by Celia Roman
Her round face set into determined lines. “Sunshine Walkingstick, you better not be trying to wiggle out of coming to my wedding.”
I hunched my shoulders and shot her a sheepish grin. “Nothing like that, I sworn.”
“Wear a dress and bring a date,” she said firmly. “A real man, too, with a newish car and a job and all his own teeth.”
“Hey, now. Harley Jimpson was a client, not a date, and I wouldn’ta touched him with a ten-foot pole if Fame hadn’ta owed him a favor.”
She grinned and settled back on the stool. “Jazz wants you there, too. Oh, say you’ll come, Sunny. We’re having a country band and hayrides and a bonfire, and we’re hoping to get a quart or two of Fame’s best corn liquor to liven things up a bit.”
“You send me the invite and I’ll show up with bells on,” I promised, though I didn’t swear to the date and the dress. Some things was beyond my control. “The liquor’s on me.”
We chatted a few minutes more, about the wedding and Jazz’s plans to refurbish the tuxedo he wore to his senior prom with a few coats of paint. That alone was worth going to the wedding for. I asked if BobbiJean heard any news of strange goings-on down at the lake and she said no, though she promised to holler at me if she did. I left feeling a mite better’n I had in a while. Trust them two to put a smile on a woman’s face.
I made the rounds through the other pawn shops in Clayton proper, spreading the word about Missy’s ring, and dropped into Ingles with a reminder to call if the ring turned up. By the time I was finished, hunger had gnawed a fist sized hole in my belly. I pulled into the drive through at Micky D’s and ordered two cheeseburgers off the dollar menu and a small coke, then headed back toward home, eating as I drove. There was plenty of daylight left when I hit Timpson Creek, so I signaled and turned left onto Charlie Mountain Road.
I didn’t know much about Tom Arrowood other’n what spread on the grapevine and what he done for Fame’s boys. Rumor had it he drunk his fill of liquor and showed up for court sloshed to the gills often as not, that he cheated on his first wife before she died of breast cancer eight years back, and that Belinda used her real estate earnings to bail him outta serious financial trouble when they got hitched four years later. He had two daughters by his first wife. I reckoned Belinda was too frigid to spread her legs often enough to get a babe in her belly, or maybe she was too worried about retaining her girlish figure.
Either way, the lake property was his, passed down from his grandparents or some such. Belinda had blabbed her mouth when they tied the knot about how she brung in fancy folk from Atlanta to do the place up. Made it into a showcase, I heard. Likely, she’d get it in the divorce, which was sure to come in another year or two. Tom was husband number three for Belinda, and she weren’t but a year older’n me. I didn’t see her sticking by a lush after she bled him dry like she done her first two misters.
I almost missed the turn into the cove, so bitter was my thoughts, and that’s what I got for dwelling on the past instead of facing the future. I whipped the IROC in and followed the road ‘til I spotted the sign for the Arrowood house. The parking lot was empty when I pulled in, and I didn’t feel bad a’tall for making myself to home there.
I never seen the original house, but the one in front of me seemed a mite small for a woman as snooty and pretentious as Belinda. It was two stories or so. Its board and batten siding was painted a sedate forest green with tan paint on the trim. A porch fenced in by wooden railing jutted off the front and hung over the steep slope from the house to the water. I wound my way through the evenly spaced shrubbery and jumped over the locked gate.
They wanted folks out, maybe they orta built the dang railing more’n waist high.
Wooden steps twisted and turned down to the water, pausing in three places where small decks was situated at irregular intervals. Belinda, or likely the guy what kept their lawn, had placed big ol’ pots of plants on the edges of the decks around wooden benches and tables. The effect was surprisingly inviting. Next time, I’d carry my camera along and take pictures for Missy. She was all the time oohing over stuff like this in them home and garden magazines she borrowed from the library.
The series of stairs and decks ended on a large rectangular one attached to a boathouse. I laid down flat, held my hair back with one hand, and peered under the deck at the pilings. The water was up too high for me to see much. The power company controlling the lake usually left it full in the summer to please visitors, including them with second homes.
The blue-brown water lapped at the top of the pilings less than a foot below my dangling head, reflecting the sun back in sharp glints. I slithered around on my belly for a better angle and lucked out on my third try. About two or three feet below the water’s surface, a large splinter of wood stuck out from one of the pilings. I squinted at it and finally decided the piling itself was dented, though I couldn’t be sure unless I jumped into the water. Now, I was a strong enough swimmer, but I weren’t willing to strip down to my skivvies and dive in without a swim buddy. That and I didn’t wanna smell like lake water ‘til I got home.
I pushed myself into a stand and clomped out onto the floating dock attached to the deck. About a man’s length from the end, I halted in mid-stride and stared at the crumpled wood making up the last few feet. The boards was cracked smack dab down the middle and turned into a vee, like something heavy’d landed on ‘em. I sidestepped to the edge, peered into the water, and sighed. Couldn’t see a dadgum thing through the murk.
A boat roared across the cove’s opening. I glanced up, watched it pass, then studied the four other docks poking into the water around Belinda and Tom’s. Two of ‘em was messed up same as theirs. From where I stood, I could easily make out a dent in a neighboring boathouse, kinda like something big rammed it just below the water’s surface.
A bare foot slapped onto the dock behind me. I whirled around, heart in my throat, and goggled at the man staring back at me. He musta been six foot tall, maybe thirty-five or forty, and was long and lean, muscled yeah, but not heavy with it. His black hair was slicked back and a black goatee decorated his square chin. He weren’t wearing nothing outside of baggy white swim trunks what was soaking wet and clung to his legs.
My mouth went dry. Lordy, it’d been a coon’s age since I seen a man’s nekkid chest muscles, and his was something to behold. They looked like they was sculpted by hand and had not one curl of hair marring the sleek, wet lines.
I yanked my eyes up to his amused ones. “Howdy there.”
“Hello.” His voice was low and smooth, and held a trace of a foreign accent I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “You’re trespassing.”
I grinned, unoffended. He was right, for one, and for another, I weren’t the only trespasser standing on that dock. “Sunny Walkingstick. A friend of Belinda asked me if I’d come check out the damage to her dock.”
He nodded solemnly, though his wide mouth held a hint of a smile. “Abercio Okeanos. I am a…business acquaintance of the Arrowood family.”
I let the slight hesitation pass. I hadn’t decided yet whether I wanted to help Miss High and Mighty out or not, and ‘til then, I weren’t speculating on Mr. Okeanos’ presence. “Ya don’t say. Well. I seen what I needed to. Reckon I’ll be on my way.”
I walked by him real casual like, though my heart still jittered and hopped. Handsome is as handsome does, I reminded myself, and promptly squashed the thought that I had to find a date for Jazz and BobbiJean’s wedding. This’un was probably Belinda’s lover. At the very least, he’d be on her short list of future husbands.
His hand flashed out and caught my arm in a firm grip. “Sunshine.”
I glanced at him outta the corner of my eye. “That’s me.”
“I adore the sun shining on the water, the way it reflects off the waves and lights the sodden depths.” His thumb rubbed slow circles over the bare skin of my upper arm, and my skin tingled and warmed. “Join me?”
“Ah, maybe another time, Mr
. Okeanos. Water’s a little cold for me this time of year.”
He leaned closer and a whiff of saltwater floated over me, not the stench of the freshwater lake, but the hint of mist floating over the sea. “I can keep you warm, Sunny.”
I shivered. Holy moly. Did he come on to every woman he met that heavy? If he did, there must be a string of ‘em begging for more trailed out years deep. “I really gotta get home now, sir.”
“Sir,” he repeated, humor heavy in the single word. He slid his hand down my arm, caught my fingers in his, then lifted them to his mouth for a lingering kiss. “You, my beauty, must call me Teus.”
Tay-oos. I shivered again and reclaimed my hand, polite as I could, which is to say, I jerked it away from him like he singed me. I turned and walked up the dock toward the house as fast as I could without seeming to rush, took the steps two at a time as my heart was still a-pounding something fierce in my chest. I hadn’t made it to the second oddly placed deck when his voice halted me.
“Sunshine,” he called. “I’ll see you next Friday.”
I gripped the wooden railing and stared down at him. “What’s happening next Friday?”
“We shall dance.”
He eased to the edge of the dock, leapt backward in a high, graceful arch, and slipped into the water hands first without a single splash.
I blinked at the water where he’d disappeared. Holy moly. I shoulda went with him, just to see him do that again.
I shook the thought off along with the odd feelings lingering after Teus’ touch and jogged up the last section of steps. Him, I had to tell Missy about. Goodness knowed she needed a pick me up. The mighty handsome Teus fit the bill to a tee.
Chapter Four
I didn’t get a chance to talk to Missy that night. Was too late to go up the hill by the time I hit home, so I fixed some supper and let the problem of her ring rest for a bit.
First thing the next day, I lit out exploring the waterways upstream of the creek Fame siphoned his liquor water off of, Daddy’s hunting knife strapped to my ankle like it always was. I added the 1911 to my hip, not knowing where the day’d carry me. I tucked a clean change of clothes, a towel, and an extra pair of shoes into the IROC before heading out. The trek through the woods was liable to get muddy, if I didn’t fall elbow over arse into the water first.
Fame said when I was in Heaven waiting to be born, I musta passed through the line for clumsiness twice.
The morning was mild with the promise of a hot, humid afternoon ahead. September in the mountains didn’t mean cold like it did up north. It just meant we might draw a cleaner breath under the heavy afternoon sun than we did at the height of summer.
It was a short drive to the best access point for investigating our creek. Driving cut out a lot of the plain ol’ walking time I woulda done if I’da just gone from home, and it weren’t like anybody’d steal my ride. I made my way to the headwaters of the creek first, backtracking over what Fame’d already checked, and found not a cussed thing, no dumping or signs of campers, not nothing. Weren’t so much as a leaf outta place, far as I could tell, and I been up and down the creek enough to know.
When I hit the headwaters, I one-eightyed and headed back the way I come. I walked to where the creek dumped into Howard Branch, then turned and walked to its headwaters and back. I found a dead frog and the bones of a small critter what’d died in the water. Couldn’t tell what kinda critter without getting soaked. Not much else, though, and I figured a dead pond hopper weren’t reason enough to raise no alarm.
I wended my way through the woods to my car and drove out Patterson Gap Road. Weren’t hard to pick out little spots ‘long and along for parking. The walk through the woods was another matter all together. Some spots, the undergrowth was so thick I could scarce push through it, and more’n once, the surrounding slopes prevented me from walking the waterway itself. I zigzagged up the creek in short jigs. Park the IROC, push my way to the creek, trudge around searching for anything what might give me a clue as to why Fame found that odd sheen, fight the laurel and weeds back to the car, and start all over again.
I seen that same sheen a time or two, mostly in the still parts where the current slowed and the water deepened. Seen a handful of dead fish, too, little runts no bigger’n my hand, about all the creek’d support through here. Didn’t have an extra bag in the car or I woulda picked ‘em up and took ‘em back to Fame for testing. Maybe whatever was tainting the water was killing the fish. Coulda been another reason they was floating belly up. Didn’t seem none too likely, though.
I done that trek for half the morning before I finally hit the spot where Howard Branch dumped into Persimmon Creek. There weren’t a lick of anything suspicious along that section. I stuck my hands on my hips and studied the confluence real careful like. If anybody’d asked, I woulda said the best bet was upstream, but I’d done been and come up empty. It weren’t much of nothing from there to the Tallulah River. If something was in the river, somebody shoulda noticed it already, what with all the tourists and such tromping around out that way.
The brush rustled behind me. I whirled, hand on the 1911 strapped to my hip, and froze. Riley Treadwell stood there big as a bear, dressed in his uniform, sharply pressed green trousers and a black polo with Georgia’s Department of Natural Resources logo embroidered on it. My heart sunk clean down to my knees. I knowed I was gonna have to talk to him again sooner or later. I was just counting on it being later, not out in the woods up to my chin in one of Fame’s problems.
“Hey, Sunny.”
“Riley.” I sighed and tromped away from the creek bed. “What you want?”
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Saw your daddy’s car on the side of the road. Figured I’d better check on you in case you’d broke down.”
“Mighty kind of you.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
I glared at him. “Minding my own. How ‘bout you?”
“Christ, Sunny. I was worried about you, not trying to catch you red handed.” He resettled his DNR ball cap over that nearly red hair of his and glared right back at me. “You ever think about giving people the benefit of the doubt before you jump all over them?”
I snapped my jaws shut over a smart remark. He was right, for one, though I sure as tootin’ weren’t gonna tell him the reason I was prickly around him didn’t have nothing to do with doubting him. That was a whole nother can of worms, so I held on to my temper. Fame’d found something in the water. If anybody could do something about it, it was Riley.
I fixed something close to an apology on my face. “Anybody complained about the water out this way?”
“Matter of fact, I was on my way to check on it when I saw your car. Fly fisherman called it in. Said he found a slew of dead fish out this way.”
“Where at?”
“Up a bit.” He pulled off his cap and slapped it on his thigh, and his eyes drifted away from mine. “You hear anything?”
Well, shoot. Couldn’t rightly tell Riley why I was looking. He was a lawman, after all, and duty bound to turn in law breakers, even one breaking laws outside his jurisdiction. Still, I kinda needed his help. Sounded like he might need mine a bit, too.
“Seen some dead fish upstream,” I finally said. “Water up that way’s got a funny sheen to it, kinda like an oily rainbow floating on top.”
He nodded. “Fame found something in the water, huh.”
I leveled an even stare on him, and he grinned, kinda slow and sly.
“Come on, Sunny. It’s not like him making ‘shine is a secret. I’ve had a sip or two myself.” He fingered the brim of his hat and slapped it back on. “Rumor has it there’ll be some at Jazz and BobbiJean’s wedding next month.
‘Course there’d be. I was bringing it. “Gossip is a sin, same as lying.”
“Like you’re not lying to me.”
“Not a bit,” I said, real cheerful like.
He grunted, though his mouth twisted into a smile. “Rumor has it yo
u’ll be there with bells on.”
“You been talking to BobbiJean.”
“Ran into her and Jazz at Ingles. She mentioned you needed a date. I thought maybe me and you could go together.”
I snorted. “Yeah, right. A Carson and a Treadwell going to a shindig together. Our grandpappies’d turn over in their graves.”
He crossed them big arms of his over his chest and that smile turned into a smirk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of spending time with me.”
“Good thing you know better,” I retorted. “You gonna hunt down the problem with the water or jaw me to death?”
“I figured I could do both at the same time,” he said mildly. “Come on. You can ride with me.”
I stowed up. “I ain’ta doing nothing with you.”
His smile dropped in a flash and his face went cold and hard. “Jesus, Sunny, what do you have against me anyway?”
“Not a thing. Don’t mean I’m getting in a vehicle with you.”
“You wanna help Fame or not?”
I glowered at him. Well, dang. How come he always caught me in a bind? “I’ll follow you to the cut off on the other side of the creek. There’s a better parking spot out that way. We can ride up together from there.”
“Good, then.” He held out his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk back with you.”
I scrubbed my hands against my thighs and stared at that hand.
He waved his fingers, beckoning me closer. “I don’t bite.”
“I know that.”
His hazel eyes flicked down my body and landed on my muddy knees. “If you hold my hand, I can help you keep your balance.”
“I been kneeling by the creek side, is all. I ain’t fell once.”
“Uh-huh.” He wiggled his fingers again. “You used to hold my hand all the time.”
“Yeah, when we was kids.”
Them hazel eyes of his went all stern like. I heaved a sigh and took his hand. It weren’t that big a deal, were it? That’s what I told myself, anyhow. Never mind the heat of his skin on mine or the sparks racing up my arm where our palms met.