Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  “You guys still keep in touch with Dale?”

  Chloe sat on the top step. “Haven’t even seen him since Dad went…” She swallowed hard. “Since Dad died. But I remember him pretty well. You don’t forget a guy like Dale.”

  Marc chuckled, remembering the wiry-haired man who smelled like coffee and dirt. “No, I guess you don’t.”

  He sat on the step beside Chloe, propped his weight on his elbows, and stared at the sky.

  “It’s getting late.” She elbowed him. “No time for resting now, lazybones. Ready to move on?”

  “Where? Sierra doesn’t have a phone. Our only lead was Dale, and he seems to have vanished. We’ve checked their work and his house. Where do you suggest we move on to?”

  It was a good thing Sierra had banned him from being her protector because he was really sucking at it.

  Chloe shrugged, all traces of the fearless detective gone. Her eyes were soft and filled with sorrow. “I guess it’s time to tell you the truth.”

  “The truth?” He sat up. “What truth? Do you know where Sierra is?”

  She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “Then what exactly? You know where we can find Dale?”

  “It’s more of a who than a where.”

  Marc rubbed the side of his head. The lump was gone, but it was still sore. He wondered if his confusion was some sort of latent concussion effect. “I don’t get it.”

  She patted his shoulder and stood, motioning her head toward the convertible. “Come on. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  “On the way? On the way where?” he asked, more confused than ever.

  With a heavy sigh, Chloe said, “Back to where it all started.”

  Sierra turned onto Marc’s street and aimed for the end of the cul-de-sac. The firetruck was gone, and Marc’s house was completely dark. They must have cut the power and sent him somewhere else for the night. At Freddy’s probably.

  She reached for her phone and realized it wasn’t in her cupholder. She must have left it at The Nature Station or on Dale’s porch.

  Marc was probably trying to call her and worrying himself sick. While she wished she could let him know she was okay and get confirmation that he was safe, she was grateful he didn't have a way to talk her out of this. Or try to talk her out of this.

  Sierra coasted into Mrs. Guidry’s driveway. The place was still dark and empty. She pounded on the door inside the open garage, then pressed her ear to the door. Nothing. She peered in through the windows. No flickering lights. No fluttering drapes. No sign of the woman. When she found a cheap padlock on the gate, Sierra hopped the chain link fence and pounded on the back door. Again, nothing.

  She walked back to her car, where Puck waited for her. He paced on the back seat, looking out the window toward Marc’s house.

  “I know, buddy. We’re so close, right?”

  So close.

  She ran the lingering questions through her head. Why Denise? Why Marc? Why Dale?

  Dale’s part was the most confusing piece of the whole puzzle. What did Dale have to do with Marc and Denise and that house? He didn’t even know Marc until she’d introduced them at the station. His only connection to anything besides Sierra was Lynette Guidry’s long-missing husband.

  Everything centered around that cranky old drunk who'd disappeared so long ago. And now his wife was missing too.

  Sierra considered breaking in, but from what she could see through the garage door window, the place looked cleaned out. No flashing neon signs here either.

  Puck whined in the back, and she reached around to reassure him. Poor guy. She still had to figure out what to do with him for the night. She couldn’t take him back to her place, and she had no idea where Marc was. While she couldn’t go inside Marc’s house, the back yard was safe. They hadn’t taped the area off or anything, so Puck should be fine there for the night. And the way he was whining, that’s probably what he wanted anyway.

  She drove past Denise’s driveway and the empty field and parked in front of Marc’s house. Puck was jumping out of his skin by the time she cut off the engine.

  “All right, all right. Calm down, dude.” She walked him to the back yard and unclasped the leash. He licked her nose, while she scratched the sides of his face and wondered how the hell she would turn this little guy over to anyone else. Even though she knew better, she’d already grown attached. “You be a good boy. I’ll come to check on you in the morning and feed you. I promise.”

  As she closed the gate and gave Puck one more pet goodbye, a flicker of light across the field caught her eye. It came from behind Denise’s house near the shed. Marc was probably cleaning up or looking for something. Either way, she’d be able to tell him everything. To see him. To stand next to him. To touch him.

  She could cross that field and everything would be okay.

  The walk seemed twice as long as it had when she’d crossed during the fire. This time instead of the crackling and roaring of a fire, cicadas screeched and a barred owl hooted in a pecan tree. It was just as dark, but it was a clear night lit up with stars.

  Sierra felt the pull to lie down in that open field and stare at the sky all night. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She’d have to drag Marc out here later to lie in the grass and point out constellations together.

  When she rounded the corner, Sierra saw the bumper of a large vehicle parked along the side of the house. Maybe Denise's husband had come home to assess the damage and take care of the insurance mess. It wasn’t Marc, but the guy would at least have a cell phone she could borrow. She'd have a tough time explaining what she was doing on his property. Either the story would sound so surreal that he'd have to believe it, or he'd think she had completely lost her mind and call the cops.

  Once the full vehicle came into view, she recognized it immediately. She looked through the driver’s side window and found a mug with a dried coffee ring, a beat-up notebook on the passenger's seat, and a snake hook on the floor.

  Dale's truck.

  He’d mentioned that he’d been out to the Millers’ house a few times, but that didn’t explain why he was at Denise’s house now.

  Sierra continued to the back of the property where a light flickered in the shed. The weight of the last few days lifted knowing Dale was only a few feet away.

  They had clues and evidence leading to the woman terrorizing the Dugas family. Sierra and Marc had found a way to be together, for now. And Dale was safe.

  But those warm possibilities washed away when a familiar figure exited the shed backward carrying a shovel and a flashlight.

  “I should have figured.”

  Lynette Guidry froze then turned her head sharply to aim her light at the voice. Sierra threw an arm up to shield her eyes from the bright light.

  No robe. No power heels. She wore jeans, a dark T-shirt, and rubber boots this time, and her hair was tied up with a silk scarf.

  Sierra fought the sudden and overwhelming urge to rush the woman and beat her with her own flashlight.

  Lynette’s shoulders dropped and a deep frown settled on her face. “Not you again.”

  Sierra opened her mouth to say something snotty but stopped short and pointed at the shovel. “Did you—” Her hand shot up to cover her mouth and catch the scream threatening to escape.

  Lynette’s brow furrowed, and she followed Sierra’s gaze to the shovel. “Good God, no! Your precious Dale is fine, and I’m not out here to bury him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Sierra released a sigh of relief, but an empty pit remained in her stomach. “Then where is he? Why do you have his truck? And what the hell are you doing in Denise’s back yard with a shovel?”

  The woman frowned at her again. “You sure do ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t belong out here either.”

  “I belong here more than you do, so start talking, lady. Or I swear I’m calling the cops right now.” The woman couldn’t know she didn’t have a phone, and Sierra would use that to her adva
ntage for as long as she could.

  Lynette sighed and rolled her eyes upward. "Dale's fine. Out of the way, but fine."

  Sierra exhaled. Dale was safe. For now.

  But that wasn’t enough.

  This woman wasn’t taking one step off the property until Sierra got answers. And she sure as hell wasn’t getting away with everything she’d done. Sierra hadn’t tracked this woman through two parishes to let her slink off. Plus, they still had to settle up on that little incident where the woman tried to blow up Marc's house with Sierra still in it.

  "So if you aren't burying Dale, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night with a shovel?"

  "Not burying a body, honey.” She flashed a saccharine smile. “Digging one up."

  Sierra couldn’t even feign shock at this point. "Your husband.”

  "Smart girl." Lynette nodded and frowned like Sierra had ruined her surprise. She held out the hand with the shovel. "Here, take this one. I saw another one in the back of the shed.”

  Sierra stared at the outstretched garden tool with her mouth hanging open.

  "Not so smart after all?” Lynette Guidry’s frown flipped as an expression of amusement replaced her frustration. "Oh, bless your heart! You think I killed him, don't you? You think I killed him, and I'm out here digging him up to cover my so-called crime. Oh, that is the best thing I've heard in years!"

  Confused, Sierra took the outstretched shovel. Mrs. Guidry disappeared inside the shed with the flashlight, and the yard darkened.

  Sierra stood frozen in place. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with the shovel. Dig up a dead man? All Sierra wanted to do with it was take out the woman who had handed it to her, but not until she got the whole story.

  Lynette returned with a second shovel. "Let's get this over with.” She walked past Sierra to a spot near Dale's truck.

  With no better plan and a butt load of unanswered questions, Sierra followed.

  24

  Marc pointed ahead at the red Forerunner. “Park behind it.”

  Chloe shut off her lights and cut the engine, coasting to a quiet stop along the curb behind Sierra’s vehicle. For the second time that night, Marc wondered how this could be the same Chloe he’d written off from the moment he’d met her. In his defense, she never stood a chance in his eyes, coming on the heels of his Sierra heartbreak. But even when all she’d wanted was to sit with him on the bus and talk about school, he'd brushed her off.

  Yet there she was, hopping bushes and sneaking up on a suspect. Helping him.

  Once they found Sierra, he’d have to apologize to Chloe for what a jerk he’d been for so many years. If he could forgive her for hiding information while they’d been hunting the person terrorizing his family.

  He still couldn’t believe it had been Lynette Guidry all along.

  The dog barked in the back yard, and relief washed over Marc. If Puck and the Forerunner were here, Sierra couldn’t be far away.

  Across the field, a dim, bouncing light caught his attention near the back of Denise’s property. They exited the car and hurried down the road. Marc considered telling Chloe to stay in the car, but she’d already come this far with him. If Sierra had taught him anything, it was that ordering a woman to stay out of danger wouldn’t get him very far. Besides, if that light near the back of the house was Mrs. Guidry, having Chloe with him might come in handy.

  They tiptoed along the side of the house, still reeking of smoke, to the end of a beat-up old pickup truck. Chloe pointed at a spot where she could see and hear around the corner, but also where she’d be safe.

  Marc listened at the corner of the house. He couldn’t see anything around the truck except the bobbing of a small light source. Aside from the frogs singing to each other across the banks of the bayou, the sounds coming from the other side of the truck didn’t make sense.

  Digging?

  Why would Sierra or anyone else be digging out here in the middle of the night?

  He crouched and inched around the truck. With his back resting against the front bumper, Marc listened again. No voices. Only digging. He leaned sideways and chanced a look around the truck.

  He’d guessed right. Digging.

  Marc snapped his head back and leaned against the bumper again.

  He couldn’t have seen that. He must have been mistaken.

  Marc craned his neck and peeked again. He crouched low and stared off into the night. Listening. Waiting for some new clue and trying to make sense of the image he’d just seen.

  Sierra straightened and looked around. “You didn’t hear that?” she asked for the second time.

  Lynette stabbed her shovelhead into the ground, resting against the handle while she wiped her forehead. “Just shut the hell up and dig already, so we can both get on with our lives.”

  At first, Sierra had taken the shovel to buy herself some time. Digging alongside a delusional woman and prodding her to talk was the best option so far, but the deeper they dug, the more Sierra wondered what they would find. Or who.

  How long had this been buried in Denise’s yard? Ten years? She couldn’t remember when Marc said they moved in or when Mr. Guidry went missing. Nor could she remember from her biology classes how long it took for a human body to decompose. She could guess how long a half-decomposed bird had been lying on the side of a road, but a half-rotted human body was much larger. And uglier.

  Lynette had said she didn’t kill anyone. Technically, she hadn't outright denied it, but she’d laughed at the suggestion. Sierra wasn’t convinced. Not with this woman’s track record, two missing men, and the whole digging in the middle of the night thing.

  Sierra had no idea what they were going to uncover. A skeleton? Something worse? There wasn’t much worse than partially decomposed flesh.

  She threw down her shovel. “No.”

  “No? We’re almost done. The quicker you help me, the quicker I’m out of your hair. For good.”

  Sierra shook her head. “I’m not moving one more inch of dirt until you tell me what I’m about to find. I don’t want to be surprised. And I want the whole story.”

  Lynette rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Good Lord, what is it with you? Huh? Why do you have to snoop around in everything? Especially what’s none of your business.”

  “None of my business?” Sierra’s fists trembled with rage as she clenched and unclenched them. “Look, lady, I’m the one who got called out here to deal with the snakes you planted. I’m the one who almost got blown up in Marc’s kitchen. And I’m the one who was out looking for Dale all night because no one has seen or heard from him for hours. Oh, and don’t forget, you handed me a shovel to help dig up your dead husband. So don’t for one minute tell me this isn’t any of my business!”

  Sierra sucked in a long, satisfying breath. She’d been holding back that tirade for a while. Thankfully she hadn’t blown up at Marc or Liz or some other innocent person who’d happened to be within striking distance, but Lynette definitely had it coming. And more.

  “You’re right,” Lynette said. “I got you into this. Somehow. God knows if I’d have thought things through or had any idea you’d get involved, I might have gone another route.” She shook her head. “Oh, who am I kidding? I should have taken a different route from the start.” She took a deep breath, centering herself before she continued. “It’s just…well, a woman will go to any lengths to protect her children.”

  Sierra mock laughed. “Your data’s off on that one.”

  Lynette aimed the flashlight at Sierra and examined her up and down. “No mama, huh? That explains a lot.”

  “We’re not talking about me, so can we focus here? What were you protecting Chloe and Adrien from? If you were protecting them from their father, that’s justifiable homicide. Or something. Right? We can go to the police and clear this all up and they would understand and you could—”

  “Good Lord, girl. Don’t you listen? I didn’t kill the man. Now shut up and keep up, or I swear to the Good L
ord and Savior I will knock you over the head with this shovel, and you can spend the rest of the night beside your precious Dale.”

  Sierra opened her mouth to snap back, but she shut it and nodded when she caught a glimpse of Lynette’s grip on the shovel. Husband-killer or not, the woman was not afraid to go to extremes to get what she wanted. Lynette stood in front of her like a threatened animal, and while Sierra didn’t have experience with irrational, shovel-wielding women, she’d been trained to handle desperate, aggressive animals.

  “Sorry. Continue.”

  “Thank you. Now, as I was saying, a woman will do anything to protect her children. A father will do the same. Or anyone with common sense and decency. You don’t have to be a mama or have one to know that. Didn’t your Daddy try to protect you from her? Somehow? Whatever way he could?”

  Sierra had blocked out most of those memories. She’d loved her mom, but the woman was long gone. After her mom hadn't bothered to call on Christmas or Sierra’s birthday—no phone call, no belated card, nothing—her dad had taken down all the photos of her. He kept them in an album in case Sierra wanted them later, but he’d said they were too painful to see. He said she'd cut him open when she left, and seeing her on the walls had been like bleeding fresh again every night after work.

  But he’d asked first. He would have bled every day like that for years if Sierra had asked him to.

  She nodded at Lynette.

  “My husband was a good-for-nothing drunk,” Lynette said. “I couldn’t change that. But it was my mistake. There was no way in hell I was gonna let my children pay for that. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now—after your little snooping expedition—that my husband did not, in fact, run off with some other woman or hide in another state while he abandoned his children. It was worse than that.”

  Lynette laughed to herself, a hateful smirk playing across her lips. “He came home from that workshop one night, carrying some metal rods. I have no idea why he took them or what he planned to do with them, but I could see him through the kitchen window, waving those things around like light sabers or some nonsense, swearing to the stars that he was a Jedi out to save the Republic.”