by Jana DeLeon
###
He watched from the alley across the street as she entered the hotel. She’d been at the cabin, the diner, and now at the hotel. He’d seen her and the man talking to fishermen in the café. What had they learned? Apparently, the shot he’d fired hadn’t scared her off the job. In fact, she looked completely comfortable having dinner with the man. Not the response he expected her to have when she’d almost been killed.
How much time did he have until she caught up with him? Even though he’d had to put it into action before he was ready, his backup plan was working for now. But he had a month, maybe six weeks at best before he had to make other plans. Would his carefully created cover hold until then? He hoped so.
But in the meantime, he’d keep an eye on the woman. In case she got closer.
###
Jadyn knew that the Mudbug community, especially the fishermen, would rally for the search party, but she was surprised at the number of people at the dock when she pulled up that morning. At least fifty locals as well as the two men from the diner and some others she didn’t recognize were huddled by the bayou, sipping coffee and talking.
Colt pulled up beside her while she was exiting her Jeep and gave her a nod. “Good turnout,” he said as he grabbed a stack of papers and headed for the group.
“Yeah, it’s great.” The more people they had, the quicker they could cover the areas the boat may have traversed in the storm and the inlying channels.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Colt said as he approached the group.
“And ladies,” a woman Jadyn hadn’t seen before called out.
Colt smiled. “And ladies. Glad you’re here, Tina. One of the main areas is your stomping ground.”
The middle-aged Tina, with her weathered skin and ripped forearms, looked as though she could hold her own against any of the men here.
“I assume you’ve all heard the basics—the boat was found in one of the coves near here yesterday morning, most likely damaged in the storm the day before. We have reason to believe the boat captain is Clifton Vines, a fisherman from Pirate’s Cove. We all know that an underwater recovery is an impossibility, so we’re concentrating on the possibility that Clifton made it ashore somewhere and is injured.”
One of the locals raised his hand. “How well does Clifton know the topography out this way?”
One of the men from the diner spoke up. “I don’t think he knew it overly well. He usually fished east of town, not west. But he’s got a good sense of things. He’d know to wait for the outgoing tide and follow it out. Assuming he’s able.”
Colt nodded. “We’re going to assume that if Clifton is on the move, he’ll remain close to the banks. Get as close to the banks as you can for the search. Given the number of people we have, I’m going to ask you to form teams of two so that one can go ashore in the places where the bank is too high to see over. Does anyone have any questions?”
“What channel are we using?” Jadyn asked. Cell phones were essentially useless in the swamp, so boaters communicated using CB radios.
“Channel 15. My dispatcher will be listening as well, so if you encounter an emergency situation, call out to Shirley and ask her to send help. If you get into trouble or encounter a situation that is more than two of you can handle, call for backup. Whoever is closest to your territory can respond. I know I don’t have to tell you all to be careful.”
He held the papers in the air. “I have the territories divided out for the most efficient coverage. We have enough people to cover them all today. If you have expert knowledge of any area, let me know and I’ll make sure you’re assigned to it.”
“You and I will work together,” Colt said to Jadyn as the men and Tina buddied up and formed a line. He spoke briefly with each duo and gave them a map of the coverage area, indicating their assignment.
When the last of the groups had their maps, Colt went back to his truck to grab his supplies. Jadyn knew she should get her own as well, but instead, she stood on the bank watching the two men from the diner. She had a copy of the drawing of the missing husband in her pocket and couldn’t ignore the overwhelming feeling that she should show it to the fishermen. But she had no logical reason why.
Deciding she’d rather be assumed crazy than not have an answer, she called to the men as they climbed into a boat, and hurried down the bank.
“I know this is going to sound strange,” she said, “but I have a drawing I’d like you to take a look at. I want to know if you recognize the man in it.”
They glanced at each other and nodded.
She pulled out the drawing and showed it to the men. Their reaction was immediate. Their eyes widened and they stared at her.
“This is Clifton,” one of the men said. “Where did you get this?”
Jadyn’s pulse spiked. What were the odds that the man Taylor was looking for was the same man the search party was looking for?
“You’re sure it’s Clifton?” she asked.
Both men nodded. “Whoever drew this was good. It looks just like him, down to the crook in his nose. Did someone at the diner draw it?”
“No. A private investigator from New Orleans showed up in Mudbug yesterday looking for this man, but she didn’t know his identity, just an approximate area where he was thought to reside.”
The men glanced at each other again. “What would a private investigator want with Clifton?”
“I’m not sure,” Jadyn said, not comfortable giving confidential information to the fishermen. They may be completely trustworthy, but it wasn’t her place to tell them about Taylor’s case. “Was Clifton a secretive sort of guy?”
“He was private…kept to himself. But I don’t know that I’d describe him as secretive. Always seemed straightforward.”
“Thanks,” Jadyn said. “I’ll let you get going.”
The men nodded and climbed into their boat, but Jadyn didn’t miss the uneasy glances they exchanged. She’d watched them closely when they’d spoken and she didn’t think they were lying about Clifton. So why the worried looks? Were they now remembering things they hadn’t noticed before? Or perhaps they were questioning themselves and asking just how much they really knew about the man they considered a friend.
Jadyn folded the drawing and put it back in her pocket, then hurried up the bank to collect her supplies. Colt was already in the boat, storing his duffel bag in the container under the backseat. She handed him her backpack and untied the boat from the pylon. He fired up the engine and she pushed the boat away from the dock with her foot, then hopped inside, taking a seat next to Colt.
She wondered briefly if Colt wanted her working with him because she wasn’t familiar with all of the channels yet or because of the shooting at Clifton’s cabin, but didn’t ask. It made no difference in the big scheme of things. Working with Colt was the best place for her, given either circumstance.
“You know that woman you brought to the hotel last night?” she asked as he started down the bayou.
“The private investigator?”
“Yeah. Did she show you the drawing of the man she was looking for?”
He nodded. “I didn’t recognize him, but then the whole story is rather out-there.”
“The story is definitely out-there, but the two fishermen from the diner just gave me a positive ID on the drawing. It’s Clifton Vines.”
Colt’s head whipped around to face her. “You’re kidding?”
“Not even. They both agree that the drawing looks exactly like Clifton even down to the crook in his nose. I watched them carefully. They were both shocked when I showed them the drawing. They’re telling the truth and I think they’re right about the man in the drawing being Clifton.”
“What the hell?”
She shook her head. Granted, she thought the chances of Clifton being the long-lost amnesiac husband of a New Orleans widow was the stuff fiction was made of, but she doubted the long-grieving widow would view it the same way.
“I don’t think Clifton is the w
oman’s missing husband,” she said finally. “The odds of her theory being true are so slim they’re almost nonexistent.”
“Agreed, but if she thinks Clifton could be her husband, and he’s missing again…”
“Yeah. It’s not a good situation. If she’s locked onto the possibility of him being alive all this time, I doubt she’s going to take a second death well.”
“Especially when this situation is as unlikely to produce a body as the last one.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What a nightmare for Taylor. I hope she’s skilled at dealing with hysterics. Sounds like that’s the way her case is going.”
“It’s definitely not a conversation I’d want to have with the wife. I guess I’ll fill her in when we get back this evening. Do you have Shirley working on getting us background information on Clifton?”
He nodded. “She started running the usual checks yesterday and will keep digging. Surface-level research didn’t produce much. I have to admit, I’m worried there’s not much more to find.”
“Let’s hope she finds enough to prove that Clifton Vines can’t be Samuel Perkins. For the wife’s peace of mind, anyway, because we both know what the chances are of finding Clifton alive.”
“Yeah.”
“What section of the swamp are we taking?”
“The area surrounding the cove the boat was in. Unless he bailed before then, it’s the most logical place for him to be if he made it ashore. That boat couldn’t have traveled very far with the damage it had, even in the storm.”
Jadyn nodded and looked down the bayou. The search was a necessary part of the investigation, but she couldn’t help feeling it wouldn’t turn up so much as a clue. Maybe they’d get lucky and Shirley would turn up some information on the elusive Clifton Vines, but she was starting to wonder how likely it was.
According to the people who knew him, Clifton had lived in Pirate’s Cove for decades, yet no one seemed to know much about him. It was especially odd for a small town to know so little about a long-term resident. Granted, small towns and villages usually had their resident hermit, but Jadyn hadn’t gotten the impression from anyone they’d questioned that Clifton was eccentric, just private.
How someone could remain an unknown quantity for years was as big a mystery as what had happened to Clifton. And she wanted answers to both.
Chapter Ten
Taylor took one step into the lobby, and Helena jumped up from a chair in front of the picture window and started to wobble toward her. Her progress was so slow and deliberate—one tiny step, lots of arm waving, another tiny step—that it was almost painful to watch.
“Are you looking for that guy today?” Helena asked and clutched the edge of the counter.
“That’s the plan.”
“I sometimes help with investigations,” Helena said.
Mildred, who was sitting behind the counter, snorted.
Helena glared at her. “I help. Just because it doesn’t always go smoothly at times doesn’t mean I don’t contribute to the process.”
“You contribute something all right,” Mildred said.
“Anyway,” Helena said, ignoring Mildred’s comment, “I was thinking that I could help you out. I know my way around the area, and if you question someone you think is hiding something, I can always stay behind a bit and see if they say anything after you leave.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Taylor said. “I take it you’ve done something like this before?”
“Just yesterday, as a matter of fact, and I got the information that led them to the missing boat captain.”
Mildred shook her head. “You also came home in your underwear and holding a scepter.”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand…”
“Helena’s having a wardrobe crisis,” Mildred explained. “We suspect stress, although the rest of us are far more stressed than she is. But she’s having trouble changing things, hence those ridiculous boots that she can’t walk in.”
Taylor looked down at the boots. “You can’t take them off? This is all so fascinating.”
“Sure,” Mildred said, “until you’ve been living it every day for months. That takes some of the shine off of it.”
“You don’t have to be rude about it,” Helena said. “I’d much rather a sensible pair of tennis shoes right now.”
The words had barely left her mouth when Helena dropped a good six inches lower, losing her grip on the counter and pitching backward into a potted plant. The pot flipped over, breaking and scattering potting soil and leaves all over the lobby rug. Helena sat up and pointed to her feet, which were now clad in bright red tennis shoes.
Taylor took one look at the disaster and cringed.
“Look at that!” Helena said.
Mildred, who’d risen from her chair when Helena fell, stared in dismay at her rug. “I see a huge mess on my new rug, and my steam cleaner is on the fritz. No need to sound so triumphant over it.”
“I meant my shoes.” Helena scrambled up from the floor. “Look on the bright side—now that I have tennis shoes on again, I won’t be knocking as much stuff over.”
Taylor frowned. “Is that really a problem?”
“Not very often,” Helena said.
“Yes,” Mildred said at the same time.
Taylor looked from one to the other, but would bet money that Mildred was the only one telling the truth. She looked back at Helena. “But how can that be? Why don’t you just pass right through things?”
Helena shrugged. “It’s one of the many mysteries that is me.”
Mildred rolled her eyes. “You make yourself sound like a special on the History Channel.” She looked at Taylor. “We have no idea why it happens, as it’s the most illogical thing ever, but sometimes Helena seems to acquire mass. She’s still invisible, but things around her react the same as they would if she were still alive and solid.”
Taylor absorbed this information. “So if she say, tripped on the sidewalk, she may pass right through someone, or she may knock them down. But either way, the other person wouldn’t see her.”
“Exactly,” Mildred said.
“That’s incredible,” Taylor said, then noticed Mildred’s exasperated look. “But clearly also troublesome.”
“You’ve never heard of this before?” Helena asked.
“No. I can’t say that I have. Quite frankly, you’re the first ghost I’ve engaged with that has been able to carry on a conversation as if you’re still alive. Most of them are confused and often incoherent. They speak more with emotions than with words.”
Helena looked disappointed. “Bummer.”
Taylor gave her a sympathetic look. “I wish I could be of more help, but I’ve never had a conversation with a ghost about how to be a ghost. Quite frankly, it never occurred to me that the skill would need to be learned. I guess I just assumed you were however ghosts are and that was that.”
Mildred nodded. “You’d think so, right? But Helena has presented us with a side of death I’ll bet no one ever considered. When Helena first returned, she couldn’t touch things. Now she’s not perfect, but a lot more reliable, especially if she’s reaching for food.”
Helena sighed. “More insults.”
Taylor stared at the ghost. “You eat?”
“She’ll eat you out of house and home, if you allow it, and steal what you don’t provide.”
Taylor’s mind whirled, trying to absorb this absolutely pointless act. “But…”
“I know,” Mildred said. “She doesn’t need to eat. Her argument is that if you couldn’t gain weight—ever—wouldn’t you eat anything you wanted?”
Taylor blinked. “When you put it that way, I suppose so, although I’d have problems with the theft part of things. I’m a big believer in karma.”
“Me too,” Mildred said. “Helena is walking karma, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what I did to deserve her.”
Helena shot Mildred a dirty look and crossed her arms across her chest. Tay
lor held in a smile. Given Helena’s extraordinarily bizarre abilities and limitations, coupled with her less-than-responsible attitude, Taylor could only imagine the things the ghost had put the hotel owner through.
“And this wardrobe problem?” Taylor asked.
“Is a doozy,” Mildred said. “Everything she’s seen on television the last couple days has graced her body at some point, whether it was a good fit or not.”
Taylor nodded. “Like the Gene Simmons boots.”
“Hey,” Helena argued, “the Gene Simmons boots were the bomb.”
The words had barely left her mouth when she shot up six inches in the air and fell backward over one of the lobby chairs.
“And they’re back,” Helena said, staring at her Gene Simmons–clad feet.
“Oh goody,” Mildred said.
“So can I go with you?” Helena asked as she scrambled to get up. “Please? You see what it’s like around here for me. While you drive you could tell me everything you know about ghosts, and maybe stop for corny dogs at the diner just up the highway.”
Taylor looked over at Mildred. “She’s not going to give me a moment’s peace if I don’t take her, is she?”
Mildred shook her head. “Probably not.”
Taylor turned to the ghost. “Then I guess you’re coming with me. But I have some rules, starting with nothing illegal. That includes stealing food. If you behave yourself, then I’ll get you corny dogs on the way back to the hotel.”
“That could take all day. I’ll starve to death.”
“Clearly, that’s not true. Rule number two—no lying, and that includes exaggeration. I understand the Southern flair for the dramatic, but I don’t like to deal with it while I’m working. My client wonders if the husband she lost thirty years ago is walking around the swamp somewhere. I need to make sure she gets an answer.”
“You client is a loon,” Helena said.
“Regardless of her mental state, she’s paying me for answers and she deserves some peace of mind.”
“I guess so,” Helena grumbled. “Even though no man is worth thinking about for thirty years.”
