by G A Chase
The work stool squeaked—presumably from Joe’s wet ass turning it. “I’m not the intruder. Why don’t we start with what you’re doing in my cabin?”
Sere toweled off before slipping into fresh panties, a bra, a T-shirt, and jeans. This is the goddamned third change of clothes since I left my cabin.
“There’s been a murder, and someone’s gone missing.”
“So?” Sere asked as she left the privacy of the bedroom.
“According to the work order they found in his coveralls, the dead man’s last job was to fix the head gasket on your Triton.”
Sere’s blood ran cold. Panic made her respiration instantly double. “Shit! Larry’s dead?” She was ready to grab the shotguns and head north that instant.
Bart’s voice lost some of its irritating bravado. “I hadn’t seen carnage like that diner since I left Libya. Body parts and blood covered the floor and tables. At first, the sheriff thought it was a wild animal that wandered into town looking for food and tore the body to shreds during the night, but a witness said they saw you sneak out of the restaurant before dawn.”
Sere clenched her jaw. The sheriff might not have been as far off as he imagined. She strapped the shotgun’s leather harness around her waist and crossed it over her chest. Joe loaded both guns before handing her the single-shot. She flipped her head to the side to clear her hair out of the way and swung the weapon into its holster on her back. With the gun in position, the butt stuck up just far enough to be easily grabbed from over her shoulder.
“I stopped by Larry’s shop to pick up my ride while the rest of the town was sleeping. We went over to Kelly’s Diner for breakfast before I headed out. What’s the story on Kelly?”
“They only found the mechanic’s blood and body parts. With Kelly missing, she is a suspect, but no one believes that sweet woman would hurt anyone—more likely, the killer abducted her. The sheriff is conducting a search.”
While Bart was focused on Sere, Joe snuck the gray-green folder back into the drawer of his desk. “How is it you know so much about the crime?”
“The sheriff’s deputy is a distant cousin. We don’t talk much except at family crawfish boils, but as it was his car in the diner’s driveway, I convinced him to let me have a look. Since Riley was the one who alerted me about Sere’s run-in with Cody, I thought another disturbance so close to her bar was worth checking out. It won’t take long for Sheriff Newton to add up the odd occurrences over the last couple of days and come looking for Sere.”
She coaxed her snakes out of her saddlebags and set them curled up on the workbench. “No doubt he’ll pin it on me without doing any real investigating.” The oil-soaked riding pants she pulled out were as useless as the shredded, bloody jeans. A mixture of oil and blood had splattered the leather bomber jacket that she laid next to her pants.
Joe pointed to the pile of discarded clothing. “You have a strange concept of dropping off laundry. You can use my riding jacket. At least since it isn’t covered in blood, you’ll be slightly less conspicuous. It’s in the closet. Do me a favor—try not to destroy it.”
Bart called after her as she headed back into the bedroom. “The sheriff likes things simple in his parish. Unless Kelly turns up with an alternative story, he’s going to be looking for the most suspicious stranger to have recently wandered his back roads.”
She pulled the oversized jacket over the shotgun strapped to her back and checked how it looked in the mirror. Her face felt like a layer of thin ice over a moving stream. At any moment, her sorrow might crack the surface of her resilience and drown her in emotions she was ill prepared to handle. Outside of the group who’d raised her, Larry had been the first person to show her genuine compassion, and Kelly had honestly cared what happened to someone she barely knew. Now one was dead and the other not far behind. Sere couldn’t shake the suspicion that somehow she was to blame. Her inner resolve returned like hardened steel being pulled from the forge. I have to find Kelly before some hick cop puts out an APB on my ass and stops me from getting to the murderer. Then I’m going to find who did this thing and send them straight to hell, or worse.
Through the open door, she could hear Bart talking in a low voice to Joe. “You’re not going to make some pseudo-fatherly request that I keep an eye on her?” There was more testosterone flying from the two bulls in the next room than from a bachelor party in a Bourbon Street strip club.
“You don’t pay much attention, do you, boy?” Joe’s southern accent always came out when he was dealing with someone he didn’t fully respect. “If you want anything to do with that girl, you’d better wise up. I don’t worry about her safety, because I’m the one who taught her how to fight. Thinking that she needs protection would be an insult both to my training and to her abilities. Now, you wouldn’t want to insult me, would you?”
“Of course not. I’m just trying to gauge the relationship between you two.”
Sere peeked out from the door to see Joe’s reaction. He stood, glistening wet, and faced Bart with his unflinching laser stare. His intense breathing flexed his aged but well-defined six-pack abs. “Sere decides for herself who she wants in her life. I’m not her daddy, and I’m not some geriatric lover. But if you keep thinking of her as the weaker sex who you can win over with your charms, you’d better sniff around some other filly.”
“You still haven’t answered how she healed so quickly,” Bart said.
“And I don’t intend to. Sere’s secrets aren’t for me to divulge.”
She stepped out of the bedroom before the two men resorted to comparing dick sizes. She flipped her hair over the thick collar of Joe’s riding jacket to hide the butt of the shotgun. “How do I look?”
“Like a badass father fucker,” Joe said.
She smiled at the not-so-subtle jibe. “You always know how to sweet-talk a girl. Why don’t you get that old BSA motorcycle out of mothballs and join me on the hunt? Might do you good to get that old blood pumping, and you could tell Auntie Kendell firsthand that I know how to take care of myself.”
He stared at Bart. “Tempting, but it looks like you’ll have enough company already.”
“Him?” She pointed at Bart. “He’s not going with me.”
Bart threw on his riding jacket and zipped it up as if preparing for battle. “You’re going to need my help.”
“You’re like some stray dog that doesn’t know when it’s not wanted. I don’t need a chaperone, and I’m not in the market for a sidekick. You delivered your warning. Now, shoo. I can’t have you getting in my way just because you got all googly-eyed seeing my naked body.”
“Trust me, I’m not that hard up. I was simply trying to figure out how your wounds healed so fast. There are plenty of women out there I can spend my time with. Just don’t go getting yourself shot again in one of the local bars, and I’ll leave you alone. I don’t need some snarky, skinny bitch who thinks she’s God’s gift to humanity.”
Man, have you got that wrong.
He stormed out of the workroom. The sound of his Ducati’s engine was quickly drowned out by the staccato of gravel pelting the wooden side of the cabin.
“I realize we never taught you how to flirt, but just so you know, that wasn’t it.” Joe opened his desk and handed Sere the folder on Monty. “Keep this hidden.”
“Why would you think it was our doppelgänger who killed that sweet man?”
“If we’re right about him wanting to kill his real and take over that life, he’d need to do it in such a way that it wasn’t noticed. Any reasonable person would want a little practice before the big event. My bet is fake Monty just discovered how messy murder can be.”
6
Sere took off from Joe’s cabin and headed toward the interstate. Though she doubted Bart would have hung around after their fight, the man had an annoying habit of showing up where he wasn’t wanted.
When it came to Joe, she had only been half joking when she’d invited him along on the hunt. Any speed he might have los
t to age, he more than made up for in cunning. Beating her off the porch and into the river had proven that. Now that she was out on the open road, however, she embraced the loneliness that others often feared. With no one to keep track of, she was free to conduct the hunt as she saw fit.
The monotonous ride on the straight, flat interstate made for a good time to think. Though her emotions continued to boil within her like lava under a volcano’s cone, her cold determination kept them in check. Without an alternate demon to consider, she focused her energy on Montgomery Fisher’s doppelgänger. Assuming Joe is right and Larry’s death was simply practice, what would fake Monty try next? He must have Kelly, and since there’s no trail of blood, I’ll assume she’s still alive.
Without a vehicle of his own, Monty would have a hard time transporting Kelly very far from town. Though the swamp was Sere’s home, she realized most others considered the marshes, animals, and hidden islands the stuff of horror stories—a perfect place for disposing of a body. She needed to get back out on the water, and that meant a boat. Borrowing the same boat twice has to beat finding another victim. I hope those snake bites aren’t bothering you too much, Cody Boy.
Even if Sere did find Kelly, if it turned out that fake Monty had killed Larry and abducted her, the café owner’s story could easily lead to people pointing the finger at the real Montgomery Fisher, who was simply going about his humdrum life in New Orleans. “Fuck!” Sere laid into the throttle, hoping the increased speed would clear the logjam of thoughts. Kelly identifying Montgomery Fisher’s doppelgänger would create too many questions. No one was going to buy that a mild-mannered New Orleans CPA went on a killing spree or that he had some mysterious double no one had ever heard of before. And even if Sere captured the doppelgänger and turned him in to save her own hide, any investigation would lead back to the real man. Finding Kelly had to be her first priority, but then what? Whatever story Kelly told that might exonerate Sere would sound like the ranting of a madwoman. That might not be the worst result. So long as the sheriff discounts anything she says as momentary insanity, he probably won’t bother reporting it.
And what do I do if Kelly is already dead? Sere let off the gas to avoid speeding past a highway patrol car. Bart was probably right. With no one else to blame, the sheriff would make a case for Sere being the perpetrator of the killing spree. Even if she did find fake Monty, she couldn’t turn him in. I’m going to find you, fucker. Then I’m going to kill you myself. If Kelly is still alive, she’ll be so traumatized that no one will believe anything she says. Then I’ll disappear back into my beloved swamp. Fuck the cops. Fuck the judicial system. Fuck the loas of the dead. “And fuck Jennifer Ellen Cranston!”
The sun had set by the time Sere rode past the line of pickup trucks parked in front of Riley’s bar. The beater from the morning was still gathering dust next to the front door. She pulled her Triton to the back of the unpainted wooden building. Riley had already proven she preferred to take matters into her own hands rather than call in the authorities when it came to Sere’s stealing and customer harassment. Hopefully, the woman’s brand of vigilante justice extended to suspected murderers.
Sere used her thin dagger to pop the lock on the back door. The rifle Riley had used earlier wasn’t the type of weapon to be carried around as a fashion accessory. If Sere could confront the woman away from the bar, patrons, and gun, maybe she could make her listen to reason—even if it was at the point of a knife. Sere crouched behind a stack of Jack Daniel’s boxes and waited.
“I’ll get another case of Bud.” Riley’s voice cut through the bar chatter that flooded the back room behind the swinging door.
Sere waited until the bartender had just passed her before springing to her feet. With one fluid motion, she pulled Riley’s greasy ponytail down hard and had the knife against her stretched throat. “I don’t mean to hurt you, but I will if you don’t help me.”
“You’re that bitch I plugged this morning. You’ve got a lot of damn nerve coming back here.” Riley’s calm but determined voice indicated that being threatened was nothing new.
“In spite of our so-far rocky relationship, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
The bartender held her hands out from her sides. “I doubt that, but as you’ve got my attention, I suppose I don’t have a choice.”
“I want to talk to Cody, and I’d rather not do it while we’re aiming weapons at each other.”
The woman let out a snarky grunt that might have been a laugh. “You know, I’d actually like to see that.” She turned her neck against the knife, “Cody, come back here and give me a hand.”
Sere let go of Riley’s hair so she’d be free to respond to the new threat that pushed his way through the swinging door. The mountain of a man walked an unsteady line. I’ll bet you’ve been drinking all day.
“Waddya want, Ri?”
Sere held the knife in the light in front of Riley to make sure Cody knew what he was dealing with. “I’m going to put this away. I just want to talk.”
“You going to apologize for stealing my boat again?”
She sheathed the blade back into her boot. “I borrowed your boat, and I’m not here to debate old news.”
“Not apologize again… steal my boat again.” The man’s slurred speech wasn’t helping Sere understand what he was talking about.
“As I told you, Camo Boy, your boat is in your slip, and we dealt with our issues this morning.”
Riley crossed her arms and leaned against the glass-fronted fridge. “He’s asking if you’re returning his boat again. When he went out to find it after you left, it wasn’t there.”
Shit! So that’s how Monty abducted Kelly. In a burst of insight, Sere realized she’d been the one to bring her nemesis into town. “That fucker must have slipped into the boat while I was out investigating the swamp. I never checked the lockers. Why would I so far from civilization? That’s how he got into town. Then that asshole must have followed me to Kelly’s. I really need to listen better to Joe’s explanations of human gut feelings. Your boat would have been his most obvious means of escape. How could I be so dense?”
“Girl, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Cody said, “but you’ve been a pain in my ass since I met ya. And now you’re interrupting my drinking.”
“I know who killed Larry and kidnapped Kelly. He’s using your boat to hide out in the swamp.”
“You mean Runt’s dead? About time someone put that little pipsqueak in the ground.”
Sere rubbed the base of her head against the butt of the shotgun strapped to her back. “God, you are a piece of work. Your boat is missing, so you drink. Then I come and tell you it’s back, so you drink some more. Then—when you finally head out to do some work—you find it’s missing again, so you come back here to continue drinking. Have either of you even checked into town today?”
Riley and Cody looked at each other in dumb silence. Sere was beginning to wonder if either of them would be of any help at all. At least Cody must know his way around the swamp.
“Do you want your fucking boat back or not? Because I guarantee you, if this guy kills Kelly, he’s not going to putter it back to the dock. And even if the sheriff does find your rig, it’ll be impounded for evidence. So you can either sit here on your fat ass, drinking away whatever life you had, or you can give me a hand, and I can get you back fishing.”
Cody took a deep breath, which, based on his straightened stance, helped sober him somewhat. “First, as my boat was stolen, I have no way to get you out on the water. And second, it’s past nightfall.”
“So what?” Sere asked. “The swamp doesn’t fill up with monsters at night, at least no more so than during the day.”
“Look, girly,” Cody said. “I’m not afraid of the boogeyman, but even people who’ve spent their whole lives in the swamps can get lost from time to time. At least during the day, there are others out on the water if something goes wrong. Only a damned fool goes look
ing for trouble.”
“I found my way out and back traveling at night. I could use someone who understands the waterways and would know where a person might hide a body, but if you’re too afraid of the dark, I’ll go alone.”
Cody pulled a can of Bud out of the fridge and popped it open. “You are the craziest chick I’ve ever met. And that includes both of my psycho ex-wives. It’d be worth heading out just to see you get scared of something.”
Riley shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “I’ve got a boat under a tarp out back. It belonged to my daddy. Honestly, I’m not even sure it floats. But any woman who wants to go hunting a serial killer at night in the swamp with a guy who’s three times her size and pissed off at her is my kind of bitch.”
“Perfect.” Sere turned to Cody. “If your truck will start, I’ll meet you out back.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you, you don’t impugn a man’s truck? You are going to die out there, and I’m going to laugh my head off.”
Riley pulled her keys from her overly tight cutoff jeans and worked a rusted one off the ring. “I’ve got work to do. I’d warn you about the snakes out there, but from what Cody told me this morning, those vipers are probably your friends.”
Sere headed out back, happy not to have been shot again. Joe’s teaching rang in her memory. “If you can earn an enemy’s respect, you’ll have their loyalty until the next change of events. Knowing where you stand with someone, and what to watch out for in their change of demeanor, is better than relying on the blind devotion of a supposed friend.”
Cody might hate her, but he wouldn’t cross her—at least not at night out in the swamp. Based on his run-in with her snakes, he’d have to conclude that every animal lurking in the dark was at her command. She didn’t dare consider Riley an ally, but the woman wouldn’t interfere so long as there was some entertainment value. Monty was a different story. If it was him she was hunting, which Sere was beginning to accept as highly likely, he’d proven he could be a vicious killer.