Far From Shore Read online

  “As much as it needs to tonight,” I said, taking another drink of my beer. “Sorry about the wine, by the way. It’s not my speed. I’m sure it’s garbage.”

  “It is,” she admitted, though she took another drink anyway. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you. Tonight, anything that’ll get me drunk will do just fine.” She looked over at me smirking. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Too late,” I answered, smiling myself. I had been so intent on not being open to meeting new people, on not wanting to jump into a relationship. While that was true, I was finding that I was enjoying tonight more than I thought I would. Being around Rebecca, seeing her in a new light, feeling the spark of something like electricity between us; it was nice. Even if it wasn’t exactly a commitment.

  “You know, if my grandfather knew you served in the Army, I think he’d like you even more,” I said, looking out into the swamps.

  “Why do you think I haven’t told him?” she asked, laughing.

  “Yeah,” I said, biting my lower lip. “Sorry about him. I know he can be a handful.”

  “He’s adorable actually,” she said, setting her wine glass on the ground and slipping off her high heels. She was even shorter now, bare feet against the grass. “He keeps trying to set us up.”

  “Sounds like him,” I said. “Is that why you agreed to have dinner with me tonight?”

  She looked up at me, her eyes glowing even brighter in the moonlight. “No,” she said, and then she walked toward the swamps.

  I scooped up her shoes and walked to follow her.

  “They don’t have this sort of thing where I come from, you know,” she said, still strutting toward the rickety bridge.

  “Swamps?” I asked.

  “Backyards,” she answered. “I grew up in the heart of Manhattan. My father died before I was born, so I was stuck with my mother.”

  “Me too,” I answered. “I mean, my father wasn’t dead then, and I definitely wouldn’t use the word ‘stuck’ when talking about my mom, but she was alone my whole life.”

  “My mother wasn’t alone,” Rebecca answered. “She had an endless parade of men to keep her company.” She shook her head. “And she had her bottle.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I answered, settling alongside her at the edge of the swamp.

  ‘Don’t be,” she said. “The past is the past. That’s all it’ll ever be, and it’s certainly not worth feeling bad in the present over.”

  “That’s one way to put it, I guess,” I said, smiling. “You should be careful. There could be gators in there.” I motioned to the swampland before us.

  “I spent years in Afghanistan. I performed surgeries in a tent with bombs going off in the distance. I’m not afraid of alligators.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Though maybe I should put my shoes on.”

  ‘Not a bad idea,” I said, handing her the shoes. “Those things look like torture.”

  “Like I said, surgery with bombs,” she said, shrugging.

  “That blows my mind,” I said, smiling and shaking my head at her. “I mean; how did you even manage that? You’re overseas, saving lives, and dodging bullets? You’re barely as big as a minute.”

  She blinked at me. “Sometimes all it takes is a minute.”

  I stared at her for a minute. “There’s more to you than I think, isn’t there?”

  ‘Depends on what you think,” she replied.

  My phone buzzed, signifying that I had a text.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, pulling out my phone. “I’m sorry. It could be my grandfather.”

  “If it is, you’re in the right company,” she reminded me.

  “Right,” I said, but it wasn’t my grandfather. It was Boomer, and he was telling me that he needed to talk to me right now. “Sorry,” I said, looking up at her. “Duty calls.”

  “I know the feeling,” she said. “This has been fun, Dillon.”

  “You know,” I said, smiling at her. “It really has.”

  *

  I walked back in to find Boomer standing by the fireplace in his living room, nursing an open bottle of Corona.

  “What’s up?” I asked, settling beside him and stuffing my hands into my pockets.

  “What’s up with you?” he asked. “Where you been?”

  “Out in the backyard,” I answered quickly.

  Hid elbow jabbed into my side as mischievous smile danced across his face. “With Rebecca?”

  “Yeah, with Rebecca,” I said, pulling away from him. “And don’t go there. I’m still mad at you about springing this on me.”

  “Like I give a damn if you’re mad at me,” he scoffed, waving me off with his free hand. “And I am most certainly going to go there, by the way. I’m interested in your love life to an almost unhealthy degree.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at my best friend.

  “Outside of salad for dinner, you’ll find that nothing much bothers me,” he answered.

  “Idiot,” I said, smiling and finishing off my own beer. “What the hell did you bring me in here for? Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in the middle of a lovely conversation out there.”

  “I bet you were, you dog,” he said, and tried to jab with that elbow of his again. I pushed it away. “We’re not at the dinner table anymore so we can talk shop.” He took a drink. “I heard you got yourself into a tight spot with Lacey earlier.”

  “That lunatic just about got us both killed,” I muttered.

  “Classic Lacey,” Boomer said, grinning. “Bet he gave you some good intel though.”

  “He did,” I answered. “Turns out Victoria Sands was seeing her lover up to a week before she went missing, and that lover is none other than Richard Cash.”

  “Richard Cash?” Boomer asked. “The snowboarder? Word on the street is that he’s gonna make a run at mayor soon.”

  “Not if he’s got anything to do with this,” I said.

  “You’re making assumptions,” Boomer answered.

  “Maybe, but I did some digging earlier. Turns out the Cash’s have a property out on Arbor, the same street Peter’s car tried to run me off the road on.”

  “What does that have to do with Victoria Sands?” Boomer asked, and I could already see tension building in his face. He didn’t want me near the case involving my brother, but I couldn’t deny the possible connection.

  “It turns out Peter was leaving a party at Richard Cash’s house the night before he got stopped. He swears the last thing he remembers is being at that party.”

  “Your brother swears a lot of stuff that doesn’t turn out to be true,” Boomer said.

  “Except that was his car, Boom. It just was. Someone changed out the registration.”

  “Could have been him,” Boomer said. “I’m not sure why, but I could have said that about a lot of cases before they got cracked.”

  “It’s a connection, and you know it,” I said, shaking my head. “And it’s one I want to follow up on. I want to get close to the man and see what I can find.”

  “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Boomer asks. “If Jack had any other information, I’m sure he would have given it to you. You start snooping around and a man like Richard Cash will lawyer up before you can find out what he’s having for dinner.”

  “So, he won’t know,” I said, turning to the crackling fire. “I’ll just talk to him casually.”

  “Casually?” Boomer asked. “You think Richard Cash is gonna buy the bastard Storm strolling up to him out of the blue to talk casually?”

  “He will in the right setting,” I answered. I sighed heavy. “I know what I have to do.” I turned back to Boomer. “God help me, but I need Peter’s help.”

  Chapter 15

  “I hate this idea,” Peter said, looking over at me from across the dinner table. We were at The Wren, the latest in what seemed like a never-ending string of posh restaurants from celebrity chefs, which had popped up in various hotels a
long the beachfront. This one was in the Hyatt right on Vanderbilt. Sitting on the hotel’s top floor, the top to bottom window walls provided a breathtaking view of the Gulf from nearly any table.

  Because my brother was one of the richest men in town, our table was - of course - right by the window. I could feel the warmth of the sun beating down on me as our waiter delivered what I could only describe as an aggravatingly small portion of food. Snapper and some kind of warm bean salad with a fruit salsa; it made me long for last night’s pot roast.

  “It’s not my favorite thing in the world either, but you’re not exactly in a position to negotiate, are you?” I asked, pressing my fork into the fish and coming away with at least half of it. “Do I even want to know how much this cost?”

  “There’s a reason there are no prices on the menu,” Peter answered, looking out onto the Gulf. “How many people do you think are out there? How many bodies and lost loved ones are in that big blue expanse?”

  “Too many,” I said abruptly. “Get your head back here, Storm,” I huffed. “There’s a lot going on, and you’re right in the middle of it.”

  “I used to be in the middle of it,” Peter corrected. “The district attorney has postponed my arraignment hearing and my lawyer assures me that it’s just a prelude to the charges being formally dropped.”

  “And who got that for you, Peter?” I asked, dropping my fork before even trying the food. “I’m the person who had your back, as crazy as that is. I’m the one who found your car and got you off the hook. You owe me.”

  “I thought that’s what this dinner was,” he said, still looking out at the water.

  A jolt of anger and indignation ran through me, lighting me up like lightning. “Are you really this selfish?”

  “That’s not the right word for it,” Peter said, finally turning his attention back to me.

  “Then tell me what is the right word, Peter,” I scoffed, my leg bouncing under the table. “Because I’m just trying to make things right. A woman, one of those loved ones you were lamenting five seconds ago, washed up from that Gulf. Her life was snuffed out, and that can't go unanswered. She had a husband who loved her, a man who deserves justice. You can help me do that. You can help me make this right.”

  “By throwing a party?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting, creasing his forehead. “Seems a little farfetched.”

  “I’ve told you,” I said, breathing heavy. “One of your friends might have a connection to what happened to Victoria Sands. He might also have a connection to your troubles the other day. That’s why I want you to invite everyone who was in attendance as the Cash’s party.” I was careful not to let it slip that it was Richard Cash who I wanted to see. Peter wasn’t an officer and he wasn’t privileged to that kind of information. What was more, I wasn’t sure Richard actually had anything to do with Victoria’s disappearance. For all I knew, he was just a man who was cheating on his wife with her. Still, I needed to find the truth.

  “You’re mistaken, Dillon,” Peter answered, still not having so much as touched the pasta dish he’d ordered. “The people at the Cash’s party are not my friends. They’re my board. They’re stockholders, the very same stockholders who, just a few days ago, were setting up a meeting to have me tossed out of the company my father built on my ass.”

  I flinched as he used the word “my” to describe “our” father. I had absolutely no relationship with the late Storm patriarch. Still, wordage like that made it seem like I never existed in the first place. I shrugged it off. There were more important things going on than the way I felt right now.

  “And they still could, Dillon,” he continued. “A majority vote, and the board could strip me of any power I have in this company. They could force me to sell off controlling interest in my birthright.”

  Again, hearing him call something that - for all intents and purposes - should have belonged to the both of us “his” stung a little, but not much. The truth was, I didn’t want any part of Peter’s company or his lifestyle. I loved what I did. I enjoyed making a difference in people lives and, if the size of my lunch was any indicator of how the other half lived, they could keep that too.

  “So forgive me,” he finished. “Because the word you’re looking for to describe my actions isn’t selfish. It’s cowardice. I’m afraid of what these people could do to me, to my company, and my life. I only just now came into my own, Dillon. There was a huge undercurrent of board members who didn’t think I was ready to run things when Father died. They thought I was spoiled and reckless. God knows having me brought in for questioning in a murder investigation didn’t help things,” he said, referring to the death of Lionel Sheets when I first arrived back in town. “I can’t afford something like that again.”

  “And yet you’re right in the middle of it again,” I said without missing a beat. “You think that because I found enough evidence to likely clear you of this drug charge that you’re in the clear?” I chuckled harshly. “Hardly, Peter. Someone was trying to frame you, to screw with you. I doubt they did that for no reason, and I doubt they’ll stop now. It might take a week, maybe even a few months, if you’re lucky, but something else will come up. You’ll find yourself in another situation you can’t explain.” I shrugged. “And maybe this time I won’t be able to help you.”

  I watched the color drain from his face as he realized how right I was.

  “You can help me stop this though. You can help me get to the bottom of it.” I leaned forward. “Schedule a party. Invite the people I told you to, and let me tag along as your guest. I need to get to the person I’m after without them knowing my reasoning.”

  “That won’t work,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No one would believe that I would invite you to a party out of the goodness of my heart.” He sighed. “Not with our history.

  He was right. My history with the Storms was well known in town. I was the bastard, the prodigal son who never actually got past the gates. My relationship with Peter was even worse. Since the death of our father and my questioning him in connection to Lionel Sheets’s murder, a particular narrative that I was out to get him, that I was trying to even the score between us for what I perceived to be decades of injustice, had started circling in certain social clubs. That was the thing about narratives though. They could always be changed. It was part of reason I insisted Peter meet me here.

  “They might, after they see you having a cozy lunch with your brother in one of the city’s new hotspots.

  “Except there’s no one here,” Peter mused, looking around.

  “Doesn’t have to be,” I answered, and leaned across the table. “That’s the great thing about the Information Age.” I pulled my phone out and took a picture of the two of us with the backdrop in full view. “You get the information wherever you happen to be.”

  “What are you going to do?” Peter asked as I pulled myself back into my seat.

  “Well, first I’m going to go get a cheeseburger, because this isn’t enough food to feed a bird.” I smiled. “Then, I’m going to send this to the director of the newspaper’s social page. Something tells me she’ll be more than happy to print it.” I looked over at Peter, whose mouth had thinned into a. Resigned line. “Unless, of course, you’d rather take control of it yourself. You want to put it up on your social media or something?” I shrugged. “What do you got, like, Instagram?”

  “Shut up,” Peter muttered. “And buy something nice to wear.” He rolled his eyes. “I suppose we have a party to plan.”

  Chapter 16

  I must have fumbled with my tie ten times before I finally gave up and walked out into the living room of The Good Storm. My grandfather was in his usual position in his recliner. He shook his head as soon as he saw me, obviously deciphering what it was I wanted from him.

  “You know,” he said, pulling his seat upright and standing to greet me. “There was a time when even children could do that.” He motioned to the scrap of red fabric around my neck. “I could tie a tie at si
x years old, and now look at the world. Clip-ons and casual Fridays have turned you all into a bunch of helpless crybabies.”

  “I’ll be sure to bring that up when I get to the party,” I said as he walked toward me. His hands grabbed the fabric and he started on it with all the deft of a surgeon practicing his craft. With him so close to me, I could see all the lines in his face. What was more, I could see how tired he was. The treatments were taking it out of him though, with any luck, they’d also save him life. I might not have been a crybaby, and I certainly wasn’t helpless, but that didn’t mean I didn’t need my grandfather. I did and, more than that, I wanted him around.

  “I’m not sure why you’re even going to that party, and don’t give me any of that ‘bonding’ crap. The newspapers might believe you’re getting along with that garbage half-brother of yours, but I know better.” He shook his head. “I know there’s something else going on here.”

  “Good,” I said, blinking at him. “Then you also know that, if there was something else going on, I wouldn’t be able to tell you about it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, finishing up with the tie, pulling away from me, and staring at my neck and chest as he looked over his handiwork. “Lord knows you should have worked for the CIA.” He shook his head. “The nation’s secrets couldn’t have been in safer hands.”

  I chuckled as a knock came on the door. “You look just fine,” my grandfather nodded. I saw his expression change as he registered the knock. His eyes steeled over as he looked at me. “You get that boy out of my house as quickly as you let him in. You understand me? I don’t care if he paid for it. A man who won’t recognize his responsibilities to a little boy like Isaac is not welcome in the same place as me.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, swallowing hard. I didn’t call my grandfather “sir” much, mostly because he didn’t like it. In times like these though, when he was so concretely against something I was doing, I figured it was a small respect I could pay.