He headed to the barn, the storm in a furor by the time he reached his car. When he opened the driver’s door a gust shoved it backward, nearly tearing it off the hinges. He climbed in, and slammed the door shut. White smoke spewed from the tailpipe as he gunned the engine. Rear tires spinning on the saturated ground, it took a moment or two from them to gain traction.
He slithered through wet grass to the front of the house, and then leaped onto the road. He drove dangerously fast toward the highway for about a mile. Eased off the accelerator, and rolled to a stop. He slid the gearshift to park. Sheets of rain blurred his view through the windshield.
>+<|>+<
BJ ran haphazardly, trying to find the way out. Suppressed a moan each time the tips of mesquite thorns scratched her arms and got caught in her hair whenever she stumbled over stones or limbs she didn’t see in time to avoid.
This is stupid.
Going west, keeping the roof of the house in sight, she headed toward her car. Feet pounding the ground, mud splashing on her legs, she ran faster. Saw-toothed lightning and a ground-shaking explosion of thunder caused her to skid to a halt. She bent forward, clasped her kneecaps, and tried to catch her breath. The rain poured relentlessly as though the sky had sucked up the entire Mississippi River then found her to dump it on.
She tilted her head to the left. Stood straight up. Somehow she’d made it to the rear of the house. Sheltered from view by the thick weeds, she scanned the place from top to bottom. Rain blurred her vision. Made the house appear in motion. Her gaze was drawn to an upstairs window. She squinted through the rain. Thought one side of the flimsy set of sheers had been pulled aside. She was sure it wasn’t that way a second ago. Climbing out of the tangle of weeds and into an open area, she saw the set hanging straight and motionless.
Jeebus. Someone’s definitely up there.
Running fast and hard, she tripped over a fallen stem and fell flat on her face in the mud. She stood, closed her eyes, lifted her chin and let the rain wash away the mud. The wind blew with enough force BJ felt her heels rise up off the ground.
The barely audible sound of severe-weather alert sirens broke through the cacophony. She scanned the darkening sky, and searched for the swirling and dipping finger, the start of a tornado.
Standing out in the field trying to spot a tornado, before it suddenly dropped out of the sky and found her, was insane.
Getting in her car and trying to outrun a tornado was doubly insane. She glimpsed at the upstairs window again. Uneasy about going in the house, she ran to the outhouse.
Any port in the storm!
Shelter in sight, she pushed harder to get to it. She smacked the door open, dashed in, spun around and slammed the door shut. Rainwater puddled at her feet. The small cubicle was near pitch black. Flashes of lightning shined through a crescent hole in the door lasting a second or two at the most.
She fought the urge to panic when claustrophobia set in. Her imagination kicked into overdrive. Goose bumps broke out on her arms and legs when she allowed herself to think about what might be sharing the confined space with her.
Spiders.
She imagined one was working its way up her leg or down her hair. Or both. About to bolt through the door a noise caught her breath in her throat, chilled the blood in her veins. A faint rattling followed by a clear hiss.
CHAPTER 70
Paralyzed by fear, only her mind continued to function. BJ didn’t know where the sound came from. Her imagination? She waited, barely breathed.
The hell with this.
She shoved the door open. The wind shoved back, tried to hold her in. She pushed harder. The wind paused long enough to cause her to stumble forward. She cried out in frustration.
Gaining a foothold on the slippery ground she reached back and slapped the door shut to trap the snake. Swatted unseen spiders off her shoulders. She started running; hoping the rain would wash away any she missed.
She saw something a few feet ahead. Stopped so fast she slid again, and went down sideways. In the waning daylight, someone stood unmoving. Someone wearing a long, old-fashioned, baggy dress. Height and build appeared to be female. Dark hair, flattened by the rain, hung to her waist. Lightning flashes cast the person’s face in silhouette.
What the...?
The mud had a fierce grip on her shoes, but she managed to get free. Her teeth chattered so hard her jaw hurt. BJ took off, no longer caring which direction.
>+<|>+<
Jeff had driven part way between the house and the highway. Parked on the wrong side. Rain pummeled the roof with a deafening roar. He lit a cigarette. Paid the most attention to the left side of the road for any unnatural signs of movement. Readied himself to stomp on the gas pedal and drive to the end the moment she set foot on the road.
Dammit, show yourself. It’s going to be too dark soon.
The longer he waited the more he came to despise her.
He had a sneaky suspicion she wanted him to think she’s heading for the highway when in actuality she’d run the opposite way. On the contrary, the chances of flagging down a cop or a Good Samaritan were better on the highway. Right?
I hate this shit.
He lowered his window to flick out the cigarette butt. The rain sounded ten times louder. He dug a finger in the pack to draw out another. Realized he’d smoked the last one.
Jeff reached over and popped open the gloved compartment. Something bounced out. He leaned down far enough to pick the object up off the floorboard. His heart froze. He knew what it was before he saw it.
A red butterfly hairclip.
“Who, who put this here?” BJ Donovan? “Had to be.” If she knows about Kelly, what else—
“Whoa. Three by eight.” Wasn’t that what she said the day I told her about the hole in the ground in the barn? The hole the boys found? Three by eight? “I’m positive I never gave her the dimensions.”
He snatched the cigarettes out of the glove compartment. While he tore into the pack, he gave a little thought to what needed to be done. Playtime was over.
>+<|>+<
BJ didn’t understand why she couldn’t hear the highway traffic. Surely she’d run the whole three miles, and surely she should at least be hearing eighteen-wheelers by now. The howling wind could’ve been the reason why.
She was too far away from the house to see the roof and chimney. Help wasn’t waiting for her on the highway, either. More than likely she’d get run over by a semi and end up flatter’n a flapjack. Motorists wouldn’t be expecting to see someone walking on the shoulder and in such a heavy downpour.
Moving slowly, she did her best not to disturb the Joe-Pye. She’d gone about twenty feet when she heard an out-of-place sound. The steady hum of a car engine. Childhood memories clouded her mind. By instinct, she dropped to her knees, tucked in her arms, pressed her face against her thighs, and closed her eyes… like a frightened turtle.
Several minutes passed, leaving her unharmed.
She crawled toward the sound until she was behind the last row of weeds separating her from the car. She stretched out on her stomach. Digging in with her arms, she pulled herself forward. Three feet from the road, she peered to her left between the stems. Estimated she was about twenty feet from his rear bumper. Every few seconds, she saw the bright flare of red ash each time he took a drag off a cigarette. He blew smoke through a two-inch opening in his window. BJ could see him, just barely, in the glow of the dashboard lights. She thought it strange his headlights were off, before realizing why.
The rain chilled her to the bone. She stayed put. At least she knew where all the players were. She thought about the only three choices she had.
One, she could turn around, run in the opposite direction of the road a little ways, turn right and head to the highway.
Two, turn to her left, run headlong toward the highway, and flag someone down. Hoped they aren’t so surprised they’d skid on the wet payment and mow her down.
Three, remain where she was an
d wait him out. Sooner or later, he’d fall asleep or give up and go away. Why the hell was he even here?
A fourth option popped into her head. Go to the house, try to find a halfway decent hiding place where she’d be warm and dry, and stay there until morning.
She didn’t much care for the last idea. At least outside she stood a better chance of running away if he got too close. He clearly intended to harm her.
Before she could make up her mind, he jerked his door open and stepped out. Held a gun high above his head. Fired five shots in quick succession.
“Where the hell are you, dammit,” he screamed.
He got in the car, drove forward until his taillights were nothing more than a tiny red blip. He made a U-turn, gunned the engine and sped past her, splattering her face with mud.
A moment or two later, she heard a loud crash. She held her breath. Waited. Fear seemed to strangle the life out of her. Rain and thunder were the only sounds she could hear. Other than occasional flashes of lightning, nightfall had descended so heavily she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
BJ mentally counted to ninety-nine. Listened for any sounds above and beyond the storm.
“One hundred.”
Keeping her fear at bay, she stood up. Stepped onto the road. To her left, the state highway was less than two miles away. Freedom.
The other way, someone might be hurt. Did she care? Nearly all her life, someone else made her decisions for her. On her own, she sometimes found it difficult to make even the smallest decision. But in this case, no, she didn’t care if someone was hurt.
She was curious if they were not.
BJ sauntered up the road toward the house. Couldn’t see a damn thing without the lightning, which, thank goodness, hadn’t shown any signs of moving on just yet. She felt peculiar walking through the pitch-blackness. As though she walked through… the valley of death? The shadow of evil? Had the missus misinformed her or misread the passage?
She stopped. Not too far ahead, a red light glowed faintly. One taillight? For the time being, all she cared about was that the light helped orient her in the darkness. A buoy bobbing in the Gulf of Mexico. A beacon. She kept her eyes on it, walked faster.
Almost there, BJ slowed her pace. Approached with extreme caution; duck-walked along the right side of the vehicle. She saw him in the glow of the dashboard. The left side of his face rested on the steering wheel. His eyes were closed. Blood dripped from his forehead onto his leg. Arms hung limp at his sides.
Is he dead? She couldn’t tell. Cared even less. She leaned sideways, noticed he’d plowed into a live oak tree, and stalled out the engine.
BJ saw the police radio. She swallowed the bile rising from the pit of her stomach. Yes, she’d have to get in the squad car beside him if she wanted to call for help on the radio.
Running to the closest payphone, calling a cab, and going home to a hot shower and a shot of tequila sounded so much better. Tomorrow, she could call another cab to bring her there to her car. BJ nodded. Uh-huh. I’ve got a plan. She turned to leave.
The crackle and static of the radio broke the silence.
“Wentzel? Are you there?”
He didn’t move.
The radio went silent.
She jerked the door open, slid onto the seat while snatching the microphone off its holder. Jeff smacked a hand over her mouth, pinning her against the headrest. Struggled to get the microphone. She let go of it, and shoved him off of her. Got out and ran toward the highway. Instinctively dove into the Joe-Pye weed that had protected her so well before. Decided, once and for all, she wasn’t going to stop running until she found a cop or a payphone.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
“I’ve got a better plan.”
CHAPTER 71
Detective Northcutt rolled out his chair, and sat behind his desk. His eyes went straight to the sheet of paper propped against his phone. An unsigned note stating someone was seen leaving the house on Caulfield Lane late last night.
Gary checked out the faces in the room, then the large wood-framed wall clock with numbers big enough to be seen from the moon. Five-thirty. Lucas Cantin must’ve already left for the day. He stood and fished his car keys out of his pocket.
Before backing the black sedan out of his assigned slot, he made sure he had a flashlight. His stomach gurgled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day.
He drove to the end of Caulfield and parked. His swift gaze took in the house from one end to the other. He couldn’t begin to imagine anyone willingly living in so much filth.
He got out, stood on the concrete driveway where sprigs of grass poked through every available crack. Reached in and snatched up the flashlight. He went around back.
Caw, caw, caw
Gary searched high and low, but never saw the noisy bird. At the far end of the house, to his great surprise, he found a window standing wide open. He climbed in the bathtub, nearly slipped and fell on moisture that had seeped in. He pulled the window shut, then locked it.
In the living room he found what he knew he would. An empty foldout card table. Someone came in last night, and cleared everything out. What the hell were we thinking, leaving it all behind? So much had happened since the day they burst in waving a search warrant in the air, he couldn’t recall their big master plan.
“Couldn’t have been much of one.”
About to turn away, he spotted something on the floor wedged between the wall and the skinny metal leg of the table. His heart thumped wildly as he reached down to pick it up. A snapshot. Of him and BJ. Taken last night after the writers meeting, while they stood talking in the well-lit parking lot of her restaurant.
He flipped open his cell phone. Called Cantin’s home phone. Got his answering machine. Left an urgent message.
He exited through the front door, securing it behind him. He saw no reason to ever come back. The key to this mystery lies elsewhere.
En route to Wild Capers, Gary called BJ’s cell phone. No response. No surprise. Still uneasy about calling her house, and getting her in trouble in the event her husband may’ve finally come home, he set the phone in the cup holder between the bucket seats of his Mustang, and then accelerated.
Beau greeted him at the door. “Bonswa!”
“Good evening, Beau. Is Bee, um, Chef Donovan here by any chance?”
Beau, well aware now that Gary’s a detective, eyed him with suspicion. “Poukisa? Why do you want to know this, again?”
Gary slouched a bit, and tried to appear less threatening to the skinny little man with slicked-back greasy hair and a pencil moustache. He understood Beau’s need to protect his boss. He also understood Beau knows his boss has a husband.
“I’m taking a cooking course. Chef Donovan has been kind enough to help me with my homework. I was given a new assignment today, and I-I, uhm, need her help with some of the cooking terms.” Gary smiled, sheepishly.
Beau narrowed his eyes.
So, the guy is nowhere near as dumb as he pretends. “All right. Truth is, I’m working on a case in which Mrs. Donovan has a connection. Is she or isn’t she here?”
“Non. She’s off tonight.”
Gary started to ask him why couldn’t he have just said that to begin with. Decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “Thank you, Beau. G’night.”
Where to now?
Gary slid the key in the ignition, cranked the engine, and let his hand fall to his side. A flash of lightning caught his attention. He pulled out of the parking lot. Drove to BJ’s new place in the French Quarter. He couldn’t help but smile when he pictured her husband walking through their house in the Garden District and finding her and her things gone.
“Hmm, wasn’t so funny when Genette did the same thing to me.” He didn’t have to wonder what’d become of her. Last he heard, she and her boyfriend had moved east, somewhere cooler.
Somewhere far from me.
He lit a cigarette. Maybe now that BJ’s away from her husband she’ll give me a
chance. Even though I don’t deserve one. “Like Frank Donovan, I couldn’t make my wife happy.”
Gary pulled into an empty parking slot. Strolled across the grounds.
A middle-aged Mexican couple approached. “Can we help you? We’re the managers,” the woman said in broken English. The man beside her walked away fast, glancing over his shoulder at Gary a time or two before disappearing through a door marked Managers Office.
Gary returned his attention to the woman. Saw her staring at him below the belt. He released a short laugh when he realized she could see his badge. Must’ve been what scared off her husband or whoever he was.
“BJ Donovan. Her apartment,”
“Si! Come.” She swatted the air with her hand signaling him to follow her.
They got in the elevator, much to Gary’s chagrin, and rode it up to the third floor. The woman not only showed him Miz Donovan’s one bedroom apartment, she unlocked the door, stepped aside and gave him permission to enter.
“Muchas gracias.” Gary waited until he heard the hum of the elevator motor before he shut the door. He leaned against it; let his gaze take in the décor. Red. Black. Silver. Very nice. A place for everything; everything in its place.
About to move forward, he stopped.
This is it. Get the hell out of here, or do a quick search and find out where she might be. Either way, if she catches me in here or even in the parking lot…
“Damn. She knows my car.”
…it’ll be over between us before it ever gets started. I have no right or reason to be here.
“Absolutely none.”
He had to know.
Convinced he’s doing the right thing didn’t stop him from feeling crappy while he continued wandering aimlessly through her apartment.
He entered her bedroom.
The first thing to catch his eye was the white-faced black-framed clock with large Roman numerals hanging on the wall. The hands had stopped at thirteen o’clock.
Long Night Moon (Bad Mojo Book 1) Page 20
