Chapter 8Off the beaten path east of Highway 17 sat a small, secluded seafood shack called the Wicked Scallop. Set in the center of a small sand parking lot blanketed with thousands of shattered seashells, the building’s rippled tin roof stood above wood-planked walls and a slanted sign bragging, “Our catch of the day was swimming this morning.”
Large, mossy trees and thick overgrowth along the property’s outer rim served as a natural barrier between local patronage and out-of-town visitors. Only a few cars were parked out front as Sean pulled up behind Maria’s truck. The bed of the vehicle rode much higher now that his father’s trunk was sitting in his motel room. Sean, even with his size and strength, had had difficulty dragging it inside. Maria told him that it had taken two profession
