“He’s a hardheaded old bastard, that’s for sure,” Joe said, chuckling. “You shouldn’t be offended. It’s a generational thing. Guys like him, they’re not used to having to listen to—or obey—a woman. And it didn’t help matters that the cardiologist on call at the hospital today was a woman. Or maybe it’s just the uniform. Guys who’re Harry’s age, they’re used to respecting a uniform.”

“Did you always want to go into law enforcement?”

“Hell no. Growing up at the Surf, hauling trash and raking seaweed and cleaning the pool, I was convinced that wearing a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase would be the life. I had a high school buddy whose dad was in insurance and financial planning. They had a nice house on the water and a pool. I thought that’s what success looked like. Ava didn’t have money for me to go away to school, so I lived at home and worked my way through the University of South Florida and got a business degree. My friend’s dad gave me a job right out of college.

“I sat in a cubicle all day and cold-called clients, trying to sell them whole life policies or annuities. Hated every minute of it. Turns out I’m no good at sales.”

“You went from insurance to being a cop?”

“Not quite. One of our regulars, Bob Wilhite, was a retired FBI agent from Charlotte. He and his wife Shirley stayed at the Surf for probably twenty years. He became sort of a surrogate dad to me. We used to go hit golf balls at the driving range, or go fishing on a charter boat. He bought me my first legal beer at the VFW lodge down the beach here. I had a lot of different jobs back then. Assistant manager at a bank, dispatcher for a trucking company…”

He stopped walking and looked over at Letty. “Why am I boring you with all of this?”

“Because I asked,” she said. “Keep going.”

“Long story short, Bob kept bugging me, telling me I should go into police work. He’d even send me job postings every summer, after he and Shirley went back home to Charlotte. Seven years ago, Shirley called to tell me Bob was gone. He’d played eighteen holes of golf, came home, sat down in his recliner, and just never woke up again.”

“Oh,” Letty said, touching Joe’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”