Rising Fury: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 12)

  I stopped at the edge of the dock, where the sidewalk goes up to the bar. Savannah’s boat was gone.

  Later that morning, Billy flew back with his pilot buddy, but not until Deuce and Chyrel found no mention in the Fort Myers police reports that linked me and Billy to what happened at the marina.

  Later that day, Fort Myers discovered that Brady had a BOLO out on him, and his status changed instantly in their eyes, from dead hero to dead criminal. The investigation stalled after just a few days. Everyone dead had a long record and nobody seemed real enthused about solving the mystery of who shot up the drug gang.

  Ballinger was listed as missing and presumed to be on the run, since his yacht was gone from its slip. Over the ensuing weeks, his assets were frozen, what little there was, and his passport was revoked. Fort Myers figured that when he surfaced again, wherever it was, he could be extradited. But Davey Jones doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Florida.

  Marty was released from the hospital the following Thursday. Kim had to race back to Gainesville for two exams, then she was off until after the first of the year. Her grades in the class she missed and the fact that her professor was a former police officer allowed her to retake that exam and she passed them all with high marks. She immediately returned to take care of her fiancé.

  Kim told me that she and Marty had set a date for after Kim’s graduation. Then she surprised me saying she wanted to graduate in the spring with just an associate degree. They both wanted to go to the Fish and Wildlife academy in the summer, and Marty was finishing his associate degree online.

  Marty was given a month of convalescent time and they came out to the island every day to check on me. I was lost. The woman I thought I’d loved was hundreds of miles away. I didn’t begrudge Devon for doing it. We both knew it wasn’t going to last. The woman I could love was anywhere but here. The idea that I might have another daughter out there consumed me.

  Friday was moving day. I arranged a truck to meet the Trents at Old Wooden Bridge Marina and with the help of a dozen friends, we unloaded Rusty’s big barge into the truck. Though they were leaving the furniture, just their personal belongings brought out to the island over the last three years amounted to quite a bit. We loaded Carl’s little pickup onto a trailer and hitched it to the truck and they were ready to go. Carl Junior wanted to ride in the truck with his dad and Patty rode in Charlie’s car, towing Russ’s old Grady-White. Their departure was emotional.

  As I hugged Charlie, I slipped her an envelope. “Just a little something to help you guys get set up in your new home.”

  She reached up and threw an arm around my neck, hugging me tightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” I said. “I know how difficult starting over can be.”

  The following week, I flew the Hopper to Beaufort for Charlotte’s funeral. Savannah wasn’t there. Her mother somehow knew who I was and approached me. Though grief-stricken over the loss of her daughter, she was more concerned about Savannah and Florence. She told me that Savannah had called to tell her that she wouldn’t be at the funeral, thinking that I might show up there.

  “I don’t know where they are,” Madison Richmond told me. “Her home has always been the sea, since she was a little girl. If I hear from her, I’ll tell her you were here to pay your respects.”

  I flew back to Marathon in a funk. I couldn’t just come right out and ask the mother if her granddaughter was the legitimate child of Savannah’s marriage. In some places, that might be acceptable, but not in an old southern town dripping with Spanish moss.

  When I got back to Rusty’s place, I went straight to the bar. It was close enough to five o’clock, but it was getting close to Christmas and there wasn’t anyone around. Rusty guessed at my mood and poured me a double from the top shelf. The real top shelf, hidden under the bar. I drained half of the twenty-year-old Pusser’s.

  “Find out anything?” he asked, opening a beer for himself.

  I started to answer, but the question suddenly struck me as odd. It was a question a person would ask if they knew you hadn’t found what you went looking for.

  “You know something,” I said, flatly.

  “I know a lot of things, bro.”

  “Where’d Savannah go?”

  “She left the night you and Billy went up to Fort Myers and killed Brady and Ballinger.”

  It was still early, and we were alone in the bar. Still that’s something you don’t just openly talk about.

  “You saw her leave?” I asked, avoiding the confrontation on the killings.

  “Helped her cast off,” he replied picking up a highball glass and polishing it. “It was zero dark thirty, after I closed up.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Yeah, I did. She asked me to not say anything.”

  “Dammit, Rusty! What’d she say?”

  “Well, since you ask, I can tell you.” He put the rag down and set the glass aside. “She don’t know who Flo’s daddy is and, right or wrong, she don’t wanna know. Her ex has no claim to the child and she don’t want him in her life in any way, shape, or form. So she just don’t wanna know.”

  “Did she say I was the father?”

  “Ain’t you been listening, ya dumb ground-pounder? She don’t wanna know who the daddy is.”

  Sometimes, talking to Rusty is like dancing across hot coals. You know you’re gonna burn your feet, so all you can do is step where the coals might not be as hot. He’d promised Savannah that he wouldn’t tell me what they discussed, that was obvious.

  But, being an honest man, he wouldn’t lie.

  “Why doesn’t she want to know if I’m Florence’s father?”

  Rusty leaned on the bar. “She don’t want to saddle you with the responsibility of being a daddy at your age.”

  “At my age?” I asked, a bit too indignantly.

  “Well, you ain’t no spring chicken, bro. Look at you. Hair’s all stringy and you got quite a growth of man-hair on your face, both of ’em about half gray. We’re both old farts.”

  Rufus came through the back door, carrying a platter with a fish sandwich and a rather healthy-looking salad. He slid the plate in front of me. The bread wasn’t something from the store. I could smell the coconut. Jamaican coco bread.

  “Eat up, Cap’n,” he said. “Yuh be needin’ to get ready.”

  The old man was always talking in riddles.

  “Get ready for what?” I asked, having had about enough games.

  Rufus looked just above my head and spoke, as if talking to someone above me. “Yuh be goin on a long voyage, Cap’n. A voyage to merge yuh pink and purple aura with di rest.”

  On a barstool in the corner I strummed on my guitar

  for some half-sober locals just trying to unwind

  I kept my set list simple just like this rundown bar

  just a few windows and old Dade County pine

  Julie wiped the bar down while Rusty drank a beer

  and the smell of blackened fish and mangos filled the air

  It’s at the end of a no name shell road and one thing that is clear

  it’s no accident if you wind up in there

  It feels like home and always will at

  The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  It ain’t no Margaritaville, yeah it’s real,

  it’s The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  Well it ain’t no gun and knife club but it ain’t too far from it

  so if your looking for trouble then you’ve come to the right place

  So just pull up a barstool and if you don’t start no shit

  then Jesse won’t have to mess up your pretty face

  It feels like home and always will at

  The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  It ain’t no Margaritaville, yeah it’s real,

  it’s The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  Come as you are and you will see

  you’ll be treated just like family

&nbs
p; It ain’t much to talk about but it ain’t hype

  yeah they have the best blackened fish and cold Redstripe

  It feels like home and always will at

  The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  It ain’t no Margaritaville, yeah it’s real,

  it’s The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  The Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill

  Eric Stone © 2017

  Boatsongs Music

  (used with permission)

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  Every two weeks, I’ll bring you insights into my private life and writing habits, with updates on what I’m working on, special deals I hear about, and new books by other authors that I’m reading.

  THE CHARITY STYLES

  CARIBBEAN THRILLER SERIES

  Merciless Charity

  Ruthless Charity

  Reckless Charity

  Enduring Charity (Spring, 2018)

  THE JESSE MCDERMITT CARIBBEAN ADVENTURE SERIES

  Fallen Out

  Fallen Palm

  Fallen Hunter

  Fallen Pride

  Fallen Mangrove

  Fallen King

  Fallen Honor

  Fallen Tide

  Fallen Angel

  Fallen Hero

  Rising Storm

  Rising Fury

  Rising Force (Fall, 2018)

  The Gaspar’s Revenge Ship’s Store is now open. There,

  you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books.

  www.gaspars-revenge.com

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Dedication

  More from Wayne Stinnett

  Maps

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  The Rusty Anchor Bar & Grill

  Read More Jesse McDermitt