“I don’t have any cameras, Beau,” Abbie said, her voice thick as her brows came together in confusion. “You’ve had cameras since yesterday morning,” I returned, looking to the couple and holding my hand out. “Beau Marks.” The man took my hand. “Marcus Jackson,” he introduced, giving my hand a shake. “This is my wife, Alisha.” I tipped my hat to her as Abbie asked, “How did you—what do you mean I have cameras?” “Red Snake Investigations installed them,” I told her. She looked up, studying me as if I’d grown two heads. “I didn’t hire them.” “I did.”
