Shark's Tooth

They pretended not to hear the buzzing of their cells as they cut down Highway 98 back to Rosemary Beach.  Blackbeard parked at a restaurant at Alys Beach across from the house.

“Going in the same way?” asked Terry.

“Don’t think they’ll answer the door this time.  Let’s try something different.”

They walked past Alys Beach, every house gleaming an identical white in the afternoon sun, past the pool with the flowing curtains that had been featured in Southern Living and Architectural Digest, past the little hot dog wagon to the beach access.  College girls in small bikinis and kids digging in the sand stared at the two angry men in suits walking across the sand as fast as they could go, the little one in the lead with his head down and the big one in the white suit struggling to keep up and talking faster than he was walking.  They passed the “No Trespassing” sign coming up from the beach to the Nautilus House.  Terry pulled the sign up and threw it down onto the sand.

The deck of the house was blue granite and the size of a small airport.  A tiny man sat alone wearing a Speedo, sunning himself and sipping an orange drink.

“Jeremy Speller?” said Blackbeard.





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