Better Dead

by Pamela Kopfler

  “How can we help you finish this business?” Angel asked.

  Holly piped up. “That’s not something that he wants to share with everyone.” And especially with Mickey and Charlie, if those were even their names.

  “That’s right. Very personal.” Burl winked at Holly with Sylvia’s mascara-laden lashes.

  “I’ve helped hundreds find their way, and none of them were ever trapped here because of a business problem. Are you sure you don’t have an unresolved personal issue?”

  “Positive.”

  “What about you, Holly? Do you have any unresolved personal issues with Burl? Honesty is important to his journey.”

  “Yeah. He didn’t live long enough for me to divorce him.”

  Burl grumbled. “What is this? Marriage counseling?”

  “It’s whatever you need to find your way,” Angel said in a voice as calm as a windless day.

  Sylvia looked down at her curves again. “I can’t handle this,” Burl said from her body. She did a little dance, like ants were crawling on her; then Burl lifted from her body like smog.

  Sylvia slumped in her chair. “What happened?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all on camera,” Liz said.

  Burl leaned between the honeymooners and blew all the candles out, plunging the room into darkness. “I’m out of here.”

  Angel took her hand from Holly’s. “The spirit has left us.”

  “For good?” Holly said. “Just like that?”

  Angel sighed. “I’m sorry. He’s not ready to be led to the other side.”

  Chairs scraped the cypress floor; then light from the chandelier flooded the room just as Mickey and Charlie slipped out the door.

  Holly followed, then watched from the back door as they headed toward the river.

  “Don’t go after them.” Burl’s chilled breath brushed her ear.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  * * *

  Holly ducked behind an oak tree as the fake honeymooners disappeared over the levee. She’d lagged behind so they wouldn’t see or hear her, but her heart pounded like she’d run a race.

  Sucking in a breath, Holly remembered playing hide-and-seek as a kid and how her lungs had burned when she ran for home base. A fallen cypress over the levee. Back then, the race from the top of the levee to the cypress had been the easiest place to get tagged out. Now, there was more riding on getting over the levee without being seen than a child’s game.

  The wind howled as she mounted the levee and her heels sank into the sod. She groaned. These are my best stilettos, and they’ll never be the same.

  Holly wondered if she’d ever be the same, either. She rubbed her hands over her arms to fight the chill. When she neared the top of the levee, she dropped to her knees. Her black stockings wouldn’t survive the crawl, but she dared not stand at the top of the levee, where she could be seen.

  She peered over the levee. Two dark silhouettes moved into the wooded bottomland of the river. Beyond the woods, she glimpsed a barge, lights off, snugged against the bank. Her heart pounded double time.

  Everything rested on busting the smuggling ring, and it was going down tonight.

  This was her chance to dart over the levee and follow them. She stood, then trotted down the levee in a diagonal line to keep her footing and move faster. Her heels helped by digging into the earthen levee, but she’d have to ditch them if she really had to run. She reached the massive fallen cypress and stole a peek around it.

  No sign of Mickey or Charlie. If she followed them into the woods, they might hear her crunch through the leaves. She needed help. Holly dug her cell phone out of her pocket, then punched in 9-1-1.

  “I need the FBI, the Coast Guard, and the police right now,” she whispered. “There’s a drug deal going down right in my backyard.”

  “May I have your name and your location?” the operator asked in a crisp professional tone.

  “This is Holly Davis, and I’m over the levee behind my house.”

  “Holly? This is Melanie.” Any trace of crisp professionalism in the operator’s voice evaporated into a familiar Southern twang.

  Holly remembered Melanie from high school. She’d married right after graduation and had twins lickety-split. “Melanie Breaux?”

  “Yeah. God, it’s been a long time since I saw you. What are you doing on the levee, and why do you think there’s a drug deal going down at Holly Grove?”

  “It’s a long story,” Holly said as she gripped the phone a little tighter. “Just make the calls.”

  “Didn’t we just send an ambulance and the sheriff to your place a couple of weeks ago for a drug overdose?”

  “That was all a mistake. This is the real thing. I need you to call this in right away. There’s a barge full of dope pushed up on the bank, and I don’t know how long it’ll be here.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t fall off the wagon, Holly?”

  “Huh?” She wanted to reach through the phone and strangle Melanie.

  “You know. That little problem you have.”

  “I never took drugs,” Holly said, noticing the pitch of her voice rise. “The Deltas just thought I did.”

  “I heard you were in rehab.”

  “Rumor. Are you going to call for help or not?”

  Melanie sighed. “It’s my sworn duty to act on all 911 calls, but you really need to get in a program and stay there.”

  “Melanie, I’m stone-cold sober and straight as they come. Please call this in.”

  “You do know you can be charged for misuse of this service.”

  “So charge me. Just make the calls.”

  The phone clicked. Holly held the phone out and stared at it in disbelief. Didn’t 911 operators always stay on the line until help arrived?

  Leaves rustled nearby, and Holly froze.

  CHAPTER 37

  Please be a raccoon or an armadillo, Holly prayed as she hid behind the fallen cypress on the riverside of the levee. The wind blustered through the trees, making every shadow jump in the dark. The police had to be here soon. Surely, Melanie had made the calls. But what if she hadn’t?

  Holly waited motionless, listening and watching. The thud of her heart nearly deafened her. She held her breath and then let it out slowly to quiet her nerves.

  Leaves rustled again. A dark figure stepped from the shadows.

  Holly’s heart rate amped to the max. She studied the figure. Too small for Jake or Charlie.

  “Is that you, Mickey?” Holly called, pumping a light tone into her voice, as though she had nothing to hide.

  “Couldn’t sleep and decided to go for a run,” Mickey said as she stepped into view.

  A run? In a totally black cat-burglar outfit? Yeah, right. And how did she change clothes?

  Holly cupped her phone in her hand, then slipped it in her pocket. “Just taking in the fall air.” Holly yawned. “Maybe I can sleep now. See you in the morning,” she said, then turned toward the levee. The pile of dirt stood between her and safety like Mount Everest.

  Please, please, please let me get to the other side.

  “Wait,” Mickey called.

  Crapola. Holly looked over her shoulder.

  Mickey jogged up the levee. “I’ll walk with you.” She seemed thicker than usual, and a bulge poked out at her side.

  Holly swallowed hard. A gun? “Sure,” she said, trying to act nonchalant.

  Mickey fell in step beside Holly.

  She doesn’t know I know she’s a smuggler. Be cool. All I have to do is get to civilization at Holly Grove.

  As they neared the crest, the silhouette of a male figure topped the levee. Holly came to a dead stop. She had nowhere to run. The figure turned, revealing a keg of a gut, one belonging to Sheriff Walker.

  Holly’s feet jumped into action. Before her brain had a chance to catch up, she stood panting at his side. “Thank God you got here so fast.” Holly pointed to Mickey as she joined them. “She’s a smuggler. There’s two more down at th
e river.”

  “Is that right?” he said.

  Something about his tone niggled at Holly. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but this is no misunderstanding.”

  “I think it is,” Mickey said, reaching for the bulge in her pocket. “If you’ll take a look at my ID—”

  Sheriff Walker drew his weapon. “Easy there. If you don’t want a bullet between your pretty eyes, it’s best you drop that weapon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mickey said. She eased a pistol to the ground and then held her hands in the air. “You may want to see my ID, Sheriff. We’re on the same side.”

  “What?” Holly asked, still reeling from it all.

  Sheriff Walker jacked his chin up at Holly. “Here.” He pitched Holly a flashlight. “Get her ID.”

  Holly’s hands shook so badly she laced her hand through the strap on the flashlight to keep from dropping it. She fumbled through Mickey’s jacket pocket and pulled out a leather case. She stepped back to Sheriff Walker and shone the light on the ID. Holly gasped. “Agent Mickey Heart. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.” Her throat tightened. Mickey had called Jake boss. “And Jake?”

  Mickey lowered her arms and eyed the sheriff. “I told you we were on the same side.”

  A fire-blue flash. A deafening blast. And Mickey lifted off her feet and tumbled down the riverside of the levee.

  Holly’s scream caught in her throat. She wanted to rewind what she’d seen. It’d happened so fast, it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be. Unless . . .

  “Too bad I didn’t notice we were on the same side before I shot her,” Sheriff Walker said as he turned to Holly.

  Dropping the ID, she took a slow step back and then another. She clutched the flashlight, and the beam quivered in the dark as she flashed it on the sheriff. “W-when I called 911, I told Melanie to call the FBI, the Coast Guard, and . . .” She took another backward step. “They’ll be here any minute.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.” He pointed his gun her way.

  Tiny hairs on her neck pricked to attention. Was this it? She wasn’t ready to die. Talk about unfinished business. The smuggling would never end at Holly Grove. Could she end up a ghost like Burl? And what about Jake? He was out there somewhere, trying to bust the smugglers. She had to warn him.

  Holly had to do something. Anything. She aimed the bright beam in the sheriff’s eyes. Maybe he’d miss.

  He squinted but didn’t lower his gun.

  “Wait! If you shoot me, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your miserable life.” The beam quivered across his face. “I swear I will.”

  Her hands trembled, and light streaked across the bank of the levee. Behind the sheriff, she spotted a dark figure crawling up the levee. Mickey.

  “You’ll be right at home, because after the drug bust here, Holly Grove will be confiscated and sold at the sheriff’s sale for a price I can afford.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Yep.” He raised the gun.

  She held her hands in the air. “No, no, no. Bad choice of words.”

  The flashlight dangled from her wrist, and the beam bounced across the ground. Holly’s eyes widened as a sliver of light crossed Mickey’s body. Only a few more feet and Mickey could grab the sheriff’s feet. Then Holly would throw the flashlight at him, jump him, or whatever it took.

  “Let’s think about this,” Holly said, buying time. “How are you going to explain shooting me? I don’t have a gun or any dope.”

  “That’s the beauty of it. You will after you’re dead.”

  * * *

  Where was she? Jake rapped on Holly’s bedroom door again, then paced the hall. Mickey and Charlie had just left her. How could she disappear in the five minutes it had taken him to get to Holly Grove from the staging area?

  To hell with it. He dug the duplicate he’d made of the master key out of his pocket, then unlocked her door. He stepped into her pitch-black bedroom and flipped on the light.

  Rhett lay curled up in the middle of her bed, alone.

  Jake slapped the door facing on the way out. He jogged down the stairs to the kitchen and found it dark. He checked all the downstairs rooms again and then looked out the window at her Tahoe parked in its usual place. She’s got to be here.

  He returned to the big hall at the center of the house. A cool draft dusted his neck and sent a chill down his back. He rubbed a hand over his neck, then glanced behind him. His reflection caught his eye, and he remembered Holly had covered that mirror for the Haunted Pilgrimage. The sheer black cloth lay in a puddle on the chest beneath the mirror. He picked up the cloth and rubbed it between his fingers. It wasn’t like Holly to allow even the smallest detail of the Haunted Pilgrimage to veer from what tourists expected.

  A small foggy circle formed at eye level in the mirror. He leaned closer. The circle grew to the size of a basketball. What the . . . ?

  He laughed at himself. You idiot. You breathed on the mirror.

  Jake took a step back as a word formed in the foggy circle. Holly.

  Turning in a full circle, Jake chuckled. “Okay, Holly. You got me.”

  Then another word was scribbled across the mirror. River.

  And another. Danger.

  The unmistakable sound of a gun blast reverberated in the distance.

  He tore out of the house and across the lawn. Pulling his nine-millimeter from under his coat, he never broke his gait as he neared the levee. His chest burned, but his legs pumped as fast as they could. He spotted two dark figures.

  Jake squinted. One figure was smaller than the other. A female? She held her hands in the air. With each step, the scene became clearer. A woman stood at gunpoint. Holly?

  He planted his feet and dropped a bead on the shooter. A black blur rose from the ground and tackled the gunman as twin blasts from Jake and the gunman pierced the night air.

  The gunman rolled in a tangle of arms and legs with the shadowy figure to the base of the levee.

  But where was Holly?

  Jake dashed to the tangled heap of bodies at the foot of the levee. He kicked the gun away from the man, who lay facedown, with a bloody stain on his shoulder.

  Mickey struggled to her knees, then stood. “You winged him.”

  Jake picked up the man’s gun and tossed it to Mickey. “Shoot him in the other shoulder if he moves.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Praying Holly was alive, Jake bounded up and over the other side of the levee. “Holly.”

  He jogged across the base of the levee, scanning the ground. Nothing. Relief trickled over Jake. He must have clipped the gunman before he got his shot off, or he would have found . . . A cold sweat drenched Jake.

  He had to find her. And fast. Before she got herself into deadly trouble.

  * * *

  Holly woke to jarring steps that weren’t hers. Someone was carrying her. Her vision blurred as she tried to focus on the man’s face. A warm trickle slid from her forehead into her eyes, and her head ached like she’d been hit with a hammer.

  The last thing she remembered was staring down the barrel of Sheriff Walker’s gun. Then it was as though she’d fallen into the black hole of nothing Burl had talked about.

  A man huffed as he carried her with quick strides.

  She wiped her eyes, and her vision cleared a bit. Mud, smeared like camo paint, striped the man’s face. “Mackie?”

  “Shh.”

  “What happened?”

  “You got nicked with a bullet. You’re gonna be fine, but if we don’t find a place to hide, we’re both gonna get shot.”

  Holly wiped her hand over her face, and deep red blood coated her fingers. A wave of nausea flooded her. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Mackie stopped short.

  Shouts in Spanish came from ahead. A muscled-up guy wielding a machine gun stepped onto the path in front of them. The wolf tattoo on his bicep swelled as he tightened his grip on his weapon.

  Two more guys with big guns joined him, one bald
and sporting a dirty-blond goatee and the other with dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. They jabbered to each other in Spanish, and Holly wished she’d paid more attention in Spanish I.

  The one with the ponytail pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. After a few words in Spanish, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket, then said something to the wolf man. With a nod, the wolf man headed in her direction.

  Mackie’s muscles tensed as he hefted her a little higher in his arms.

  She watched a hazy version of the wolf man walk around them and then poke Mackie in the back with the gun. Mackie staggered forward a bit.

  “Move,” the wolf man said, but the word sounded slow and distorted.

  Holly tilted her head away from Mackie and puked.

  * * *

  A dull buzz sounded behind Jake as he mounted the levee. He turned and glimpsed a green glow on the ground. A cell phone? He jogged over and picked up the phone but missed the call. He recognized the cell phone as Holly’s. Miss Alice’s name was scrolled across the screen as a missed call. Likely not relevant.

  “Jake,” Mickey yelled from the other side of the levee. “Is Holly okay?”

  He jogged to the top of the steep incline, then down toward Mickey. “Yeah, but she must have taken off.”

  Mickey hitched a boot under the gunman and rolled him over.

  Handcuffed and muddy, Sheriff Walker moaned. “I thought I shot you.”

  “You did.” Mickey thumped her chest. “Kevlar.”

  “I never liked that jerk,” Jake said, handing Holly’s phone to Mickey. “It’s not locked. Find the call history. I have a feeling our sheriff here got a call.”

  “A 911 at 11:04,” she said.

  “How convenient for you, Sheriff.” Holly had unknowingly tipped off Burl’s evident replacement. “If Holly hadn’t called, you’d have missed getting busted tonight.”

  The sheriff groaned. “Screw you.”

  “Did you read the sheriff his rights?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Mickey said.

  “I’ve got some advice for you, Sheriff.”

  “Keep it,” he grunted.

  “Your goons heard the shots.” Jake took the sheriff’s phone from his belt. “I bet your last call was a heads-up for them.”