Chapter 15
Fifteen
Samson hadn’t come in tonight. Erielle’s disappointment annoyed her.
She didn’t need a babysitter. She could handle herself, and she didn’t need to depend on him.
He’d told her he was in town to help his father, and no doubt that was what he was doing.
He owed her nothing. In fact, she owed him for all the help he’d given her.
But she couldn’t stop herself from watching the door. When Marie walked in with her crowd, a surge of unexpected excitement surged through Erielle.
“Marie!” she called.
When the older woman turned toward her, a bemused expression on her pixie face, Erielle waved like a little kid.
Seriously, the bar was not that big. Marie knew who’d called to her.
Marie glanced at her group, then approached the bar almost warily.
Erielle reached for Marie’s favored craft beer and set it on the counter.
“On me,” Erielle said, though she still thought the price was too high.
Marie took a cautious seat at the bar, with one glance over her shoulder at her friends who wandered into the pool room. She took a sip of beer and considered Erielle with some suspicion.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, you just haven’t been in in a while.”
“Like, a little over a week.” Marie’s confusion deepened the line between her eyebrows.
“I just—” Samson’s warning played in her head. Don’t ask too many questions. “It’s good to see you, is all.”
A smile lifted the corner of Marie’s mouth. “Don’t get too many women in here, I suppose.”
“Only when your group comes in.”
Marie’s shoulders relaxed marginally. “I heard you been helping out with Hattie.”
“Oh, ah.” Erielle didn’t know why that comment caught her off-guard. Of course Marie would know Hattie. Erielle kept forgetting how tightly knit a small town could be. “Yeah, a couple of times.”
“Good. That’s good for you. And for her.”
“For her?” Now Erielle was the bemused one.
“She’s used to being in charge. I hope you’re shaking her up.”
Erielle studied the older woman. She couldn’t tell if animosity lurked behind that comment, but she didn’t hear any in Marie’s tone.
“Are you kidding? She terrifies me.”
Marie let out a rough bark of laughter and picked up her beer, taking a step toward her group. “Don’t let her. That frown hides a heart of gold. You didn’t hear it from me, though.” She saluted Erielle with the beer. “Thanks for the drink.”
With no other customers in the bar, Erielle felt strange staying behind the bar, so she wandered to the table nearby to clean up, collected the empty pitchers, delivered more.
She caught bits of conversation, not trying to eavesdrop, really, but it sounded like they were maybe talking about the swamp.
Marie caught her hand when she brought back a fresh pitcher and some napkins for a spilled beer.
“You should hear this one, Erielle. I told you I had some stories that would curl your hair.
This one happened when I was in high school.
We went to a party out in the swamp, which is what we did in those days, got some of the older boys to go buy beer in Maillard and meet out in the swamp.
Have a bonfire, play some music, smoke, make out, which is what we called it back then.
“Anyway, I’m sitting on a log, right, talking to one of my friends.
Might have been Helen, might have been Leslie.
I can’t think of who. But this cute guy sits next to me.
And, now that I think back on it, I don’t remember the log shifting, you know, like it would when someone sat on it? I don’t think that happened.
“And he was cute, let me tell you.” She slid a look toward her bearded boyfriend and gave him a sly smile. “Shaggy hair, kind of golden brown, cheekbones to die for. This smile. And he had this, like, leather necklace thing. A plaid shirt. Jeans that were faded and kind of ratty.
“He didn’t talk, at least, not that I remembered, but he picked up a guitar that one of the other guys had brought, an acoustic, and he started playing it.” She took a sip of her beer, her gaze traveling around her rapt audience.
“But as he played it, the strings didn’t move.
I mean, sound was coming out, but the strings along the fret didn’t go down, the strings he strummed didn’t vibrate.
But he played so pretty. I mean, it was a gorgeous song.
Everyone stopped to listen, to gather around.
He didn’t sing, at least, his lips didn’t move, but I felt like I heard words, you know?
I was pretty drunk, so I might have that part wrong, but not about the strings not moving. I’m sure of that.
“I remember turning to Leslie—that’s who it was, I’m sure now, not Helen—and kind of gave her this look, and when I turned back, he was gone. The guitar wasn’t even close by, and everyone was back doing their own thing.
“No one else remembered seeing him. Not even Leslie.” She sat back in her seat, but the spell wasn’t broken.
“Here’s the thing. Years later I was at a police station in Baton Rouge.
The reason isn’t important,” she added, flashing a smile up at Erielle, who hadn’t wanted to move even long enough to grab a chair, so she just leaned against the paneled partition.
“I saw his picture. Same hair, same shirt, same leather necklace.
“He’d been missing. Since 1972.”
A chill raced over Erielle’s skin as the rest of the group laughed off Marie’s story. But the expression in Marie’s eyes as she held Erielle’s gaze made Erielle believe every word she’d said.
The group didn’t stay too long, maybe a couple of hours, and Erielle was relieved that they didn’t give her any trouble without Samson’s looming presence. Maybe they were beginning to accept her. Or at least, they decided not to test her. And, at Marie’s behest, she was sure, they tipped well.
Once the group left, she didn’t care for being out here alone, so she closed up, even though it was earlier than normal.
She was a little jumpy as she took the trash out, but no raccoons were trapped in the dumpster, and she made a point not to look at the swamp for any flashes of white or guitar-playing hotties.
No, she was out to the dumpster and back in as quickly as possible, then she finished washing up, and locked up.
She hurried to her car just as quickly and slid into the driver’s seat, locking the door before she even inserted the key into the ignition.
Why she was in such a hurry to get home, she had no idea.
She was exhausted, sure, but no telling what was waiting for her at the house, if she’d get any sleep tonight.
When she turned the key, her engine chugged a few times, but didn’t turn over.
Her pulse spiked. She did not want to walk home tonight, especially after Marie’s story.
And, ghosts aside, she could not afford one more expense.
She closed her eyes, said a little plea for mercy.
Careful not to flood the engine, she turned the ignition again. More chugging.
She glanced down at the phone she’d placed in the console. She had Samson’s number. Dare she call it? She’d hate to wake him to drive into town to get her. But who else did she have?
She’d try one more time.
The engine finally caught, rumbling unevenly to life. She sagged forward—until headlights lit her rearview. Her breath hitched, panic snapping her spine straight. She twisted in her seat—then exhaled in a rush when Samson’s truck rolled up beside her.
Relief swept through her so hard, it made her dizzy. Relief…and something warmer she refused to name.
She pushed her door open and stood, leaving her car idling as she leaned into his open passenger window.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “Something came up.”
A different alarm pulsed through her. “Is everything okay? Your parents?”
“They’re fine. Everything’s fine now.” He nodded toward the darkened bar. “Closed early?”
“I had a big group, but when they left, it was too quiet.” She shrugged. “Louis can dock my pay.”
He grinned. “Ready to head home? I’ll follow you.” He reached for the gearshift on the steering column.
Home. She didn’t really think of it that way, but that’s what it was. She nodded, and climbed back into her car, ignoring the fact that it was idling a little rough. She just needed it to last a few more weeks. Months, if possible. A year, maybe.
Her car protested the drive but held together, sputtering into the driveway. She glanced at the looming house, grateful for the weak glow of the porch bulb.
She almost sat too long, except Samson was waiting. Watching.
When she opened the door, he shut off his engine and stepped out, closing the door with a thunk behind him.
“Everything should be okay,” he said. “Don’t want to have to worry about you spending the night in your car again.”
She turned to look at him, confused. What was he talking about? Yes, he’d caught her sleeping in her car, but she hadn’t told him why.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He rested a hand on the door handle of his truck. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
She nodded, though she was lying—both to him and to herself. She took a deep, fortifying breath, waved over her shoulder, and headed into the house.
Once again, Samson woke her by knocking on the window of her car. She bolted upright, her heart hammering.
“You can’t keep sleeping out here,” he said, his tone caught between scolding and concern.
She fumbled with the door and stumbled out onto the crushed-shell drive, her leg tingling where she’d hooked it awkwardly over the back of the seat. His hand hovered as if ready to steady her, and that simple gesture made her throat tighten.
“What happened?” His gaze swept over her, sharp and worried.