A memory pushed to the surface, and Violet remembered sitting hip to hip with Frank at the Sandbar years ago as the band pounded through the Allman Brothers Band’s “Whipping Post.”

“I had to do it, Vi,” Frank had said, his elbows propped against the damp wood of the bar, his forehead in his hands. Violet pressed her hand to his back.

“He’ll never talk to me again. None of them will. But I couldn’t just ignore it. It was wrong. I can’t look the other way, even if it’s my friend.”

Violet had heard about the raid at the Showboat, that ramshackle houseboat anchored just offshore in Little River. The boat’s illegal activities had been going on forever, and a cop or two going in after a shift to try to win a little money—or the affections of the ladies upstairs—wasn’t uncommon. But word was someone on the inside had gotten wind of these particular cops enjoying the Showboat and reported them to the chief.

Frank reached for his bottle and took a long swig. “I had no idea Hutchins already knew. Everybody knew and they didn’t care.” He pounded his fist on the bar. “They raided the boat to save face, but he said next time, I’m supposed to pretend I don’t see it. That I know nothing.” He swiveled on his stool and faced Violet. “How are people supposed to trust us if we choose to turn our heads when it’s our friends doing the dirty things? What happened to serving mankind, safeguarding lives, protecting the innocent?” He dug his hands into his hair, leaving tufts of it sticking up in front. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“Do you think you did the right thing?”

The band changed songs and the group sitting on the other side of Frank began to sing along. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the band—his troubled face a stark contrast to the joy and energy in the room—and faced Violet again. “I know I didn’t join the force to be a crooked cop, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d kept quiet.”

Walking along the beach with Frank now, Violet marveled at this man’s internal sense of right and wrong that had been with him from the beginning, and was still with him now.

“You always wanted to do what was right. I remember that.” The breeze was cool on Violet’s arms, but the goose bumps on her skin weren’t due to the weather.

Frank gazed ahead to an egret perched on top of the lifeguard shack, then made a hatch mark on his data sheet. “I guess I did. But that urge to tell the truth was in me long before I joined the force. Just ask my brothers.” He chuckled. “They couldn’t pull anything over on our mom. Little Frankie was always there to blow the whistle on them.”

Violet still caved inside at the thought of Frank finding out what had happened that night on the dock. His need to tell the truth, to bring justice and protect the innocent, was still just as strong as it had been when he was a young policeman. And that was just as it should be. He was a good, honest man, and she was the woman who had to leave him because of a foggy night on the water forty years ago.