Bayou Blue Page 9

  Jake shot me a quizzical look.

  I stood in front of him debating. “Randy believed the FBI or someone else might be tapping his phone and reading his email.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have to show you something back in my room. It’ll help explain Randy’s state of mind.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “More stolen evidence?”

  “Borrowed.”

  “We have to give the FBI this letter.”

  “In a day or two, please, Jake. You know how they are. How they take over and crowd others out.”

  We stood looking at each other when the boat jolted against the grassy bank. I went flying forward, but Jake caught me with his arm around my waist. He pulled me to his chest as he steadied himself against the railing.

  “Whoa, you almost took a swim there,” he chuckled.

  “There’s…I could have been lunch,” I breathed, thankful for his steadying arm. I remembered the alligator from a few minutes ago and a shudder ran through me.

  “I got you…” His voice trailed off and I looked up.

  Jake’s gaze held mine and I became aware of how close he was. My hands flat on his broad chest, the strength of him just under his t-shirt, sent my heart bounding. A ripple ran through me. His arms around me felt strong. They felt right.

  “I just…I...” I sounded like an idiot. What was I doing?

  “You OK?” He murmured. “You look a little light-headed.”

  “No, I mean yes. You’re just kind of…” I struggled to catch my breath. “You haven’t let go…”

  Jake’s arms pulled me nearer and he leaned in, his face so close I felt his breath on my cheek.

  The boat rocked beneath us throwing me further off balance.

  Jake brushed my temple with his jaw, his words whispered on my skin hot and quiet. “That’s not a bad thing, Riley.”

  I turned towards him, my lips just brushing his, when a high pitched cackle tore through the swamp making me jump. I gasped and heard his low chuckle at my neck.

  He stepped back, releasing me, and sighed with a smile. “That was just a bird.”

  Jake moved away, I was both relieved and sorry about it. I tried to pretend I didn’t feel awkward enough to swim home. “So, uh, we’re here?”

  I bent over and picked up Randy’s letter and folded it in my hands. I shoved it in my pocket and started to chew on my thumbnail.

  Jake leaned on the railing and watched me quietly.

  Breathless and blushing, I felt totally vulnerable under his gaze, yet he seemed completely unperturbed.

  “Yes,” he said. “We’re here.”

  We’d stopped in front of a small shack. Brown and crooked, it looked like it was losing its battle to remain separate from the swamp. The wood dock was made of just a few wayward planks nailed to each other. A stove pipe poked out through the loose shingled roof. All around the building, cans and bottles littered the dark earth yard.

  “Are we still doing this?” I shifted onto one foot, my hand on my hip. “You didn’t seem convinced a few minutes ago.”

  Jake looked over his shoulder at the shack. “We’re here. Might as well take a look.”

  I nodded and started to climb off the boat when Jake put his hand on my back.

  “One second.” He bunched up the leg of his jeans and pulled a gun from his ankle holster. “They don’t like visitors.”

  10

  Jake

  Jake made his way up the embankment from the water’s edge, glancing back at Riley.

  She stood on the deck of the boat, her arms wrapped around her like she was trying to keep from shaking apart.

  He wondered why the darkness bugged her so much. He’d noticed it before, in the car or her room. All the lights went on, all the time.

  Damp earth gave way to mud the closer he got to the porch. Jake grabbed onto a low branch overhead and used it the steady himself as he trudged through the last few feet of slimy ground and trash. The stink of decaying vegetation wafted on the hot wind and Jake thought it smelled like a dirty aquarium; one with dead fish in it.

  Dauby was a car buff.

  Next to the front door, a pile of ragged magazines sat in a rusty washtub next to an aluminum lawn chair with most of the straps torn. Beer bottles and dirty paper plates filled a tipped over trash can in the corner of the porch. Shingles hung crooked and broken all along the walls, their remnants mixed in with the general dirt and trash on the floor.

  Putting his finger to his lips in a, ‘be quiet’ gesture, he whispered, “Stay there, Riley.”

  She nodded.

  Once on the porch, Jake tucked his gun into the waistband at his back and pulled his shirt over it. Peering into the side window through the grime, he didn’t see movement, so he knocked on Dauby’s door three times.

  “It’s Sheriff Ayers, Dauby.” Jake craned his neck to the windows on the other side of the door. “You home?”

  He stared at the warped wood of the door, listening. Nothing, not one creak or vibration. He knocked again, but didn’t expect an answer.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked Riley’s movements. She was climbing out of the boat. He thought about telling her to go back, recognized the futility of that, and walked down to meet her. Extending his hand, he helped her up to the porch steps.

  She smiled at him, a sad smile, and looked at him with those honey-colored eyes.

  He let go and leaned back against the railing, putting as much space between the two of them as possible. His urge to kiss her surprised him. Riley in his arms felt like home, and that made him worry. Those kinds of thoughts would end up hurting them both.

  She nodded towards the door. “He’s not home?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Well, what now?”

  Jake took the hat from his head, wiped his brow with his forearm, and set it back. He needed to get inside, but didn’t have cause for a warrant.

  “Let me make a call.” He fished his cell phone out, dialed a number from memory, and waited. He heard the phone pick up and spoke without waiting for a greeting.

  “Pilkey still there?”

  Jake heard the phone put down, some voices in the background, and then a man answered the phone with a cough and a grunted greeting.

  “A-ya?”

  “Pilkey, I need you to bring your mama down to her place out by Flanders’s,” Jake said and eased himself down, sitting on the step.

  Riley arched an eyebrow at him, but sat down next to him after a few seconds.

  Pilkey sucked wind through his teeth. “I’m busy.”

  “You can’t be that busy if I reached you at Verona’s.”

  A pause and then Pilkey cussed under his breath. “What for?”

  “I need your mama to let me in.”

  “Man, just go on in, you have my permission.”

  “I need her permission. She’s the owner. Now pay Verona and go and get your mamma. I’ll be waiting for you out front.”

  “Man, Jake…”

  “A bientôt,” Jake said and hung up.

  “See you soon? Who’s coming?” Riley asked.

  “Dauby’s aunt owns this place. She and her son are on their way to let us in.” He took his hat off and hung it on his knee. “They’ll be by in a few minutes.”

  “So we just wait?” Riley looked at him with her brows knit. “Out here?”

  Jake leaned back on the palms of his hands. “You can wait in the boat if you want.”

  He watched her look over, consider it, and then lean back on her own palms looking at him.

  “I’m fine here.”

  They sat waiting for a few minutes before they heard the low drone of a motor boat.

  Jake stood up, dusted his jeans with his hat, and walked over to the shoreline with Riley.

  Pilkey showed up still in his waders and cut off shirt.

  His mama wore her traditional muumuu.

  Jake noted that this one had flying kangaroos on it. W
here would someone get something like that? Hair still in pink curlers, Ida LeRoche did not look happy. She muttered under her breath as she struggled out of the boat and up to where Jake and Riley stood.

  Pilkey stayed at the boat watching, his thumbs hooked around the wader’s suspenders.

  “What do ya want with my house, Jake?” Her smoker’s cough was worse after the exertion.

  “I just want to make sure Dauby is OK, Mrs. LaRoche,” Jake intoned.

  Ida’s eyes squinted at Riley, but went back to him.

  “Dauby don’t live here,” Ida growled and rattled off a few more coughs.

  “Just let him in ma,” Pilkey called out. “They know he’s stayin’ there. Come on now, I gotta git.”

  Jake peered around Ida at Pilkey and motioned for him to come over. “Votre cousin, you’ve seen him lately?”

  “My cousin?” Pilkey had the habit of repeating people to give him time to think up a lie. “Nope.”

  Jake hooked his thumb at the house. “He’s not in trouble, Pilkey. This isn’t about him using your ID and social security number to work. I don’t care about that. I just want to ask him a few questions.”

  “Ah, Jake, Dauby n’a rien fait,” Pilkey whined. “He hasn’t done nothing.”

  “Then talking to him isn’t a big deal, is it?”

  Pilkey’s close-set eyes squinted at Jake. “Vérité?”

  Jake put his hand up as if swearing an oath. “Truth.”

  “I seen him this morning, before I went to Verona’s,” Pilkey said. “Said he was ‘bout to set out after me, but never showed up.”

  “When was this?” Jake checked his watch. “A couple hours?’

  “Bout that.” Pilkey bobbed his head, and then his face changed. It took on a guilty grin. “I told ‘im you were searching him out.”

  Jake wasn’t surprised. Nothing ever stayed a secret in such a small parish. “When did you call to warn him?”

  Pilkey shifted from one foot to the other, his gaze sliding to Ida, who glared at him with pursed lips. “’Bout two minutes after you an’ Red left Verona’s. He was still here.”

  Jake saw Riley’s mouth twitch at the nick-name, annoyed at being called ‘Red’ again.

  “All right, Pilkey, anything else?”

  Pilkey’s young face registered concern. “Don’t know where he’d gone to so quick…the boat’s still here.”

  He pointed to the side of the house and Jake looked over. A small canoe with an outboard motor leaned against a tree.

  The kid looked at Ida.

  She rolled her eyes, fished some keys out of her muumuu’s pocket, and tossed them at Jake’s chest. “So go in. Don’t let anyone take nothin’.” Her gaze slid to Riley.

  “Mrs. LaRoche, I need you to let me inside,” Jake explained, but Ida was already heading back down the hill.

  She called out over her shoulder as she walked. “You do it yerself, or don’t, for all I care. I’m not missing my shows for this.”

  Jake let her go, trudging back up to the front door with Riley a few steps behind. He unlocked the door, pushed it open with his knuckles, and stepped inside.

  If the outside porch was bad, the inside was worse. Spoiled food and dirty clothes stank up the room and Jake had to step over a pile of take-home containers by the door. He flipped the light switch and a floor lamp with no shade flicked on in the corner.

  Riley eased her way in, wrinkling her nose as she did. “Looks like a slum apartment,” she commented.

  Jake nodded. “That’s about right.” He pointed to a door across the room next to the ripped couch and TV tray. “Bedroom.”

  He pushed the door in, scanned the room, and walked over to slide open the closet. Wire hangers and cardboard boxes inside, no clothes. He saw posters rolled up and leaning in the corner of the closet. A box on the shelf overhead held spiral notebooks, he pulled one out, saw the math calculations in it and put it back. Something here. He definitely needed to talk to Dauby.

  He heard Riley searching the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets, and debated telling her about the notebooks. Maybe she could identify Randy’s writing.

  Later, he decided.

  Entering the kitchen after her, he looked in the fridge. Some basics, nothing more. The house felt empty. He opened a door near the fridge, saw it was a pantry and felt the wall for a switch.

  Riley ducked under his arm and reached up to yank the chain dangling from the ceiling bulb. Her hair smelled like vanilla and he flashed on how her body felt nestled against his when he’d caught her.

  He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Pantry.”

  “No one’s here.” She picked up a box of snack cakes and shook it between them. “Just junk food and trash.”

  “He’s here,” Jake muttered. “No place to go without a boat.”

  Riley followed him out of the kitchen and back to the front room.

  The place was small. Nowhere to hide, not even a crawlspace.

  Jake walked to the last door, the bathroom. He pulled it open and froze, his hand going to the gun at his back.

  Dauby lay crumpled on the floor of the tiny room, his head at an odd angle to the toilet, blood on the rim. His eyes were wide open, staring at the wall. A length of clothesline was wrapped around Dauby’s neck.

  Jake bent down, put his fingers to Dauby’s neck. No pulse, but not cold. This just happened. He pulled the gun from his waistband and held it down by his thigh as he rose back up.

  He felt Riley come up and heard her gasp.

  “Is he…?”

  “Back up, Riley,” Jake said and took her with him as he walked them to the front room.

  She went easy, grabbing onto his shirt, her eyes wide as she stared over his shoulder at Dauby’s body.

  Jake scanned the windows for movement outside, his brain buzzing with adrenaline. He’d seen scratch marks on Dauby’s neck and the broken mirror. There’d been a struggle, maybe minutes before they showed up.

  He pushed Riley with his body towards the wall near the front door, kept her there with his shoulder as he peered outside.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t talk. She just stood next to him with an ashen face.

  He put his fingers to his lips, mouthed for her to stay. She nodded.

  Jake craned his neck to see around the door with one eye. Ten yards away, some egrets tore out of the tree line squawking.

  Movement there, furtive, in the bushes.

  Jake tore out of the house in a crouched run, his gun going out as he ran to a grouping of dead trees ten yards from the house. He flattened against the bark and looked at the egret nest again. Branches twitched a few yards further, and he took off in that direction.

  He glanced behind as he ran, looking for Riley, but caught a flash of red near the side of the house. A baseball cap. He turned, skidding on the balls of his feet and lunged, shouting over the angry egrets. “Riley!”

  She popped out of the door, saw his face, and ran towards him looking over her shoulder.

  Jake motioned with his arm to the boat, as he ran. “Get to the boat, get safe,” he panted and she nodded, veering away. She slipped and slid on her butt down the embankment.

  Jake ran alongside the broken-down porch railing, his shoulder skimming the wood as he slowed and crouched, listening.

  Metal pipes banged and crashed.

  A shout of pain.

  Jake rounded the corner, sighting across his gun as he spied the rusty pipes still tumbling down over a red baseball cap.

  Behind him the boat’s motor turned over, the splash of water slapping onto the wood dock.

  Riley was pulling away. Good.

  Up in the mangroves, near the thicket, a man climbed on all fours fighting to get over the crest.

  Jake sprinted forward. “Stop.”

  The figure froze and Jake saw a flash of white face obscured by dry branches twenty yards ahead.

  The man started clawing up the hill.

  Jake tripped his way through the f
allen pipes, his pants getting snagged. He went down, scrambled to his feet, and went down again. Muttering under his breath, he planted a palm on the side of the house and leveraged as he jumped over the last of the pipes. He hit the ground, went down into a crouch, ready to run…

  And pain exploded through his skull.

  Jake went sideways, the blow glancing off his head and the full force of it slamming into his shoulder. He tried to spin, to get his legs under him, gun hand coming up, but another blow, aimed right this time, took him down.

  He saw the pipe rise again and he jerked, firing a wild round. He heard a startled gasp and the pipe’s hollow clang as it hit the others. Jake couldn’t see straight, couldn’t track the legs running away. He brought a hand to his eye; it came away bloody. He saw blood on the grass and dropped to his knees, his head spinning. Panting through the pain, Jake heard an air boat start up far away.

  They were gone.

  He picked his way back through the pipes to the front of the house. The adrenaline bitter in his mouth, he spit as he looked across the saw grass to the water. The canopy boat bobbed in the middle of the waterway, Riley leaning over the railing looking scared, but safe.

  He waved his hand over his head, shouted. “You OK?”

  She nodded, her face registering relief, and then concern the closer he got. Her hands went to her mouth, eyes wide. “What happened?”

  ****

  Toughie and Rick arrived, and ten minutes later, Jake’s third deputy, Dan DePaul, brought one of the volunteer firemen, Girard, on an air boat.

  Everyone stood on the porch and watched Girard stitch the gash in Jake’s scalp while they waited for the state police to show up.

  La Foudre didn’t have its own crime lab.

  The coroner, Paul Lyle, who was also the owner of the only mortuary, was out of town.

  Jake hated the state police.

  Riley, still on the canopy boat, sat on the deck with her legs folded up to her chest, hugging her knees. She looked spooked.

  Jake eyed the afternoon shadows and let out a sigh. Two hours gone.

  “Can you track my finger?” Girard held his index finger in front of Jakes face and wiggled it.

  “I’m fine,” Jake muttered. “It’s a rip in my skin, not a crushed skull.”