Page 42 of Riptide
"Pearl, it's January."
"Which means we're already behind schedule." She sat down uninvited. "I'm proposing a joint task force. With you as the liaison."
He looked at her color-coded calendar. At the budget reports waiting on his desk. At the aspirin bottle he’d already emptied twice this week.
"I'll attend one planning meeting."
"Perfect!" Pearl stood. "First meeting is next Tuesday. I'll bring cookies." She paused at the door. "That Cara Sweet is a lovely girl. You two seem quite friendly."
Before he could respond, she was gone.
His phone rang. David's number.
"Please tell me you're calling with good news," Gabe answered.
"Not sure about good. Disturbing is more like it." David's voice carried energy. "I've been digging into what Hale said. Before he died."
Gabe's attention sharpened. Randy Hale's last word: Neptune.
"And?"
"Neptune Brotherhood." David said it quietly. "That's what he meant. Not a boat. An organization."
"What kind of organization?"
"That's the problem. I literally cannot get anyone to talk about it." A pause. "I've got sources who've leaked classified documents, who've testified against corrupt politicians. All of them shut down the second I mention the Neptune Brotherhood."
Gabe felt something cold settle in his gut. "What does that mean?"
"Either this thing has serious reach, or it's a ghost. Maybe both." David's frustration bled through. "I'm getting the sense it's not a real organization. More like... a suggestion of one. A name that gets dropped when people need to sound connected. But nobody's willing to discuss it on or off record. The fear is real even if the organization might not be."
"Federal reach?"
"I’d bet on it. Or at least people believe it does, which amounts to the same thing." Papers rustled. "I'll keep digging, but this one's buried deep."
Silence. Then David's tone shifted. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar. I heard about the dead possum."
"How did you?—"
"Ellie texted me. She thinks it's hilarious." David's laugh was warm. “How’s Cara?”
He ignored that. "Hey, while I've got you—can you look something up? Blaire Mitchell. Instagram influencer, people finder."
“Fine. But we’re circling back to your love life later.”
Gabe ignored that, too.
Keys clicked. David went silent.
"Gabe? Why are you asking about Blaire Mitchell?"
"I think she might be blackmailing someone in Haven Cove. I need to understand her business model."
"That makes sense." More clicking. Then David whistled. "This woman is a shark. She finds lost people, reunites families, then puts all the drama on Instagram. Forty-seven thousand followers. That’s not nothing. Aside from whatever fees she charges families, I’ll bet she’s raking in a good chunk of change on speaking engagements and product promotion. Serious influencer money."
