Byeightthey’dmovedto the marina office, where the corridor reader kept its records on an old desktop behind the counter. Evan pulled the log while Margot leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could smell the salt still in her hair.
It was there, the way he’d expected. A blue-stripe staff card had accessed the service corridor at eight fifty-one, one minute before the lights went out. No name attached. Staff cards were generic. But it narrowed the field to anyone who’d been issued one and knew where the panel was.
“That’s not nothing,” Margot said. She had her pen out, tapping it against the counter. “I know who had access to that corridor during setup. The list is short. Vendors don’t get staff cards. But the décor lead has been wiring the display for a week, and he moves through this place like he owns it.” She stopped tapping. “Caleb.”
She said it the way she ran a vendor list, line by line, and then she stopped. Her pen paused against the counter, and for a second, she looked like someone holding a card she wasn’t ready to lay down. Whatever it was, she folded it back. “That’s enough to start with.”
A man that deep in the hole, decorating a pavilion that held a hundred and seventy thousand dollars in glass. Evan had already seen the outline. She’d just said the name out loud.
“If we’re going to look at Caleb,” he said, “there’s someone who knows him better than anyone on this dock. And he’s been trying to get me to talk for five years.” He reached for his keys. “I need to talk to Ray.”
“I’m coming.”
He looked at her and realized he didn’t want to say no. The word hadn’t even formed.
That was becoming a pattern.
Ray sat at the end of Dock One with a fishing rod in the water and a thermos of coffee at his side. He looked up. Looked at Evan. Looked at Margot. Looked back at Evan with an expression that said several things at once, most of them amused.
“For you two? I’ve got all morning.” He poured coffee into a metal cup and offered it to Margot. “Black okay?”
“Black is perfect.” She took the cup and sat on the dock beside him. No hesitation. Evan watched her fold herself into Ray’s space as naturally as if she’d been doing it for years.
“Tell her about Caleb Henson,” Evan said.
Ray set his rod in the holder. The humor left his face. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Ray nodded. “Caleb started a company years ago. Henson and Hart. Him and a partner from Wilmington. They were good. Real good. But Caleb is ambitious and doesn’t know when to stop. Six years ago, he pitched a Christmas-in-July expansion that would’ve made Disney blush. Budget ballooned. Vendors bailed. The whole thing collapsed, and Hart pulled out.”
“How bad is the debt?” Margot asked.
“Certified letters from collectors. At least three a month for the last two years.” Ray glanced at Evan. “He’s been keeping the company alive on charm and fumes.”
She was quiet for a moment. Evan could see her running the numbers.
“So, we’ve got a man with a history of overpromising and cutting corners when the stakes are high.” She twirled her pen. “Buried in debt. With access to the pavilion and a reason to want something to go his way for once.”
“And a grudge,” Evan added. “Against this resort. Against me.”
Ray reeled in a little slack, then cast again in one smooth motion. He looked at Evan a beat longer than the cast required. “Against everyone who didn’t take the blame for him.” He let the line settle. “Be careful with this one. He’s not stupid. And he’s got nothing left to lose.”
They left Ray to his fishing. But Evan didn’t turn toward the office. He stopped at the shed instead, the one with his name on nothing and his whole self in everything, and after a moment he opened the door and held it for her. “There’s something Ray didn’t tell you. Because it’s mine to tell.”
Inside, the shed smelled like motor oil and solder. Along the back wall his tools hung on the pegboard, each one outlined in marker so it could go back in exactly the right place. Lauren had teased him about it once. Called him the most organized man on the Outer Banks. He hadn’t brought anyone in here since.
He was letting Margot in. He knew what that meant. He wasn’t ready to think about what it meant.
“The boat parade. Five years ago.” His voice was steady, but it cost him. Maybe she noticed. “Caleb designed the light rigs for every boat. Built the arch at the harbor entrance. He submitted weight ratings to the marina so I could approve the route. But the ratings were wrong. The boats sat too low.”
He paused and inhaled. “The overloaded one hit the sandbar because it was drawing three inches deeper than what Caleb had certified.”
“Evan.” Her voice was quiet.
“The fuel-dock manager warned him that morning. Told him the boats were sitting too low, but he said it was fine.” Evan’s hands went flat on the workbench, tendons standing out across his knuckles. “I signed off on the route based on his numbers. I didn’t check them myself.”
He looked at the compass on the shelf beside the printer, where he’d left it that morning. “My wife was on the rescue boat with me. She didn’t come back.”
