The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely fictitious, used fictitiously or coincidentally.
Copyright © Vicki Graybosch 2013
All rights reserved
Copyrighted Material
ISBN: 1493770756
ISBN 13: 9781493770755
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921050
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
Edited by, Erika Canter
Cover photography, Jennifer Unger
Cover model, Tim Wilson
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
List of characters at end of book
CATAHOULA
The Shallow End Gals
Teresa Duncan
Vicki Graybosch
Linda McGregor
Kimberly Troutman
Previous books :
Shallow End Gals Trilogy
“Alcohol Was Not Involved” Book One
“Extreme Heat Warning” Book Two
“Silent Crickets” Book Three
From the authors………
Over our years of friendship we have discovered that we each have a unique opinion on the afterlife. We do agree that it is a comforting thought that angels may be among us. If so, it seems only logical there may be a learning curve in passing. We are hopeful that, as flawed mortals, new angels are given a great deal of patient training. This premise is a humorous secondary story line in our books.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CATAHOULA: List of Characters
Monday late afternoon…
Izzy slammed the brakes on her bike and stared at the tall grass in the ditch. She was sure she had seen a glint of metal. She lowered her kickstand and noticed her shoelace had broken again. It was already knotted in three places and difficult to tie. Her stringy brown hair fell across her young face as she crouched down and dug in the grass for the shiny object. She found it. It was round and thin, but packed in mud. She pulled a small rag from her bicycle basket and spit on the corner. Her brow furrowed as she feverishly scrubbed through the mud. The sunlight burst from the shiny edge and Izzy squealed. It was a quarter!
She dug into her pocket and found the small red velveteen bag that Gram had given her. Her tiny fingers gently loosened the string tie and she dropped the quarter in to join her other treasures. Izzy gently pulled on the string until the bag was securely closed. She stuffed the bag back into her pocket and pedaled toward Gram’s. The hardest part of her trip was just ahead: making it past Otis’s store.
Her bike slowed as she watched people leave the store with paper bags full of groceries. Her stomach fisted in hunger and her mouth watered up so fast she had to swallow twice. In her basket was a paper bag with an orange and a package of crackers she had earned from sweeping sidewalks for Ms. Nelson. Izzy had hidden the bag under some rags. Gram would love the orange. Oranges had vitamins.
Izzy’s bike slowed to a stop at the door to Otis’s store. She smelled fried chicken. Her eyes scanned the signs taped to the front window looking for the price of that chicken. Maybe she could buy Gram just one piece.
Izzy put her kickstand down and placed her bike in front of the big window. She retrieved her paper bag from her basket, took a deep breath and walked into the store. Her chin held up high, she walked to the glass case where Otis stood talking to a customer. The customer paid for his food with paper money, lifted his sack and waved goodbye.
Otis glanced at Izzy. “What can I get for ya, little miss?”
Izzy frowned at his calling her little miss.
She cleared her throat and said, “I’d like to buy a very small piece of your cooked chicken.” The aroma from the chicken was so strong Izzy thought she might be able to lick the air and taste it.
While Izzy waited for Otis to give her a price, she noticed he also sold shoelaces. She leaned closer to the display to read the price tag. Ninety-nine cents! He must be crazy!
Izzy frowned at Otis, “If you charge ninety-nine cents for shoelaces, then your chicken must cost a million dollars! I have probably used up my money already just smellin’ the air in here!”
Izzy had one fist on her hip and her paper bag clenched tight in her other hand.
Otis tried hard not to smile. “I don’t charge for smellin’. Why don’t you tell me how much you want to spend and we will figure out what size piece of chicken you can get?”
“I want that senior discount thing the door says.” Izzy had her shoulders back and tried to look like a serious negotiator.
Otis chuckled, “Senior discount be for old people. You’re what…ten?”
“This is for my Gram and she is real old.”
Izzy pulled her red pouch from her pocket and put it on top of the counter. “I have almost a dollar.”
Otis noticed her worn clothing and her knotted shoelaces. Her little fingers were white from clutching her paper bag. “What you got in the paper bag?”
Izzy whipped the bag behind her back and said, “I earned these sweepin’. I got Gram a whole package of crackers…and an orange. Can’t leave ‘em in my basket lest someone steal ‘em.” Her eyes sparkled when she said orange and Otis nodded his head.
Otis reached in an oven door and pulled out two large chicken breasts, placed them in a box, and put them on the counter in front of Izzy. Izzy’s eyes opened wide, she swallowed and said, “I don’t want to spend the whole dollar. I only need one piece.”
Otis nodded. “It be buy one, get one free day. You’re gonna have to take both.” Otis smiled at her expression and added, “If you can impress me with your smarts, I’ll throw in the shoelaces.”
Izzy smiled from ear to ear. “I can do my alphabet backwards!”
Otis started laughing, “Why did you learn them backwards?”
Izzy grinned, “Case someday I gotta prove I’m smart!”
She stood as straight as a soldier and said her alphabet forward and back. Otis put the shoelaces in her bag. He gave her back sixty cents from her three quarters and told her to stop back anytime. The bells on the door jingled as she left the store. Izzy hid her treasures in her basket and pedaled as fast as she could to Gram’s.
Izzy frowned at the mail on the porch floor. That darn mailbox fell off the wall again. She noticed most of the letters were pink. Gram always said once they turn pink, be
st be doing somethin’ about ‘em. Izzy shook her head in worry. She had to figure a way to earn some real money. Maybe just for today she would put the mail where Gram couldn’t see it. Gram looked sad this morning and Izzy didn’t want anything to spoil tonight’s feast.
Her key turned hard in the lock and she twisted her bike to rest it in the foyer against the old plaster wall. She hid the mail in her basket, grabbed her paper sack with the crackers, chicken and the orange. She called out “Surprise!” as she ran for Gram’s room.
Izzy stood at the end of Gram’s bed, silent. Gram didn’t look so good. Her lips were blue and her skin ashen. Izzy dropped her sack on the floor and cupped Gram’s foot in her hands. She gave it a little wiggle. “Gram?” The silence in the room was deafening and Izzy could hear herself choking back sobs. She crawled on the bed and kissed Gram’s cold cheek. Gram was her whole world, and now she was gone.
Early Tuesday morning….
Cat’s direct line was ringing. He glanced at his watch. The office wouldn’t open for another twenty minutes. The files on his desk had shifted and he had to unbury the receiver.
“Sabastian.” Cat rolled his neck as he waited for the caller to identify themselves. After a moment he repeated, “Sabastian, can I help you?” It was another breathing call. He hung up.
His secretary, Martha, frowned in the do orway. “Was that another hang up call?” Her fierce protective side was showing.
“Technically, I’m the one hanging up.” Cat rolled his chair away from the desk and tossed a paper wad across the room to the waste basket. He looked up and grinned, “Got anything fun for me to do in the next hour? I have court at nine.”
Martha pretended a scowl as she placed a stack of files on his desk. “I don’t know what kind of fun you expect as a prosecutor for the U.S. Attorney General’s office.” Martha noticed a slight stoop to his shoulders. “You’ve been putting in some hellish hours. Are you taking care of yourself?”
Cat rolled his chair back to the desk and started scanning file covers. “I’m just fine, but thanks for asking.” He glanced up quickly and winked. Martha shook her head, left the room and repositioned herself at her desk. She was well aware that the rest of the office called it the hawk’s perch.
A moment later he heard Martha raise her voice to someone. “You need to schedule an appointment like anyone else.” Martha leaned back in her chair and turned to face Cat’s office window. She mouthed, “Reporter”, and shrugged her shoulders.
Cat smiled and motioned for her to transfer the call. Martha pointed down to indicate the reporter was in the building. Cat snickered at Martha’s expression. She hated reporters. Cat’s intercom buzzed. Martha must have put the reporter on hold. “He says it’s important and he can only talk to you.”
“Then send him in. I could use some entertainment.”
About ten minutes had passed when a young man from the Times-Picayune softly knocked on Cat’s open door. “Mr. Delacroix? Thank you for seeing me.”
Cat stood and shook the young reporter’s hand. “And your name is?”
“Reuben Florey, sir.”
“Just call me Cat.” Cat motioned for Reuben to take a seat and Cat returned to his. “What’s so important?”
The young reporter looked very nervous and pulled out a small notebook. He quickly flipped a few pages and took a deep breath. He looked at Cat very seriously and said, “A man has been unfairly charged with murder. He has proof of his innocence and a lead on the real murderer. He wants me to pass the information to you directly. Not the cops…..just you.”
Cat frowned. He was a prosecutor, not a detective. “Why me?”
Reuben answered, “He said he only trusts the prosecutor the press calls Catahoula.”
Cat smiled at his memory of the first time that nickname had appeared in the newspaper years ago. The Catahoula is a Louisiana leopard dog that is known for its sharp instincts and cunning attack skills. The nickname had stuck and Catahoula had been shortened to ‘Cat’ by most people who knew him.
Cat tapped his pen on his stack of files. “Okay, then, why you? What’s this guy’s name?”
Reuben leaned forward and practically whispered, “Edward J. Meyer.”
Cat sat back. He knew the name well. His mind began extracting fragments of information from his memory. He began reorganizing the details of the murder case that shook New Orleans to its core eight years ago. Satisfied he was ready to hear more, Cat leaned forward, brow furrowed, “He’s dead.”
“He’s alive.” Reuben shifted his position in the chair, took a deep breath and exhaled “He’s my father.”
Professor Thomas Hadley woke early and gingerly walked the pitch black perimeter of the camp site. Sleep had been sparse, interrupted by swamp noises both real and imagined. He had literally drawn the short straw for this assignment. The thick, humid swamp air stunk of rot and methane gas. His team of scientists had arrived last night to monitor the activity of the now thirty acre Assumption Parish sinkhole.
He could actually see the lazy whirlpool of the swamp waters mysteriously tease the land masses and trees at the sinkhole edge. Without warning huge hunks of earth and hundred year old cypress trees dropped silently below the water line - sucked into the unknown depths below.
What used to be marsh lands above the world’s largest brine dome had been reborn into a living, breathing monster of unknown proportions. The dome had been abandoned and capped until accidently penetrated by a drilling team. The scientific community blamed this breach of the dome’s shell as the catalyst of its collapse.
Swamp waters had rushed in to fill the insatiable void. Pressure from water above and gravity below crushed against the dome’s compromised shell and accelerated its disintegration. Thomas had been stunned when the government acknowledged that within the dome was over fifty abandoned caverns that had been used for the storage of hazardous materials. He wondered how much money had traded hands to pull off that brilliant idea. One such storage cavern housed highly explosive butane gas byproduct.
Immeasurable pressures within the shifting dome were causing dangerous pockets of crude oil and natural gases to escape. These pressure vents were also accelerating the damage to the brine shell. Geologists nicknamed these vents ‘bubble spots’ for laymen and the media. Twenty new ‘bubble’ sites had been located in just the last two weeks. All that was needed now for an unprecedented catastrophe was an ignition source. One could only guess what greater dangers might lay beneath the giant dome.
To date the government’s reaction had been to order the evacuation of the area’s five hundred homeowners. Thomas shook his head. If this wasn’t so damn serious, it would be laughable.
Thomas trained his night vision binoculars to the eastern sky where he heard the rhythmic warp of helicopter rotors approaching. The helicopter flew over the sinkhole center and circled back around. It would be sunrise in less than twenty minutes. Thomas wondered what possible purpose there was in doing an observation flight in the dark.
His jaw dropped in shock as a screaming man fell from the helicopter into the center of the sinkhole vortex. The helicopter banked and flew away. The screaming had stopped. It was as if nothing had happened.
Stone Carson could have become many things. Striking good looks and a brilliant mind were assets he had no intention of wasting. Many entities had vied for his favor over the years. Stone had been amused at their pitiful attempts to persuade him.
They would never come close to the offer he had accepted. Anything he ever asked for, for the rest of his life. He could pick his assignments and would be provided anything he needed. He wasn’t the only one, but in the last ten years, he had become the best. His employer only had one requirement: clean results.
The result he wanted this early morning was for Senator Dalton’s body to be sucked to the bottom of the Assumption Parish sinkhole. Stone studied the control panel of the Bell 429 helicopter and engaged the night vision beam. He looked to his copilot and yelled, “Get hi
s ass on the edge.” The copilot moved to the passenger bay, removed the cuffs from the terrified man and ripped the duct tape from his mouth.
“You’ll never get away with this! What do you want? I can get you anything! Why are you doing this?”
Stone yelled back, “Wait a minute! I see movement down there. Let me circle around.”
Stone circled, determined everything was clear, and yelled, “Now.”
The copilot pried the Senator’s hands from the door and kicked the center of his back sending the flailing man screaming into the center of the black whirlpool below.
Stone signaled for the copilot to take over and pointed back east where Stone was going to parachute from the copter back to his car. Stone checked the emergency gear on the chute, located his landing flare in the distance, signaled his exit and jumped.
He glided to a silent landing within fifty yards of his rental car. He removed the chute and turned off the battery flare in front of the car. Stone lit the chute with a lighter and stretched his neck. The forties didn’t feel as good as the thirties had. Just before starting the engine to leave, he pointed his detonator toward the fading sound of the helicopter rotors. He watched as the sky exploded into a bright yellow ball of fire. Clean results.
Cat walked over to his office door and closed it. He twisted the rod to close the blinds and stood leaning against his file cabinet. There would be plenty of time later to ask questions. Right now he wanted to listen to Rueben. Cat looked at his watch, “You have fifteen minutes. Write down your contact information and start talking. I have to be in court.”
Martha chewed on the end of her pen and saw the red light come on Cat’s phone line. That meant do not disturb. This was only the second time she had seen him use it in eight years. Whatever that young man was saying was mighty important. Martha thrust her shoulders back and glared at anyone who even appeared to be heading toward Cat’s office. The hawk was in her perch.
Catahoula: Shallow End Gals (A Shallow End Gals Book 4) Page 1
