“I’ve seen him before,” she says, staring at the phone.
Rudy frowns. “You know this guy?”
“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “But my dad does.”
We hardly sleep at all. I think Dahlia got even less than I did. We’re supposed to meet the detectives at the shop and get there a few minutes before they pull up. It’s a shock to the system all over again to see the state of the shop in the daylight.
And it’s such a perfect day for surfing. Tons of surfers—regulars and some I don’t recognize—walk by to lament the destruction of Surf Culture.
Two officers walk up to Rudy with clipboards, their badges glinting in the sun.
“This is the owner, Dylan Whitman,” Rudy says. “And his girlfriend Dahlia, and her daughter Chloe.”
I realize then that I still need to fill Rudy in on Dahlia’s last name too. Rudy heard plenty about the Grangers when Ava came into our life and when we were trying to get Windhaven underway.
“I’m Detective Ruiz,” the woman says. “And this is Detective Hoyt. We reviewed the footage you emailed in—both the store camera and the video provided by the citizen who came forward.”
Dahlia shifts beside me.
Hoyt crosses his arms over his chest. “Any idea why he targeted the shop?”
Rudy shakes his head, eyes wide. “We don’t have enemies. We’ve got a cool thing going here.”
Detective Ruiz looks at me, and I lean forward.
“Rudy’s right. We give surf lessons and are a place where people come to hang out when they want to escape stress. We sell surfboards, rash guards, and wet suits, but we’re more than that. We’re a community.”
“A culture,” Ruiz says, smiling.
“Exactly,” I say, smiling back. “We’re accepting ofeveryone and have never even had a fight break out in the store or outside it.”
Dahlia swallows hard, voice small. “I recognize the guy.”
Both detectives pause, glancing at her.
She lifts her chin a little—shaking, but determined. “He works with a guy my dad knows. He’s been in our office at least once.”
“And where do you work?” Detective Ruiz asks.
“Granger Development & Property Group,” she says.
Rudy’s head pops up, and he stares between Dahlia and me. “Dylan, what’s going on?” he asks under his breath.
“She’s Bruce Granger’s daughter.”
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
Detective Ruiz makes note of what Dahlia’s just said and looks up. “And where is your office located?”
“Minneapolis,” Dahlia says.
Both detectives stare at her.
“As in, Minnesota?” Detective Hoyt says dryly.
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’re going to have lots of questions for you,” Detective Ruiz says. “We need more photos of the exterior now that it’s light outside. We got everything we needed inside last night.”
