by Jana DeLeon
"Hi, Joe," Jenny said, a big smile on her face. "Would you like something to eat, or do you just want coffee?"
Joe scanned the empty street. All the store lights were still on, but Joe knew it wouldn't be long until everyone wrapped it up for the night. He looked back at Jenny. "Just coffee, please. And maybe a chicken salad sandwich to go. I might have to leave here pretty soon." He turned to look at the street again and began to formulate a plan of action.
The bar wasn't a problem. Pete would be on the job well into the night. Even on the weekdays, Pete's business didn't slack off much. Joe figured he would come back into town after he'd followed the others and take a closer look at the bar owner. He sighed and reached for the coffee as soon as Jenny put it on the table. Maybe he ought to request two cups to go. It was going to be a long night and an even worse morning tomorrow.
A light flashed off, and he saw Stella locking the door on the front of the boat shop. She put the keys in her bag and headed next door to the motel. Joe pulled out his cell phone and punched in some numbers.
"Gator Bait Motel," a voice answered.
"Hi, Susie. This is Joe. I was wondering if Tommy is going to be working tonight. I had a question for him about my truck. Darn engine noise again."
"No," she replied. "Tommy's got strep throat. Stella's gonna fill in for him until the fever breaks. I would tell you to call him at home, but he didn't have much of a voice when I talked to him earlier. You might try in a couple of days."
"Sure," he said easily, happy that the problem of following Stella was solved for the night. "I'll try him in a couple of days. Thanks."
"You all right, Joe?" Jenny asked.
He turned on his stool and found her staring at him, a concerned look on her face. "Sure," he said, his eyes darting back to the shrimp house. "Why do you ask?"
"I don't know," she said. "You just seem a little distracted, is all. I thought maybe something was up with Dorie and that DEA guy."
He narrowed his eyes at Jenny. "What do you mean ‘up with Dorie and the DEA guy?’ What would be up with them?"
Jenny blushed and looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I just thought they kind of fit together nice. You know, as a couple, them being so smart and all, but every time I see her, she just seems more tense."
He absorbed this information for a moment. "It's just the job. Dorie's had some big things on her plate and they're weighing her down a bit. I'm going to try and help alleviate some of that. That's why I need the sandwich to go. I'll be working tonight."
Jenny nodded, but didn't look convinced. "Okay. But you let me know if Dorie needs anything. Without her, I would have never got this place open. I'm still looking for the opportunity to return the favor."
He smiled, unable to help himself. Jenny really was a sweetheart. "I promise if I can think of anything you can do for Dorie, I'll let you know."
"Good, and you be sure and let me know if that DEA guy is giving her a hard time. If he is, I'll stop suggesting to him that they get together."
Joe's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, you'll stop? When have you been making the suggestion?"
Jenny grinned. "Almost every day. You think he'd have heard me by now. For someone who's supposed to be so smart, he seems really slow."
"No, Big City's not slow at all. In fact, I think he's very, very clever." Joe gazed back out the window. That's what worries me.
A movement down the block caught his eye, and he squinted to make out Buster locking the front door of the shrimp house. He pulled out his wallet and put some bills on the counter.
"I have to run," he said and grabbed the bag with the sandwich as he rose from the stool. "Thanks for the sandwich," he shouted as he rushed out the door. He was already a mile down the road before he realized that for the first time in his life, he had talked to Jenny without freezing.
“That's me," he muttered as he watched the taillights of Buster's truck fading in the distance. "Always perfect timing."
Dorie didn't bother to hurry on the drive back to Gator Bait. No reason to. It wasn't like she had a husband or kids or a pet waiting on her. Hell, she didn't even have a plant. And although she was sometimes lonely, tonight was one of those times when she was happy to be alone. Happy she lived alone. Without the pressure of putting on a pleasant face for those around her.
At the moment, she felt anything but pleasant. The situation with Richard was starting to look worse and worse for Gator Bait. As much as she hated it, Dorie realized she would have to step up to the plate and start a full-force investigation of everyone in town. The thought didn't thrill her at all.
Plus, the talk with her dad had really bothered her, though she couldn't put her finger on why. It was almost like something was said, but not said all at the same time. She didn't think her father would outright lie to her. Not even to protect a friend, but he wouldn't be above not telling her the whole truth. He'd done that before.
She rolled down the window of the jeep and let the cool night air blow across her face. Of course, the only time her dad had withheld information from her was to protect her. That meant that if he was withholding information now, it was either because it was someone she was close to or someone he was close to. Someone he thought he could reason with before things got more out of hand.
"Damn it," she said and pounded the steering wheel with her hand. Not only did she have to investigate the residents of Gator Bait, she was going to have to take a closer look at her dad. For his own good.
Joe killed the engine of his truck and coasted into a group of shrubs with an angled view of both the front and back of Buster's house. Buster parked in the middle of the driveway and entered the house through the front door. Joe shook his head in disgust. No key. The idiot is still leaving his door unlocked.
The door closed behind him, and a light came on inside the front room. Almost immediately, the light clicked off, and Joe straightened up in his seat, straining to make out movement in the house, but it was as dark inside as it was outside.
He was about to get out of the truck to make a closer inspection when the back door opened and a figure stepped out. Much too lean to be Buster. The figure scanned the backyard and headed toward a field behind the house. He made it a couple of steps when the back porch light clicked on, giving Joe a better look at the man even though the stranger's back was to him.
But Joe didn't know him from Adam.
The man froze for a mere second as the light shone upon him, then dashed into the field, never once looking back. The rear door opened again and Buster stepped out. He looked around for a moment and went back inside, closing the door behind him. What the hell was going on here? And more importantly, who was that man?
Joe started his truck and backed slowly away from the shrubs, not sure what he had just witnessed, but already certain he wasn't going to like telling Dorie about it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was just shy of six A.M. when Joe walked into the sheriff's office. Dorie looked up in surprise. Joe was no slouch, but he rarely came in before seven-thirty. Giving the man a quick assessment, she determined that he'd either had one hell of a rough night sleeping or hadn't yet been to bed.
"You're up early, Joe," she said as he poured a cup of coffee.
"I know," he said, his voice a bit uneasy."The truth is I only made it to bed a couple of hours ago. And I had so much trouble trying to sleep, I finally gave up and decided to come on in. I wanted to talk to you before Big City showed up."
She straightened in her chair and motioned for him to take a seat in front of her desk. "What's up? Nothing ever bothers your sleep."
"This time something did." He took a drink of his coffee and was silent for a minute, apparently trying to decide how or where to begin. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "After our talk yesterday, I decided to do a little night check on our main business people. Not anything heavy. Just a look to see where people went and what they did after closing time."
"Okay," she said, not sure wh
ether to be appreciative that he tried to alleviate the problem of investigating her extended family or angry that he did so without orders or backup. "Was there a problem with anyone?"
He tapped his hand on the desk. "Not necessarily a problem, but definitely something I don't understand."
Concern and fear flooded her senses and she felt her lower back tense. "Tell me."
He took a deep breath and began to recount what he had witnessed the previous night, beginning with following Buster home and ending with the man who had fled into the weeds. When he finished his story, he frowned. "What do you think?"
She leaned back from the desk and picked at a piece of loose leather on the arm of her chair. "I don't know what to think. You say you didn't get a clear look at the guy?"
He shook his head. "No, it was too dark, and once the light was on, his back was to me. I only saw enough to know I didn't recognize him. He was tall, over six feet probably, and lean with blond hair. I'd say he was older, but not old, if you know what I mean?"
"Forties or fifties, maybe?"
"Probably. You have any idea what Dick's guy looks like?"
"No. They don't have any photos. Apparently, he's a ghost when it comes to pictures. But Dick did say there was a woman one time who was willing to turn evidence. I bet they got a description from her. I can ask him about it when he gets in."
Joe sat his coffee mug on the desk with a bang. "I'm really sorry, Dorie. I know Buster has been your dad's best friend for a lifetime. And I know we don't have any proof that anything's going on at all. At least, not with Buster's knowledge, but I still don't like the way things are looking."
She rose from her desk and patted him on the arm. "I don't either. But I appreciate you watching out for me, Joe." She poured the remainder of her coffee in the small sink, the rest of her work forgotten. It was time for a break. The burden of her job pressed on her more than ever, and Joe's news was not what she'd been looking for when she'd come into work this morning.
As soon as Richard appeared they were going to have a conversation about giving information on Roland to Joe. Dorie was certain Joe wouldn't back off his protective stance and the more they uncovered, the more it looked like she and Richard would need all the help they could get.
"What do you say we head across the street for breakfast and some real coffee?" she asked with a forced smile. "Then maybe we can talk about you taking the afternoon off."
It was almost nine o'clock before Richard showed up at the sheriff's office. Dorie had been pacing most of the morning, worried about the news Joe had given her, worried about what her dad wasn't telling her, and wondering what the DNA evidence would show. Joe had grown weary of watching her and finally left the office to "patrol" Main Street.
"It's nice of you to make it in," she said to Richard as she glanced at the clock on the wall.
He looked surprised for a moment, then shot back, "I wasn't aware that I punched a clock here."
"You're taking up my time," she reminded him. "The least you could do is tell me if you're going to be late. This office opens at eight o'clock. There's other business I could have taken care of."
He stared at her for a moment, but must have known from her expression that arguing was a bad idea. "I was on the phone with the lab and then the agency, but you're right, I should have called."
She blinked, surprised he had agreed. "That's okay. We never really talked about working hours or anything. I'm just being bitchy. It's normal. You'll get used to it. Everyone else did."
He smiled. "Were they given a choice?"
Although she tried to hold it in, Dorie found herself smiling back at him. "No."
"It doesn't matter. Choice has always been overrated."
She nodded and took a seat behind her desk. "So what did the lab say?"
He took a seat across from her. "The tests will take up to thirty-six hours to complete. The feed into our database is much faster. Shouldn't take more than an hour to run a match once the data is in. I pulled some strings and coughed up a couple of cases of beer to make the rush less painful. A team started on the hair samples last night."
She did a mental calculation. "So by early tomorrow morning, we'll know if the hair belonged to Roland. What then?"
"I don't really know. And I wanted to get your opinion on that, because I think you'd be a better judge than me.”
"What did you have in mind?"
"I wanted to see what you thought about checking Buster's camp again. We were pretty careful about placing everything back where we found it. If Roland came back after we were there, I think we'd know."
Considering this for a moment, she nodded. "I would for sure, but then if this Roland is as good as you say he is-and after thirty years of evasion, I have no doubts that he is-then I think he'd know we had been there regardless of how careful we were. Wouldn't he have cleared out by now?"
He raised both hands in the air, palms up. "Possibly. But if that's the case, at least we'd know he was here as recent as yesterday."
"Fine. We can check it out this morning if you'd like. If we circle in off the west cut on Johnson's Bayou we can get a clear look at the camp with binoculars. At least to see if there's any movement before we go in closer. But I would rather make that trip while Joe is around. I've given him the afternoon off to get some sleep."
Richard gave her a sharp look. "Is something wrong with Joe?"
"Nothing that a couple of hours between the sheets won't cure, but I do need to talk to you about what Joe was doing when he should have been sleeping, and why I think it's time we let him in on all the details of this investigation."
An hour later, Dorie and Richard skimmed down the bayou in Dorie's boat, headed for a quick recheck on Buster's camp. Joe was posted back at the office in case they called him for backup. If for any reason they weren't back by noon, he would come looking for them. Dorie could tell Joe didn't like the situation one little bit, especially since he was now "in the know" on all the Roland information, but he only nodded and slumped down in his chair when she told him what she wanted him to do.
She chose a way to the camp that approached the structure from the only side without a window. There was no way to hide the engine noise, and it carried far over water, but it was the best she could do. When they were about a half mile from the camp, she stopped the boat and picked up a pair of binoculars.
"You see anything?" Richard asked.
"No. Everything looks quiet. Doesn't seem to be any movement inside, and I don't see any boats around the pier. Of course, if I were Roland, I'd hide my boat in the marsh grass, so that doesn't really mean anything." She handed the binoculars to Richard who lifted them to his eyes.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Looks clear, but I don't know. Something about it makes me feel a bit uneasy."
Surprised, she stared at him. She'd felt the same way, but had always chalked her "feelings" up to female intuition. It had never occurred to her that a man could be as perceptive as she was.
"I agree," she finally said. "I don't like it, but I can't pinpoint why exactly."
Richard scanned the camp and its surrounding area again. "Maybe it's because approaching the damn thing makes us open targets."
Dorie took another look at the expanse of water and marsh around them. "There is that. But if you think the information is worth another look, we can certainly give it a whirl."
"Joe's waiting at the office, right?"
"Yeah. Don't worry about backup. Joe will stick. He's not going anywhere if he thinks I might need him."
He nodded, apparently satisfied. "Then let's go take a look, shall we?"
She started the boat and headed down the bayou toward the camp. They were about twenty yards from the pier when the first shots rang out. Reacting immediately, they bailed over the side of the boat and dove under water to avoid the spray of bullets as they hit the metal hull.
Richard dove underwater and swam directly for the bottom of the bayou. The bullets
passed around him like angry mosquitoes, and he thanked God that he had gone without the life jacket that day. Otherwise, he would have been a floating target.
It couldn't have taken more than a minute to reach bottom, but it felt like hours. The faint whiz of bullets still sounded, but it was distant, and he no longer felt any moving around him. He tried to see in the murky water, but it was impossible. Knowing he had dove straight behind the boat when the shooting started, he figured the pier couldn't be too far. He hoped Dorie had the same idea since finding her in the inky sludge was impossible.
Hands in front of him, he started swimming across the bottom, searching for one of the giant pylons that the pier was built on. At least that would give him some cover in order to surface.
He hoped.
He made it twenty, maybe twenty-five yards, before his air ran out completely and he surfaced, looking frantically around him, gasping for air. He felt a momentary surge of relief when he realized he was underneath the pier and behind the seawall. For the moment, he had a hiding place. Gunfire no longer rang through the bayou but that didn't mean the shooter was gone. He might be waiting for movement.
Peering out between the boards of the pier, Richard studied the terrain but couldn't see a thing in the marsh across from him. The last remnant of Dorie's boat sank rapidly, the current churning around it as it sucked the vessel under. He scanned the surface of the bayou, looking for bubbles or any other sign of life. He prayed that Dorie made her way to safety, knowing without a doubt the chances of finding her in this murky water were practically nil.
He wondered how long he had to wait before he could safely move, and hoped against hope that one of those reptiles from hell hadn't found this pier a good place to set up house.
As soon as she hit the water, Dorie dove for the bottom of the bayou, her mind frantically racing with the nightmare of the situation. The whizzing bullets cutting through the water sounded around her as she opened her eyes, scanning for a sign of Richard, but the inky liquid was too dirty to see anything at all. She reached out one hand in front of her and it sank quickly in the mud at the bottom. Stretching her arms as wide as possible she swept them through the water but felt nothing.
