Chapter 8
Normally, Holly would be mad at someone if he went behind her back to get more information. In this case, she was glad Simon had made the call. It meant his guy, Swede, was already searching for clues into the death of Paul and the disappearances of her parents.
Swede might not come up with any more than what law enforcement had, but she had to try. Finding her parents’ bodies would almost be better than living forever, wondering if they were out there somewhere.
Almost.
Having them home would be the best scenario, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up.
Work was hectic that night, with a New Orleans Saints game playing on the televisions mounted above the bar and in the corners of the dining area. The crowd got loud whenever there was a touchdown or a bad call by the referees.
By the end of her shift, her ears were ringing and her feet ached from hurrying between tables to keep the beer and food flowing.
The one saving grace of the evening was Simon, perched on a barstool, alternately watching the game and her throughout the evening.
Rene hadn’t squawked once about her bodyguard taking up space.
He even comped his soft drinks and shared war stories.
Holly hadn’t realized Rene had served in the military.
However, it appeared he loved it when members of the Brotherhood Protectors spent time at his bar.
He reminisced about his days on active duty and thanked Simon and his team for their service.
When Cody came in halfway through her shift, Holly made a point of walking over to put her hand on Simon’s shoulder.
He’d done one better by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her in for a quick hug.
Out of the corner of Holly’s eye, she saw her former friend glare, turn and head for the other side of the room where Danny was serving customers.
Good. Holly didn’t have the time or energy to fend off unwanted advances from him.
The game ended close to eleven o’clock, after going into overtime, with the Saints ultimately losing.
Disappointed, the crowd quickly dispersed, leaving the Crawdad Hole empty by midnight.
Holly and Danny quickly stacked chairs on the tables.
While Holly swept, Danny mopped. Halfway through the room, Holly glanced up to find that Simon had found another broom and had started sweeping from the opposite side of the restaurant, working his way toward her.
They finished quickly and dumped the contents of the dustpan in the garbage.
Simon started for the storeroom but was intercepted by Rene, carrying another mop.
When Simon began mopping from the other end of the room, Holly insisted on taking the mop from him.
“You’re doing your job. Let me do mine, or Rene will dock my pay. ”
Simon relinquished his hold on the mop and rejoined Rene at the bar, talking to the older man as he restocked the shelves and thoroughly cleaned every surface.
By the time they finished the floors, it was twelve thirty, and Holly was beyond tired and glad she didn’t have to drive back to the houseboat.
She dragged herself up into the passenger seat of Simon’s truck and leaned her head back. “There are advantages to having a bodyguard,” she murmured. “I can let him drive, while I pass out.”
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”
“It’s only a ten-minute drive.” But she closed her eyes and was asleep before Simon left the parking lot.
The chirp of a cell phone brought her back to the surface to find they’d arrived at the houseboat.
The cell phone chirped again as Simon shifted into park. He grabbed the device from the cupholder and answered, “Whatcha got, Swede?”
Instantly awake, Holly sat up straighter and leaned toward Simon, hoping to hear what his computer guy had to say.
“Hold one,” Simon said. “Holly’s here with me. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
He touched a button on his phone and said, “Shoot.”
“Hi, Holly. Swede here. I did some digging on the death of your friend Paul Jameson, and I’m still working on the disappearances of your parents.”
“What did you find?” Holly asked.
“Like I said, I’m still working on your parents, but I ran across an anomaly in the coroner’s autopsy of Paul Jameson.”
Holly leaned closer to the phone, her pulse quickening. “What kind of anomaly?”
“The sheriff’s reports showed no signs of his vehicle being forced off the road or any evidence of tampering with the vehicle. Thus, they assumed Paul lost control, ran off the road and died when his vehicle submerged in the bayou.”
“Yes?” Holly said. “That was all part of the report I read. They called it an accident. What was the anomaly in the coroner’s report?”
“There was no presence of any drugs, alcohol or toxins in his blood,” Swede continued.
“I know that,” Holly said, her patience thinning. “I read the coroner’s report several times.”
“What you might not have seen, because it was buried in the coroner’s notes, was that there was no white, pink or foamy mixture in his airways,” Swede said.
Holly frowned. “So?”
“And there was no water in his lungs.”
Silence filled the cab of the pickup as those words sank into Holly’s head.
“No water in his lungs?” She struggled to wrap her thoughts around that. “But he drowned. There should’ve been water in his lungs.”
“Both the absence of that foamy mixture in his airways and the lack of water in his lungs make it clear,” Swede paused for a moment, then added, “Paul didn’t die from drowning.”
“He died before he entered the water,” Simon said.
“Why would the coroner report the cause of death as drowning?” Holly asked.
“I’d suggest you ask him yourself,” Swede said.
“Only you might be challenged to find him. He left his job as the parish medical examiner a couple of weeks following Paul’s death.
This was after he applied for and received a freshly minted passport.
I searched through his now-defunct bank account records and found a charge for airfare to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. ”
“Paul died before he ran into the bayou?” She shook her head. “Of what?”
“That, I can’t tell you,” Swede said. “There was no indication of heart failure and, like I said, no drugs, alcohol or poisons found in his blood. There are some toxins that are lethal that don’t show up in blood and tissue analysis.”
“Are you telling me Paul was...” Holly pressed a hand to her mouth, “murdered?”
“That would be my guess,” Swede said. “Either the M.E. knew who did it or was paid to falsify that report by an anonymous donor and told to leave the country as soon as possible.”
“Wow.” The next thought that rushed into Holly’s head made her press her knuckles to her lips to hold back a sob.
She had to breathe in and out several times before he could speak past the lump in her throat.
“If Paul was murdered...that means that my parents’ boat accident might not have been an accident at all. ”
Her stomach roiled. Suddenly, the truck cab seemed to close in around her. Her heart raced, and she couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.
Holly shoved open her door and slid out of her seat. When her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled, and she sank to the dirt. Once there, she curled into the fetal position, her body spasming with the force of her sobs.
Hands gripped her arms and pulled her up against a hard wall of muscles. Arms wrapped around her and held her close, rocking her gently as the grief she’d refused to acknowledge and the hope she’d clung to for the past six months dissolved into a messy, horrible truth she wasn’t ready to grasp.
Through her sobs, Simon’s voice droned in a continuous, soothing tone, promising she would be all right, telling her he was there for her and wouldn’t let go.
She cried until there were no more tears left inside, and she succumbed to a numbness she couldn’t push past.
Simon scooped her up in his arms and rose.
Holly couldn’t even manage to raise her arm to loop it over his shoulder. She closed her eyes to the starlight twinkling cheerfully overhead. Did they ever grieve?
He carried her down to the dock and across the gangway, shifting her gently to maneuver the key in the lock. Then he was through the door with her, kicking it shut behind him.
He didn’t stop there.
Barely aware of her surroundings, Holly rested her cheek against Simon’s chest. The beat of his heart was like a metronome. She focused on its steady rhythm, letting it cloak her thoughts against the horrible truth.
Paul and her parents had been murdered.
Another sob rose up her throat. She turned her head and buried her face in Simon’s chest, muffling the sound of her grief.
Then they were going up, slowly, step by step, her feet bumping against the wall.
Simon stopped, leaned over and laid her on a soft surface, her head coming to rest on a pillow.
When his arms drew away from her, panic set in. The muscles she hadn’t been able to move moments ago suddenly worked. She flung her arms around Simon’s neck and held on with all her might. “Don’t,” she croaked from a throat ravaged by her sobs. “Please. Don’t leave.”
Simon froze for a moment and then said. “Sweetheart, I promise I won’t leave you, but give me a minute to breathe.” After he eased her arms from around his neck, he removed her shoes, kicked off his own and lay on the bed beside her.
Then he gathered her in his arms, pulling her close.
Holly rested her cheek against his chest again, eager to listen to the calming beat of his heart, pushing the truth to the back of her mind if only for the night. She needed time to assimilate the data and accept it. Just not tonight.
Simon’s hand stroked her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead.
Holly closed her eyes.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” his deep voice whispered against her cheek. Warm lips pressed gently against her forehead.
“You’ll stay?” she asked, her lips moving against his T-shirt.
“As long as you like,” he promised.