Coffee, bilge check, weather radio. That was the order, every morning, the way it had been for years. The sun was barely up, the water flat and gray, the air carrying the metallic trace of a storm building somewhere offshore.
Ray’s tackle box sat on Dock One.
That was the first thing. Ray never left his tackle box out. The charter captain would sooner leave his own boots on the dock than that box, which meant he was close by, and early, and that wasn’t like him either.
The second thing was the marina gate. It stood open. At six in the morning, with the storm pushing in, that gate should have been latched and coded shut.
Then Ray’s shout.
“Evan! Over here!”
Ray was crouched beside the gate. Cass sat on the ground beside him, a towel pressed to the side of her head, pale and shaking.
Evan crossed the dock fast and knelt, pulling the first aid kit from the shed. The cut was above her left ear. Two inches long, bleeding freely, but not deep. “What happened?”
“I was walking to the beach. Early. Couldn’t sleep.” Cass’s voice was thin, and she kept stopping. “I heard the gate. The little beep it makes. I figured it was you, or Ray. I didn’t even turn around.”
“Take your time.”
“Then something hit me. From behind. Hard.” Her hand drifted toward the towel and stopped. “I went down. I think I heard footsteps, but they were going away, not coming closer. When I looked up, nobody was there. Just the gate, open.”
“You heard the keypad beep before you were hit.”
She nodded, then winced at the motion. “Whoever it was, they were already inside the gate. Behind me.”
Evan looked at Ray.
Ray’s face was gray under the brim of his cap, shaking his head. “Gate was open when I got here. She was on the ground. I called your name before I even saw the blood.” His hands were working at nothing, the way they did when there was no line to coil and he wished there were. “Forty years on this water, Evan. I never had to do that.”
“You did it right, Ray.”
Evan pulled out his phone and called Margot. She arrived four minutes later, in a casual top and pants, her hair pulled back fast and uneven.
She knelt beside Cass and put a hand on her shoulder, the same calm, competent presence she’d brought to Derek in the breakroom. “You’re okay. Help is coming. You don’t have to talk anymore. Just breathe with me.”
Cass breathed with her.
Evan watched her work, and two things hit him at once. Admiration for the way she steadied people in the worst minute of their day. And fear, cold and specific, because Cass had talked to them about Caleb, and now Cass was bleeding on his dock.
If whoever did this knew Cass had talked, they might know Margot was asking questions. The thought settled into his chest and stayed there.
The paramedics came. They checked Cass, asked her name and the date and where she was, and recommended the hospital. Cass started to argue. Then Lila arrived in her bathrobe, took one look, and overruled her with authority. Cass let them load her up. The ambulance pulled away without its siren, which somehow made it worse.
Detective Jeff Harker arrived. Evan had called him two days ago about the theft and gotten a callback that went nowhere. Now he walked the scene and made his assessment in about thirty seconds.
“Path’s unlit at that hour. She could have tripped. Hit her head on the railing.”
“But she said she was hit from behind,” Margot said.
“People who fall often think they were hit.” Harker closed his notepad. “I’ll file a report.”
He left. Margot watched the cruiser pull away, scowling. Evan took it all in, flexing his hands. Not what he had expected.
After Harker was gone, he walked her to the spot where Ray had found Cass.
The path was narrow, paved with old asphalt. The marina gate had a keypad. Four-digit code. Staff and vendors got different codes.
He crouched and examined the pavement. Flat. No raised edges, no loose stones. If Cass tripped, she tripped on nothing.
