Hot Southern Nights

by Gen Griffin

  “We could finish your house out in two weeks if we buckled down on it.” David looked thoughtful.

  “I’ve been saying that for a month,” Cal said. He raised one eyebrow at David and crossed his arms over his chest. “You just get motivated?”

  “You know he did,” Gracie said with a small laugh. “Addy’s place only has one bedroom and it only has room for one bed. Can you really picture Addy and David sharing a bed long-term?”

  “I figure we can start building me a new house just as soon as we get yours done,” David admitted.

  Cal considered the thought for a minute and then nodded. “We can do that.”

  “Where are you going to live until we get your house built?” Cal asked.

  “With us,” Gracie said.

  “With us?” Cal made it a question as he looked over at David.

  “I haven’t gotten that far in the planning, but if the alternatives are living with Addy or living back home?” David shook his head. “Yeah, I’m moving in with y’all.”

  Cal laughed. “I reckon we need to get the house finished.”

  “Damn right we do,” David replied. “But first we need to clean some alligators before the meat goes bad.”

  “That too,” Cal said with a sigh. “I reckon lets head to Addy's house.”

  “We'll meet y'all there.” Addison held the door of his truck open so that Trish could get in. She climbed inside and they set off.

  Chapter 18

  “Well, well well. Look who's finally dragging her pretty little tail in through the front door. You do know the sun is coming up, little girl?” Grover was sitting in his recliner in the living room when Trish walked into the house. He held up a ceramic coffee cop that the picture had long ago washed off of. “I had to start my own coffee.”

  “You don’t like the coffee I make anyway,” Trish reminded him as she set her high heels on the buffet that lined the hallway. According to her grandfather, the massively heavy piece of antique furniture had belonged to her great-grandmother. Grover claimed to hate the buffet but admitted that it had been sitting in the house for more than 50 years. Trish didn’t figure he could possibly hate it half as much as he claimed to or he’d have hauled the oak monstrosity away by now.

  “Your coffee is too damn syrupy.” Grover made a gagging, hacking sound. “Tastes like sugar water.”

  “Have you fixed yourself breakfast?” Trish didn’t feel like debating the flavor of her coffee. Grover had been drinking black sludge out of a 20 year old pot for so long, she doubted he even remembered what good coffee was supposed to taste like. She wasn’t even sure the old man had any taste buds left.

  “Ain’t that your job?” Grover pulled the lever on his recliner so that his slipper-clad feet were raised up.

  “I don’t feel like cooking today.” Trish walked into the living room and gathered up the collection of plates and cups that were sitting on the table beside Grover. One of them was a cereal bowl. The milk in the bottom of it was still cold. He’d most likely finished the cereal right before she’d walked into the house.

  “Shouldn’t have stayed up all night.” Grover continued his lecture even though she wasn't really paying any attention to him.

  “You knew I had plans.” She walked into the kitchen and peered out the window. She could see Addison and David standing in the yard next door. An eight foot long scaly beast was dangling from chain hoist that had been attached to the side of Addison's garage apartment.

  Trish had noticed the massive metal contraption before but she'd never known what Addison used it for until today.

  “Speaking of your plans, you know your husband's car is still parked on the curb outside, don't you?”

  “I saw it when we pulled up,” Trish acknowledged.

  “We being you and Addison Malone?” Grover asked skeptically.

  “Yes,” Trish admitted somewhat reluctantly.

  “And what happened to your husband?”

  “Ex-husband, Grandpa. Ex-husband.”

  “Fine. Ex-husband. Where is your ex-husband?”

  “I would imagine he's still sitting on the side of the road where we left him,” Trish said with a shrug. “Addison told him to call a cab.”

  “Ain't no cabs in Possum Creek,” Grover said with a short laugh. “It's damn disgraceful when a woman doesn’t care enough about keeping her own home in order that she stays out all night and then comes home and won’t cook breakfast. Real shame that I have to starve because you ain’t loyal enough to come home and take care of me like your mother said you would.”

  “I’m not cooking for you this morning because I’m not hungry and you don’t eat my cooking.” Trish made a face as she watched David neatly eviscerate the alligator with the blade of a wickedly long knife. His forearms and shirt were covered in alligator blood.

  For that matter, so was her cocktail dress. She stared down at the silky dark blue fabric and realized she'd never be able to wear it again.

  “Alligator blood won't come out of silk, will it?” She asked.

  “Alligator what?” Grover's eyes widened and Trish could tell she'd finally succeeded at startling the grouchy old man.

  “Alligator blood. Its all over my dress.” Trish gestured to the dark, crusty stains that had smeared across the front of her previously beautiful little dress. “The alligator farm lost all its alligators last night. I got roped into helping round them back up.”

  “Is that what all that shooting was about last night?” Grover asked.

  Trish blinked at him in surprise. “You heard it?”

  “Of course I heard it. People were firing large caliber guns off in the center of town for half the night.” Grover snorted and shook his head. “I wouldn't have thought a citified little girl like you would even know how to hold a gun.”

  “I learned,” Trish snapped. She was incredibly tired of Grover's constant criticisms about the way she'd been raised.

  “What idiot decided it would be a good idea to teach you how to shoot a gun?” Grover's derision was clear in his tone.

  “Addison,” Trish said.

  “Addison.” Grover grunted and shifted in his recliner. “That boy ain't got the sense a dog was born with.”

  “He's been a pretty good friend to me since I moved here.” Trish dumped Grover's toxic coffee out of the pot and set about making a new pot.

  “I just bet he has.” Grover shook his head at her. “Don't put no stake in Addison Malone. That youngin runs through women like they was water.”

  “I know all about Addy and women.” Trish made a face. “Don't worry about me, Grandpa. I'm not interested in having a one night stand with the slut of the south.”

  Grover tried not to laugh. The struggle of holding it in started him into a coughing fit. Trish stuck a water glass under the faucet, filled it with lukewarm tap water and took it to him.

  “I would sure as shit hope not.” Grover muttered as he got his breath back. “You can't go sleeping around in this town. Everybody and their Momma will know where you've been before the sun rises on your bare ass the next morning. It'll ruin your reputation. It'll ruin my reputation.”

  “Considering that your reputation is that you're a crazy old coot who likes to shoot at the mailman, I don't think I'm capable of doing any real damage. Regardless of who I may or may not be sleeping with.” David's handsome face unexpectedly flashed into Trish's mind. She closed her eyes and waited for the rush of hormones to pass.

  “You got your eye on somebody?” Grover asked with a derivative snort. His gaze would have been unnerving if Trish hadn't known he was darn near completely blind from a combination of glaucoma and cataracts.

  Trish looked out the window to where David was filleting the gator. Cal and Addison were leaning on the tailgate of Addy's truck and watching him do it. She took a deep breath and stared down at her empty left hand ring finger. She could still see a dent in her skin where she'd worn her ring for over a year. “I'm not even legally divorced yet.”r />
  “You reminding me or you reminding you?” Grover asked.

  “Both,” Trish admitted reluctantly.

  “You ain't got it in you to settle Addison down.”

  “Nor am I interested in trying.” Trish hesitated as she started to program the coffee maker to make a single cup. She wondered if the guys would want coffee. She was willing to bet that they might just be willing to drink a cup if she brought it over there to them. Trish added more water and told the machine to brew an entire pot.

  “Not that Addison wouldn't be an improvement from that loser you're married to now. Anyone would be an improvement over whatshisname.”

  “Curtis?” Trish suggested.

  “Hell if I know. Shouldn't you remember his name?” Grover chuckled to himself. “You're the one who married the cheating bastard.”

  Trish considered throwing her long-dead grandmother’s favorite ceramic statue at Grover. It might relieve some of her stress if she could watch the heavy ceramic bunny rabbit bounce off her grandfather's thick skull. Or maybe she should just clobber him upside the head with the baseball bat he kept in the living room, just in case of intruders. Trish doubted Grover could even see an intruder, let alone swing the bat well enough to hit one.

  “I'm going upstairs to take a shower,” Trish announced. “Try not to burn the house down or shoot anyone in the next 20 minutes.”

  Grover snorted again. Trish turned and walked back out of the kitchen and over to the stairs. She was three steps short of the top when Grover spoke again.

  “Hydrogen peroxide,” he said.

  “What?” Trish asked.

  “Your grandmother always used hydrogen peroxide to get the blood out of my hunting clothes. It might work on your dress. There's probably some in the cupboard in your bathroom.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Trish didn't quite know what to think as she finished climbing the stairs.

  Chapter 19

  “How in tarnation do you lose a police car?” Sheriff Frank Chasson stood in front of the Sheriff’s Department with his arms crossed over his large beer gut. His shirt looked as if it was going to pop several buttons. The color of the skin on his jowly face was rapidly changing from boot leather tan to bright red with anger.

  “I didn’t lose it,” Kerry protested weakly. “It was stolen.”

  “You’re really standing here, in uniform, and telling me that some jackass stole your squad car?” Frank's voice sounded strangely calm for a man who had just turned the color of a fire hydrant.

  “Um. Well. It’s gone. I don't exactly know if it’s been stolen or if someone just borrowed it or if Addison is playing some kind of a prank on me or- or-,” Kerry stammered. He had anticipated yelling and screaming. The calm, even tone of Frank's voice was far more unsettling than any amount of screaming.

  “Addison didn’t take your cruiser, Kerry. He’s not that stupid.” Frank ran one gnarled hand across his own face, wiping away sweat. “Addison knows I’d have his ass and his badge if he stole another officer’s cruiser.”

  “Oh.” Kerry was at a total loss as to what to say.

  “Kerry?” Frank tugged on his mustache, which was always a bad sign.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Were the keys still in the ignition?” Frank asked.

  “Everyone leaves their keys in their ignitions during calls,” Kerry spoke softly.

  “They ain’t supposed to. Insurance don’t cover vehicles that get stolen because they were left running with the keys in the ignition,” Frank explained.

  “Addison always leaves his keys in his ignition.” Kerry knew his excuse was weak but he didn’t know what else to say.

  “I’m sure he does, Kerry.” Frank scowled at his deputy. “The difference between you and Addison is that he’s six foot two and 220 pounds of solid muscle. None of the punks in this town are going to touch Addison’s truck because they know he’ll beat the brakes off of them if they try.”

  “Oh. Well. I never thought about people being afraid of Addison,” Kerry said.

  “Ain’t no one in this town afraid of Addison,” Frank clarified with a shake of his head. “They just ain’t stupid enough to try him for no reason. Unlike you. Every punk in this town likes screwing with you, Kerry. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Kerry admitted. “All I’m trying to do is my job.”

  “Speaking of you trying and failing to do your job, where exactly were you when you lost your cruiser?” The Sheriff put extra emphasis on the word ‘lost’.

  “The old Milson's furniture building. I was chasing off some skateboarders. When I got back-.” Kerry held up both hands in a sign of frustrated surrender. “When I got back my cruiser was gone.”

  “Kerry, you listen to me and you listen good. First off, I’ve told you ten times to leave the damn skateboarders alone. They ain’t hurting nothing by using that old parking lot as a skate park. Secondly, you had better fucking start praying your cruiser magically makes a reappearance.” Frank paused for a moment, the wail of sirens clear in the air as an ambulance was dispatched from the fire station two blocks down. “You're supposed to be on duty right now. You should be available and responding to citizen’s calls. Instead of performing your civic duty and serving the public, you’re standing here waiting for me to figure out where the fuck you lost your cruiser.”

  “Sir, I didn't-.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Kerry. I ain’t got time for your level of incompetence,” Sheriff Chasson said angrily. “I want you to find that car. In fact, don't you dare show your face back at this station without that cruiser. Consider yourself suspended without pay until the car turns up.”

  “You don't mean that,” Kerry said with a growing sense of doom. He barely realized he'd spoken the words out loud.

  “I mean every word,” Sheriff Chasson replied. “If I were you, I’d be making a real effort to find that car.”

  “It could take weeks for me to find the car,” Kerry exclaimed. “You can't suspend me for weeks.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “At least let me work the cold cases,” Kerry pleaded. “I'll never see my cruiser again if word gets out around town that I'm indefinitely suspended pending its return.”

  Frank sighed but Kerry could see that his words had given the Sheriff a pause.

  “Fuck,” Frank muttered.

  “You know I'm right,” Kerry pleaded.

  “Yeah. You're right. Let the public know that you're off duty until we find your cruiser and someone will sink thirty thousand dollars worth of police equipment into the bayou before sunset. We'll never see your cruiser again and we ain't got the cash in the department coffers to replace it. We'll be hosting fund-raising dinners for months trying to scrape up funds. God knows the city council won't give us the money to fix another one of your fuck ups.”

  “So, you're not going to suspend me?” Kerry barely dared look hopeful.

  “You can have the cold cases,” Frank said resignedly. “I reckon you can have the damned cold cases.”

  Chapter 20

  “You know what my least favorite part of hunting alligators is?” Addison asked as he leaned against the side of the shed in his grandmother's backyard.

  “Cleaning them,” David replied with a roll of his eyes. He pulled the mangled remains of the first alligator off the hoist and gestured for Addison to get the second creature onto the hook.

  “I still can’t believe y’all didn't call me when the trailer burned down,” Cal complained as he stared at the load of alligators in the back of David’s truck.

  “My phone burned with the trailer,” David told him.

  “Yeah. Yours did. His didn’t.” Cal jerked his thumb at Addison.

  “I figured you were busy hunting alligators,” Addison told him. “I'd told Katie to call you. I guess I figured she'd mention the fire as well.”

  “Why does it matter whether or not we called you?” David asked as Addy strung the gator up from the rack they had built especially
for skinning and cleaning game. “We had everything under control.”

  “Under control my ass,” Cal grumbled.

  “Speaking of last night.” Addison cast a purposeful glance over at David as he pulled out his own knife, wiping the blood from the first gator off of the blade. “You and Trish were looking pretty intense.”

  “Trish is a cool girl,” David said with a shake of his head. “I like her.”

  “Wait, what?” Cal stared at them. “You like her? Like her how?”

  “He stole my date with her,” Addison explained.

  “He did?” Cal asked. “How did that happen?”

  “He offered to tow her car for free in exchange for a dinner date. I told her that it wasn't his tow truck, but I'd offer her the same deal,” David said.

  “You like her.”

  “Did you see her?” David adjusted the alligator on the chain hoist so that he could begin gutting it. “She was standing barefoot in the street shooting alligators. Sexiest girl I've ever seen in my life.”

  “Who is she?” Cal asked. “Because up until last night, I'd never seen her before in my life.”

  “Her name is Trish Shallowman,” Addison explained. “I introduced David to her last night on accident. She had a run in with her psycho ex and he wound up totaling her car for her. I was giving her a ride home when David's house caught fire.”

  “Wait, what happened to the car?” David demanded.

  “Trish didn't tell you?”

  “She said she'd broken down.”

  “She went out to dinner with her soon-to-be ex-husband because she's trying to get him to stop fighting the divorce proceedings. She thought she could talk to him about it and he'd cooperate. It went south pretty fucking hard. He tried to kill her.”

  “He tried to kill her?” David did a double take.

  “Why do you think I suggested she learn to shoot?” Addison countered. “He grabbed the steering wheel of her car and snatched it into the trees. She's lucky she's not dead.”

  “Tell me you killed her ex?” David was pissed.