she would ask. She was incredibly capable as a bounty hunter.

Rick’s phone vibrated, and he picked it up and saw it was Carson.

“Hey, Carson, talk to me.”

“We got the DNA results off the nicotine container. We pulled two DNA markers off it. One male and one female. I ran it through CODIS and didn’t get any hits, but I got the toothbrush and hairbrush you sent, and it’s already being tested. I told them to put a rush on it.”

“Thanks, man. It sort of feels like I’m conducting two investigations. I’m assuming that whoever killed Fred Loren was also involved in Nate’s murder, but what if they aren’t related? Anything’s possible. I was sure Lisa was involved in her father’s death, but she has burned through so many sugar daddies that she had created a ton of enemies herself. Whoever blew her to pieces may have just been after her for whatever reason. I have to keep that possibility on the table,” said Rick.

“Well, I’m at the lab now. I will call you as soon as I get the results. They used PCR testing to magnify the results, so if there is a match on the toothbrush or hair, we will know pretty quickly.”

“Okay, Carson. I appreciate it. I’ll leave my phone on tonight. I owe you a fishing trip!”

“I might take you up on that sooner than later. I’ve been in D.C. too long now and need a break.”

“You’re always welcome.”

“I’ll keep you posted. Gotta run.”

“Thanks, Carson. Later.”

David placed his limited clothes in the drawers of the boat's stateroom where he now lived. He was extremely grateful. There was no way he would ever use drugs again. Once he broke the physical addiction, the psychological addiction became easy to overcome. He put his faith in Jesus and followed in His footsteps, which brought him to Rick Waters. He wouldn’t let him down. There was a knock on the stern. He quickly stepped outside and was handed a box of parts and a new tool case from the parts delivery guy. All he had on him was the hundred-dollar bills for a tip.

“You have a family?” asked David.

“Yeah, my wife and two kids. Why?”

“Here,” said David as he handed him a hundred-dollar bill. “I’ll be getting a lot of parts from you. My name is David, and I’m a new mechanic for Rick Waters’ fleet. Use it to enjoy a nice meal with your family. I feel blessed to be here, and I want to pay it forward.”

“Wow. Thank you, David. I don’t know what to say. You know what, hang on, I’ll be right back. What size are you?”

“Pants, shirts.”

“I wear a 32 in pants and a medium to large shirt usually.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m Cory, by the way.”

Cory jogged off and disappeared between AJ’s and the indoor boat storage building. He returned a few minutes later, pushing a dock cart. When he came back, he handed David ten pairs of work pants and shirts. Underneath them was a box of electronic tools: a mini clamp multimeter, an ANCEL MR500 marine diagnostic code reader, a heat gun with a case of shrink tubing, and several other marine electronic devices.

“Don’t worry, these aren’t stolen. They are last year’s models. The companies ask us to destroy them or put them in a dumpster when the new models are released. My boss lets me sell them on eBay. I have so much I’m sick of listing it. I’ll give you whatever you want as the new stuff comes out. In most cases, the only difference is that the color may change. They all work just as well as the new models.”

“Wow, Cory. That is incredibly nice of you.”

“Well, I appreciate the tip. Tell Rick thanks too. He and Johnie have always taken such good care of me. It looks like he did well when he hired you.”

David thanked Cory again before starting to go through the box of new marine toys. He was so excited to be living on his dream boat with a new job and a fresh lease on life. Instead of calling it an early night, he took the cowlings off the outboards and decided to do the tune-up and oil change before cooking dinner. He quickly placed an order for staples and one ribeye from Publix delivery, then put on his gloves and drained the oil from the outboards. When he finished the tune-ups on the boat props, he noticed a box sitting in the stern. The delivery person dropped it off while his head was digging through his parts box he had placed in the salon. He didn’t even hear them come by. The food was still cold. After putting it in the fridge, he replaced the cowling on the outboards and made a list of everything he had done, then sent Johnie a text.

Wow. That was fast. Good job. Swing by Nine-Tenths in the morning, I wanna show you something I did to the MAN engines.

Sounds good, Johnie. See you in the morning.

For the first time in a very long time, David cooked and ate a steak without feeling the need to drink alcohol or take drugs. He felt content and at peace.

Rick was lying next to Jules in bed, watching Forensic Files when his phone whistled. He picked it up and saw a text he had been expecting.

The female DNA matches Lisa’s belongings 100%. It is hers. Still no match to male DNA. Not familial, so it’s not Jeremy’s.

Thanks, Carson. You rock. Come fishing soon.

“Jules, Lisa’s DNA was on the bottle of nicotine. The DNA can’t be Jeremy’s because it’s not related to Lisa. It will be hard to determine who it is. I was gonna ask Jeremy for a DNA swab, but there’s no need now. I’m at a complete dead end.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe Nate’s murder and Lisa and Fred’s aren’t connected,” said Jules.

“If that’s true, then they are one freaking unlucky family. I’ll call Jeremy in the morning and let him know what I found out.”

They watched the rest of the episode of Forensic Files, but fell asleep before the next one finished. Rick always put a timer on the TV for a few hours.

Jules got up before Rick for a change and took her own Bronco to Fort Walton. She left Rick a note on the coffee pot so he wouldn’t worry. She had gotten a tip that her suspect might be hiding out in Fort Walton in an apartment on Racetrack Road. She parked in the lot next door, put on her bulletproof vest, checked her weapon, and slipped two more magazines into her pocket. She wasn’t expecting gunfire but had to be prepared. She studied the photo of the man she was after. His name was Francisco Lacayo, and he was an illegal alien from Nicaragua. He wasn’t a particularly big man but had a violent past. The apartment complex had mixed reviews on Google. Most complaints were about cockroaches. As Jules cased out the place, she noticed lots of sketchy people going in and out of several apartments. Some had gang tattoos, and others just looked like they were up to no good. According to her informant, he had been staying with his cousin Maria Sanchez on the third floor, apartment 311A. She found a vantage point to see the door with binoculars. After an hour of casing the place, a woman with a small child came out of the front door.

After she left, Jules watched the window and saw a light go on and off. Someone was still inside. She had an idea. She called the apartment manager’s number and pretended to be the woman in the apartment. She told the manager that she had a roach problem and needed someone to inspect the apartment. She told them that her cousin was in the apartment but didn’t speak English, and she wanted someone who spoke Spanish to give him a call so they could enter the apartment and to call her back. She waited for the call back.

“Hello, Mrs. Sanchez, this is Joanne again from Seascape Apartments. I had my assistant call your apartment. She speaks Spanish, and your cousin told her to send someone up. We will send someone as soon as they are available. Thanks for letting us know.”

“No problemo, gracias,” said Jules.

Jules hung up and headed upstairs. This was her best chance to get the jump on Francisco.

She put on a loose dress shirt over her bulletproof vest and grabbed a flashlight from the Bronco and headed up to the apartment. When she knocked, Francisco opened the door. He looked nervously down the hallway but allowed her in.

“Hola, Francisco, cucaracha problem?”

“Sí, hemos tenido algunas cucarachas,” he replied.

He had her follow him to the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink. As he leaned over and pointed, she reached behind her and pulled out the handcuffs. In her haste, she dropped them. He spun around, saw them on the floor, and rushed at her, knocking her over a chair. She hit her head hard, and he grabbed her throat. He had a good grip on her, and she struggled. Fear overtook her as she started to lose consciousness. With her fingers stretched out, she caught the edge of her Maglite that she had dropped. She caught the edge of it with her pinky finger, rolled it into her hand, and hit Francisco as hard as she could as he fell off of her. As she got up, he looked up at her with fire in his eyes and blood dripping down his head. He ran at her with arms stretched out, and she swept his feet, causing him to topple over. In one motion, she pulled out her 9 millimeter and pointed it at his face.

“Congelar! Freeze, pendejo!” she shouted.

He must’ve thought she wouldn’t shoot him, and he got back up again. She didn’t want to kill him, but she would if she had to. With her right hand holding her pistol and the Maglite in her left, she flipped the switch on it, turning it into a stun gun. When he reached for her again, she knocked his arms away and shoved the disguised taser baton into his neck. He began to shake violently and fell to his knees. She kicked him in the back and slammed him into his chest, flipped him over, and secured the handcuffs on his wrists. He was out of breath and out of luck. She looked in the mirror hanging in the hallway and saw the finer marks around her neck, which fired her up. She walked over and kicked him as hard as she could in the ribs, causing him to let out a moan.

“Big man, huh? Attack an old man and a woman?”

She repeated it in Spanish and got him to his feet. With her gun in his back, she walked him to the Bronco. She shackled his hands to the door handle and headed to the Okaloosa booking center. Once she transferred him to the deputy on duty, she drove directly to AAA Bail Bonds.

“I got him! I fucking got him!” she said as she slammed the contract down on the desk.

“Are you okay?” asked the bail bonds owner.

“Yeah. He tried to choke me out. I should ask the DA to file attempted murder on him.”

“You can, but I don’t think it’s necessary. We got a call from ICE, and he will be deported once he serves his time. He won’t have a nice stay in prison. They don’t take kindly to elder abuse inside. I’ll make sure my informants inside know what he’ll be convicted of. He’ll be a target.”

“Good. Fuck ‘em!”

The man handed Jules a generous check and thanked her for bringing him in. When she got back in the Bronco, she could see his finger marks on her neck starting to leave bruises. Rick was going to be upset. She decided it was better to warn him rather than hide it, so she called him.

“Hey, baby, I got him!”

“Wow, that was fast. I’m impressed. He went easily?” asked Rick.

“No, not exactly. Please don’t be mad, but he choked me. I’m gonna have bruises. I didn’t want you to freak out when you see me.”

“How the hell did he get to you?”

“It’s a long story, but I tripped. I’ll explain when I get home. I’m fine. I probably broke one or more of his ribs.”

Rick took a deep breath and was silent for a second.

“I’m not mad, but we need to start doing these as a team. Can we at least discuss that?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I promise we can talk about it. I don’t have a death wish, and I probably should have taken backup with me. Anyway, the good news is that he’s in custody and won’t be able to hurt anyone in this country anymore. He’s eventually going to be deported if he survives prison. I’m heading home now.”

“Okay, baby. See you soon.”

Rick was upset with her. There was no need to put herself in harm's way like that. She loved being a bounty hunter, and he wasn’t going to try to stop her, but he also wanted her to be more cautious. He would be firm but pragmatic when he talked with her. She was usually open to Rick’s advice and knew it came from his heart.

Jules walked through the door and laid the fifteen-thousand-dollar check down in front of Rick.

“Not bad for a few hours’ work, huh?”

“Oh my God. I’m gonna kill him,” replied Rick when he saw the marks on her neck. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow. I need a shower. I wanna wash this scumbag off my skin.”

“Okay, baby. Take your time. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee for you, and you'll be on your way quickly today. I’m making us omelets and buttered croissants. I know how much you love them.”

“Thanks, Rick. Check your watch. Our fast for today ends at 11:00 a.m. anyway. Perfect timing. That’s the beauty of eating dinner early.”

Rick shook his head in agreement and took the Black Rifle Silencer Smooth Roast out of the cabinet. It was Jules’ favorite. Rick preferred the Freedom Roast, but he wanted to treat Jules to make her feel better. As soon as he heard the shower stop, he started whipping the eggs with a splash of heavy cream to make them silky. He made Jules' favorite omelet—spinach, red roasted tomatoes, and feta cheese. He made a sausage and cheddar one for himself and placed the plates down on the table with a basket of fresh, warm croissants and honey butter just as Jules stepped out in her robe.

“Damn, that smells good!” exclaimed Jules.

“Have a seat, baby. Let’s eat.”

Jules dug into her omelet, and Rick buttered a croissant for her.

“You spoil me.”

“You’re worth it, and I wanna keep you around. How about from now on, we discuss what fugitives you go after? I have no desire for you to stop, but can we at least go in as a team if they are violent or involved in any domestics? Those can become emotional and unpredictable.”

“That’s fair. From now on, I’ll show you every case I'm considering.”

“Sounds good, Jules. Speaking of cases, I’m considering terminating the case I’m currently working on. I’ve thought about it, and I’m gonna speak to Jeremy and decide. I’m almost certain Lisa and Fred were involved in Nate’s death. I think whoever killed Fred was working on Lisa’s behalf, and whoever killed her may have been a separate deal. Either way, I think we need to step away. I’m gonna call Jeremy after breakfast and put him on speaker. The boat he was gonna give us has been destroyed. I already have the treasure map. There’s nothing to gain for us at this point. I’m sure Jeremy will argue, but I’ll turn over all my evidence to whoever he hires.”

“Are you sure? I know you, Rick, and unless you solve this case, it’s gonna eat at you.”

“We’ll see.”

Rick washed the dishes while Jules fed Chief and Choco. She always saved a bite of omelet for Chief, who loved cheese—any kind of cheese—and was also very fond of eggs. Once Rick finished the dishes, he sat back at the table, called Jeremy, and put him on speaker.

“Hey, Jeremy. You’re on speaker with Jules.”

“Hi, Jules.”

“Hi.”

“My instincts were right. Fred died from acute nicotine poisoning. I have Lisa on video buying a high-level nicotine vape liquid, and we found her DNA on a bottle Johnie discovered in the harbor that we are positive she tossed off her balcony. Sorry, buddy. We believe whoever blew up Lisa paid someone to kill your father, and the person who blew her up might have been afraid she figured everything out and took her out. There's a small chance it was for other reasons. She had a lot of enemies. I know you promised me the treasure-finding catamaran, but it’s gone now. I think it’s in our best interest to step away from the case now,” said Rick.

“I understand. Listen, it feels like you solved it for the most part. My dad had a second, larger catamaran being built. It was just delivered to Kemah, Texas. I owe you, so it’s yours. Can you just forward whatever you have discovered to my office?”

“Sure. You don’t have to do that. I never found out who pulled the trigger.”

“That's true, but it doesn't matter. Lisa and Fred set it up, and it sounds like she silenced him. I just want to put it all behind me now. I have to focus on the company. We are going public, and I am doing an IPO soon. My dad never wanted to do that because he wanted the company in the family, but he was too old school and not thinking forward. Going public will take the company to new heights. That will be my legacy,” said Jeremy.

“I get it. I’ll FedEx and email everything I have so far.”

“Okay, Rick. I’ll sign over the title to the new boat to you, and you can have the boat delivered or come to Texas and take it yourself. I’ll let the marina know.”

“I still feel weird taking that with the case being written to the wall.”

“I don’t want the boat. I can sell it and give you the money, or you can take ownership. Apparently, it’s one of a kind. I just don’t want anything to do with it.”

“I understand, Jeremy. We’ll probably fly down and deliver it soon.”

“Thanks for everything, Rick. You too, Jules.”

Rick ended the call with an odd look on his face.

“I didn’t expect that. I guess he’s ready to move on.”

“It’s a win-win for us. Wanna go to Texas and deliver the boat with me, or should I call P-Roy or another captain to bring it?”

“I’m kind of enjoying being home. Can we both take some time off and spend the rest of October in Destin? It’s your favorite month.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jules.”

Chapter

Thirteen

The sun peeked over the horizon as Nine-Tenths crossed the center channel marker, leaving Destin Harbor for the open Gulf. The breeze was gentle, and baitfish abounded everywhere. Possum stood on the bow with Jules, watching dolphins surf the boat's wake. Off in the distance, several hognose rays leapt into the air, gliding slowly like birds in slow motion. Johnie was showing David how to expertly rig ballyhoo for the trolling lures. Nine-Tenths was officially entered into the Destin Fishing Rodeo. Today, they aimed to win the King Mackerel Award for the biggest fish. Years ago, Rick had caught several massive king mackerels, or "smokers," as the locals called them, near the center channel marker. It was purely by accident. He was cruising in a borrowed Catalina 27. His buddy kept it behind a house in Destin Harbor and let him use it whenever he wanted. He always liked sailboats and hoped to get a big one someday. Right now, he was elbows-deep in boats, so that idea had slipped away. Since the borrowed sailboat had a tiller instead of a wheel, it was hard to fish off of it, so he set his bait at the dock. As soon as he passed the jetties, he released the drag and let it fall behind the boat. He planned to sail out to the first drop and continue trolling, but the moment he passed the center buoy marker, his reel sizzled. He reeled in a nice smoker and tossed it back in. He wasn’t after king mackerel and couldn’t decide if their nickname came from the way they’d "smoke" the reels when they ran or from the fact that the only way to tolerate the fishy flesh was to smoke it for hours to kill the gamey taste. He had lost his hat when the fish hit, and he was trying to tie off the tiller to keep the boat straight. So, he rebaited his lure, dropped it, grabbed the boat hook, and swung the sailboat around to try and snatch it. It was floating on the surface a few yards from the center channel marker. As he passed the center channel again, heading the opposite way, his reel sizzled again. He quickly snatched his hat with the boat hook and reeled in another big king mackerel. He hadn’t even gotten offshore and had caught two huge smokers. He decided to pass again, and sure enough, another hit and catch. Since he didn’t like king mackerel, this time he left his lure in the boat, hanging from the rod until he reached the first drop, then turned east and began to troll again, but he never forgot that hot spot for smokers and made a mental note.

“Go ahead and let them out,” said Rick as they passed the jetties.

Just like the last time he did it, both reels sizzled. They caught two big king mackerels, threw them in the oversized live well, and rebaited. They repeated that five times and then released all but the biggest smoker, which was a solo catch that lasted longer than the others and weighed twenty-five pounds more. It was a monster king mackerel. They headed offshore again, and Johnie chose a spot for bottom fishing where he had luck catching red grouper before. They caught several that tipped the scales at a little over thirty pounds. Since everyone loved the taste of red grouper, they kept their limit. They trolled until about 5:00 p.m., then headed back in for the daily weigh-in at AJ’s. As soon as they docked and Rick jumped off the boat, he saw the weigh-in board and knew they had two winners for the day. There were oohs and aahs from the crowd when they carried their fish to the scales.

“Woohoo!” exclaimed Rick as the clock ran out for the daily weigh-ins.

They had one of the biggest catches of the day in the king mackerel and red grouper categories. The prize for the biggest king mackerel of the day was only a hundred dollars, but it also registered them for the king mackerel bonus grand prize, which was $10,000. The daily award for the biggest red grouper was a $200 Centennial Bank check and a Rodeo Trophy. They all stood together and took photos with the trophy. All in all, it was a fun, productive day. They all headed back to the condo except for David. He had some stuff to take care of on the boat he was staying on. Rick gave him a couple of pounds of red grouper fillets in a Ziplock bag.

“Who wants surf and turf? You have your choice of beef or venison,” said Rick.

Rick and Possum picked venison, and Jules and Johnie went for beef. Possum said he’d do the honors on the grill, and Rick and Jules made hushpuppies and twice-baked potatoes. It was an incredible meal. Afterwards, while Johnie and Jules did the dishes, Rick and Possum discussed the next possible step in finding the treasure.

“I forgot to tell you, I called P-Roy, and he couldn’t get away from the ship, but he called a friend in Houston. He’s delivering Nate’s new boat here from Kemah, and it should arrive by the weekend. As you know, his other boat was called ‘X Marks the Spot,’ so we need to come up with a new name,” said Rick.

“Since the boat was built in Australia, how about ‘Jewel’s Down Under,’ but spell it JULES?” asked Possum.

“I love it. How do you think of stuff like that so fast?” asked Rick.

“I have no idea. It just popped into my head.”

“Well, Jules will love it too. You’ll earn a bunch of brownie points with her for that name.”

Possum pulled out Nate’s treasure map and then an old historical map of Vortex Springs.

“Remember how you said pirates couldn’t have hidden the treasure deep in the springs because scuba gear didn’t exist back then?” asked Possum.

“Yeah, and?”

“It got me thinking and the lines,

Its whereabouts are in the cage

Beneath the sands where dreams abide,

The pirate's hoard and youth's spring collide.

Specifically, ‘cage.’ I searched on WordHippo for alternative names for ‘cage,’ and one that really stood out was ‘jail.’ I did further research on historical jails and found that a detention camp, also called a jail, was located near Vortex Springs as early as 1788, around the time Billy Bowlegs was in the panhandle. By the way, his real name was William Augustus Bowles, and there is no true historical record that he ever used the nickname Billy Bowlegs, but that’s not important. Somehow, the nickname stuck,” added Possum.

“Hmm, interesting. Do you have a GPS coordinate for that old jail?” asked Rick.

“No, just an idea. We can search that area after they close. Back in those days, they used heavy iron for jail bars. If there are any remnants of it, we might be able to get a hit with the metal detectors. We can sneak in and use our night vision goggles to get around. They don’t have security guards or anything—an occasional park ranger maybe, but not at night.”

“When do you want to go?”

“There’s no time like the present,” said Possum.

“Okay, let me run it past Jules. I’ll lead with the name you came up with for the new boat.”

“Clever.”

“Hey, baby. Come in here when you’re done,” said Rick.

“Be right there.”

A few minutes later, Jules came into Possum’s office.

“What’s up?”

“Possum came up with a name for the new boat. How does ‘Jules Down Under’ strike you?”

“I love it. Oh my God, Possum, you are so sweet,” said Jules as she gave him a big hug.

“We were thinking of heading over to Vortex Springs to do a little metal detecting. Do you mind?”

“Now? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“I know. But we need to be in there while they are closed.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just take a long, hot bath and read. When will you be back?”

“Before sunrise. It’s a bit of a hike over there,” said Rick.

“No worries. Y’all be careful.”

Jules left and headed back to their condo. Rick and Possum loaded the Bronco with gear and took off. It should have been a little over an hour’s drive to the springs. Rick made it in fifty minutes. He parked the Bronco a few blocks from the entrance of the springs, and they entered through the woods. It looked like daytime through the night vision goggles. They began together and worked on a grid, walking in opposite directions. They kept expanding it from where they had started, back-to-back, occasionally finding empty beer cans or old nails. About an hour and a half into their search, Possum got a huge hit on his metal detector.

“Rick, mark your spot and come over,” said Possum through his walkie-talkie.

“Be right there.”

When Rick found Possum, he was already digging. Rick kneeled down and helped. After a few more minutes of digging, Possum hit something metal. He dug all around it with a trowel and tugged at it until it came free.

“Check it out!” said Possum.

It was a large rusty ring with jailor-type keys hanging from it.

“We found it. Let’s mark off the area, and I’ll save it in my GPS.”

The spot where they saw the keys was about a hundred fifty yards from the springs and would be visible in daylight. They split up and searched the area, covering roughly fifteen by twenty feet. In the middle was the largest reading, but it was deep—far too deep to dig with the folding shovels they had. They were onto something. Rick checked his watch; it was 2:37 a.m. There was no point in continuing without proper excavation tools, so they went back to the Bronco. Rick was in bed beside Jules by 4:00 a.m. after a quick shower. He was so quiet and careful that she didn’t even wake up.

Jules woke up, surprised to see Rick in bed. She slipped out of bed to use the bathroom, then got back in and snuggled with him, but he didn’t move. The sun wasn’t up yet, and she drifted off to sleep with her arms around Rick. Around 6:30 a.m., Jules felt kisses on her cheek. She cracked open an eye to see Chief licking her face with his little tongue. The escape artist found a way out of his cage once again. Jules kissed him and carefully crawled out of bed, taking him into the kitchen. She set him on the counter and made a pot of coffee. Chief paced back and forth, strutting like a chicken.

“Good morning,” said Rick. “Hey, King Chicken, look at you, Mr. Cock of the Walk.”

Chief flapped his wings as Rick poured a cup of coffee and kissed Jules.

“What are your plans today?” asked Jules.

“I was thinking we could put the bikes on the rack and drive down 30A and maybe have a late lunch at The Great Southern. We could take Chief in his little wagon and Choco too. What do you think?”

“I’d love that.”

Rick took the elevator down to the first floor, installed the bike rack into the receiver hitch on the Bronco, and secured the bikes to it. He placed the small foldable bike trailer and travel cage behind Jules’ seat. She came down a few minutes later with Chief and Choco in tow. It was a beautiful October day with no wind and mild temperatures—perfect weather for biking. Choco hopped in the back seat behind Rick, and Jules held Chief on her lap.

Rick parked on a side street at Blue Mountain Beach and secured the little trailer to the back of his Trek. They leisurely rode east on the wide bike and walking path toward Seaside. People stopped and pointed at Chief as they made their way. Everywhere they went, Chief drew a crowd. Rick didn’t mind, and Chief loved the attention. They rode all through Seaside, exploring the back streets and charming little houses. They continued past Seacrest, all the way to Alys Beach, about eleven miles one way.

“Let’s take a break,” said Rick.

“Good plan.”

Rick took the bikes into the Beach Club, a private beach at the end of Seafoam Alley. They locked the bikes up and waited for someone to walk out and open the gate. It may have been private, but no guards monitored the gate to the beach. Rick walked right in as someone came out, as if he owned the place, and no one stopped him. He had done it a dozen times before. He hated when they privatized beaches. In his mind, no beach should be private. He wasn't even sure if it was legal to make a beach private, and it never stopped him. Rick liked the 30A area, but it had its fair share of elitists. Dogs weren’t allowed on the beach, so they stopped at the end of the pier and stared at the water. Rick didn’t want to walk in the sand in his new Nikes anyway. Chief garnered lots of attention from passersby.

After a brief chill on the pier, they decided to head back toward Seaside. It was roughly halfway to where they had parked in Blue Mountain Beach. The Great Southern Café was a pet-friendly bar and restaurant. Rick secured them an outside table, and Choco sat stoically beside Rick on the deck. Chief took his spot on the back of a chair, and Jules placed some newspaper on the deck underneath him so he could do his business as usual every twenty minutes. People would stop by occasionally and want a photo with him.

“What are you gonna order, honey?” asked Rick.

“Probably blackened snapper with smoked gouda grits and collard greens. You?”

“The usual.”

By "the usual," he meant “The Carson.” As the menu suggested and delivered, it was “the best fried chicken sandwich you will ever have." Rick couldn’t wait to bring his friend Carson to the restaurant one day and let him try the sandwich that bore his name. Rick never asked why it was called “The Carson” and figured it must’ve been named after the chef who invented it. It was massive filets of sweet tea-marinated thighs, fried in buttermilk-coated batter with candied bacon, fried green tomato, candied jalapeño, creole mayo, crisp romaine, and served on a fresh kaiser bun. The sandwich was huge and felt like it weighed two pounds when he picked it up. He never left hungry from the Great Southern Café.

After lunch, Rick watched people walk by, and the atmosphere was electric—a lively mix of tourists and locals.

“What do you wanna do now?”

“The usual,” replied Jules.

As usual, she wanted to visit the charming little bookstore. Sundog Books carried both local authors and nationally known bestsellers. It was a throwback to earlier times before Amazon took over the market—a mom-and-pop shop that Jules adored. Rick always went to Central Square Records to check out the latest vinyl. He had recently bought a classic Technics record player with an upgraded stylus from a pawn shop and was getting back into vinyl. He missed vinyl—hell, he missed CDs. Everything was digital these days. He still had a huge collection of 8-tracks in a box in his storage unit, although they were probably disintegrated by now. MP3s just don't have the same quality as vinyl. When he was in high school, his good friend John Paul McCarbal had a nice record player, and he never forgot the time he went over to hang out with him. John put on the new Judas Priest album “Screaming for Vengeance” and played the track “Electric Eye.” It was so memorable he could still feel himself there every time he heard it. It was etched in his memory as if it were hardwired in his brain—the smell of Christmas tree weed in a baggy on John’s nightstand and the way the sun hit the shades in his room. He lost track of his good friend John after high school, but that day lived on in his mind forever.

Rick scanned the records in the store and flipped them over to read the liner notes, one of his favorite things to do. He loved all kinds of music—country, metal, reggae, new wave; it didn’t matter. When people asked him what kind of music he liked, he always said the same thing: good music. He could chill out with George Strait or bang his head with Mötley Crüe. Good music was good music, period. He ended up finding an old album by a Japanese band called Loudness that he had rocked out to in high school. He always thought their guitars sounded like Dokken, another one of his favorite hair bands from the 80s. Jules would hate it, but he’d play it when she wasn’t around. She usually didn’t mind and would let him indulge in his metal days until her head hurt, but he was respectful that not everyone liked his musical muses at the volume he usually played them. He paid for it and walked over to the bookstore. Choco never left his side.

Jules bought two books: “Heartbreaker: A Memoir” by Mike Cambel, the lead guitarist of Tom Petty, and a Mediterranean cookbook. She knew Rick would also enjoy the memoir. Rick took the books and album out of his oversized backpack, which he always carried on bike rides, and they headed back to Blue Mountain Beach. And it continued like that, day after day, in October. They would fish some days, ride bikes on others, and dig at the site in Vortex Springs, which so far had revealed nothing but rusty iron from days gone by. Their daily routine had a nice, laid-back local rhythm.

Chapter

Fourteen

It was two days until Halloween, and Jules was obsessed with decorations. Halloween was her favorite holiday, but Rick wasn’t particularly excited; he indulged her anyway. She had draped fake spider webs all over the condo and carved several pumpkins. She was quite talented, using a Cricut die-cutting machine to carve highly detailed patterns on the pumpkins—scenes of black cats stretching in front of a full moon and zombies emerging from graves in graveyards. Rick’s pumpkin carvings, on the other hand, looked like something an eight-year-old would do, with the usual jack-o'-lantern faces. They planned to fish the next two days to wrap up the Destin Rodeo, and Carson was joining them. Rick left the night before and picked him up at the airport. He was staying with Possum next door. Jules planned to stay behind and decorate more.

Rick’s alarm went off at 4:45 a.m., and he hopped out of bed, excited to pull a trip point out of the Gulf.

“You ready?” he asked after Possum opened the door.

“Yeah, Carson is brushing his teeth. We can head out shortly.”

A few minutes later, Carson came out from the back bedroom.

“Hey buddy, you stoked to go fishing?” asked Rick.

“Hell yeah! I’m gonna win the Destin Rodeo today.”

“That’s the spirit, bro. I hope you’re right.”

As they motored out of the harbor, Rick pointed out the new catamaran he had delivered from Kemah. It was a polished aluminum vessel, side-tied to a dock. Jules Down Under was on the stern in a flowing script font in gold.

“Damn, she’s pretty,” said Carson. “I can’t believe Jeremy gave her to you without wrapping up the case and putting a bow on it.”

“Yeah, it still bothers me. I’m positive Lisa and Fred were involved in Nate’s death. But whoever took them out is a ghost. Keep running that DNA in CODIS. You never know. Maybe whoever it belongs to might get arrested someday,” said Rick.

“Or not.”

There was no doubt that not fully solving the case was weighing on Rick, but life went on. The case had gone cold. Jeremy had fully taken over his dad’s company and paid Rick despite his shortcomings in the case. He promised from the beginning that if Rick solved his dad’s murder, he would take care of him, and he did. Solving Lisa and Fred’s murder wasn’t part of the bargain, yet it still bothered Rick. He wasn’t sure that they’d ever find the treasure either.

Johnie motored out to the second drop. They planned to go for marlin today. The catch-and-release trophy was still up for grabs. The biggest blue marlin so far weighed 885 pounds. Rick knew there was one over a thousand pounds out there somewhere. They headed east at six knots and put out four trolling rods. Johnie steered from the flybridge as David scanned the water for birds and baitfish. They pulled in several wahoo and bull dolphins, which weren’t trophy winners but ended up in the cooler. Rick loved wahoo. After six hours without a marlin, they called it a day. No winners that day, but they had one day left to catch a monster.

Over dinner, Rick and Possum told Carson about their discovery of an ancient iron form from a jail in Vortex Springs. He had never gone metal detecting. Rick loaned him one of his and told him to join them later that night. He was a little hesitant to trample on a state park after dark but knew Rick wouldn’t put him in harm’s way, so he decided to go. When they arrived, Rick gave him a little metal detector training and had him search an area near the grid pattern they had marked off.

“Possum, you do the outside area; I’ll start in the center, and we can meet.”

“Copy that.”

The area where they had received the strongest readings ultimately revealed an iron and leather tandem hitch for horses. The leather had deteriorated over the centuries, and the iron was heavily rusted, but it was clear what it was. They had to dig nearly eight feet down, and Rick was furious when they pulled it out. So far, they hadn’t found any precious metal, though some of the items held historical value. He planned to take it to the Florida Historical Society someday. After an hour of searching, Rick was getting frustrated.

“Rick, I think I got something!” hollered Carson.

He hadn’t quite understood what Rick had meant when he explained a square-circle pattern and had drifted off course a little further than anywhere they had searched. Rick leisurely walked over, expecting that Carson found an old nail or possibly a beer can. He used his pinpointer and realized whatever it was had to be about three feet deep in the soil. He handed his shovel to Carson with a grin.

“You found it; you dig it out.”

Carson shrugged and started digging. About five minutes into his work, he hit something hard and got really excited. Once he dug away the loose spoil around it and found edges, Rick also got excited.

“What is it?” asked Carson.

Rick didn’t respond; he took the shovel, started digging frantically, and called Possum over. It took all three of them to pull it out. It was a wooden and iron case with three locks on the front.

“Holy shit, it’s a three-lock box!” exclaimed Rick.

He ran to the Bronco and quickly came back with his hand truck. They placed it on top, strapped it on tightly, and dragged it back to the Bronco.

“Is it the treasure?” asked Carson.

“Whatever it is, it’s important. Pirates used three-lock boxes for only their most valuable or important artifacts. You did good, buddy,” said Rick.

Rick drove like a bat out of hell back to the condo. Since it was so late and Jules was asleep, they pulled into Possum’s condo. Rick borrowed Possum’s lockpick kit, and after half an hour, only one lock was left to pick. After maneuvering the tools, he heard a click and freed the third lock. He removed it and slowly flipped open the box. They all hovered over it, and the lid fell open. Inside was an oiled leather pouch—no gold or silver. Rick pulled the pouch out and set it on the kitchen table. When he opened it, there was a scroll inside. He flattened it out and sat two coffee cups on the corners to keep it flat and read it aloud:

You holdeth the second of my two scribes

Three paces from the dune, south of Chatot tribes

Under moonlit tides, the bank is full taken from fools

Dig deep where the sea whispers low, for gold and jewels

In the inlet waves beside the sound

Where Mississippian cries soar beneath the mound

By the Walton ground where forts did lie

A treasure awaits hidden from the prying eye.

Captain W. A. Bowles 1899

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Rick. “Check this out,” said Rick as he pulled out the first map he had taken from Nate’s boat.

On the back was the word WAB and the date 1898. Rick thought it was an acronym for the Western American Bookfell, a company that was commonly known for making parchment paper. But now he realized it stood for William Augustus Bowles, aka Billy Bowlegs.

“This is proof that the maps are legit!”

“What the hell does it mean, though?” asked Possum.

“What does it have to do with Mississippi?” asked Rick.

“It’s not Mississippi; it’s Mississippian, as in Mississippian culture. That’s an era of the Chatot and Yuchi people. You know the Indian Mound in Fort Walton?” asked Possum.

“You mean the one right downtown?”

“Yeah. The Chatot and Yuchi people used that site to practice burials. They didn't actually bury the dead there, but it was an ancient tradition to go through the motions. There were three eras represented there: the Mississippian culture, also known as the Fort Walton culture from 1200–1500 CE; the Apalachee people who preceded that; and in the late 1600s, the Spanish related to the Yama or Mobilian trade.”

“How the hell do you know all that?” asked Rick.

“Easy. I went to the Indian Mound Museum one day. It’s right on their brochure,” replied Possum.

“We can’t do any digging around there. We’ll get arrested for sure,” said Rick.

“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t think the treasure is there anyway. I think it’s just a reference point. Let me study the map more and do some research. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s late, and we have to get up in a few hours to fish. We can review it tomorrow after the rodeo. I’m gonna catch a couple of winks,” said Rick.

He went to his own condo, took a quick shower, then slept on the couch so he wouldn't wake Jules. He left her a note on the coffee maker.

Rick untied the stern lines, and Johnie motored Nine-Tenths out of the slip. All the boats leaving Destin Harbor at the same time made it look like the LA Freeway. Even at that early hour, the HarborWalk buzzed with excitement. It was the final day of the Destin Fishing Rodeo, and the grand prize, along with several other awards, was still up for grabs. Johnie let David bait the ballyhoo by himself this time; he had gotten the hang of it nicely. Once again, Johnie motored out to the second drop and, instead of heading east, turned west. He slowed to six knots, and David set out the four trolling rods. Within fifteen minutes, one of the reels sizzled. Rick let Carson do the honors. It was a big fish, and because it ran north and south for long distances, Rick was sure it was a wahoo. Carson sat in the fighting chair and worked the drag like Rick had taught him. It took him a few minutes to bring in the great fish—just as Rick thought—it was a wahoo, a massive one. Once Possum gaffed it and they got it on board and weighed it, Rick pulled up the biggest fish for the month, and theirs outweighed the current leader by ten pounds. If no bigger fish were caught that day, Carson was assured a trophy for at least "Biggest Fish of the Day" in that category.

“Woohoo!” shouted Carson as Rick showed him his standings.

David reeled out the line behind the boat. They caught several more dolphins and a couple of Spanish mackerels, but nothing huge. Johnie turned the boat around as it was approaching five o'clock, and they had to be weighed in by 7:00 p.m. to qualify. Rick sat in the fighting chair, cracked open a Cherry Diet Coke, and watched the trolling baits bound along the surface.

“What’s that?” asked David as he pointed.

Rick looked out from the bait and saw what appeared to be two sticks sticking out of the water. He immediately grabbed that rod, knowing it was the dorsal fins of a sailfish or marlin. He waited patiently as it drew closer to the lure. Then the water exploded as the impressive fish took the bait. It ran south, and Rick let the reel spin for a while. When it turned, he tightened the drag and pulled back on the rod. It bent as the reel groaned. Suddenly, the fish leapt high in the air, stopping everyone on the boat. It was a massive blue marlin—larger than any they had ever seen in the Gulf. Rick sat back down in the fighting chair, and David reeled in all the other lines. The fight was on. Johnie steered the boat toward Destin Harbor, skillfully speeding up and slowing down based on the fish’s movements. They were fighting on two fronts. They needed to land and weigh the great fish by 7:00 p.m.

“Splash me!” yelled Rick.

He was dripping with sweat and overheating. Rick handed David his iPhone, and he grabbed a bucket of cool water to pour over Rick’s head. Rick’s arms felt like spaghetti. It was almost six o’clock, and the fish wasn’t any closer to being caught than when he first hooked it.

“We’re gonna run out of time,” said Rick.

“Keep fighting. He’ll run out of steam soon,” Johnie replied.

As if the fish had heard Johnie, Rick gained some leeway. He reeled in as fast as he could while the fish ran parallel to the boat. Johnie sped up to make up some lost time. When the fish turned again, he slowed down, and Rick kept pulling, keeping the line taut. The Destin Harbor channel was still twenty miles away. Rick gave up worrying about the time. Even if he didn’t make the weigh-in, he was determined to bring in his fish. As the clock ticked, the fish got closer. It came alongside the boat at 6:23 p.m. Possum gaffed it on his first attempt, and he and David dragged it into the boat. Rick collapsed in the chair from exhaustion. The fish flipped and flopped on the deck, its tail hanging over the stern.

“Go!” yelled Possum.

Johnie pushed both throttles forward and brought Nine-Tenths close to the redline. His new computer chip would be tested in the MAN diesels. They flew past the center channel marker at 6:50 p.m., and it was going to be close. As Johnie approached the slip, Possum started yelling to someone on shore to bring the cart. Johnie backed into the slip Captain Ron style, and Rick and Possum jumped off the stern onto the dock and quickly loaded the fish onto the cart. They then ran as they pulled the cart toward the scales. Carson dragged the wahoo close behind, its tail leaving fish trails on the dock.

“We have a fish! We have two fish!” yelled Rick.

The weigh-in judge glanced at his watch and saw it was 6:58 p.m., then waved them to the scale. As the clock hit 7:00 p.m., a whistle blew, ending the Destin Rodeo. The judge looked at the scale and then flipped through some papers in a folder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new Destin Rodeo blue marlin record. Weighing in at 732.11 pounds, from the charter boat Nine-Tenths, we have this year’s winner,” said the judge. “We also have this year’s Big Wahoo of the Day and another record, a wahoo at 109 pounds and 2 ounces.”

The crowd cheered as Rick gave Possum and Carson a big bear hug. Just as David, Johnie, and Carson gathered around, they all embraced. It was a huge win that meant a lot for the charter boat. A trophy like that would bring in a ton of new business. Rick told Carson he’d pay to have both fish mounted. Rick called Jules, and she rushed over. When she arrived, everyone was surprised to see Malia. She had landed while they were fishing, and Jules had picked her up from the airport. Possum gave her a big kiss, and they all gathered for photos with the trophies. They celebrated into the early hours at AJ’s. A good time was had by all at the Halloween party at AJ’s. They closed down the bar and all piled into Rick’s Bronco.

Rick was still full of adrenaline, even after his long hot shower. Jules made them both a Sleepytime Tea, and they sat on the balcony as Rick retold the story of catching the big marlin for the fiftieth time. Jules didn’t mind; she was happy that Rick was happy. By three o’clock, Rick was yawning.

“Let’s go to bed, Santiago,” said Jules, referring to the main character in The Old Man and the Sea.

Rick laughed, slipped off his shirt, and climbed into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Rick climbed out of bed and realized how sore his arms were. The long battle with his big marlin had taken a toll on his muscles. Jules was already awake and taking down her Halloween decorations. She had no candy left and had given away three bowls of it to the local kids in the towers. She and Malia had a great time while the boys fished. She was now ready to start preparing for Thanksgiving. When it came to holidays, Jules didn’t cut any corners, and Rick loved that about her.

“Hey Rick, can we visit Apalachicola again soon? I just finished a book by Dawn Lee McKenna called Low Tide, and she uses real people in her books who live there. I wanna visit the coffee shop and meet the pastry chef.”

“Sure. We can go today if you want to.”

“Really?”

“Why not? I feel bad that I missed your trick-or-treating with the kids,” said Rick.

“Don’t worry about it. Chief was in hog heaven. He had enough fun for all of us.”

Rick texted the gang that he and Jules were going to take a road trip. Everyone had plans, so they went alone. They were out the door and on the road by 9:05 a.m.

Chapter

Fifteen

Rick pulled onto Market Street and parked by the Apalachicola Chocolate & Coffee Company. They stepped inside and ordered two coffees and a couple of chocolate cannolis.

“Is Kirk here?” Jules asked the lady behind the counter.

“He’s right there.”

Jules looked over as if she had just spotted a movie star.

“Oh my God. You are in Dawn’s books!” exclaimed Jules.

“Yep. Hi, I’m Kirk Lynch, and that’s my wife, Kat. We sure miss Dawn.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I read that she passed away in 2022. I’ve only read her first book, but I want to read more. Would you mind if I got a picture with you? Oh, this is my husband, Rick Waters.”

Kirk took a photo with Jules. He was a friendly man who shared how he began roasting coffee and making chocolate.

“You should swing by Downtown Books. They have all of Dawn’s books, and they’re a local mom-and-pop store. Tell them I sent you,” said Kirk.

“We will. Thanks for the tip and the great coffee,” said Jules.

“My pleasure. Y’all have a great day.”

Rick and Jules finished their coffee and cannolis and walked down to Downtown Books. On the way, they passed Oyster City Brewing Company.

“We gotta stop by there on the way back.”

“But we don’t drink anymore, Rick.”

“I know, but I read that they serve a non-alcoholic guest beer from somewhere. I haven't had a non-alcoholic draft before.”

“Okay, we can do that. Sounds like fun.”

Rick held the door open for Jules as she walked into the bookstore.

“Hi, where can I find your Dawn Lee McKenna books? Kirk sent me here.”

“He’s such a sweetheart. She has a whole section right over there,” said the nice lady behind the counter.

Jules walked over and then opened her iPhone to search bookbotification.com to find out what order each book was in. They had all of them in stock, and she bought one of each.

“Wow, Dawn would be so thrilled. She came here often, you know, and did book signings. We miss her terribly.”

“I wish I could have met her,” said Jules.

"Well, she will be with you through every word as you read. Thank you for supporting her and us,” said the woman.

She gave Jules a heavy-duty bag, and Rick carried the books back for her.

“Hey baby, grab us a table in the tap room, and I’ll put your books in the Bronco.”

“Will do.”

Rick put the bag of books on the floorboard of the Bronco. On the way back to the taproom, he noticed a sign taped to a telephone pole. It was a missing person sign for a young girl. He snapped a photo of it.

Missing Since Oct 20th

Cindy Richmond

22 years old

Last seen at Oyster City Brewing Company

$80,000 reward for information leading to her return.

She looked like a nice girl. Rick always got a sinking feeling when he saw signs like that. He knew nine times out of ten that the missing person was most likely already dead. It made him sad. Rick found Jules and sat down at the high-top table.

“Rick, I asked the bartender what non-alcoholic beers they have, and he said they have one called Sunshine State Tropical IPA. It’s brewed in Indiana, but it’s become popular down here.”

“You want one?” asked Rick.

“Is a duck quick?!” exclaimed Jules.

“You mean, does a duck quack?”

“Huh?

“Never mind.”

Rick ordered two drafts and bought two keychains.

“Here ya go.”

“Thank you. I needed a keychain,” said Jules as she took a sip of her non-alcoholic beer. “Mmm-mmm, that’s good.”

Rick took a sip and agreed.

“You wanna spend the night?”

“Sure. I can just text Olivia to take Choco out and feed him and Chief. Want me to find a hotel?” asked Jules.

“Sure, look at this first,” said Rick as he showed her the photo of the missing girl poster.

“That’s sad. I hate to see things like that.”

“I know, Jules. It sucks. Do you want to go out to dinner or order a pizza and eat it here? The bartender mentioned that Up To No Good Tavern delivers through Uber Eats.”

“Pizza and beer? You had me at hello.”

Rick shook his head at Jules' use of idioms and laughed. She tried her best but often got them backwards, which made him love her even more. It was cute. Rick ordered a pepperoni and sausage pizza with extra sauce. Jules booked them at Water Street Hotel & Marina. As they finished their pizza, the bartender overheard them talking about the missing girl.

“She worked here,” he said.

“Oh, wow, I didn’t know,” said Rick. “Was she a server?”

“No, she was one of our brewmasters. She learned it from her dad and then went to school for it at USF in St. Pete. She always wanted to be a brewmaster. She was the one who suggested we carry a non-alcoholic draft. It is surprisingly popular. She was working on one for us when she disappeared. We are all devastated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. That’s a pretty large reward for a local girl.”

“Her dad is wealthy. He practically built Apalachicola. We all pray she’ll be found. It’s not looking good. It’s been over two weeks already,” said the bartender.

“Yeah. I’ll send up a little prayer.”

Rick bought a six-pack of the Go Brewing n/a beer they had been drinking and drove down to the hotel and marina. Their room overlooked the water and had a nice balcony. Jules surprised Rick by buying some cookies at the coffee shop when he used the restroom.

“Beer and cookies? You had me at hello,” said Rick.

“Shut up!” said Jules as she playfully slapped him and laughed.

They relaxed on the balcony for a while before heading to bed. Rick put on his headphones and watched a true crime show on his iPad, while Jules started her second Dawn Lee McKenna book. It had been a wonderful day, and they planned to have lunch across the bridge at a place called Lynn’s Quality Oysters. Rick wasn’t too into oysters anymore, but he had read that they served amazing boiled shrimp. He ordered a pound and a half for himself, a pound for Jules, and some fish dip. The shrimp were perfect—spicy and delicious. Afterward, they stepped outside and watched the boats come in. He saw another poster for the missing girl. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was get involved with another case. He was enjoying spending time off with Jules.

“Rick, maybe we should help.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll have Possum search the dark web. I doubt she's still alive, but anything is possible. Let’s head back to Destin for now.”

“Sounds good. I’ll search on the way back and see what I can find out about her.”

Possum, can you check if there’s any chatter online about this missing girl? Her name is Cindy. She's a local from Apalachicola.

Will do. I might have some info about the treasure once you get back. Carson also wants to stay and help search.

Okay, see you in a few hours.

Jules discovered that the missing girl’s father was a developer in Apalachicola who had led many of the town’s major projects. He was like a big fish in a small pond. He once owned a microbrewery in Tampa and sold it for a hefty profit. His daughter grew up there. They moved to Apalachicola after the sale, and he started a construction company. Cindy never lost her passion for breweries and followed her father's early footsteps, Jake Richmond. Jake had bought several acres on the Gulf on St. George Island when land was cheap and sold half for a huge profit. He still owns several acres of prime sand on the island but hasn't developed it. The land borders St. George State Park and remains vacant. It’s worth millions, but he refuses to sell and often camps on it with his daughter in tents. He’s just a good ol’ boy with deep pockets.

“You hungry?” asked Rick.

“Yep, how about I make one of your favorites?”

“Which one is that?” asked Rick with a laugh.

“Bacon-wrapped scallops.”

“Are you serious?” asked Rick as he pulled into the condo.

“Dead serious. They are on sale at Sexton’s. If you hop out and feed Choco and Chief, I can run over in your Bronco and get a few pounds.”

“Oh my God, yes. Let me text Possum quickly and see if he, Carson, and Malia will join us.”

Bacon-wrapped scallops tonight? My place?

100%! I’ll make the salad.

“Okay, he’s in. Big shocker. Maybe get like six pounds. You think?”

“Yep, will do.”

Rick hopped out, and Jules moved into the driver’s seat. She had her own Bronco, but that would save time. Rick stepped into the office, and Olivia was still there with Choco, Chief, and Mattie.

“We’re doing scallops tonight. Wanna join us?”

“Thanks, Rick. I appreciate it, but I am meeting some friends for dinner at Boshamps.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Nah, we’re eating on the outside deck.”

“You have to try their hot oysters with bacon jam. I’m not into the raw ones anymore, but those kick ass.”

“Duly noted. Y’all have fun. I was gonna walk Choco again, but since you’re here, you can take him. He’s getting antsy.”

“You have fun too, Olivia. Thanks for watching my two boys.”

“Anytime, Rick.”

Rick put Chief on his arm and stepped outside with Choco on a leash. He walked around the block and then took them both upstairs. After feeding them, he sat Chief on his perch and set the table for five. Carson knocked on the door just as Rick put the last fork down.

“Come on in, it’s open!” hollered Rick.

Carson came in with a dessert and a huge bowl of salad that Possum had made.

“Hey, Rick. How was Apalachicola?” asked Carson.

“It was a nice getaway. We visited Oyster City Brewing Company, and they had a non-alcoholic beer on draft. I brought some home from the fridge. It tastes good—not as good as the draft at the brewpub, but just as good. Kinda got bummed out a little, though, when we discovered there’s a missing girl who was one of the brewmasters there.”

“Really? Damn. That sucks. How long has she been missing?”

“About three weeks, I believe.”

“That’s not a good sign. I wanna help, but not a lot we can do from over here, and we have this damn Billy Bowlegs thing to figure out too.”

“Send me what you got. I can get some of my boys from the Tallahassee Bureau to look into it for now.”

“That would be great, Carson. Thank you. I’ll forward everything I have after dinner.”

Possum and Malia came in a few minutes later, and Malia was carrying a surprise appetizer.

“Oh, Malia, you don't have to do that,” said Rick.

“Nonsense, we are all ohana now.”

She set the tray down and lifted it up, revealing ahi poké wontons—small cubes of fresh tuna coated in sesame oil and soy sauce on top of tiny square fried wontons. She had thinly sliced avocado wedges on the edge of the wontons, and the tuna was sprinkled with black sesame seeds.

“This pupus looks ono!” said Rick.

“Wow, I’m impressed with your Hawaiian. You’ve been practicing,” said Malia.

“No, really. Besides that and aloha, that’s about all I got,” replied Rick with a laugh.

Jules was on the balcony tending to the bacon-wrapped scallops. She insisted on doing the grilling because it was her idea. Rick usually liked to run the grill, but she was quite good at it as well. About ten minutes after they arrived, she came in with a heaping tray of them.

“Time to eat?” asked Rick.

“Go ahead and start with the appetizers. I’ll put these in the oven to keep warm. I have another tray this big almost ready,” said Jules.

“Holy crap. We are gonna turn into scallops. Not that I’m complaining,” said Rick.

They all sat down, and Rick set aside three of the small pupus Malia made on Jules's plate. Rick said a little prayer, and they dug in. A few minutes later, Jules came inside with the second tray of scallops, added them to the oven, and sat down. Once the appetizers were finished, she put one of the trays in the center of the table.

“Oh my God. I don’t know how you do it, Jules. I can never make these as good as you. I either overcook the scallops or my bacon is still too soft. What’s the trick?” asked Rick.

“No trick. You just have to precook the bacon about three-quarters of the way before you wrap the scallops. Scallops are so tender and can be easily overcooked.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Duh,” replied Rick.

“Where are you gonna hang your mounted wahoo and put your trophy, Carson?” asked Rick.

“Over the mantle in the great room in Virginia. There’s room on the mantle, too, for the trophy. You?”

“I’m planning to have a new billboard built at Destin HarborWalk at our dock and place the marlin above the charter's name. It will boost business. I mean, if you were walking down Destin HarborWalk and saw a charter boat that held the record for the biggest blue marlin, wouldn’t you want to go on that boat instead of one without that award?”

“No question. That’s a great idea,” replied Carson.

After dinner, the boys stepped out onto the balcony to smoke some cigars. Rick grabbed three fine Cubans from his collection and passed them around. The next few hours turned into a southern philosophy gathering, commonly called a redneck bullshit session. Lots of ha-ha, clink-clinks, and tall tales. Eventually, the conversation shifted to the treasure. While Rick and Jules had been on their short little getaway to Apalachicola, Possum dove headfirst into trying to figure out the treasure poem.

“Rick, I did a ton of research into Captain William Augustus Bowles, aka Billy Bowlegs, and I think I have part of the poem figured out. The part that mentions:

In the inlet waves beside the sound

Where Mississippian cries soar beneath the mound

I believe is referring to a sound as in Choctawhatchee Sound, not an audible sound. I mean, if you look at this map, the Indian Mound in Fort Walton is directly across from what locals call the sound. Look at the map,” said Possum.

Possum opened his iPad and showed them a Google Map of downtown Fort Walton. The Indian Mound lined up directly across from the Fort Walton Beach Landing Park, a spot where Rick used to fish on the little pier before he got a sport fisher in Destin Harbor. It was one of his favorite areas to fish for speckled trout. It reminded him of fishing in Sabine Lake back in Texas. It was a very consistent spot for catching your daily bag limit.

“Do you think it's right there?” asked Rick. “I mean, that seems too easy.”

“Well, who would’ve searched there?” asked Possum.

“True, without this knowledge, it’s just another park. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Well, the park is closed now. There’s no better time than the present.”

“Jules, can you come in, honey?” asked Rick.

“Would you be terribly upset if we went over to Fort Walton and did a little metal detecting?”

“You’re gonna owe me, Mister,” said Jules with a smile.

“What are you and Malia gonna do?”

“We were talking about watching that movie, IF, you know, the one about a girl's imaginary friends.”

“That’ll work. I didn’t really wanna see that, so y’all enjoy.”

Rick, Possum, and Carson climbed into Rick’s Bronco and headed over the Destin Bridge toward Fort Walton. Rick parked in the parking lot of The Boardroom Pub and Grub, which was still open until 10:00 p.m. There were always cars left there overnight by people who took Ubers home after having a few too many drinks to avoid getting a DUI. There wasn’t a fear of getting towed there. With all the gear in a big black duffel bag, they crossed the street and entered the park. The air was still, and music from downtown could be heard over the crickets in the park and traffic on Highway 98.

“Let’s do a generic sweep first by the edge of the water and see if we get any hits. Then we can divide it up into thirds and focus on tighter areas,” said Rick.

The park closed at 6:00 p.m., and Rick knew they weren’t supposed to be in there after dark. The only people who entered the park during those hours were either going there to use drugs or hook up. Since they weren’t doing either thing, he wasn’t too worried if a deputy sheriff cruised by. He would probably give them a warning and send them on their way. He had personally stayed past dark when the fish were biting and had never been bothered. Still, he could keep his eyes open for any popos.

“I got something,” said Carson. “Never mind, it’s a fishing weight.”

“You’re gonna find a lot of those here. Keep them. You can never have enough sinkers,” said Rick.

Rick and Possum both found their fair share of fishing weights, beer can tabs, and other small metal items. After Rick had covered most of the dry area, he took off his shoes and examined the area near the little cement seawall. He kept getting a lot of hits on the rebar inside the concrete, which was frustrating. By 2:00 a.m., they gave up.

“Back to the drawing board?” asked Rick.

“No, I’ll need to research more. I have to find some old maps. If you look at old maps of the Mississippi River, you can see that its route has changed many times over the years. Maybe the same is true for Choctawhatchee Bay, at least the sound area, which is now part of the intercoastal waterway,” said Possum.

“What if it was buried on land, but after the Corps of Engineers dredged it, it’s now underwater? That’s a possibility, right?” asked Rick.

“Anything’s possible. We need sonar. That would make it so much easier, but Clay is in Europe getting rated for Gary’s 737, so we have no helicopter pilot.”

“What about the new catamaran? It has sonar and a super shallow draft. I bet we could bring it over and scan almost all the way to the shore with it,” said Rick.

“I keep forgetting you have that. Let’s go check it out in the morning,” said Possum.

“I need my beauty sleep. I’ll meet you there around 10:00 a.m. Feel free to go on board and scope out the system, Mr. Early Bird,” said Rick as he handed Possum a copy of the new boat keys.

Chapter

Sixteen

Possum and Carson boarded Jules Down Under a little after seven o’clock. Charter boats were already heading out of Destin Harbor. Possum had picked up a half dozen chocolate angels and coffee from the Donut Hole. When he checked the pantry, he was pleasantly surprised to see a new box of Community Coffee Keurig pods and a new Keurig in the galley. The boat was also equipped with a Nespresso machine and a mixed pack of Italian best-seller pods. When Nate ordered the catamaran, he hadn’t cut any corners. The master suite had a full stand-up shower with dual heads and a rain shower head above. It was loaded with every conceivable treasure-finding device, including side-scanning sonar and oversized sand blowers on the stern. With the Spectra Water Maker and full solar panels covering the roof, the boat could self-sustain for many days. When Possum looked at the engine room, he was astonished to discover that the boat was a hybrid. It had dual Evoy electric motors and a high-efficiency diesel generator that could run on flex fuel.

“This thing could run for months with no fuel. Did you see that it has three Tesla Powerwalls?”

“Are you shitting me?” asked Carson.

“No, look inside the master walk-in closet back wall.”

The boat was as high-tech as they come. Every time Possum thought he’d seen it all, he’d come across some new toy.

“Rick’s gonna hate it. He loves huge diesel engines. This boat is too woke for him.”

“Yeah, he might hate it at first, but when he finds out he doesn’t have to pay much for fuel, I bet he falls in love with it,” added Carson.

“What kind of range does it have?” asked Carson.

“That depends on the sun. Those HJT solar panels produce over 800 watts each. There are ten of them up there. That’s over 8,000 watts or almost 70 amps. This boat is as close to perpetual motion as they come!” exclaimed Possum. “With those Tesla Powerwalls, you're talking power for days, even months.”

“Damn, that’s impressive.”

Rick strolled in a little after ten with his big Buc-ee’s travel mug in hand.

“Are you trying to kill me?” asked Rick when he spotted the Donut Hole box on the dinette. “There better not be chocolate angels in that box.”

“Oops,” said Possum with a grin.

“Damn you. Okay, give me one. I can fast tomorrow. I need a non-fast day. Don’t tell Jules.”

Possum pretended to lock his mouth and throw away the key.

“Rick, were you aware this boat is a hybrid?” asked Possum.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Did you come on board already?”

“Yeah, but just for a few minutes before Jules and I left to go to Apalachicola. I just peeked around.”

“Check out the back wall in the master bedroom closet.”

Rick walked aboard and let out a sound similar to a grizzly bear growl.

“What the fuck?! Why?” he asked.

Possum showed him the engine room, and Rick was beside himself.

“Where are the diesels? I need power.”

“No, Rick, before you go all Alex Epstein on me, let me explain why it’s a good thing.”

“Alex who?” asked Rick.

“Okay, that example was a bit of a stretch. Alex Epstein is an energy theorist who wrote a book titled Fossil Future. He argues that mankind should embrace, even expand, the use of fossil fuels. He made a strong case for it. Anyway, those four electric engines produce 400 hp each, and 96% of it is free.”

“Free?” asked Rick.

“Yeah, the boat is equipped with 8,000 watts of solar panels. Since this boat is aluminum, it will virtually fly across the water with 1,600 horsepower of God’s silent torque.”

“Okay, Possum. You had me at free,” said Rick. “Let’s light the fires and kick the tires.”

Possum and Carson untied the boat from the dock, and Rick figured out how to put the boat into gear. He wasn't used to a boat being silent when he pushed the throttles forward. It was a strange feeling. He had always admired Elon Musk and was excited to have the Powerwalls on the boat, but he wasn't very happy about not hearing the purr of diesel engines. He’d get used to it. He wished Jules were there on the shakedown cruise, but he knew she’d join him many times in the future on board. She had taken Malia to Silver Sands Outlets to help her pick out some casual, non-Hawaiian outfits for Destin.

“Let’s see what she will do,” said Rick.

He motored under the Destin Bridge and past Crab Island. Once he got into the channel on Choctawhatchee Bay, he turned west toward Fort Walton and slowly pushed the throttles forward. The catamaran didn’t lurch but lightly lifted at the bow, then settled down and began to glide over the water. Before Rick knew it, they were doing twenty-seven knots, and he had a lot of headroom left. He pushed them even farther forward, and the boat reached thirty-six knots, and there was still room to go. He pushed the throttle all the way forward, and the boat topped out at forty-seven knots, or fifty-four miles per hour. That was incredibly fast for a boat that size.

“Holy shit, Rick! It has hydrofoils at the base of the hulls!” yelled Possum as he leaned over the starboard bow, looking at the waterline.

“Okay, silent or not, it’s official. I love this boat,” proclaimed Rick.

Possum nodded and winked at Carson.

“Told you.”

Rick pulled the throttles back to a more relaxed speed and set a course for Destin Sound.

“We may as well use her for what she was built for,” said Rick.

Possum, Carson, and Rick stood on the flybridge, admiring the helm. The cockpit looked more like something from a 747 than a boat. Besides the standard throttles, it had a NavPilot joystick with a feature that allows the boat to hold its position indefinitely, even in strong currents. That would be extremely useful if they wanted to dive a spot, do a hot drop, and then drop anchor.

Rick aligned the boat’s position with the park and Indian Mound onshore, then turned on the side-scanning sonar.

“Nothing?!” asked Rick.

“What’s that?” asked Possum as he pointed at the screen.

“Looks like an old mast from a sailboat. Definitely not treasure. Damn. I was certain we’d get a hit here,” said Rick.

The motorboat cruised back and forth in the sound for two hours, running the side-scanning sonar to no avail.

“Well, at least we got to try the boat out,” said Carson.

Rick was beyond frustrated. In his mind, he hadn’t truly solved the case he had been working on for Jeremy, even though it was now a cold case and only partially solved. Now he was beginning to think he might never find the treasure. It was hard for Rick to let things go. He liked to finish what he started. He was in love with the boat, so that was a nice bonus, but the case still lingered in his mind like a bad hangover. Rick texted Johnie to see how his latest charter was going.

Hey Johnie, how’s the charter?

Good. We are on the second drop. Got a sailfish and two nice tunas. David’s here too.

Cool. We are on Jules Down Under. See y’all back in the harbor later. You gotta see this boat.

Rick spun the catamaran around and headed back under the Brooks Bridge. He had fond memories of the banks beneath the bridge. His dad had visited him a few years ago, and Rick took him crabbing under the bridge. Larry loved crabbing but was also terrified of sharks. To mess with him, Rick yelled "shark," and Larry walked on water to get back to the bank, even though he was only standing in ankle-deep water. Rick did it a dozen times that day, and every time, Larry walked on water. He missed his late father, but the memories of him taking Rick fishing and crabbing as a young boy and even into adulthood stuck with him. Jules never got to meet him before he was confined to a wheelchair after an accident at a chiropractor’s office, and that saddened Rick. Both his mother and father were gone now. Jules would’ve loved to see how excited he got when he was crabbing. He loved to catch crabs. It was an art he had passed down to Rick. Rick’s dad died on October 4th, 2022, and in his honor, since it was October, he decided when he got back, he’d take Jules crabbing under the Brooks Bridge.

“Please, throw out the port fenders,” said Rick to Carson.

When they arrived back at Destin HarborWalk, Jules and Malia were still shopping, and Johnie and David were still out on a charter, so Rick treated Possum and Carson to lunch at Harry T’s. They all ordered blackened fish sandwiches. Carson and Possum both had an East Pass Hazy IPA draft, a local brew made by Destin Brewery. It was citrusy with hints of Mosaic and Citra hops. Rick just drank ice water. He was feeling a little dehydrated.

Johnie texted Rick that they were back just as he paid the bill, and Rick replied.

Meet me at Jules Down Under.

They all leisurely headed back to the boat. Rick gave David and Johnie a grand tour of the new treasure-finding catamaran. They were highly impressed, and Rick discovered that David had also studied electrical engineering in college before dropping out and becoming a diesel mechanic. He had a good understanding of battery life and its potential. Rick was so pleased that he had taken a chance on David. He was quickly proving to be a great employee and a valuable asset to the company.

“Rick, I can create a spreadsheet of the battery's current status and develop the perfect charging schedule to maximize their lifespan," said David.

“Aren’t those Tesla Powerwalls the most advanced battery storage systems on the planet?” asked Rick.

“Yeah, but those are the house batteries. I’m talking about the entire bank of batteries at the bottom of each hull. The boat has Lynac lithium batteries. They are half the weight of conventional batteries, charge twice as fast, and can last up to ten times longer if managed properly,” said David.

“No kidding? I had no idea. I thought the Tesla Powerwalls powered the entire boat,” said Rick.

“Plus, we can download an app from Lynac that monitors the batteries and will alert us if there’s an issue with a cell or a bad connection, etc. Nate went all out on this boat. It’s a hybrid dream,” added David.

“Damn, I see I made the right choice in hiring you, David. Since you are now helping maintain three boats instead of two, I think you deserve a raise—a 33% raise. Don’t you agree, Possum?” asked Rick.

“Wow, Rick. I’m honored. Thank you for taking a chance on me. The future looks bright,” said David.

Rick shot David a smile and continued the tour. Afterward, Johnie and David stayed behind to learn all the systems on the new boat, and Rick took Carson and Possum back to the condo. Rick went back to his condo to see what Jules was up to.

“Hey, baby, how was the shopping spree with Malia?”

“It was fun. Her old boss gave her a gift card worth $3,000. That’s a cool boss!” exclaimed Jules.

“No kidding. I’ve gotta tell you all the cool things I discovered about the new boat.”

Rick did his best to explain to Jules how the boat systems worked while Possum studied the new historical maps of downtown Fort Walton he had ordered. He had reprinted them on inkjet transparency paper and ordered an Apollo overhead projector so that he could project them over a current map on the wall. When he did, he was astonished. The Destin Sound, as it was known to locals, used to run on the north side of the Indian Mound. The area described in the treasure poem could very well be sitting directly under the parking lot of a dentist's office on the corner of First Street and Eglin Parkway. He immediately texted Rick.

Can you come over, ASAP?

Rick didn’t reply, but a couple of minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Malia answered the door and let Rick in.

“Couldn’t get enough of me, huh, Possum?”

“Ha-ha, come check this out.”

Rick sat down, and Possum walked up to the projection on the wall and used his hand to make a circle around the parking lot.

“I think it’s in this area; I have a gut feeling. It makes sense. Do you see where the old bank of the sound used to lie? On September 9th, 1882, a hurricane—before they were named—passed through with winds over 125 mph, and a strong storm surge came ashore. It changed the course of the river, which is now known as Destin Sound.”

“How are we gonna get permission to dig up a dentist’s parking lot?” asked Rick.

“We can do one of two things. We could start a construction company and offer to repave his lot for free as a courtesy to build brand awareness, or you could get a toothache. Get to know him, feel him out, and see if he has any interest in splitting the booty. We need to go here and search first to see if we are on the right track,” said Possum.

“Okay, let me see when they close,” said Rick as he pulled up the business on his phone. “They close at 5:00 p.m. Let’s head that way shortly after. We have to make sure, so if we get a solid hit, we should go over the area with the portable ground-penetrating radar. You know, the one Gary ordered that looks like a yellow lawn mower? It’s in the company storage unit. I’ll get it and put it in the Bronco. Let’s meet downstairs at 5:30 p.m.”

Rick went straight downstairs and texted Jules what he was up to. She asked him if he could be back for dinner by eight o’clock. It was wing night.

I’ll be back, baby!

When Rick opened the storage unit, he was shocked at how many new toys Gary had ordered. Beside the portable Leica GPR, there was a new collection of sand scoops, some trolling rods, and most shockingly, exactly what they would need: a trailer with a Bobcat strapped to it. He called Gary’s sat phone, and he picked up immediately.

“Hey man, when are y’all coming back?”

“We got bogged down here. Won’t be back for a week now. Sucks.”

“When did you buy that backhoe?”

“After you told me you were digging in Vortex Springs and the treasure might be deeper than you thought, I figured we’d need one. I hate renting. I was gonna surprise you. I assume you went to the storage unit?” asked Gary.

“Yeah. I’m looking at it now. How did you get the manager to load this into the unit without you here?” asked Rick.

“Well, don’t laugh, but you know I hate renting, so I bought the entire storage facility, and he now works for me.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“Nope, storage unit facilities are incredibly profitable. I’m gonna build a new one in Crestview soon.”

“Damn, Gary, you have so many irons in the fire, it makes my brain hurt.”

“True, but most are self-reliant. I just collect the checks.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to keep paying rent for this unit?”

“Unfortunately, no. It’s more tax-efficient when one LLC pays another. It will actually save us money, though,” said Gary.

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it, Rockefeller.”

Rick loaded the GPR into the Bronco and headed back to The Palms to pick up Possum and Carson.

“Y’all ready to find some treasure?”

“Hell yeah!” exclaimed Carson.

“You're not gonna believe this shit. When I arrived at the storage unit, I discovered Gary had ordered a Bobcat on a trailer.”

“Sweet,” said Possum.

“That’s not all. He bought the entire fucking storage facility. He said he was tired of paying rent.”

“And you’re surprised why? You know he hates renting.”

“I guess you’re right. Still caught me off guard,” said Rick.

They pulled into the parking lot, which was empty. Rick parked behind the building, and they divided the lot evenly before starting to metal detect. They all picked up many hits, most likely from rebar beneath the concrete, as Possum suggested. They kept scanning but didn't get any pings on the detectors. There was a small patch of woods beside the parking lot of Destin’s office and Heritage Park and Cultural Center. Rick scanned the area and got a huge hit. He ran back to the Bronco and wheeled out the GPR. Anyone passing by would assume he was moving the grass. He thought that was quite humorous. As they looked at the screen, they saw something rectangular buried about six to eight feet down. The area he was scanning was big enough to put a small business on but wasn’t listed for sale. Possum dropped a pin on his GPS, and they headed back to the condos to try to figure out who owned the property. It turned out to be an easement owned by the city of Fort Walton. It was time to call Gary.

“Hey Gary. Rick again. Wanna start a museum?”

“Huh?”

“I believe we found the treasure, but it's buried beneath some dirt on an easement owned by the city of Fort Walton. Since it’s so close to the Indian Mound and near the cultural center, it's an ideal spot to open a Billy Bowlegs Museum. If we can persuade the right people downtown and propose building a museum on the site to display the treasure, I think they'll sell it. We need to retrieve it first, and we can ask for forgiveness later. We don't have to tell them where we found the treasure, only that we did and want to give back to the community. We don’t need the money, and the historical significance far outweighs the monetary value. What do you think?”

“I love it. Find out who we need to pay, and I will cover the cost. How big is the property?”

“According to the records online, it’s a triangular piece that’s roughly a half an acre. Why?”

“Well, I was thinking we could create a museum for all of our finds, not just Billy Bowlegs. We could display everything we discover from across Florida and include rotating exhibits occasionally. A genuine Florida treasure finders' museum,” said Gary.

“That’s a killer idea. Y’all be safe, and we will be in touch once we grease the right monkey. Start thinking of a name. We’ll brainstorm too.”

Rick ended the call and felt good about the idea Gary had. Both Possum and Carson agreed.

Chapter

Seventeen

Rick put on his work clothes and met Carson and Possum in the parking lot. Possum handed them all hard hats and orange work vests. He created a fake work order to repair buried cable underground in case a cop or deputy sheriff stopped by. Rick had already hooked up the trailer with the Bobcat to the back of the Bronco. Possum placed some battery-operated LED work lights with stands on the trailer and secured them with tie-downs. Instead of trying to be stealthy, they would hide in plain sight. Underground cable or fiber optics work often happens at any hour of the night because of how important it is for communications, so Possum was convinced no one would hassle them. He would be prepared if they did.

Rick unloaded the Bobcat while Possum set up the work lights. It all looked super official.

“I’ll run the backhoe; y’all keep me digging in the right spot. When I get close, stop me. I don’t wanna damage the chest if that’s what it is,” said Rick.

Possum aimed the lights at the center of the spot marked on the GPR screen. Rick began scooping dirt and moving it aside. The little Bobcat did a great job and moved twenty times more dirt than three men with shovels could have managed. Occasionally, Possum would jump down into the hole to use his metal detector and pinpointer to check the depth, then signal Rick to proceed. The deeper he dug, the more often he checked. When Rick was less than two feet from the loot, he waved him off, and then they all climbed into the hole with shovels. They started digging around the outside first so the shovels wouldn’t leave marks. Once they were a few inches away, they switched to trowels. After three hours, Possum was able to widen the dirt away from the side of it and see it was an old wooden chest with iron bracing—the same style chests that were used to bury treasure in the 1600s and 1700s. Rick and Carson dug underneath the chest, and Possum forced straps under it. Once they were secured and balanced, Rick climbed up and used the Bobcat to pull the chest out of the hole. They quickly loaded it in the Bronco, covered it with a moving blanket, and Rick began to fill the hole.

“Possum, can you and Carson start collecting pine needles? You can use those two rakes and extra-large construction bags in the back of the Bronco.”

“Okay, we're on it.”

Possum and Carson moved to a denser wooded area filled with pine trees and began filling bags with needles. Possum understood Rick's plan but wished they had bought several bags of pine needles earlier from Home Depot. Raking was for the dogs. Rick filled the hole completely and used the backhoe's bucket to smooth out the dirt. Once it was as smooth as he could get it with the backhoe, he loaded it back up in the trailer, and they flattened out the earth with shovels, then covered the entire area with pine needles and a few broken tree limbs. If you were to walk by, you’d never notice the area had recently been disturbed. They threw the rest of the gear in the Bronco and on the trailer and took off.

It was 2:34 a.m. when Rick dropped off the trailer and rolled it back into the storage unit. He grabbed a portable hand truck and put it in the Bronco, then they headed to the office at Destin Palms. Possum opened up a folding table and placed the moving blanket over it. Rick and Carson hoisted the chest onto the table.

“It’s the moment of truth, boys.” Rick quickly unlocked the first lock, then moved to the second and knocked out the third one.

“Here goes nothing,” said Rick.

He slowly lifted the lid of the chest, revealing a pile of gold, silver, coins, rubies, and emeralds. Inside was a raccoon skin cap adorned with jewels and aigrette feathers. Rick quickly pulled up a photo of a painting created by Thomas Hardy in 1790. The painting showed the exact same headdress as the one in the chest.

“Ladies and gentlemen, or just gentlemen, I should say, I present William Augustus Bowles, aka Billy Bowlegs. We did it, boys, and this really proves it!” exclaimed Rick.

Rick and Possum began the tedious task of sorting and logging everything inside the chest. They were very careful when moving the headdress. Possum immediately placed it inside an empty humidor he had. The feathers were surprisingly still intact, and the raccoon's fur was not falling out. It was impressive how well-sealed such an old wooden chest was back in the day. They had used beeswax to seal around the openings and corner braces. After an hour of sorting, Rick called it a night. They could finish in the morning. He locked his office and set the alarm. They planned to meet back around 10:00 a.m. so they could get at least a few hours of shuteye. Rick took one of the coins with him to show Jules. Possum took one for Malia as well. Carson kept one for memories. They all agreed to keep only three coins and put the rest of the treasure in the new museum once it was built.

When Rick pulled the comforter down on his side of the bed, Jules rolled over.

“Any luck?” she asked in the middle of a yawn.

“What’s that behind your ear?” asked Rick as he palmed the gold coin and pretended to pull it out of her ear.

Her eyes popped open.

“¡Ay, Dios mío! You found it!”

“We did. Wait till you see it. It’s amazing, Jules. Gary's planning to buy oil, mineral, and treasure rights to the lot before we announce the find, then build a museum right on that spot.”

“That’s such a great idea. I bet you’re happy,” said Jules.

“Stoked. We’ve found a lot of treasure over the years, but this one is special because it’s local and we can display it for all locals and tourists. It’s gonna be a big hit. I hope I can sleep. I’m still so damn amped up.”

Jules wrapped her legs and arms around Rick, and he buried his head in the pillow. He fell asleep faster than he thought he would, but before he knew it, Jules was up making coffee. He checked his watch, and it was 8:47 a.m. He had gotten close to six hours of sleep, which was plenty. After enjoying a few cups of coffee and catching up on the local news, they got dressed and headed down to the office together.

“Good morning, Olivia. I assume you peeked through the window of my office?” asked Rick.

“I did. Congratulations, Rick! I can't wait to see it up close.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” replied Rick as he unlocked his office door.

They all walked inside. Rick opened the chest, revealing heaps of gold and silver coins, rubies, emeralds, and other gold trinkets inside. He showed them the headdress in the humidor and then the photo of the painting online. It was undeniable. Rick explained their museum idea to Olivia while he waited for Carson and Possum to arrive to continue cataloging all the loot.

“Morning, Possum. Hey Carson. Y’all sleep well?” asked Rick.

“Some,” said Possum, as Carson nodded in agreement.

“Well, let’s get to it. It ain’t gonna log itself,” said Rick.

It took them nearly four hours to complete cataloging the find and input it into an Excel document. Once they were finished, Rick took a nice photo of the treasure and texted it to Gary. Possum and Carson then went to his condo to conduct further research on the lot in Fort Walton and figure out how to make an offer. Rick took Jules and Olivia to lunch at The Back Porch. They sat on the rear deck overlooking the beach. Rick had a blackened fish sandwich while Jules and Olivia had soup and seafood salad.

“Now what?” asked Rick.

“I think we should chill out and enjoy the rest of the fall. No new cases,” said Jules.

“You’re probably right. We have plenty of charters, and I can join a few if I get bored. Plus, there are still many systems to learn on the new catamaran. Maybe we could take a little trip on her too. You know what we should do?” asked Rick.

“What?”

“We take the new catamaran down to Port St. Joe and possibly out to the sound in Apalachicola to go scalloping. This is the last season for scallops, but the crowds are smaller, and the scallops are bigger.”

Jules gave Rick a look. She knew scalloping was just a ruse for what he really wanted to do. She'd help find the missing girl in Apalachicola and had no problem with that.

“Who wants a Busch Light?” asked Gary as he and Kelly walked up, surprising them all.

“Hey, Gary. You’re back. When did y’all land?”

“About an hour ago in VPS. Possum showed me the treasure and told me y’all were here.”

Rick pulled together another table, and Gary and Kelly sat down. They had already eaten on the plane, so they ordered a couple of drinks. After lunch, they all met at Rick’s condo and discussed the purchase of the lot in Fort Walton. Gary was confident he could negotiate a deal with the city in exchange for some favors and a community museum. Johnie showed up with David, and Rick showed them the treasure, giving each a gold coin. Everyone received something. Jules took a ruby and planned to have earrings made from it. Malia and Kelly each took a coin, and Olivia took an emerald. Possum logged all the items into the Excel file and updated it.

“Rick, we have a sunset charter on Nine-Tenths. Do you wanna join us?” asked Johnie.

“Maybe tomorrow. I want to learn a few of the systems on the catamaran. Will you be available to go over things on the new boat, David?”

“Yeah, I’m done for the day as far as maintenance goes. I can give you a hand.”

Everyone left, and Rick and Jules took Choco and Chief for a quick walk around the block. Jules wanted to hang out and catch up with Kelly. Gary told Rick he’d swing by the new boat after running some errands.

“Where do we begin?” asked Rick.

“Let’s start with the navigation. The boat has a Furuno system connected to the NavPilot. It includes multiple multiscreen displays, all of which are touchscreens. So, the GPS, NavPilot, and radar are all connected. It’s seamless,” said David.

They spent hours going over the systems, and when Gary arrived, his jaw hit the floor as he stepped inside the catamaran.

“Holy crap. What a machine!” exclaimed Gary.

“I’ll be right back. I gotta grab some gloves from the work truck,” said David.

Rick gave Gary the grand tour, and he was impressed.

“What’s the status of the Nate case?” asked Gary.

“That’s a sore subject. It’s pretty much gone cold. I’m sure Lisa and Fred were involved in Nate’s murder. They’re both dead now, as you know, so someone else is involved. It’s a dead end. Carson did find male DNA on the bottle of nicotine Johnie found that was used to poison Fred, but it didn’t match anything in CODIS, and there were no familiar markings, so Jeremy has been cleared. It could literally be anyone: a hitman, a friend of Lisa’s, who the hell knows,” said Rick.

David returned with a new box of latex work gloves so he could show Rick the bilge system without getting his hands covered in crap.

“I’m sorry about Lisa, David. Rick told me y’all were friends,” said Gary.

“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. More like junky buddies. When I was using, we depended on each other. To be honest, her negativity annoyed me. She hated her brother, Jeremy. She was always bitching and moaning about how he was her dad's favorite and that it was bullshit that he got all the praise and glory—especially since he was adopted. Her dad was always singing his praises, especially because of his military background. He would tell her how special Jeremy was and how proud he was that his only son was a vet. Hell, all he got up to was an E4 as an EOD. She was jealous of him, I guess. I just got tired of hearing it,” said David.

Rick stopped in his tracks.

“What did you just say?”

“I got tired of hearing it?” asked David.

“No, before that. You said Jeremy was adopted? How come I wasn’t aware of that?” asked Rick.

“Lisa said her dad went to great lengths to keep that private. He adopted Jeremy as an infant and raised him as his own. He even threatened Lisa that he would cut off her allowance and trust if she made that public. She told me because we were together all the time and knew I didn't give a shit. Why?”

“He was an explosives tech in the Army as well? I gotta go. David, we’ll finish this boat learning curve another day.”

Rick bolted out of the catamaran and raced to his condo. He knocked on Possum’s door aggressively until he answered.

“Where’s Carson?” asked Rick.

“He’s in his room. Hey, Carson, Rick’s here,” yelled Possum. “What’s going on, Rick?”

“I think I may have solved the case. I have a gut feeling.”

Carson came out of his bedroom.

“Hey, Rick. What’s up?”

“Do you have access to a portable DNA testing machine? Or can you assemble a team quickly in Odessa?”

“There’s a machine called a NANOPORE PromethION PLATFORM that can perform real-time DNA sequencing. If you have a DNA sample, it can quickly match it or rule it out against known DNA samples. We can pick one up in Dallas at the lab. Better yet, I’ll have the tech meet you in Odessa. What’s your theory?” asked Carson.

“I think Jeremy is behind it all. Possum, do you have a way to match a whisper to a known voice recording? It just hit me. Remember that whisper you picked up that I thought was Lisa, but it wasn’t? I think it was Jeremy.”

“We can use Resemble.ai to match it. It’s a voice generator and deep fake detector. We need a sample of Jeremy’s voice,” said Possum.

“I have a voicemail from him. I’ll forward it to your MacBook.”

Possum uploaded the whisper and the voicemail to the website. After a few seconds, it came back as a match.

“Son of a bitch! I knew it. Jeremy was adopted. I’ll bet every last penny I have that the DNA on that nicotine bottle matches Jeremy’s. I bet we can even find some on the explosive wires or whatever’s left on the boat Lisa died on. Carson, can you come to Dallas with me and then to Odessa to test some DNA?”

“When?”

“Now. There’s a 5:15 p.m. nonstop on Southwest if we head out now.”

“Okay, I’ll call the Dallas lab and get the ball rolling.”

Rick ran up to update Jules on what he had discovered. She decided to stay back and hang out with Kelly. Rick told her he had it all taken care of and would be back in a couple of days. He packed a carry-on bag with a few days’ worth of clothes and his toiletries. He put both his pistols in the hard case and would check them at the airport. Carson would have to check his gun too.

“You ready?” asked Rick.

“Yep,” said Carson as he climbed into Rick’s Bronco.

“I need a cover story to meet with Jeremy. He told me I could come hunting anytime. I can text him from the plane,” said Rick.

“I know. Tell him he needs to sign some papers from the FBI releasing ownership of the Bates’ boat that exploded. I have my badge with me, and I can tell him we need it for insurance purposes once the boat is out of FBI custody,” added Carson.

“Perfect! That will not arouse suspicion. We need to get a DNA sample from him without him knowing. He has access to so much money that if he figures out we're onto him, he could run. With his money, he could start a new life somewhere like Uruguay or another country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US. I have an idea.”

Rick texted Jeremy right after they took their seats on the Southwest flight.

Jeremy, I need you to sign some papers for Nate’s old boat after it’s released, and I want to go hunting. Can we crash in the barndominium?

A few minutes went by, and Rick’s phone whistled.

You don’t even have to ask. Send me your arrival info and I’ll send Jamey with the limo. You da man! Chat soon. Taking off now. Flight WN2249 arriving 10:52 p.m. We can do an afternoon hunt tomorrow if you’re up to it?

I’ll let you know if I can make it. Have a safe flight.

Rick turned off his phone and kicked back as the flight taxied down the tarmac.

“You think he bought it?” asked Carson.

“I think so. I said we, so he probably thinks Possum’s with me. I’ll introduce you tomorrow. If we can get an early hunt in tomorrow afternoon, I know he’ll want to come by and prepare some wild game hearts for us. He was bummed that he wasn’t able to do it last time and I used his special sauce. He’ll want to show off this time. We just need to get a fork, an empty wine glass, or something with his DNA on it without him noticing.”

The flight to Dallas was on time, and they changed planes for Odessa. When they reached the gate, two special agents met them with a portable DNA test machine. It was a straightforward process. All Carson needed was a swab or some sort of sample from Jeremy, and then they could compare it to the DNA results he had obtained in Virginia. The unit was inside a hard-shell carry-on bag, and Carson took possession of it, thanked the special agents, and he and Rick boarded the connecting flight.

Jamey was waiting in baggage claim when Rick and Carson came down the escalator.

“Hey Jamey, thanks for coming. This is Carson. We have to sign for our pistols from Southwest Luggage Service.”

“You could’ve just borrowed any you want from the barndominium.”

“I know, but I love my personal guns. So does Carson.”

“I get that,” replied Jamey.

“Carson’s gonna be accompanying me on the hunt tomorrow.”

They shook hands and chatted while Rick collected his flight case with his guns.

“Ready?” asked Jamey.

“Yep, let’s roll,” replied Rick.

Jamey dropped them off at the barndominium, like last time. Jamey gave Rick the keys to the Ford F-150 Raptor if he needed them.

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need a ride instead.”

“Thanks, Jamey. We’ll manage.”

Rick showed Carson around the amazing barndominium and let him pick a room. Rick took him into the gun room, and they selected rifles. It was late, and they were tired, so they decided to go to bed early and set their alarms for a morning hunt as well as the scheduled afternoon hunt. Rick’s alarm was the last thing he wanted to hear at 5:00 a.m., but he knew it would be worth it. They decided to take the Can-Am and ride together instead of four-wheelers so they could bring back the deer or elk carcasses more easily.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, herds of deer, elk, and other wild game crossed the sandy landscape on a mission. Rick decided to try his luck with a bow this time. He had been practicing back home and thought it would be better if he took the first deer with an arrow so Carson could take his shot. As a big buck approached straight on, Rick lined up his Diamond Archery Pro MAX Compound Bow. He had ordered it from Canada and was in love with it. He pulled back the arrow, lined up his shot, held his breath as he wrapped his finger over the Carter release trigger, and squeezed. The arrow silently rocketed out from the bow and hit the deer mid-chest. It fell to its knees instantly and then onto its side.

Carson took his cue and fired at a nice elk, dropping it where it stood.

“Hell of a shot, Carson!” yelled Rick from his stand.

They both climbed down and field-dressed their kills. Rick hiked back to where he had parked the Can-Am side by side, loaded Carson's elk first, then the whitetail, and they headed back to the barndominium. Once both animals were in the walk-in cooler, Rick texted Jeremy to tell him he'd gotten two. He texted back saying he wouldn’t be able to join them on the afternoon hunt because of a business meeting but told Rick to marinate all the hearts they had, and he would join them for dinner. Rick liked Jeremy and was hoping he was wrong, but all signs indicated he was responsible for Lisa and Fred's murders and most likely killed Nate. There still didn’t seem to be a solid motive, but if Jeremy’s DNA matched, he’d have enough to issue an arrest warrant. He hoped he’d find out the ‘why’ later.

Chapter

Eighteen

“You gotta tell me what’s in that marinade,” said Rick as Jeremy lathered up all the hearts with his special sauce using a BBQ paintbrush.

“I wish I could tell you. Old family secret.”

“Alright. Hey, I’ll go grab a bottle of wine for you two. I have a bottle of Zeronimo Leonis Blend for myself,” said Rick.

Jeremy pan-fried the hearts on the stove, then placed them on the grill at low heat to tenderize them. Rick poured Jeremy a glass of wine, and after he took a few sips, Rick swapped the glass for another one when he wasn't looking and put it in an evidence bag. He would be able to get fingerprints and DNA from it. The best DNA would come from the cigar once Jeremy finished it. After dinner, they moved to the deck to smoke their stogies.

“Why didn’t y’all go on the afternoon hunt?” asked Jeremy.

“We got two this morning, and I really don’t need any more venison. I mainly wanted to try out my new compound bow.”

“Oh, you used a bow?” asked Jeremy.

“Yeah, let me show you.”

Rick ran and grabbed his new bow, proudly showing it off to Jeremy. Hanging out with Jeremy was difficult, knowing that Rick was likely to have him arrested the following day. As soon as they finished the cigars, Rick watched Jeremy extinguish his and place it in the ashtray.

“Well, boys, I have a big day tomorrow. I have more meetings. When are you leaving, Rick?”

“Not sure. We can hang out for a few days. Are you sure it’s okay to stay here?”

“Fuck yeah. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Thanks, Jeremy. We’ll holler at you tomorrow.”

The moment Jeremy left, Rick grabbed the cigar and brought it over to Carson. Carson had set up the DNA sequencing machine in his bedroom in case Jeremy or someone else showed up unexpectedly. Rick cut a small piece of the cigar that was wet from being in Jeremy’s mouth, and Carson put the sample in the machine. Within twenty minutes, it had a DNA sequence. He emailed it to the lab in Virginia, and they waited for the answer. It wouldn’t take long. After an hour, Carson’s phone rang, and he put it on speaker.

“Hi, Carson, this is Jeff from the lab. I have the results.”

“Thanks for getting back so quickly, Jeff. Is it a match?”

“Yes…and no.”

“What? I don’t get it,” replied Carson.

“It’s not close enough of a match to work in court. It’s definitely familial—a close relative, like a brother or sister. The autosomal DNA is roughly 50%, so like a brother or even a half-brother.”

“Okay, thanks, Jeff. I’ll be in touch,” said Carson. “Rick, you could ask the DA to go for it. With the audio evidence you have and the familial DNA match, maybe we can get an arrest.”

“No way. I’m not gonna have a man arrested unless I’m absolutely sure. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m just gonna confront Jeremy tomorrow. There’s something he’s not telling us,” said Rick.

Rick was relieved that it might not be Jeremy. Carson wanted a better test. He thought since it was a portable DNA tester, maybe if they ran it through a major lab, they’d be able to verify it one way or the other.

“I’m gonna take the specimen to the Dallas lab,” said Carson as he looked at his watch. “It’s a five-hour drive to Dallas. I’m gonna take the Ford now and call the master lab tech to meet me there. I should have a confirmation before you meet with Jeremy.”

“Okay, Carson. Be careful. Keep me posted.”

Rick gave Carson the cigar and the wine glass. Carson drove off in a cloud of West Texas dust under the moonlight. Rick paced the floor trying to make sense of it all. He decided to give Possum a call.

“Hey, buddy. We got the results back, and it’s not conclusive.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t DNA foolproof?”

“Well, yes. And I would get the sheriff's department to issue a warrant for Jeremy tonight if I were certain that the DNA is familial, like a brother. It is male, so that eliminates Lisa, and her DNA was confirmed already,” said Rick.

“Could it be an error?”

“Maybe. Carson tested it on a NANOPORE PromethION PLATFORM machine. It’s a portable DNA sequencer. He’s driving it to the lab in Dallas. We have a cigar that Jeremy was smoking.”

“Oh yeah, that will produce plenty of usable DNA,” said Possum.

Rick ended the call and called Jules to say goodnight and give her an update. She and Kelly were watching some chick flick, and she told him to be careful and that everything at home was fine. Rick decided to call it a night and tried to get some sleep. He mostly tossed and turned, with thoughts of deer hunting and Jeremy’s possible arrest running through his mind. The next morning, he wanted some cereal, but the milk had gone bad. Carson was still in Dallas and had the truck, so Rick reluctantly called Jamey. He hated to bother him.

“Hi Jamey, it’s Rick. I hate to bug you, but the milk is off here. Carson borrowed the Ford. Any chance you can either bring me a half gallon of skim milk or pick me up, and we can run to the store together?”

“If you wanna get out of the house, I can swing by and run you to H.E.B.”

“Sure, that works. I’m ready whenever you come by.”

“I’m at the guest house. Be right over,” said Jamey.

Rick laced up his jogging shoes and stepped outside. It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear, and the breeze was gentle. It could have been a perfect day for a hunt, but Rick was content with eating cereal and watching morning cartoons. It wasn't Saturday, but he had developed a habit on days he wasn’t fasting of playing classic cartoons on his MacBook during breakfast.

“Thanks, Jamey. Mind if I ride up front?”

“I’d like that.”

Rick sat in the front seat of the big limo and stared out the window. His mind was everywhere but where he was.

“You alright, Rick?” asked Jamey.

“Yeah, just waiting on some DNA results for a case. It’s complicated.”

“Gotcha. I did that 23andMe thing a few months ago. I was surprised about my background, to say the least. I saw a Dateline episode where they solved a case, though, with the relatives of the killer. Pretty amazing. Kinda scary too, because what if they screw up and find your DNA is linked to a killer in error? That would suck,” said Jamey.

“Yeah, no kidding. I don’t think I’d allow my DNA to be public record like some people do,” said Rick. “I guess you can check yes or no if you want it on a database or something, so cousins can find you?”

“Yeah, I checked no on mine. It’s my business. Know what I mean?”

“Totally. I think it’s completely off-limits if you opt out,” replied Rick.

Jamey telling Rick about 23andMe gave him an idea. If Nate’s killer was related to Lisa, maybe the person who committed the crime had added their DNA to 23andMe or Ancestry and may have opted out, as Jamey had mentioned.

“I’ll wait here, Rick. Take your time,” said Jamey.

Rick loved H.E.B. grocery stores even more than Publix in Florida. He bought a half-gallon of skim milk and a new box of Post Great Grains. He didn’t want to eat up all the cereal in the barndominium, plus he wanted something semi-healthy. As he waited in line, he got a text from Carson.

Still waiting for conclusive DNA markers. We’re close.

Did you run it through 23andMe and Ancestry? I’m sure there are a few more.

Yes, I did. No hits.

What if they didn’t check the box to not be added to the public record? I know some people opt out.

We can get warrants to see all results from all the major platforms. I’ll get on it. I’ll keep you posted.

Rick climbed back in the Hummer limo, and Jamey drove him back to the ranch.

“Okay, Rick. Have a great day. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate.”

“Thanks, Jamey. I’ll probably need a ride to Jeremy’s office, but I’ll give you plenty of heads-up.”

Rick opened his MacBook and put on an episode of Land of the Lost. He loved Sleestaks. He ate two bowls of cereal and had a great chill time on the couch. Suddenly, his phone began to ring. It was Carson.

“Rick. I have the results. It’s definitely not Jeremy.”

“Phew!” Rick let out.

He liked Jeremy a lot and was so happy he wasn't involved. He felt a little guilty about considering him the prime suspect to begin with.

“Who is it?” asked Rick.

“No freaking idea. But whoever it is, is closely related to Jeremy. It’s time you and he talked.”

“You’re right. When will you get the results back from the genealogy sites?” asked Rick.

“I’m not sure. I have the warrants, and they have a few days to comply. I can pressure them.”

“Do whatever you can to get the results back. I appreciate you.”

“Okay. I’m gonna start driving back. Maybe we can take the four-wheelers out for a spin on the ranch.”

“Sounds like a plan, Cowboy. See ya when you get here. I’m gonna go talk to Jeremy at his office.”

Rick texted Jamey that he needed a ride into Odessa. He pulled up to the front in less than two minutes. Rick rode up front again.

“I need to go to Jeremy’s office.”

“No problem, Rick. He might be in a meeting. Want to call and make an appointment?”

“Nah, I’ll just wait. Besides, drive the limo, what else do you do? I mean for the business or whatever?”

“I have a few hobbies. I like to repair old electronics. Like old transistor radios, hell, even VCRs. You’d be surprised how many people will buy an old VCR. They don’t really make them anymore, I guess, and people will pay top dollar on eBay. Probably so they can transfer old VHS tapes to digital to save their memories. I can even fix old phones. If it’s electronic, I can fix it. Nate always had me wire up lights to any new trailers he had bought. I’m kind of a jack of all trades,” replied Jamey.

Rick walked inside Jeremy’s office and met the receptionist.

“Hi, ma’am, I’m Rick Waters, a friend of Jeremy Wilson's. I need to speak with him.”

“Okay, Mr. Waters. Have a seat, and I’ll let you know when you can go up.”

Rick sat down and picked up a Lone Star Outdoor News, a local wild game and hunting magazine, and flipped through the pages, admiring all the huge whitetail deer and other game. When he was about halfway through, the woman called Rick’s name.

“Mr. Waters, you may go up.”

Rick took the elevator to Jeremy’s floor and stepped into his office.

“Hey Rick, I’m surprised to see you here. Do you want to sign those boat papers you mentioned? We have a legal department, and they can handle the notary part.”

“Jeremy. I owe you an apology. Once I explain, I think you will understand. Let’s get all the way through it before you ask any questions, if you don’t mind.”

Jeremy nodded, his face showing a concerned look.

“Some new evidence has come to light in your dad's case, actually in all three murders. I believe they are connected. Johnie, my first mate, found a bottle of nicotine thrown off the balcony of Lisa’s condo at Emerald Grande. They were able to extract DNA from it. One belonged to Lisa, and the other was male. We also received a whisper on an audio recording of a male in the condo at the time of Fred’s murder. We ran it through an online AI test against your voicemail on my phone, and it was a match. I learned from David that you are adopted, and I ran your DNA to see if it matched the male DNA on the nicotine bottle. It did not.”

“No shit!” exclaimed Jeremy, sounding extremely upset.

“Let me finish. There’s more, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Do you have any brothers you didn’t tell me about? Even half-brothers,” said Rick.

“No, absolutely not. Yes, my dad indeed adopted me. But I was an infant. If I had a brother, don’t you think they would have made him adopt us both? Isn’t it standard that they don’t split up siblings?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest with you. I will research that. Look, the bottom line is, you have a brother or half-brother out there somewhere, and he committed these crimes. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I obviously will keep your adoption between us and the fencepost. You’re the face of Big Dog Oil, and I don’t want to do anything to mess that up for you. I just wanna solve this case,” said Rick emphatically.

Jeremy sat there in silence for a moment, trying to process everything. It was a lot to take in all at once.

“I understand, Rick. Thank you. I’m not upset with you. It’s just a bit of a shock.”

“No worries. Do you have any information about where you were adopted? A birth certificate?” asked Rick.

“I have a birth certificate, but I’m sure it’s fake. My dad must’ve paid off a doctor. I can email it to you. It says I was born in Odessa. Of course, I have no idea if that’s even true now.”

“That’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks, Rick. Are you gonna stay a few days?”

“Yeah, I’ll have Jamey take me back to the barndominium. Can you swing by after work? I just wanna say I’m really glad I was wrong. I was praying that it wasn’t you,” said Rick.

Jeremy stood up and shook Rick’s hand. When Rick got back to the barndominium, he saw that the Ford Raptor was still gone. He figured Carson was on his way back.

“Thanks for the lift, Jamey.”

“Anytime, Rick. I’ll be around.”

Rick stepped into the barndominium, cracked open a Diet Coke, and sat on the couch. He let out a sigh of relief. He was stoked that Jeremy was not the killer but had no idea who the killer could be. He turned on the TV and watched a little Forensic Files, and before he knew it, he had nodded off on the couch. He was awakened by the sound of a truck pulling up.

Carson.

Rick jumped up and opened the front door as Carson stepped out of the truck. He waved at him.

“Good drive?”

“Yeah, I beat traffic out of Dallas and made it here faster than I did going there. You still wanna go ride four-wheelers?”

“Hell yeah. I need a mind break.”

Rick strapped his pistols into his chest holster and covered them with a jacket. He picked out a Can-Am Outlander X MR 1000, and Carson chose a Yamaha Grizzly. Both were powerful, fun four-wheelers. They headed toward the deer blinds. Rick took some corners quickly, throwing dust and dirt high into the air. They should have been wearing helmets, but they took off in such haste that they didn’t bother grabbing them. Rick took Carson to the pumpjack where Jeremy had been shot at. They stepped off and walked around for no particular reason. They weren't looking for evidence; Rick just wanted to show Carson the lay of the land.

“Where was he hit?” asked Carson.

“Way over there,” said Rick, pointing to an area some two hundred yards away.

Carson stared at the area and determined the shot didn’t have to be from a marksman. Anyone with a scope or even iron sights could probably make that shot. They climbed back on the four-wheelers and took off toward a creek off the deer migration trail. They rode down the side of the creek for several miles. Rick wished he had brought a fly rod with him. The creek water was calling. They continued to ride for a few hours and refueled with a can Rick had strapped on the back.

“Wanna head back?” asked Rick.

“Sure, my butt's sore.”

By the time they got to the deer blinds, the herds of daily migrating deer had already passed. They pulled up to the barndominium, and Jeremy was inside.

“Hey guys. Good ride?”

“Yeah, it was cool. What are you doing here?”

“I said I’d swing by. Let's cook some steaks, and I can make you my famous twice-baked potatoes.”

“Awesome, Jeremy. Hey, I was gonna ask Jamey to join us if that’s cool. He’s over at the guest house alone.”

“Sure. I like Jamey.”

Jeremy texted Jamey, and he came over, picked out a steak to thaw, and placed it alongside the ones they had already chosen. Rick took off his jacket, revealing his pistols.

“Wow, those are nice. What are they?” asked Jamey.

“They are matching Colt .45s with mother of pearl grips. Have a look.”

Rick pulled them out and laid them on the kitchen counter. Jamey picked one up, admiring it.

“Damn, that’s pretty.”

“I need to clean them. It was freaking dusty out there on the four-wheelers.”

“I have my carry permit too. Check it out,” said Jamey as he pulled his gun from behind his back and handed it to Rick.

“Nice. Beretta PX Storm?” asked Rick.

“Yeah, I was issued a Beretta M9 in the Army. They were standard issue until 1985, then they switched to Sig Sauer 17s. I could always count on my Beretta.”

“I didn’t know you were in the Army. Thanks for your service.”

“I only signed up to go to college and ended up not going. I studied electronics at a trade school instead before I took the job with Nate,” replied Jamey.

Rick sat at the big table and laid his pistols on a newspaper and opened his cleaning kit. Everyone grabbed a drink, sat at the table, and talked as Rick cleaned his guns. He emptied one and laid the bullets on the cleaning case and started cleaning it. Jamey laid his pistol on the table, followed by Carson and Jeremy.

“Ha-ha, it looks like the old west here. Just a bunch of cowboys cleaning their guns. What are you carrying, Jeremy?”

“Glock 19. It’s not sexy like yours, but it’s light. What is yours, Carson?”

“It’s a Glock 40 S&W, standard issue back in the day at the FBI. They have since switched to the 9-millimeter, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

They turned to cleaning their guns. Rick had plenty of gauze pads and oil. They sat and chatted while the steaks thawed out. Carson and Jeremy got into a long discussion about how he had originally been hired out of the Army for the FBI and had become a profiler before he retired. Once all the guns were cleaned, they reloaded them all and placed them back in the holsters.

“So, three of y’all were in the Army. That’s pretty cool. Growing up in Texas, I knew I had two choices: work at a refinery or join the military. I also knew I wasn't good at taking orders, so the military was out. I’d probably get court-martialed for mouthing off to my commanding officer. Carson, I know you were an MP, and Jeremy, you were EOD. How about you, Jamey?” asked Rick.

“Jamey was also EOD. That’s why you took the electronics trade school after you were discharged, right?” asked Jeremy.

“Yep. I was always interested in electronics.”

“Jamey and I are the same age. I went to basic in Fort Moore, Georgia, and Jamey took his in Fort Jackson, South Carolina. We never met while we were enlisted,” added Jeremy.

Carson’s phone vibrated on the table, and he looked down to see a text from the lab in Virginia. His face went white, and he slid the phone over to Rick. Rick read it and couldn’t breathe for a second.

“Jamey. What’s your middle name?”

“Ezekiel.”

Rick shot Carson a glance. The tension was thick.

“What’s your birthdate?” asked Rick.

“January 14th, 1974, why?”

“You said you were in the Army in EOD. Where were you the day Nate’s boat exploded?”

The look on Rick’s face told everything. Jamey’s eyes darted quickly back and forth between Rick and Carson, and he grabbed his Glock, aiming it at Rick.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Jeremy.

“Tell him, Jamey,” said Rick.

“Knock the guns on the floor. Now!” yelled Jamey.

Rick held up his hands.

“I’m gonna place my pistols on the ground by the shoulder holster. I don’t want them to go off accidentally,” said Rick calmly.

“Slow. Now you and Jeremy,” said Jamey to Carson.

They each picked up their guns by the end of the grips and tossed them on the couch.

“Let me see your phone. Slide it over.”

Carson slid his iPhone over to Jamey, and he saw his full name and birthdate on the screen. Sweat trickled down his forehead. When Jamey looked at the phone, Rick hit record on his Meta glasses.

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” asked Jeremy again emphatically.

“Tell him, Jamey,” said Rick. “He’s your brother, isn’t he?”

“What?!” asked a perplexed Jeremy.

Jamey was silent, and his mind was racing.

“It’s true. I’m sorry, Jeremy. I sent my DNA to 23andMe a few months ago, and when I got the results, I was shocked. I confronted Nate. You are my brother. When our parents gave us away as infants, we ended up at the same home. We are twins. Not identical. Nate adopted you and left me there. He should have never separated us. He had the money to do what he wanted, though. When I confronted him, he denied it at first, but I showed him the results, and he finally admitted it. He broke down and told me he felt guilty about splitting us up and hired a private eye to find me. Once he found me, he staged an incident. Remember when I beat the shit out of that guy in that bar and Nate hired me all those years ago? It was all staged by Nate to get me to step in. That’s why he hired me. It was a setup,” explained Jamey.

“I do remember that. I was only a few years out of the military. You too, I guess. But you killed Dad? Also, Lisa and Fred? Why?!” demanded Jeremy.

“He wasn’t our real dad. When I confronted him, he tried to bribe me to stay quiet. He invited me to Destin, and when I told him I wanted my fair share of the company, he lost it. He just wanted to pay me off to go away. My emotions got the better of me, and I shot him. That was never my intention, you have to believe me,” said Jamey.

“Why did you kill Fred and Lisa?”

“I convinced Lisa that Fred had killed Nate and told her that I could help her break her trust. I would’ve gotten away with it if Lisa hadn’t thrown the nicotine bottle in the harbor. She got cold feet and threatened to tell you. I couldn’t let that happen. She was a junkie anyway.”

“She was my sister, Jamey!”

“No, she wasn’t! You should thank me. I am your flesh and blood. Look, the only people who know are Carson and Rick. Come on, brother. Let’s work together. We can take Big Dog Oil to great places.”

“Jamey, besides Carson and me, the entire FBI lab also knows. There is no way out of this. Just put down the gun. If you surrender and turn yourself in, I promise I will do my best to have the death penalty taken off the table. There’s no way out of it. Even if you shoot us, the FBI will make you a most wanted man. You can’t run far enough away. Think about it,” said Rick.

“I ain’t gonna spend my life in a cage,” said Jamey. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.”

Jamey put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. They all sat there in horror as his body slumped backward in the chair. Their ears were ringing from the shot.

“Oh my God,” murmured Jeremy.

“I know,” said Rick as he placed his hand on Jeremy’s shoulders.

It was obvious Jamey died instantly. They didn’t even try CPR. It would have been useless. The entire back of his head was missing. It was a tragedy.

“I’ll call 911,” said Jeremy.

Chapter

Nineteen

Rick stepped into the condo, and Jules met him at the door and hugged him for a long time. His emotions were high. Just a few hours earlier, he had witnessed a man he truly liked blow his own head off just a few feet from him.

“What now, Rick?”

“I turned over all the evidence to the Odessa Sheriff’s Department. The coroner took Jamey’s body away. It’s over. I feel bad for Jeremy. In a short time, he lost his father, sister, and a brother he didn’t even know he had. He’s gonna need some therapy. I told him we’d be there for him if he needed anything. Nate is ultimately responsible for all this. If he had adopted both Jeremy and Jamey in the beginning, things could’ve gone a lot differently.”

“That’s good. Why don’t you sit on the couch? I’ll get a fire started in the fireplace, and you can relax. Chief and Choco missed you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Rick picked up Chief, sat down, and called Choco over. He patted Choco behind the ears.

“I missed you boys.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” hollered Rick.

Possum stepped in and patted Rick on the shoulder.

“You did good, Rick.”

“Thanks. I don’t know how to feel right now. How did the AI match Jeremy’s voice to the whisper we recorded in Lisa’s room?” asked Rick.

“It’s not foolproof. It uses timbres and octaves to find a match. I uploaded the voicemail I got from Jamey when he called me and told me I could borrow the Ford Raptor. It was also a match. They were brothers, and I guess their voices were close,” said Possum.

“Makes sense.”

“Listen, while you were in Odessa, I did a little something.”

“Oh shit. I’m glad I’m sitting,” said Rick.

“I contacted Jake Richmond in Apalachicola, you know, the father of the missing girl, Cindy. I explained to him that we are experts in finding missing people. He wants to hire us. He just called me and received a ransom demand. I’m leaving soon to meet him. Do you want me and Gary to handle it, or do you and Jules want to be involved?”

“Jules, what do you think?”

“One hundred percent yes!”

“Go ahead, Possum. We’ll load up the new boat and head out. Tell Jake not to agree to the payment yet until we have a sit-down. I guess it’s time to motor over to forgotten waters.”

The End

Acknowledgments

I want to thank my beta readers, Mike Keevil and Chris Bowers.

I want to thank my amazing editors, Arly Gramm and Izzy Lily.

I want to thank my proofreader, Teri Rogers.

Thanks to my graphic artist Les.

Special thanks to Nick Sullivan, Wayne Stinnett and Bob Adamov for all their support and advice over the years.

I want to thank all the readers of my novels, especially. It’s all about the readers. I appreciate your continued support on this journey.

About the Author

Eric Chance Stone was born and raised on the Gulf Coast of Southeast Texas. An avid surfer, sailor, scuba diver, fisherman, and treasure hunter, Eric met many bigger-than-life characters on his global adventures. Wanting to travel after college, he got a job with Northwest Airlines and moved to Florida. Shortly after that, he was transferred to Hawaii, then Nashville. After years of being a staff songwriter in Nashville, he released his first album, Songs For Sail, in 1999, a tropically inspired collection of songs. He continued to write songs and tour and eventually landed a gig with Sail America and Show Management to perform at all international boat shows, where his list of characters continued to grow.

He moved to the Virgin Islands in 2007 and became the official entertainer for Pusser’s Marina Cay in the BVI. After several years in the Caribbean, his fate for telling stories was sealed.

Upon releasing his 15th CD, All The Rest, he was inspired to become a novelist after meeting with Wayne Stinnett. Wayne, along with Cap Daniels, Chip Bell, and a few others, became his mentors, and they are all good friends now. Eric resides in a 44’ Entegra Aspire motorhome with his fiancée Kim-Cara. They live wherever they are parked.

Inspired by the likes of Clive Cussler’s Dirk Pitt, Wayne Stinnett’s Jesse McDermitt, Cap Daniels Chase Fulton, Chip Bell’s Jake Sullivan, and many more, Eric’s tales are sprinkled with Voodoo, Hoodoo, and kinds of weird stuff. From the bayous of Texas to the Voodoo dens of Haiti, his twist of reality will take you for a ride. His main character, Rick Waters, is a down-to-earth good ol’ boy and adventurist turned private eye who uses his treasure-hunting skills and street smarts to solve mysteries. 

Also by Eric Chance Stone

Blue Waters

Vanishing Waters

Raging Waters

Back Waters

Muddy Waters

Mayan Waters

African Waters

Deep Waters

Baja Waters

Canuck Waters

Junkanoo Waters

Arctic Waters

Pirate Waters

Dark Waters

Persian Waters

Zombie Waters

Rising Waters

Still Waters

Kona Waters