Page 54 of Wild Escape

It took him a second to catch on, then his face soured. He hurried up the driveway.

JD and I climbed into the Porsche, and he cranked up the engine. I thought it might be best to stick around for a moment. Given the current situation, we might be dealing with a homicide in the near future.

28

Acall to Coconut Home Security led us to Wyatt Baxter. He was on a service call at a home in Paradise Pines. It was a nice neighborhood, but not the same level as Stingray Bay or the Platinum Dunes.

We pulled to the curb in front of the two-story French colonial on Del Sol Avenue. We parked behind the white van with the security company's logo. Jack cut the engine, and we hopped out and pushed through the gate at the picket fence. The steps to the veranda creaked as we climbed to the porch. I rang the video doorbell.

A petite figure approached and pulled open the door a moment later. The attractive brunette in her mid-30s looked at us with curious eyes.

I flashed my badge. "We need to speak to Wyatt.”

She looked confused. "Wyatt?"

"The security technician.”

"Oh, yes, right. I never got his name. I'm sure he told me, but it goes in one ear and out the other." She stepped aside and said, "Please, come in.”

We walked into the foyer, and she called for Wyatt.

He appeared a moment later with a curious look on his face.

"There are two deputies here to see you.” With a hint of concern, she said, "I hope there isn't a problem?"

Wyatt's face stiffened. The tension in the room grew thick.

Mrs. Williams excused herself.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Wyatt asked.

"Just routine questions. We’re talking to everyone who's done work at the Caldwell residence."

He swallowed as he tried to recall the job. “The Caldwell residence?” He knew damn good and well who Douglas Caldwell was. "Yeah, I remember them. Nice couple."

"Can you tell me where you were last night around 3:00 AM?”

His brow knitted. "Why? What happened?”

"There was a robbery. Mr. Caldwell was shot."

His jaw dropped, and his eyes rounded. The reaction looked genuine, but he could have been a damn good actor. We met a lot of criminals who should have gold statues.

He stammered, "Who got shot?"

"Mr. Caldwell.”

Wyatt offered a sympathetic frown.

He matched the physical description of the medium-build assailant. Wyatt was early 30s with sandy-brown hair, a trimmed beard, and a muscular physique. He had brown eyes and rugged features and was a handsome man.

"You’ve got priors," I said, having looked at his history on the way over.

His lips tightened, and he exhaled with frustration. "Those charges were dismissed."

"Armed robbery. That's pretty serious."

He winced and looked around, hoping Mrs. Williams wasn't in earshot. "That was a case of mistaken identity. They got the wrong person, and the charges were dropped. That was a long time ago.”