Chapter 23:

Jace:

The river had always known how to quiet my head. It didn't care who was winning races. Didn't care who was lying. Didn't care who the city blamed. The tide came in. The tide went out. Simple. Steady. I sat at the end of the old dock behind my shack, bare feet dangling over the weathered boards. The coffee can rested beside me. Half full of Catawba worms. I still smiled every time I looked at it. The little boy had been right. They made damn good bait. I'd already caught two catfish and thrown them both back. The third nibble tugged gently at my line.

I leaned forward. "Easy..." The cork bobber danced once. Twice. Then disappeared beneath the surface. "There you are." I lifted the rod. A small bass broke the surface, fighting harder than something its size had any business fighting. I laughed. "You're all heart, ain't ya?" After a minute I worked him close enough to unhook. He couldn't have been more than ten inches long. "Not today." I lowered him back into the river. He vanished with a splash.

The rumble of tires on gravel pulled my attention toward the road. A familiar rusted Chevy mustang slid into the driveway. Reid. He climbed out, shoved both hands into his pockets, and wandered toward the dock. "What're you doing?"

I grinned. "Living the dream."

He looked at my fishing rod. "...Seriously?"

"What?"

"I ask you to race. You fish." He nodded toward the river. "You're eighty."

"I've accepted it." He stopped beside me. I held up the coffee can proudly. "Catawba worms."

"I've officially lost you."

"They're premium."

"Says who?"

"A seven-year-old."

He laughed. "I walked into that one."

I scooted over on the dock. "C'mon. Play hooky. We'll catch dinner."

He shook his head. "Can't."

"Coward."

"I've got stuff to do."

"Stuff's overrated."

"It pays."

I sighed dramatically. "Fine. But next time?"

"I'll think about it."

"You've been saying that since middle school."

"Consistency." He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts. "I actually came for something."

"Oh? A present? For me?"

He held out a small ring of keys. Three keys. White tag. Black marker. 210. I frowned. "What're these?"

"They just... showed up today." I took them. The tag was old. Worn smooth around the edges. I turned it over. Nothing. "They were Camden's."

Everything inside me stilled. "...Cam's?"

Reid nodded. "I don't know where they go." He leaned against one of the dock posts. "But I figured..." His eyes met mine. "...if anybody's gonna figure it out… It's you."

I stared at the keys. Camden. What were you hiding? "They look like storage keys."

Reid shrugged. "That's my guess. Unit number Two-ten."

I nodded slowly. "Storage makes sense."

"He was always complaining about driving all the way across town."

I looked up. "Yeah?"

"So..." Reid scratched the back of his neck. "...I'd start somewhere around the backside of Downtown. Closer to the swamp. Less traffic."

I couldn't help smiling. "That sounds exactly like him. Hiding secrets with the gators."

"'Five extra minutes is five extra minutes,'" Reid quoted.

I laughed. "He really said that. Every week."

Silence settled for a moment. I looked back down at the keys. My thumb rubbed across the faded plastic tag. Hope. It felt dangerous. But it was there. I looked back up. "Thanks."

Reid waved it off. "You don't owe me."

"I do."

"No." He shook his head. "...You don't."

"I still say I do."

He smirked. "You can buy me a fish dinner at the shack later since you still can’t catch shit."

"Deal."

He started walking back toward his car. Halfway there, he stopped. Without turning around, he simply said, "...Just… Be careful."

"I will."

Then he climbed into his car and disappeared back up the road. I watched until the taillights vanished around the bend. Then looked back at the keys. Storage unit. Camden. The truth. I didn't even bother putting my fishing rod away. I leaned it against the porch. Grabbed my keys. And ten minutes later… The Camaro roared to life.

Finding a storage facility in Calusa Cove turned out to be harder than I expected. There were more than I remembered. The first sat just outside Downtown. "Nope." Unit 210 belonged to a retired couple that was taking out some patio furniture. The second was closer to the interstate. Wrong again. The third… A climate-controlled place surrounded by chain-link fencing. Nothing. I checked the key anyway. Didn't fit. 

By now the afternoon sun had climbed high enough to bake the asphalt. The Camaro's air conditioning fought a losing battle against Florida in July. I rubbed my chest absentmindedly as I drove. Think. Cam hated traffic. Closer to the swamp. Cheap. Old. I turned off the main road and headed toward the warehouses behind Downtown. Buildings grew older. The sidewalks disappeared. Rinky pawn shops replaced storefronts. 

Then… I saw it. A faded blue sign. RIVERBEND SELF STORAGE Half the letters had burned out years ago. The place looked forgotten. Exactly the kind of place Camden would've picked. I pulled into the gravel lot. The office sat inside a converted cinderblock building with faded blinds. An elderly man behind the counter looked up from a crossword puzzle.

"You need a unit?"

"I hope not."

I held up the keys. "I'm trying to find where these go."

He adjusted his glasses. "Let's see."

He studied the tag. Then smiled faintly. "Haven't seen that style in years."

My pulse quickened. "You recognize it?"

He nodded. "Those are ours."

Every muscle in my body tightened. "...Really?"

He stood slowly. "Unit two-ten." He pointed toward the back fence. "Third row."

"You still renting it?" He disappeared into an old filing cabinet. Flipped through paperwork. Finally frowned.

"Huh."

"What?"

"Rent's been paid."

I blinked. "...Paid?"

He nodded. "Automatically. Every month. For two years."

The room suddenly felt smaller. "Who pays it?"

He looked back at the paperwork. "Can't tell you that." Of course. 

"But..." He glanced at the keys in my hand. "If you've got access..." He shrugged. "...that's between you and whoever rented it."

He buzzed the security gate open. Metal groaned as it slowly rolled aside. "There you go." I thanked him before climbing back into the Camaro.

The storage units stretched ahead in long rows of faded roll-up doors. Each marked with bold black numbers. 206. 207. 208. I buzzed past. Then— 210. I shut the engine off. Silence settled around me. Heat shimmered off the pavement. Somewhere nearby, a freight train horn echoed through the swampy marsh. The faded blue storage door looked ordinary. Almost disappointingly ordinary. But my heart refused to believe it. Camden had hidden something here. Something important enough to keep paying for after he died. Or… Someone had. I climbed out. Walked slowly toward the door. The old key felt surprisingly heavy in my hand. I slid it into the lock. It fit perfectly. I closed my eyes for one second. "Please..." I wasn't even sure who I was talking to anymore. Camden. God. Anybody listening. Then… I turned the key. Click.