“You mean, someone tried to intentionally wipe out these footprints?”
“Probably not. I think the gator came in here after everyone was through tossing the area. She was curious. Hardy boys bothering her has given her an attitude. Usually she keeps away from people, but I think she’s mad. And unpredictable. She’s probably watching us now.”
I barely caught his last words. I was back down the path in a flash and sitting in the airboat, shaking, when he sauntered out of the brush. It was difficult to tell from his expression whether he was just fooling with me or serious. I didn’t care. I’d had enough of swamps, airboats, murder, and Seminoles, er, Miccosukees for one day.
Before we parted company at his dock, I decided to pry some information out of him. It was clear he didn’t like me much, but I also got the feeling he liked the Hardy brothers even less. I was pretty certain he just plain didn’t care much for white folks, but I thought, what the heck.
“You’ve got a small operation here. Just you? No one to help you?” I circled my way into the subject.
“My grandfather sometimes comes by.”
“And he helps? I mean, you certainly could use someone to give out information and let folks know when you’d be back if you were out on a tour.”
He just stared at me.
“The Hardy brothers have quite a business going, but there must be room for more rides around here. People come in from the coast looking for a tour of the swamp.” I waited. He simply looked at me. Or through me. I wasn’t sure.
“Why are you asking so many questions about what I do here? You some kind of inspector from the state?”
“Me? Gosh, no.”
He smiled, his teeth showing white against his brown skin. “Someone you knew was on that airboat ride, right?”
“My uncle. He got off the boat. I think he left something. I wanted to find it.”
“The cops already looked for it. I thought I pointed that out to you.” Now he sounded contemptuous as if I weren’t paying attention or didn’t believe him.
“I know. I had to see for myself.”
“Now are you going to investigate the place where the killer took the shot?”
Ah, so he knew about that too.
“Of course. I would have had you take me by, but it’s the other direction on the canal from here.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against the chickee support. “I guess you could always use the Hardy brothers. They’re right across the canal from the spot.”
Why did he know so much about what went down earlier today? It made me suspicious. And uncomfortable.
“I’m not real crazy about the two of them,” I said. He continued to stare at me. Again I waited for him to say something. He didn’t.
“And you. How come you know so much about what happened to my uncle?”
“I didn’t know he was your uncle.” He shifted his weight then leaned back against the support once more.
This was like having a conversation with a stretch of concrete. Maybe I’d play at the game too. I leaned against the counter, my head propped up by my fist.
He looked beyond me toward the lake. Was something out there more interesting than I was? He probably found most of his world more interesting than me.
“Sun’s getting low.” He shifted his eyes back to me.
I gave up. The man could out-silence a mime. I needed to move this along or move on. “I get the feeling you don’t think much of them, either. You know, the Hardy brothers. Am I right?”
He turned his gaze again on the canal then raised it to the lake beyond. “Time to close up for the day.”
Ten minutes of a one-sided conversation, and I get tossed out of the place.
I moved around the counter and stepped up to him. “I think you’ve got lots to say about their operation, things you’d prefer saying to someone like me.”
That got a laugh out of him. “You? Why you?”
“Because I think you can tolerate me better than most folks, most non-native folks, that is.”
“You could be wrong.” He reached into a beaten-up bait bucket and pulled out the metal box where he’d put the twenty dollar bill I’d paid him for the ride.
“Good hiding place. I didn’t even see you put the box there before.”
“Of course not. You’re about as observant as the other white folks that come in here.”
“But it’s true what I said. So talk to me. I’m a quick learner. Maybe I can learn to be more observant.”
He extracted a single twenty from the box and held it up before he stuffed it into his pocket. “You were my only ride today.”
“I know.”
“So you saw the box was empty when you paid me?”
“Nope. I’d say you haven’t had a tour out for some time. The pathway to your boat is overgrown with grass, and it would have been packed down if people had walked it recently.”
“So I guess you can learn.”
It was a lucky guess based upon my concern when I walked to the boat about what might be hiding in all that grass. I’d only braved the journey because I had on my high boots. And Madeleine thought the boots were too fashionable for an airboat ride. Silly girl.
He closed the already small distance between us and stared long and hard at me. Then he seemed to have decided something. He grabbed me and spun me around. “C’mon. You look as if you could use a drink.”
We walked side by side toward the small parking area, but just as I headed toward my car, he took my arm again and steered me down a path running parallel to the water. Soon the palm trees and small live oaks closed around us. “Where are we going?”
“For a drink.”
“There are no bars around here.”
We stepped out of the trees and into a clearing, where a small house stood on cinderblocks. Its siding was unpainted and made of roughhewn lumber. A porch ran the entire front of the building. Several chairs and a rocker sat on the porch.
“My house. It’s about time for tea. My grandfather usually brews a pot about this time. I think he’d like to meet you, and you might find him interesting.”
“Oh.”
“ ‘Oh.’ That’s all you have to say after chattering on all afternoon like a mockingbird in mating season?”
“I do not chatter like some bird.”
“I hope not. Since you asked about the Hardy brothers, I thought I’d give you their résumé according to me. You won’t like what you hear.”
As I prepared to step up onto the porch, an elderly man, his long white hair plaited into two thin braids, stepped into the doorway. On his head he wore a red hat. It was familiar.
“That hat!” I spun on my heel and looked back at my guide. What game was he playing with me?
Chapter 4
The old man swatted a fly away from his face and gestured for us to enter the house.
“Just a minute. I’m not going a step further until you explain about that.” I pointed to the cap on his head.
The two men exchanged looks too opaque to read. It might have been caution or merely amusement at my anger.
“Well, she’s kind of skinny, got no shape whatsoever, but I guess she’s a woman. That might account for her lack of manners.” The old man’s eyes twinkled as he spoke.
“Hey, I’m as much a devotee of Miss Manners as anyone. I just don’t like to practice my skills with someone who’s stolen from me. Or taken advantage of one of my relatives and then ….” The memory of my uncle lying on the dusty path dead overwhelmed me once more. I tried to choke back my grief, but tears spilled from my eyes. “Oh crap.”
“The person killed today was her uncle.” My Miccosukee airboat pilot said these words with reverence in his voice.
The older man came forward and held his hand out to me—the gesture so filled with sympathy and care that I grasped it and held on. He put his arm around my shoulders and walked me up the steps and into the tiny house. The room I entered was high-ceilinged with the supporting b
eams and roof rafters reaching upward toward a central peak. They were made of logs stripped of their bark. A kitchen was to our right, table and chairs in the center of the room, couch and two upholstered chairs across from one another. Simple but welcoming. He pulled out a kitchen chair and helped me into it. I felt comforted by his touch.
I suddenly remembered I did not know the name of my guide or his grandfather.
“My name is Eve Appel.” I held out my hand to him.
My guide stooped over and took my fingers in his. “I’m Sammy Egret. This is my grandfather, Harold.”
Grandfather Egret had by now placed cups and a tea pot on the table and cut slices of thick brown bread, which he spread with jam from a canning jar.
A sip of tea and bite of the bread allowed me to recover my usual sassiness. “I don’t want to abuse your hospitality, Mr. Egret, but could you explain about the cap?”
He took the chair across from me. His eyes met mine. “I’m not sure I can in a way someone not born in these swamps could understand.”
“Try her.” Sammy surprised me by this vote of confidence.
“The swamps are ancient, and they have ways that humans find difficult to accept. The swamp takes things—people, animals, objects—and loses them. Sometimes they appear again. Most times they do not. Whatever enters these waters becomes the possession of the swamp.” He stopped talking and looked down at his hands. He seemed to be off on a tangent, yet in a way, his words did provide some explanation of what happened to the cap.
“Thank you, Mr. Egret.”
He smiled at me, and I felt encouraged. Maybe I could ask some more questions to clear up the matter of how he got the cap.
He shook his head as if reading my mind. “I’m tired now.” He got up and walked to the back of the house and into the room beyond. I watched him close the door behind him. The room seemed somehow empty without him, and I felt like an interloper in a world I did not belong in and did not understand.
Sammy broke into my thoughts. “I’ll walk you back to your car now that you have what you came after.”
I did?
Back at my Mustang, Sammy opened the door for me. His gallant gesture surprised me. It was as if some of his grandfather’s manners rubbed off on him.
“That was my uncle’s hat. I’m sure of it.”
He said nothing. Great. We were now back to the Sammy I’d met earlier in the afternoon.
“You know it was, don’t you? The cops would be very interested to find out how he got that cap.” I knew I’d made a mistake the minute the words slid out of my mouth. His earlier friendly expression disappeared in a flash, replaced by the darkest anger I’d ever seen.
“You should leave now.” He slammed my car door and stalked off toward the house.
The words he didn’t speak couldn’t have been clearer or louder in my head. “And don’t come back.”
I drove out of the small parking area and turned toward home. The sun was at my back and about to slip behind the western edge of the Big Lake. The traffic heading south around the lake was already beyond the Kissimmee Bridge and moving toward their homes in Moore Haven. The waters shone peach and violet in the light from the sun. This was the time of the day I liked the best, when the colors of sunset became true night and washed the land in serenity.
I sighed and slid down in my seat, thinking again of my uncle. It was time to make some calls. I pulled up my contacts on my cell. Grandy first. I hit “connect.” Instead of her comforting voice, I again got the machine. They must have had a charter today. I hated to do it, but I tried my ex-husband Jerry to see if he could get me in touch with Mr. Napolitani, who knew more about mob stuff than anyone. Maybe that was because he was the only gangster in my life, and I sure didn’t need more. Again I got voicemail. And again I decided against leaving a message. My current boyfriend, a private investigator named Alex Montgomery, was away on a case in the Panhandle. I should have called him sooner, I chided myself, but things came up. I wondered if he would buy that excuse when he found out I was again at a murder scene, this time of someone I loved.
I sighed so deeply I felt as if my diaphragm would reposition itself somewhere near my Adam’s apple. My gaze left the road, and I focused for a moment on the last rays of the sun reflected in my rearview mirror. It hid behind a cloud bank, reappeared for an instant, then dropped beneath the horizon, leaving a streak of silver over the water. As beautiful as the sight was, I knew I couldn’t put off calling Alex a moment longer. I swiped his name in my list of contacts and raised the phone to my ear.
Something hit me from behind. The wheel was almost ripped from my grasp. The cell flew from my hand onto the passenger’s seat. I struggled to get control of the car as it headed toward the right side of the road and the small canal at its edge. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the grill of a large black pickup behind me. It roared up closer as I wrestled with the wheel, then it hit my rear end again, pushing me closer to the water. I stood on the brake and jerked the steering wheel hard left. The rear tires spun on the gravel but held. The truck stopped several feet behind me and sat there for a minute, then I heard its engine rev, and it headed for me again. I stomped on the accelerator and fishtailed back onto the road. When I rechecked my mirror; the truck was still there and gaining on me. This time it popped me with such an impact that the car shuddered for a moment and slid sideways across the road. I saw the palm tree coming for me, but I couldn’t do a thing. The front end hit. The airbags deployed and enveloped me in white plastic. I heard the truck drive up behind me and worried he might again ram my car, making me the bologna in a tree and truck sandwich. It didn’t happen.
I heard a door slam and footsteps on the gravel. What new hell is this?
“You stay right there,” a voice commanded.
Like I could move. I was so wrapped in airbag I couldn’t see or speak. When I turned my head to try to look at my visitor, a hand reached in and pushed my head toward the passenger’s side of the car. And damn, that hurt my neck.
“Where is it?” The words were muffled as if he or she was holding something over their mouth to disguise the voice.
“Wha—”
“This is just a small taste of what can happen if you don’t tell us where the money is.”
“Ugh … guff.” I tried to tell my interrogator I couldn’t talk, but how could I? I had a mouth full of airbag.
The hand pressing against my head let go. Thank God. When it returned, I felt something cold and steely against my jugular. A knife.
“Maybe some persuasion will help.”
The blade touched my neck. Yikes. The pressure against my throat increased, then disappeared. That felt better. Or maybe I was dead and couldn’t feel anything. In case I was still alive I waited for my life to flash before my eyes. All I saw were shoes on sale followed by an image of my credit card being cut in half.
“Let’s get you out of there.” Someone reached in as the airbags deflated, and a strong hand on my arm jerked me from the car.
Okay, so I was still alive and now the guy would kill me. And why not? I had no idea where any money was. Did he mean Uncle Winston’s money? Must be.
“Open your eyes.”
“No, just do it. I don’t want to watch.”
There was silence for a moment.
“You are one strange woman, Eve Appel.”
I recognized the voice. My eyelids opened. Sammy Egret stood in front of me.
“You. I should have known. Are you and your grandfather in on this together? And here I believed that crazy story about the swamps taking things. You’re taking things. First the cap, and now you’re trying to get my uncle’s money. That was for the mob, not for you. And I have no idea where it is now.” I was babbling out of fear.
Sammy continued to stare at me. “What are you talking about? Maybe you’ve got a concussion. I’ll call an ambulance. I assume you have a cell. I don’t.”
None of this made any sense. First he tried to run me off
the road, then threatened to kill me and now he wanted to take me to the emergency room? Maybe I did have a concussion. Or perhaps he was calling his grandfather for backup.
Sammy still had my arm in his strong grasp. I’d play along with him. Once he let go, I could run and flag someone down on the road—although no cars had come by since mine kissed the tree.
“The cell’s on the seat.” I gestured toward the Mustang with my head. Gosh it hurt when I moved my neck.
He let go, but my knees gave out from under me.
“Whoa there.” He walked me to the offending tree and propped me up against it.
Good, now let’s get these legs going. They refused to obey my command to run. I dropped to the ground and tried to crawl to the road.
“Where are you going?” Sammy bent and put his arm around my middle, lifting me again to my feet as if I weighed no more than a heron’s feather.
“Here. It’s for you.” He handed me the phone. I had a vague memory of connecting with someone before the truck hit me, but who?
“Eve? Who’s the man I just spoke to, and what was all that noise in the background a minute ago?”
Now I remembered who I’d called. Alex was on the other end of the call, and he didn’t sound happy I’d gotten in touch.
“Hi, honey. That’s Sammy. My Mustang is a wreck.” And then I began to cry.
So here I was at the hospital for the second time today. This time I was the patient. Sammy had been kind enough to follow the ambulance to the hospital, a gesture that convinced me he was telling the truth when he insisted he had come upon the accident after it happened. He said he saw the back end of a pickup driving off as he arrived but was too far away to get the license number. I believed him.
Frida was here too, and she was not happy with Sammy’s description of the vehicle that had rear-ended me.
“A black truck? Everyone around here drives black trucks or SUVs. Anything else you remember that might help to identify it?”
I sat at the end of an examining table, a large plastic collar around my neck. I wondered how I was going to make this fashion accessory work with my wardrobe.
Dead in the Water Page 4
