by Jana DeLeon
She shook her head when she finished. “Taking a shot at me seems a drastic action to take when they don’t even know what little I overheard.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit extreme, but I’m not sure I like the alternatives any better.”
“You’re thinking if someone sabotaged Clifton’s boat, they may have come here looking for him or something else and found me instead.”
Colt nodded. “I haven’t liked the look of this from the beginning, and every little thing that happens sends me leaning more and more toward thinking some big trouble is going on behind all of this.”
“Me too. But any of the stops I made today could be the one that set someone off. Some people are better at hiding things than others.”
“Unfortunately true. Did you finish searching the inside of the cabin?”
“No. I was just about to move into the bedroom when I heard the shooter out back.”
He blew out a breath. “Then let’s do that and head out of here. There’s a diner on the highway about ten miles from here. We can stop there and ask about Clifton.”
Jadyn’s stomach rumbled.
Colt smiled. “And maybe grab a bite to eat.”
“Sure,” Jadyn said, trying to brush off her embarrassment. Stomach-rumbling probably wasn’t the most attractive look to guys.
Jadyn’s mind whirled as they headed back to the cabin. Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the shooter had mistaken her for Clifton or someone else? Was it really that simple? Or had her questions at the shrimp houses stirred something up that she couldn’t yet put her finger on?
As they rounded the corner of the cabin to the front, an older man with silver hair and a shotgun stepped from behind Colt’s truck, the shotgun leveled at them.
“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing here?” he asked.
They both lifted their hands. “Are you Clifton?” Colt asked.
“I asked you first.”
“I’m Sheriff Bertrand, from Mudbug. This is Jadyn St. James, the game warden. We’re looking for Clifton.”
The man narrowed his eyes at them. “Show me some ID. And no funny business.”
They both pulled ID out of their pockets and held them up. The man stepped a bit closer, then lowered the shotgun. “Sorry about that,” he said, “but there’s been some break-ins around here lately. Last one hit an eighty-year-old woman with a lamp, and she fell and broke her hip. Can’t be too careful.”
“I understand,” Colt said. “So are you Clifton?”
“No. I’m a friend, of sorts.”
“What do you mean?” Jadyn asked.
“I mean, Clifton don’t have friends. More like acquaintances that he sometimes drinks a beer with.”
“So why are you here, Mr.…?” Colt asked.
“Dagget. Warren Dagget. I’m here because Clifton didn’t show up to pick up the new nets he ordered from me. He was losing money every day trying to keep the old ones patched. He was supposed to show first thing this morning. I’ve called several times but never got an answer. Then I remembered the break-ins and thought I might ought to check things out.”
“That’s a neighborly thing of you to do, Mr. Dagget,” Colt said, “but if there’s vandals around, it’s also a dangerous one.”
Dagget frowned. “Did something happen to Clifton?”
“We’re not sure,” Jadyn said. “But maybe you can help us.” She pulled out her phone and approached Dagget. “A fisherman found this boat washed up in a cove this morning with no way to identify it. We’ve been trying to find the captain and followed a shrimp house lead here.”
Dagget looked at the pictures as Jadyn scrolled through them. “It could be Clifton’s boat. I don’t remember the floors being that color, but it’s been years since I seen inside. He’s probably painted since then. It’s the same model as his.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure it’s the same model, and I’m sure Clifton didn’t show up for the nets he’s been calling about every day for the last two weeks they was on back order. You don’t think…I mean, if you found the boat…”
Jadyn looked back at Colt, who shook his head.
“I have to be honest. It doesn’t look good,” Jadyn said. “Is there anyone who would know if Clifton left town? Does he have a camp nearby?”
Dagget shook his head. “No camp that I’m aware of, and no one he would check in with. Hey, wait, he usually has dinner at the diner on half-price chicken-fried steak night. That was last night. You might want to ask around the diner.”
“Thanks,” Jadyn said. “We had already planned on stopping there.”
“Do you know where Clifton sold his catch?” Colt asked.
“Last time he said anything about it was a couple months ago. Said he’d heard the shrimp house in Pirate’s Cove was paying a premium for redfish. Vincent Brothers, I think it’s called, but when I asked later, he said it wasn’t the case. Best I know, he was mostly selling to the shrimp house in Frederick’s Bayou.”
Jadyn nodded. Frederick’s Bayou was one of the three shrimp houses on her list that she hadn’t yet gotten to. “I don’t suppose you know the name of his boat?”
“Sure. It’s the Houdini.”
“That seems an odd name for a shrimp boat.”
Dagget nodded. “I thought so too and said as much. Clifton said he wanted the boat to work magic and named it accordingly. He was a strange man. Nice, but strange.”
“This is probably an odd question, but when I was inside, I didn’t see any photos. I don’t suppose you have a picture of Clifton?”
“No. Like I said, he was a private kind of guy. Didn’t go to backyard BBQs or other things that you might snap the random photo at.”
“I understand,” Jadyn said. “Do you still want to take a look inside?”
“Don’t see the point. I’ve never been inside before so I wouldn’t know as anything was out of place. You’re already on the job, and there’s nothing I can do at this point.”
“Okay. We appreciate your help.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a phone call when you find something out. I probably knew Clifton better than anyone. That ain’t saying much, but he was a good guy. Worked hard. Never tried to short anyone. Never had a bad word to say, really.”
“Sounds like the kind of man we need more of,” Jadyn said.
“You got that right.” Dagget hoisted his shotgun onto his shoulder. “I best be going. If you need me, I’m at my store most days. Dagget’s Hardware in Pirate’s Cove.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dagget.” Jadyn watched him climb in his truck and turned to Colt. “Let’s take a look at that bedroom and see what we find.”
“You mean, like a good reason to sink a man’s boat and open fire on people in his house.”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
###
Maryse knocked on Helena’s hotel room door. “You have to come out sometime or I’m coming in.”
“Then stop that annoying knocking and come in,” Helena said, “because I’m not leaving here like this.”
Maryse looked over at Mildred, who removed the master key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Maryse pushed it open and stood back, allowing Mildred to walk inside. She made it two steps inside the room before drawing up so short that Maryse walked right into her back.
Maryse stepped around Mildred and stared. “What happened?” she asked.
Helena’s outfit had been horrifying when she’d made her tumble and mad dash from the bass boat, but things had gotten even more confusing during the hours she’d been locked in her room. The crown was gone, but had been replaced by a turban with a giant emerald on the front. The pink-and-black sports bra and underwear were still in place, but now, she also sported the pink suit jacket she’d been buried in. The slippers were long gone and had been replaced by something so odd, Maryse had to step closer to get a better look.
“Are those Gene Simmons’s boots from KISS?” Maryse a
sked.
“I don’t know,” Helena wailed. “I was trying to put on normal clothes, but I couldn’t concentrate. The harder I tried, the worse it got. The only good thing I managed was this hot chocolate.” She held up a giant Styrofoam cup.
Mildred grabbed a sheet of paper from the dresser and scanned it. “You were watching television, weren’t you? Aladdin, Fifty Best Hits from the ’70s…your mind is so jumbled with all this input that you can’t manage a cohesive thought.”
“I guess that explains this, then.” Helena lifted her arm. The scepter had been replaced with a tennis racket. “There was a special on Billie Jean King on earlier.”
Mildred shook her head. “I am about to say the most ridiculous thing in the world, but I think you’re stressed. What, exactly, you have to be stressed about, I have no idea. But all this mind clutter you’re describing is anxiety. I don’t think you’re going to be able to get things right, or almost right anyway, until you calm down.”
Helena frowned. “You’re saying I need a shrink?”
“Unless we find one that can talk to the dead, that’s not exactly an option,” Maryse said.
“Right,” Helena said. “I guess that means I have to talk to you guys.”
Maryse stared at Mildred, feeling slightly terrified. “Maybe Sabine would be a better option. She’s all Zen and patient and sympathetic.”
“No way,” Helena said, as she jumped up from the bed, spilling her hot chocolate all over Mildred’s new linens and rug. “She’ll try some voodoo stuff on me…like putting me into a jar or bringing demons out to torment me into submission.”
Mildred sighed. “You’ve been reading those Curse Keepers books again, haven’t you? I swear, I’m going to send Denise Grover Swank a dry-cleaning bill.”
“You know those books are fiction, right?” Maryse asked.
“Yeah, that’s what you say,” Helena argued, “but most people believe ghosts are fiction too, yet here I am.”
Maryse started to reply, but for once, Helena had produced a sound argument. “That’s beside the point. I’m going to call Sabine and you’re going to talk to her. She will not make you a genie or whatever else you have cooked up in that strange mind of yours. But we have to get to the bottom of this. It was bad enough when you only got things right part of the time, but now you’re batting zero.”
“Fine,” Helena said, looking completely defeated. “But can we do this soon? I don’t like being trapped in here. It’s sorta like a tomb.”
“I’ll call her now,” Maryse said.
Mildred’s hotel rooms were actually far better than the standard chain fare, but Maryse knew exactly how Helena felt. Despite her neat little laboratory setup down the hall, she felt trapped like Helena.
The only difference is that her situation couldn’t be resolved with counseling.
###
Colt was tired, confused, and more than a little frustrated by the time he pulled up in front of the diner. The day had been filled with questions that seemed to have no answers. Dagget had provided them with their best lead, and that was completely accidental from being in the right place at the right time.
Or the wrong place, if he took the shooter into account.
He’d tried to control his emotions when Jadyn told him about her close call. As far as he could tell, she’d taken the near miss in stride and was more concerned about getting answers than what might have happened if the guy had been a better shot. He admired and respected her ability to keep her mind in the game, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that his heart clenched when he saw the hole in the cabin wall and realized exactly how close the bullet had been.
It was that feeling, of not being able to protect someone he cared about, that had kept him from acting on his attraction to Jadyn. But every day, he found something else unique and wonderful about her. Then something like the shooting happened and reminded him of all the bad possibilities that existed given her profession.
He wasn’t being sexist, he told himself. And that was honest enough. He had no problem with women in whatever capacity they elected and were qualified for. Where he had trouble was imagining his woman in a dangerous capacity. Then he thought about all the women married to law enforcement and military and he felt like a wuss. Maybe women were the stronger of the species.
Besides, look how well marrying a civilian worked out for Luc.
The thought had lingered in his mind ever since he’d found out about Luc’s no-swamp edict to Maryse, who normally spent most daylight hours out among the bayous and weeds. Luc had probably never expected his work to follow him home and threaten his wife, and yet, now Maryse was holed up in the hotel all day, and she was no part of the law enforcement community.
So what was the answer? Quit his job and become a bank teller? Up his home security system, put bars on the windows, and get a rottweiler? No matter how many times he processed the circumstances, he got back around to the same cold, hard facts—no one was safe. Not really.
Which meant he needed to man up and stop yanking Jadyn around. He wanted her, and no amount of heart-clenching when she was in danger should stop him from making that known.
Still, the heart-clenching was pretty damn awful.
He sighed and pulled open the door to the diner.
Jadyn was already seated, and he was happy to see she’d gotten a booth in the back corner, away from other patrons. He planned on asking some of the diner personnel about Clifton but didn’t want to start a panic by letting everyone in there overhear. If it turned out Clifton was safe and sound on a bender in New Orleans or offshore fishing for a couple of days, the last thing he wanted to do was scare people.
“Sorry for keeping you hanging,” Colt said as he slipped into the booth. “I called Shirley to see if she’d heard anything.” He’d actually called while he was driving to the diner, but it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“I take it she didn’t have anything?”
“No. This lead on Clifton is the only one we’ve got to work.”
A waitress stepped up to the table and took their drink order, then hurried back with sodas. “Y’all wanna eat?” she asked.
“Definitely,” Jadyn said. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“I’ll have the same,” Colt said. “And can we get some Texas toast?”
“Sure thing,” the waitress said. “I’ll have this right out for ya.”
“So to recap,” Colt said, “we have a thin lead on this Clifton. His cabin certainly didn’t reveal anything, though.”
Jadyn frowned. “Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think the complete lack of information was strange. Not a single postcard, letter, invoice, or bank statement. I found some old receipts, but that’s it. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“Given that my kitchen counter looks like a file cabinet exploded, yeah, but everyone’s not as lax as I am. Maybe he’s a neat freak and has everything filed in a storage facility. Maybe he’s a computer geek and has all those paperless statements?”
“I didn’t see a computer or any computer equipment.”
“Maybe he’s paranoid and burns everything after reading it.”
“Based on Mr. Dagget’s description, that’s probably the more likely of the explanations, but still. If we didn’t have records that said that cabin belonged to Clifton, we would have no way of determining that from what existed inside.”
Colt hadn’t thought about it to the extent Jadyn had, but it was odd. “You think maybe he’s into some shady stuff?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was thinking about Marty saying it looked like the boat had been damaged from the inside out. I know crazy things can happen in a storm, but what if Clifton was involved in something illegal? That would explain all the secrecy and lack of personal information lying around.”
“True. So we’re back to potential crime with shrimp boats. I have to tell you, I don’t like the
options any more now than I did before.”
“Me either.”
The waitress returned and placed plates in front of them, then made sure they didn’t need anything else before hurrying off across the diner.
“Man, I hope that tastes as good as it smells,” Colt said.
“At this point, I’m not even sure I care. It could probably be cardboard.” Jadyn grabbed a bottle of ketchup and dosed her chicken-fried steak with it.
Colt grinned. “Did you have a lot of Deep South cooking in north Louisiana?”
“Yes, but it’s nothing like it is here. Mother wouldn’t allow fried food, so I was in high school before I really got to break out and try new things.”
“No offense, but your mother sounds like someone dead set on sucking all the joy out of life.”
“That’s pretty accurate.” Jadyn took a bite of the chicken-fried steak and closed her eyes.
Colt grinned. “How is it?”
“As good as it smells.”
He took a bite and had to agree. It was, by far, one of the best chicken-fried steaks he’d ever had. “So how’s living at the hotel working out?”
“It’s all right. Mildred is great and I can walk across the street for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or beer, but I’ll be glad when something comes available.”
“I think Marty has a garage apartment that someone just vacated, but I don’t think it has a finished kitchen. Maybe a microwave and cooktop.”
“I took a look at the space a week ago. I didn’t figure it would work for me, but it didn’t hurt to check.”
“Too rustic?”
She smiled. “Let’s just say it looked more appropriate for one of the fishermen than me. I don’t have big requirements, but I’d like two bedrooms and room for a full-size refrigerator and stove. If I have a little lawn space for a grill, even better.”
“Back several years ago, you wouldn’t have had any trouble finding something like it, but with all the construction guys in New Orleans working on the rebuilding, things came to a stop in the smaller towns. Then the manufacturing plant expanded and we acquired a bunch of employees needing a place to stay, and Mudbug was on overload.”
