by Angie Sandro
“Merciful heavens, anyone dead?”
“Four buffalo got killed. No human fatalities, but some pretty serious injuries. A little boy needed to be flown over to Lafayette. The sheriff’s ETA is in an hour with the coroner.” He remembers to take a breath before continuing, “So, where is my crime scene?”
“About half a mile away. Got a flashlight? It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”
George climbs back into his car and comes out with a long-handled flashlight and his shotgun. He pulls a mini-flashlight from his duty belt and hands it over.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, leading him into the woods.
He walks with the shotgun pointed skyward, alert for trouble. His eyes scan the dense foliage completely oblivious to my desperate attempts to keep the conversation going so I don’t have to think about our destination. How can silence be so deafening? Say something. Anything.
George clears his throat. “How’s your ma? She been staying out of trouble? I haven’t seen her at the station for a few days.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and my steps quicken. I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. “Mama’s doing just fine, Georgie.” Somehow I manage to answer without my voice betraying the immense humiliation I feel. Why did he have to go and irritate me by bringing up Mama? “I’m sure she’ll be real grateful for your concern over not seeing her in the drunk tank.”
God love him, but it takes a few seconds for the sarcasm to sink in.
“Oh, Mala, you know I didn’t mean anything bad by that. I hadn’t seen her is all, and I usually see her every weekend…uh, this isn’t going too good for me, is it? Might be better if I shut up, huh?”
My eyes roll at George’s horrified tone. He has a good soul, not a mean bone in his body, and the faux pas leaves him flustered. Wanting to put him out of his misery, I look over my shoulder with a forced grin that I hope doesn’t scare him. “Don’t worry. You mess with me, I mess with you.”
“Still, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous.” He gives me a sideways glance. “I wouldn’t say this to anyone but you ’cause…”
“’Cause you know I’ll have your back?” I arch an eyebrow and echo his relieved smile. “Stop avoiding the subject by buttering me up with compliments. What’s wrong?”
His hand tightens around the shotgun. “Fine, but don’t laugh. Swear.”
I cross my heart.
“I’ve never seen a corpse before, and Sheriff Keyes expects me to work the crime scene alone until he arrives with the coroner.” He pauses, and I give him a blank face—the expression I hide behind whenever someone says something hurtful. Or in this case, to keep from laughing my head off over seeing big, bad, ex–football player, super-cop Georgie shaken. It makes him a little less superhero-like and more human.
He gives me a relieved smile. “I don’t want to make a fool out of myself.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you do anything stupid, like vomit on the body,” I tease. A slight chill in the air makes me shiver, and I wrap my arms around myself for comfort. I smell the sulfur stench of the water before I see the girl’s body lying on the muddy bank. “There she is.”
George plays the flashlight across the corpse. “Oh Jesus, damn it,” he whispers, voice choked up. “It’s Lainey—Elaine Prince.”
“Lainey.” I sigh the nickname. Knowing it makes her feel real. She didn’t before, not totally. I turn to George, unable to face her glazed stare. “She’s exactly how I left her.”
“O-oh, well, that’s good.”
We stand side by side over her body, coming to grips with the harsh reality of her death in our own ways. Seeing her again stirs up volatile emotions I refuse to contemplate too closely. I can’t afford to look weak, and breaking down in front of George is not an option. Finally, I can’t take the silence and ask, “You gonna pass out?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. I knew Lainey.” George clears his throat. “She’s…she was a couple of years ahead of me in school. I had a huge crush on her in ninth grade.”
He squats down beside Lainey and pulls her dress down over her legs. I almost remind him to put on gloves, but it doesn’t matter. Any evidence probably washed away in the swamp.
“Lainey comes from a good family,” he says. “Her father’s a well-respected preacher. Her mama’s always donating time. You know, doing good deeds like feeding and clothing the poor. They’ll be crushed.”
My rubber boots squelch in the muck as I hunker down next to him. “Prince, huh?”
The name sends tendrils of unease down my spine. The image of Landry Prince’s gray eyes form in my mind. His heavy stare followed me whenever I walked past him at school. I memorized his schedule last semester to avoid going to the places where he hung out with his friends. I’d shaken him until a few weeks ago when he started coming into Munchies on the weekends when I work a second job—not sure why he finds my waiting tables so fascinating. The irritating thing is he never speaks to me. Hell, he doesn’t even come in alone. He has a different bobble-headed girl clinging to his arm each time, but do his dates keep his attention from turning to me like a needle drawn to a lodestone? Nope!
George glances over at me. The shadows make it difficult to read his expression, which means he can’t see how freaked out I am either. “Her younger brother, Landry, went to your school.”
My chest tightens. I can’t breathe. I close my eyes and focus on drawing in air.
Crap, she is related to him. My juju’s the worst today.
“Mala, are you okay?”
I twitch, blinking in George’s direction. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Oh, yeah, Landry got accepted to play football at the JC. I’ve seen him on campus.”
I try to picture Landry’s face, but I’ve always avoided studying him too closely because he makes my stomach squiggly. The only image that forms clearly is of eyes like the sky before a hurricane. The rest of his features blur and morph into his sister’s bloated face and dead-eyed stare. My stomach sours like I ate a tainted batch of crawfish, and I swallow hard. Desperate for a distraction from how queasy I feel, I walk over to a downed log and sit down. “He’s never said two words to me, but he struts around campus like he’s the king and we’re subjects who must bow down before him. He’s an arrogant jerk.”
Landry watches me, Georgie, like I’m a deer he’s tracking. I shiver, rubbing my arms. I’ve had boys interested in me before. Some hate me. Others are scared or curious because of the witchy rumors. But Landry…he creeps me out but also strangely fascinates me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and the touch of his eyes on my skin feels…electric, like when thunder rumbles overhead just before lightning strikes. I hate it.
George follows and sits beside me. His arm brushes mine. “Sounds about right from what I know of Landry, but Lainey was a good person.” I can’t see his eyes, but I feel his gaze fall on me. “You know, Mala, you’ve never gone out of your way to try to get to know folks. Not everyone has it out for you.”
I tense up. Of all people, he knows better than anyone the sort of special hell my life has been. “Maybe if I hadn’t been bullied all through high school, I’d be more social, Georgie. I can’t help that I didn’t always have clean clothes, let alone name brands…” I trail off, feeling hot and sticky. Hellfire! Arguing over the body of a dead girl. How low could I get? “Look, I have my reasons for not liking Landry, but this is his sister, and I don’t mean to disrespect the dead.”
George blows out a breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not the time or place.”
“But you did say it.”
“Yeah, I did. ’Cause it’s true. And life’s kind of short to leave things unsaid, don’t you think?”
No, I’ve never thought that. I draw in a deep breath. His fresh, clean scent washes away the scent of decay. George bumps his shoulder into mine, and I almost tumble off the log.
“Damn it, Georgie.”
I jab my elbow into his side. “How about if we agree to disagree on this issue and call it even?”
George’s mouth opens. I can tell by the set look on his face that he has an argument prepared and ready to launch. Then his eyes follow mine. When his gaze lands on Lainey, he shudders. The radio connected to his belt crackles. He speaks quietly into the microphone attached to his lapel and then turns to me.
“We’ll finish this discussion later. Sheriff Keyes, Detective Caine, and Coroner Rathbone are at your house with the crime scene techs. You okay to get them alone?”
“Sure, if you aren’t too scared to stay here by yourself. I think you’ll be fine. Just march around and make a lot of noise to scare off any critters. Don’t get trigger happy when we return and shoot us on accident,” I tease with a flashlight-enhanced grin, then shut off the light to fade ghostlike into the brush.
* * *
The moon lets in faint light through the treetops. I allow my eyes to adjust, then lead my group toward the crime scene. Sheriff Keyes, the parish coroner Dr. James Rathbone, Detective Bessie Caine, and two crime scene technicians with their large flashlights and bags of equipment follow like the pack of stampeding buffalo that caused the traffic accident.
Damn. I’m sick of this crawling, choking feeling of dread. It smothers me with each step. My breaths quicken. I desperately try to take my mind off of seeing Lainey again. I really, really don’t want to go back. But I owe it to George to suck it up. Only a selfish loser would abandon him when he’s waiting for me. Plus it’s part of the job description.
Sheriff Keyes pats my shoulder, and I flinch. “Are you doing okay?” he asks.
My voice cracks, but I manage a shaky smile as I say, “Well, sir, stumbling across that girl’s body tonight certainly put some gray hairs on my head. I’ll look as stately as you soon enough, if I’m not careful.”
He runs his fingers through his silver hair. “I’ve seen a lot of untimely deaths in my life, and it’s never easy or kind on the living.”
My head drops as I sigh. “No, it’s not.”
“All things considered, you handled a difficult situation like a professional.”
Joy rushes through me. I squeeze my hands together and hold in my squeal. It won’t do to act like a dippy-brained teenager after getting such a high compliment from my hero. The sheriff doesn’t know it, but he’s the closest thing I have to a father figure. I’ve idolized him ever since I was a little tot, hanging onto Mama’s skirt and trying not to cry as she was carted off to jail. He teases me to make me feel normal. And I tease him back to feel strong. He’ll never admit it to me, but he likes my spunk. I overheard him tell Bessie so.
Keep it cool, Mala. “I hope you’ll remember you said that when I apply for deputy next year and not all the silly things I’ve done since you’ve known me, Sheriff.”
He gives me a weary smile. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Ah, Bessie’s coming. I’ll let the two of you take point.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the chief detective reaches me, I wrap my arm around her waist. “Hey, Bessie, konmen to yê?”
“Çé bon, mèsi,” Detective Bessie Caine says, squeezing me so tight that I almost trip. When she loosens her grip enough for me to step aside, I see her solemn expression, but I also detect a bit of a twinkle in her dark eyes. She’s always been nice to me. Hell, to be honest, she raised me. At least once a week, when Mama got too drunk to drive home, Bessie dragged her out of the bar and dropped her off at the house. She even stayed a bit to make sure I had something to eat since Mama tended to forget that a growing girl needed food.
Bessie sighs. “So, tell me what happened.”
I shrug and pull from the safety of her arms. “Pretty much what I told Ms. Dixie. I found the girl—Lainey Prince—floating in the bayou…”
Bessie places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You didn’t mention a name when you called, Malaise. How do you know her?”
“I don’t. Georgie recognized her. Speaking of, maybe we can move a little faster ’cause he’s all alone and kind of freaked about the gators.”
Sheriff Keyes chuckles from behind. “Oh, is he?”
Instant regret stabs a hole in my chest. I didn’t realize he’d be able to overhear our conversation. Why did I open my big mouth? Not wanting to make George look bad, I say, “George secured the crime scene, and he’s protecting it from gators. I also saw tracks this morning for Mamalama. She’s the biggest razorback we’ve got in these parts. It’s lucky I found Lainey before that old boar came for water and smelled her, or the boar might’ve eaten her.”
Sheriff Keyes points the flashlight directly at my face. “That’s a gory thought.”
Blinking, I shrug and pick up my pace. “I like to watch mob movies. Pigs eat anything. I’ve heard the best way to dispose of a body is to throw it in a pigpen. Not that I’ve been researching body disposal for a specific reason or anything.” Oh God, Mala shut up.
Bessie’s shoulders twitch, her version of a knee-slapping guffaw.
I blush and duck my head, wishing I could rewind the last few minutes. Great. I protected George’s reputation by making myself look like a blithering idiot.
The report of a gunshot fills the air and, with it, a shout.
“Georgie!” I yell, and lurch forward. I never should’ve left him alone.
Acknowledgments
To the readers of the Dark Paradise Series, thank you. If these novels allowed you to escape for a single second from the troubles of your daily life, then I truly have attained my dream.
This series was a labor of love, and I am grateful to the many people who have helped me along the way. Without your support, I would not be seeing a lifelong dream come true. My love and gratitude goes to my family, whose unwavering support inspired me. Nate, my soul mate, thank you for talking me off of the ledge whenever I wanted to quit and for keeping me supplied with chocolate and peach tea. Kierstan and Maxwell, Mama could not have done this without your patience and love. You inspire me every day. Dreams are attainable when your loved ones believe in you. Never give up. To my parents and, later, my in-laws, you cultivated a love of reading and writing in your children and grandchildren. Thank you for that gift. To my supportive siblings, I love you.
To my amazing agent, Kathleen Rushall, you are my champion, a friend, and the Ned Stark of my heart. You never gave up hope and found us the perfect home in Grand Central Publishing. To my amazing editors, Alex Logan, Debra Manette, and Chris Gage, I appreciate the opportunity that you have given me. You amaze me with your questions, your insight, and your willingness to push me to be the best that I can be. My gratitude to Madeleine Colavita and the extraordinary Grand Central team, who work so hard behind the scenes to make their authors feel special and wonderful. To J.A. Redmerski, thank you for your wonderful words. I’m thrilled and encouraged every time I read your blurb.
A special shout-out goes to the amazing folks at AQC, especially the Speculative Fiction group. I found you when I needed you the most. Thank you to my amazing critique partners. Kate Evangelista, you were the first person other than family to read my work. Thank you for letting me know that I didn’t completely suck at writing and for being a mentor, a friend, and a psychic twin. You taught me how to grow in my craft, supported me when I thought all was lost, and cheered me on when things went well. Carla Rehse and Sarah Gagnon, my writing sisters, the two of you mean the world to me. We’ve been through the thick of it, and we’ve come out stronger. Thanks for reading my rough first chapters and making them shine. Donald McFatridge, King of Echoes, thanks for getting my twisted sense of humor by being even more twisted. You’re the funniest man I know. Michelle Hauck, Queen of Plotholes, thank you for catching my dangling threads. Without you nothing in this story would make a lick of sense.
Thank you to my awesome betas, Joyce Alton, Jennifer Troemner, Diana Robicheaux, Debra Kopfer, Jordan Adams, Jason Peridon, Kierstan Sandro, Bessie Slaton, Jonathan Allen, Christine Berm
an, and Margaret Fortune. You all rock! I couldn’t have done this without you and so many others from AQC.
To my wonderful friends and coworkers at BCP, thank you for listening to my crazy ideas. You supported me when I only thought of this as an unattainable dream. I appreciate each and every one of you.
About the Author
Angie Sandro was born at Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri. Within six weeks, she began the first of eleven relocations throughout the United States, Spain, and Guam before the age of eighteen.
Friends were left behind. The only constants in her life were her family and the books she shipped wherever she went. Traveling the world inspired her imagination and allowed her to create her own imaginary friends. Visits to her father’s family in Louisiana inspired this story.
Angie now lives in Northern California with her husband, two children, and an overweight Labrador.
Author Web site: http://anjeasandro.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @AngieSandro
Facebook: http://facebook.com/pages/Angie-Sandro/253044268078356
Also by Angie Sandro
Dark Paradise
Dark Sacrifice
Don’t miss any of the titles in this series.
“A vivid and entertaining storyteller, Sandro is an exciting new writer to watch.”
—J. A. Redmerksi, New York Times bestselling author
* * *
* * *
You Might Also Like…
Looking for more great digital reads? We’ve got you covered!
Now Available from Forever Yours
