Chapter Eight #2
“Got it.” I give him a thumbs-up in a lame attempt to be casual. My pulse is anything but. It’s pounding in my neck like a jackhammer.
I ease into the yard, past the other cars. Raymond walks with me. As I approach the convertible, I cover my mouth and nose with my elbow. It smells like death.
“Should have warned you about the smell,” Raymond says. “Clams. And God knows what else.”
The car’s frame is dented and rusted. The red paint shows in some places but just barely. It’s completely rotted. Back to front. I head for the driver’s side and study the base of the windshield. No VIN number.
As I stare at it, my mind rewinds the clock to Mama and Mabry stumbling into Shadow Bluff well after midnight.
Even though Mama told me not to bother, I’d been up waiting for them.
Mama had snapped a heel off and was holding the shoe in her hand as she limped upstairs.
Mabry followed, feet bare and covered in mud.
She shuffled past me to our room. I followed Mama into her bedroom.
She climbed into bed in her clothes, lit a cigarette.
Smoke swirled around the bedside lamp. In the light, I saw one eye was swollen shut.
“What happened to your face?”
She exhaled a plume of smoke. “Nothing.”
“What happened to Mabry’s shoes? Why are her feet covered in mud?”
“We walked home.”
“Walked home? Where’s the car?”
She took a long drag.
“Where’s that fancy new car, Mama?” I repeated, completely out of patience.
She snubbed her cigarette out and motioned for me to come closer. “I’m gonna need you to do your mama a favor.”
The decayed car in front of me transforms into its shiny new version, sitting alone in the parking lot where Krystal Lynn told me I’d find it.
Key in the ignition. The faint smell of Cinnabar in the leather seats.
I’d wrapped my fingers around the steering wheel and thought about Mabry and the money we’d get.
And I told myself whatever I did, it’d be worth it.
Mabry would finally get the help she needed.
That’s when I noticed the security camera, high on the wall in front of the car, pointing directly at me.
“That’s too close,” Raymond says, and I jerk back, gasping. I’ve moved around the side of the car, and now I’m staring at the open trunk. My heart rate racing.
Raymond cranes his neck. “Not sure what’s going on, but they had a whole crew working this car when it came in. Even the state boys. My guess is, they found something good.”
“Good?” I say as something cold dances over my skin.
“Well, bad,” Raymond corrects, looking embarrassed again. “You know, I was an EMT in Baton Rouge before I became a cop. I thought I’d seen it all, doing that.” He grimaces at the trunk. “Not even close to what I’m seeing now.”
I follow his gaze to the trunk, my heart clamoring in my chest, unsure if he’s referring to it or the barrels. I back away, slowly at first, then pick up speed as I turn and head for the gate. With my back to him, I say, “Thanks for letting me have a look, Raymond.”
As I hurry across the street to my car, he yells after me. “Wait. Wanna grab a cup of coffee while you’re here?”
The sun is low in the sky when I turn back onto Main.
I’d stopped at the Sack and Save for more wine and gotten hung up by Johnette again as she talked to the man in front of me about barrels and missing teachers and shoddy police work.
Now, the other shops are closed, the street empty.
I don’t like it. I don’t want to be out here at night alone.
I turn off Main onto the dead-end road, then through the gate at Shadow Bluff.
Through the dusky shadows, I spot an old truck sitting in the driveway.
One I recognize. I frown and my guard goes up.
Being alone here would be preferable to this.
Eddie is standing by the porch steps, rocking, while Doyle sits on the steps with something in his hands.
A small surge of adrenaline warms my veins.
Fight-or-flight mode. Some of the men from the sex offenders’ groups I used to monitor in grad school gave me this same feeling.
I learned from them to trust my gut. Them and some of Mama’s boyfriends.
Not having a steady, reliable male figure in my life did me no favors when it came to trusting men.
It’s a miracle I ever married Christopher and no surprise we divorced.
I stare at Doyle a moment through the windshield, then grab my tote and the wine and get out. I keep my shoulders back, walk with a purpose, and I keep my eyes on his. I stop at the porch steps.
“Hi, Eddie,” I say. He doesn’t meet my gaze but he smiles.
Then I look to Doyle and wish I’d put my gun in my tote.
He’s carving a large stick with an even larger knife.
He pushes off the old step. I keep my eyes on the knife until he shoves it and the stick in his back pocket.
He holds his hands out in front of him, his nails long and dirty. “I don’t want no trouble.”
I stay where I stand. He’s blocking the way to the door. “Then what do you want?”
“I’m a handyman. Thought I’d see if you got anything needs fixin’.”
“What?”
“I used to fix things here. I know the house pretty good.”
It feels as if ants are crawling on my skin. What the hell does that mean? “Nothing needs fixing.” I think of the kitchen door, but I’m not about to mention that to him. “I’ve got some things I need to do so . . .” I start to step around him when Eddie’s hand locks on my arm.
“She don’t want to be alone,” he yells, his grip tightening.
I force myself not to react too quickly. I don’t want to upset him any more than he already is. I slowly twist my arm, but I’m unable to free it. “Eddie.”
“Edward,” Doyle snaps, and Eddie releases my arm. It’s clear who’s in control here.
Doyle moves a step closer to me, and I take a step back, scanning the yard for the best exit in case I need to run.
I hear the sound of an engine on the road leading in.
Doyle’s eyes flick in that direction, then back to me.
His jaw works side to side, like a nervous tic.
He’s muttering something, but I can’t understand what it is.
All I can think about is the knife in his back pocket and the way he was handling it.
Tires crunch on the driveway near the front gate. “Let’s go,” he says to Eddie as he heads for his old truck.
Eddie stands where he is, then shoves his hand in his pocket and produces another metal figure like the one he gave me on the levee.
He holds it out to me, his eyes staying on the ground.
This figure is welded together with misshapen metal bits.
I close my fingers over it. It’s not quite as scary looking as the first one, but it still gives me pause.
The fact Eddie’s not only letting me touch this doll but is giving it to me tells me to pay attention.
Giving me a second one feels important. He trusts me.
“I said let’s go!” Doyle yells, and Eddie runs to the truck.
They pull away just as a shiny pickup truck pulls into the drive and stops behind my car. Travis jumps down from the driver’s side and watches his brother drive off as he walks toward me.
“What the hell did he want?”
“He asked if anything here needed fixing,” I say. “Said he was a handyman here once.”
Travis shakes his head. “Hope he didn’t scare you.”
“It’s fine.” I watch Doyle’s truck disappear, Eddie’s doll cold in my hand.
“I got your note,” Travis says.
I look at him, confused, then remember. Right. That feels like days ago, not an hour ago.
He holds a finger up. “And I didn’t come empty handed.” He runs to his truck and comes back holding a bottle of wine and a pizza box. “Thought we could talk over dinner.” He lifts the pizza box and wine. “Best I could do.”
Not that I’m hungry, but I’m glad he’s here.
We need to talk.