by BJ Bourg
After asking a few more questions, I thanked her and hung up. I then peeked through the kitchen window. Dawn was sitting at the table cleaning her pistol. All she knew was that we were going on vacation where there’d be bears—hence the readying of her pistol—and we’d have to drive for eleven hours. It had been fourteen months since the attempt on the vice president’s life and, thankfully, everything had returned to normal in Magnolia Parish. While we still carried heavy case loads at work, the year had been filled with burglaries and thefts mostly, with a few armed robberies, two kidnappings, and one domestic murder. All in all, it had been a typical year in our southern Louisiana parish, but we both needed a vacation.
Dawn’s Glock was still in pieces in front of her, so I knew I had time for another phone call. But I’d have to make it quick. Somehow, I had managed to keep everything a secret from her up to this point, but I was worried I’d find a way to blow it in these last hours.
I searched through my contacts and found the number for the photographer I’d chosen in Tennessee and pressed the button. She answered after four rings and immediately recognized my voice.
“Mr. Carter! How nice to speak with you again. Are you excited?”
I shuffled my feet and walked to the far edge of the back porch. “I’m scared to death,” I admitted. “What if she says no?”
“Well, it is possible,” she said slowly. “I see it all the time in my line of work. In fact, I’ve got dozens of pictures of men down on one knee crying in shame.”
“Wait—what?” My heart dropped to my boots. “Do you really think she’ll say no?”
The photographer began laughing hysterically and I grunted, knowing I’d been played—and I deserved it, too. When I’d first called to request her services, I told her I needed a photographer to follow me and a client to a desolate part of the mountains for a photo shoot. When she asked for the occasion, I told her I was planning on murdering him and I needed to record it for my mob boss.
“It’s hard to kill someone while you’re holding a camera,” I’d joked, “so that’s where you come in.”
She had gasped and was about to hang up when I quickly told her I was joking. I had admitted it was a bad joke and apologized, explaining how nervous I was about proposing to Dawn. She’d taken it in stride and was good-natured about it, but I never suspected she’d exact revenge.
“Good job,” I said, appreciating her humor. When she stopped laughing, I asked if she received my payment.
“I did, but you didn’t have to leave such a large tip,” she said. “I get paid by the hour, regardless if I have to hike or stand still.”
“Well, I’m just surprised you’re willing to do it.”
“Are you kidding? You’re paying me to hike to the most beautiful waterfall in the Smoky Mountains and do the one thing I love most in life—photography.” She laughed again. “I feel like I should be paying you.”
I thanked her again and we agreed she’d be at the trailhead to Abrams Falls for nine o’clock on Monday morning. While the photographer would be driving to the trailhead, Dawn and I would be hiking halfway around the eleven-mile Cades Cove Loop Road to get there. I’d never hiked the Loop Road or the trail to the waterfall, but I’d seen pictures online and I knew instantly it was where I wanted to drop down on one knee and propose to Dawn.
Jerry Allemand, the second in command of the sniper team I run for the Magnolia Sheriff’s Office, had questioned the wisdom behind making Dawn hike over five miles of pavement and then two and a half miles of rough mountainous terrain before proposing.
“That’s a lot of work and it doesn’t seem very romantic,” he’d said at sniper training last week when I explained my plan and showed him the ring I bought for her. “Why don’t you just go to the beach or a fancy restaurant like a normal person?”
“Did you think I’d just let Dawn be my fiancée for free?” I had joked, and then shook my head. “No, sir, she’ll have to earn this ring.”
While I initially thought it was a great plan, Jerry’s reaction had stayed with me all week, and now the photographer’s joke was starting to make me doubt myself. What if she didn’t like—
“Hey, what are you doing out here?”
“Crap!” I jerked in my skin when Dawn’s voice suddenly sounded behind me. “I didn’t hear you walk up behind me.”
I wasn’t the type to startle and Dawn knew it. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she glanced down at the phone in my hand, chewing on her lower lip as she tapped her bare foot on the porch. “What were you doing back here?”
I couldn’t lie to her about anything, so I didn’t even try. I looked right into her brown eyes and said, “If you just trust me and don’t ask any questions, you’ll find out soon enough.”
She grunted. “It’d better be good—like a new ragtop for my Jeep or a palomino pony.”
“Right,” I said, as I took her hand and walked inside. While her hand was soft, her grip was firm. At five-foot, three inches tall, and 125 pounds, she was small, but tough as nails. I was about seven inches taller than her and outweighed her by more than sixty pounds, but she gave me a run for my money when we wrestled for fun on the living room floor. I never liked wrestling before I met Dawn, but the wrestling always led to other things, and for that I was grateful.
“Are you all packed up?” I asked when we stepped into the kitchen.
She nodded and closed her gun cleaning kit. “I cleaned my Glock, because I don’t plan on being killed by a bear while on vacation.”
As she tidied up the table, I carried my bags to her Jeep and tossed them in the back. She was right about needing a new ragtop. Some assholes had sliced it up a couple of months ago in Arkansas and I had wanted to get her a new one, but I didn’t even know how to go about ordering it. She had purchased a patch kit and we’d done our best to fix it well enough to keep the water out. It worked, but it was far from perfect.
I returned inside, grabbed her bags, and loaded them, too, and then stood there waiting for her to join me. She stopped to lock the door and bounded off the steps, throwing me the keys as she approached. “I’m riding shotgun first,” she said, “since I was awake all night wrapping up that burglary report.”
I didn’t argue. I loved driving her Jeep and had mentioned several times that I wanted one of my own.
“Why do we need two Jeeps?” she’d asked. “We can keep this one until it gets too old and then trade it in for a new one.”
That one statement, uttered casually one evening not long ago, had given me the confidence I needed to set up the proposal, but not much more. While I could face down any threat and not waver one bit, I was scared to death to ask her to marry me.
As I cranked up the Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, I stole a glance at her. She was wearing blue jean cut-offs and a loose T-shirt that flapped in the wind. She hadn’t put on any shoes and kicked her feet up on the dash. She brushed a tuft of brown hair off of her cheek and closed her eyes, settling in for the long drive.
I reached for the radio knob and flipped on my favorite country music station, which played old country songs on Saturdays. As I pulled out of the driveway and headed north, Seven Spanish Angels by Willie Nelson and Ray Charles blared over the speakers. I smiled and settled in to enjoy the wind in my hair and the music in my ears. This is going to be a great vacation, I thought, and it’s just the first of many for Dawn and me.
CHAPTER 4
8:00 a.m.
Deputy Abraham Wilson was racing north on Highway Eighty, the lights on his marked police cruiser flashing and his siren blaring. Traffic was nonexistent at that time of the morning, and it was a good thing because he was in a hurry. Three boys had just returned home from checking their catfish lines in Plymouth East and claimed to have seen a woman’s body suspended from the sky. One of the boys’ mothers had called it in and she told the dispatcher the boys had seen the body around sunrise, but didn’t immediately tell her because they didn’t think it was real.
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p; Slowing down just enough to make the turn up ahead, Abraham turned smoothly to the right and onto Plymouth Highway, heading east along the country road.
Boasting a population just north of 1,000 people, Plymouth East was a small community in central Magnolia Parish that was made up of mostly fishermen, hunters, and cane farmers. There was only one store, which also served as the gas station, two locally-owned restaurants, a church, a community center, a post office, and a volunteer fire department amongst the smattering of houses that made up the whole of the township. There was no local government and, although the residents didn’t always like it, they fell under the authority of the Magnolia Parish Council and under the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s office.
Abraham had visited the area a dozen times as a kid—usually for parades—and he’d been back there only three or four times since graduating from the police academy early last year, but those were for minor complaints. What he knew about the place, he loved. The community was at least four miles from the highway, and expansive forest lands and rows upon flowing rows of sugarcane fields separated it from the rest of the world. Since Plymouth Highway was the only way in or out, the residents rarely saw strangers.
As Abraham sped down Plymouth Highway—the wind making a mess of his thick brown hair—he gripped the steering wheel firmly in his hands. The road was bumpy and the shoulder nonexistent, so a wrong move could send him plunging into one of the large drainage canals on either side of the road, and that would certainly ruin his day.
The fields to his left and right were thick with tall cane and it was impossible to see around the bends in the road. Remembering what his police academy instructor—a former detective named Brandon Berger—had told him about driving only as fast as he safely could, he backed off of the accelerator and slowed to a speed that didn’t scare him as much.
Once Abraham drove past the fields, he was swallowed up by the dark shadows of the thick woodlands that followed. It suddenly became dark on the highway and he shoved his sunglasses high on his forehead. He must’ve driven another two miles before he finally saw the first sign of civilization—an old barn on the left side of the road that marked the entrance to the community.
As he slowed to the speed limit, Abraham began to wonder what he would find once he arrived at the complaint. What if it really was a body? It would be his first death scene as a deputy, and that made him a little nervous. He wasn’t sure if he would remember everything he’d learned about crime scenes in the police academy. He knew the general order of business was to eliminate any threats that might be present, render aid to the injured, secure the scene, and then make notifications.
He considered this as he drove. If there was a threat, that would mean someone injured or killed the woman. This might be my first murder scene, he thought.
He swallowed hard and glanced in his rearview mirror. He hadn’t seen a car since entering Plymouth Highway. It was the only way in or out of this place, so it would be hard for a would-be murderer to escape by automobile. Of course, the kids had waited to tell their parents, so the suspect could’ve driven off long before he turned onto the road. As he took in his surroundings, Abraham figured it might be easier to disappear by hitting the woods, but there were a dozen things that could kill a person out there, so justice would probably be swift and final.
“Headquarters to 231,” called the dispatcher over the police radio. “Are you there yet?”
“Negative,” he said, glancing down at the notepad attached to his dashboard. The address showed 1711 Plymouth Highway and he had just passed 1658. “I’ll be arriving shortly.”
He studied the addresses and frowned when the numbers began skipping around. He had to stop to look at the opposite sides of a few mailboxes, but finally found the right address. The house was located at the end of a very long driveway and it was at least half a mile from Plymouth Highway.
“Just walking to the mailbox would be a great daily workout,” he mused aloud as he coasted toward the gray house. There was a two-car garage attached to the left side of the house, but the doors were closed. He wondered if the woman who called it in was still inside or if they’d returned to the area where the boys thought they saw the body. His question was quickly answered when he stopped his cruiser in the driveway and the front door burst open. A woman and three boys rushed out onto the wooden porch. They stood huddled together and watched as Abraham gathered up his notebook and stepped out.
Abraham ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the wind-beaten mess, but it was no use. He could feel a tuft sticking up. Shrugging, he approached the bricked-in steps and stopped when he was halfway up. He nodded his greeting. After introducing himself, he asked the woman if she had called in a complaint about a possible body being found.
“I’m the one who saw it,” blurted a boy with bushy blond hair. His face and hands were dirty and his eyes were wide. “It was a lady and she was a witch and she was just hanging in the sky like it was magic or something.”
“Jayce!” said the woman, who wore a long blue jean skirt and a thick blouse. “I already told you not to exaggerate. Now, when this officer asks what you witnessed, you tell him what you saw and stick to the facts. Don’t say things you don’t know.”
She turned to Abraham and smiled, her clear complexion lighting up. “I’m Margery Russo, his mom. Please forgive him. When he gets excited he tends to make things a little larger than they are, but he’s an honest young man otherwise.”
Jayce stomped his foot. He couldn’t have been more than eleven. “But I know what I saw!”
Abraham smiled to reassure the kid. “It’s okay, little man, just start by telling me where this happened.”
Jayce turned and pointed over his shoulder, toward the back of his house. “I was in the little bayou checking my catfish lines with Bentley and Ian”—he shot his thumbs toward the boys who flanked him—“and we were walking back when I saw the woman.”
“What time was this?”
“At sun rise,” Jayce said. “I check my lines every morning before the sun comes up and it’s usually coming up when I’m walking back. That’s when I saw her.”
“As I understand it, you waited to tell your mom,” Abraham said gently. “Why’s that?”
“Because she never believes me when I tell her things.” Jayce glared sideways at his mother, but he wiped the look off his face when she raised a single eyebrow in a menacing manner.
“I didn’t see anything,” Ian said, joining in. He had thick red hair and his face was littered with freckles. “The sun was shining in my eyes, though, and the trees were kind of thick, so it was hard to see. I thought Jayce was just joking at first, but I think he could be telling the truth.”
Bentley shrugged his shoulders. He had a Mohawk haircut that Abraham knew couldn’t have been middle school compliant. “I think I saw something. It looked like an angel in the air and I’m pretty sure it was a woman, because…” His face reddened as his voice trailed off.
“What is it?” Abraham asked. “What’d you see that embarrassed you?”
“The lady didn’t have a shirt on.” He lowered his head and a slight grin spread across his face. “She was naked on the top.”
Abraham scowled. “What about on the bottom?”
Bentley shrugged again. “I couldn’t see her good because of the sun and trees. But I’m sure she didn’t have a shirt on.”
“She wasn’t naked,” Jayce said. “So stop saying she was. You didn’t even see her. I did.”
As he studied the three boys and Margery, Abraham wondered if this was some kind of prank or just a case of overactive imaginations gone wild. He remembered thinking there were savages with spears living in the swamps behind his house when he was a kid, and this sounded a lot like that kind of fantasy. Nonetheless, he’d have to check it out. He nodded toward Jayce. “Can you show me where you found this woman?”
Margery wrapped her arms protectively around Jayce’s chest from where she stood behind h
im. “I’m sorry, Deputy Wilson, but I don’t want my son going back out there until everything is safe.”
“Why not?” Jayce asked. “I’m the only one who saw her and I’m the only one who knows where she’s at.”
“No,” Bentley argued. “I saw her, too, and I saw her naked.”
“I already told you she wasn’t naked!” Jayce’s eyes narrowed as he squared off with his friend. “You just want to be the hero—”
“Boys!” Margery scolded. “That’s enough.”
“It’s okay,” Abraham said, handing his notebook and pen to Jayce. “Draw me a map and I’ll find it on my own.”
“You don’t need a map,” Jayce explained. “Just go straight to the back of our property and when you reach the canal, look toward the left through the trees. It’s hard to see, but she’s floating there in the sky—unless she flew away already.”
Abraham tucked his notebook into the front of his gun belt and radioed dispatch to let them know he was going to be on foot. He then asked Margery to keep the boys handy while he investigated the sighting. “I might have more questions for them when I get back, so I’d appreciate it if y’all hung around.”
CHAPTER 5
Abraham walked around the house and strode through the back yard, heading south toward the canal seven hundred yards away. He noticed the sun had climbed higher in the sky. The temperature must’ve been approaching ninety degrees already and sweat pooled on his forehead, dripping down his face and into his eyes. He could even feel it leaking down the center of his back. He scowled. The only thing he didn’t like about being a patrol deputy was the polyester uniform. He shifted the heavy leather gun belt on his hips and pulled the top of the ballistic vest away from his chest to allow some air inside. The sweat made the fabric on his pant legs stick to his skin and he didn’t like the way it felt.