Swamp Spook

by Jana DeLeon

  Gertie had abandoned the ball cap and gone back to her flowery and fruity straw model. When we got out of the SUV, two crows in an oak tree gave it a hard look, then one of them swooped down for a closer peek. Gertie put her hands on her head and shook her fist at the bird, who flew back to his tree perch.

  “You go around wearing fruit on your head and you’re going to attract the attention of the local wildlife,” Ida Belle said. “You should have stuck with the ball cap.”

  “At least this hat is attracting something,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle shook her head and walked up onto the porch to ring the doorbell. I heard shuffling inside and a couple seconds later, the door opened and a man stared out at us. I thought the hat might hinder our progress but apparently, I had a lot to learn about Southern fashion for seniors. He didn’t give the colorful accessory so much as a glance.

  Midfifties. Five foot ten. One hundred ninety pounds. Spare tire around the middle but surprisingly good muscle mass. Several cut and burn scars on his hands, but they were old and made sense for a chef. One hip was higher than another, indicating a spinal issue. He probably had chronic pain from working a line all day. It would also hinder his fighting ability. Threat assessment low.

  “Hello, Greg,” Ida Belle said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I went to church with your mother. We served on several committees together. Ida Belle?”

  He studied her for a second, then nodded. “Yes, of course. Mother was always doing the good work. I’ve let that torch drop, I suppose.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Ida Belle said. “This is Gertie, perhaps you remember her as well? And this is our friend Fortune. She’s just moved to Sinful this summer but has been a big help so far. Would it be all right if we came in and spoke with you for a bit? I promise it won’t take long.

  Greg gave us a nod. “I suppose so.” He stood back and waved us inside. “Excuse the mess. I’m not the housekeeper Mother was.”

  That was the understatement of the century. The house looked as though it had been inhabited by a fraternity, then hit by a tornado. I wondered what Greg spent his free time doing because clearly, it wasn’t maintaining his home.

  “The kitchen’s in better shape,” he said, and motioned us down the hallway.

  The kitchen was a bit better, but only by a hair. He lifted stacks of newspaper off the chairs and we took a seat around a table covered with dirty bowls, an empty milk jug, and three boxes of cereal.

  “I’ve been a bit under the weather,” he said, making excuse for the mess.

  I couldn’t imagine what one contracted that resulted in this level of chaos, but I hoped I’d never get it.

  “So what is it you’re wanting?” he asked, avoiding all the usual Southern pleasantries like offering us something to drink. Not that any of us would have taken him up on it, assuming he even had anything to offer.

  “We’re doing some planning for the Thanksgiving brunch at the Baptist church,” Ida Belle said. “We wondered if you might have time to assist.”

  “In what way? I don’t have a lot of free time. I put in a decent amount of overtime at the hospital,” he said.

  “It’s your expertise that we’re hoping to tap into,” Ida Belle said. “Most of the food is donated, but we prepare several side items in the church kitchen. Cooking for so many people is completely different from cooking for oneself. If you could just offer up your knowledge on the best items to prepare, it would be extremely helpful, and would likely save us a lot of time and aggravation.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call myself an expert,” he said.

  “You’ve got more experience than anyone else in Sinful,” Gertie said. “Your restaurant was one of the best I ever ate at.”

  He perked up for a moment, then his expression soured. “I put my entire life into that place. All for nothing. Lost my life savings. Lost my business. Lost my fiancée. Lost everything.”

  “May I ask what happened?” I asked. “A friend of mine wants to open a bakery. I know it’s not the same thing, but if you had any advice or warnings…”

  He snorted. “Yeah, I’ve got a warning. Don’t do business with a snake. My restaurant was doing great—fully booked two weeks in advance—and the critics loved it. Then the store next door closed down. It was twice the size of my restaurant, and I figured it was the golden opportunity for expansion. I didn’t have the kind of capital needed to acquire the building and do the build-out, so I took on a silent partner. Ha. He was silent until he asked his attorney to foreclose on the restaurant due to default.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought it was successful.”

  “The terms of the agreement were bad,” he said. “The interest was ridiculous and the repayment model wasn’t really viable. I’ll take the blame on that end of things. I should have had an attorney look it over, but I figured, I know this guy. He’s not going to screw me, right? Then I got a bad review from a food critic and reservations dropped off. I held on as long as I could but I couldn’t make the note. I found out after he took ownership that he’d paid the food critic to write the review. It was retracted a month after the restaurant changed hands.”

  “That’s horrible,” Gertie said. “I’m so sorry. We never knew.”

  “Couldn’t tell anyone,” Greg said. “There was a nondisclosure agreement. The entire arrangement was all done under one of his many corporations, and I had to agree to keep the ownership structure to myself even if the agreement dissolved. And bet your butt he would have sued me for what little I had left if I’d ever even hinted it to anyone. But that’s all over. Garrett Roth is dead and I hope he burns in hell. Now I can spend my last breath telling everyone what a piece of crap he was.”

  I looked over at Ida Belle and Gertie, who appeared to be as shocked as I was. Talk about finding the smoking gun. We’d come here looking for any hint that Greg Bullard might have a reason to be involved in any of the sordid business, and we’d been presented straight-out with enough motive to fill a football stadium.

  “Garrett?” Gertie said finally. “I can’t imagine…one of your neighbors, per se. I guess you never really know a person.”

  “People knew what Garrett wanted them to see,” Greg said. “Family name, family money, successful businesses, charitable donations. If I’d thought harder on it, I would have realized that the fact that no one in this town knew him well was a warning sign. People who hide who they are do it for a reason.”

  “I assume you heard about the unpleasantness at the festival,” Ida Belle said.

  “You mean with ole Garrett beheaded and put on display like a piece of cheap Halloween decor?” Greg asked and smiled. “Yeah, I heard about it. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

  “Surely you don’t mean it,” Gertie said. “I understand being angry, but the situation was quite horrific for his wife and daughter.”

  He looked just a tad guilty. “I suppose I sound a bit harsh, but it’s hard not to. I never got my say against him while he was living. So yeah, it makes me happy that he suffered a little humiliation in death. It’s petty, but there it is.”

  “A bit of closure,” Gertie said. “Isn’t that what they call it these days? So have the police been by to speak with you?”

  Greg’s eyes widened. “The police? Why would they want to talk to me?”

  “Well, it was a crime,” Ida Belle said. “Theft and desecration of the body. I heard they were talking to everyone who worked on the maze.”

  “No one’s been by here,” Greg said, but I could tell he was rattled. “No point anyway. I got nothing to tell. Was working the night of the festival. Work most nights except Sunday.”

  “We didn’t mean to get off into such painful territory,” Ida Belle said. “I know you have to get ready for work so I’ll just leave you my number. If you have some ideas for our menu, please give me a call. We’ll need sides for about a hundred people total.”

  Greg nodded but didn’t look directly at
her.

  “Thank you so much for your time,” Ida Belle said as we rose. “We’ll show ourselves out.”

  We headed to the front door and barely got the doors closed on the SUV before we all started talking at once.

  “I can’t believe it,” Gertie said.

  “He’s madder than a hornet,” Ida Belle said.

  “We finally found a motive,” I said.

  Ida Belle pulled away and shook her head. “I can’t believe he just laid it all out like that. And it amused him. Instead of being bothered, he was practically gleeful about it.”

  “Maybe because he didn’t do it,” I said.

  “You got someone better?” Gertie asked.

  “No,” I said, “but if he’d done it I would think he’d be a bit quieter about things.”

  “Maybe he’s beyond caring,” Ida Belle said. “He might feel as if he has nothing to lose.”

  “What about his freedom?” I asked.

  “Probably wouldn’t get much time,” Gertie said. “Maybe even nothing but a fine.”

  “For cutting off a man’s head?” I asked.

  “Well, he was already dead,” Gertie said. “The Morley brothers only got a fine for stealing their sister from the morgue and taking her to a fish fry.”

  “Yeah, but she was family and they didn’t cut off any body parts,” Ida Belle said.

  I knew I was going to regret it, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Why did they take her to a fish fry?”

  “They caught her boyfriend dallying with her best friend a week before she died,” Gertie said. “They thought they’d give him a bit of a scare, her back from the grave and all. Had her set up in his vehicle with a recorder accusing him of the wrongdoings.”

  I had to admit, I probably wouldn’t have thrown them in jail either. That’s assuming I made it through the trial without collapsing in laughter. The boyfriend had kinda gotten what was coming, and I had to give her brothers props for originality.

  “This situation is a little different,” I said. “It’s extreme malice and gross desecration, then there’s the public display. What’s the maximum?”

  “I don’t know,” Ida Belle said. “Three years? Maybe more.”

  “As mad as he is, he might consider it worth it,” Gertie said.

  “Then I suppose we need to find out if he was at work Friday and Saturday night,” I said. “You got any inside connection to do that?”

  “Maybe,” Gertie said and pulled out her cell phone. She made a call and asked someone about Greg’s work schedule, then disconnected. “He was on schedule for both nights but he gets an hour break for dinner.”

  “That’s enough time to pop over to the ME’s office and steal the body,” Ida Belle said. “The office is close to the hospital. Or he could have done it after shift. But it doesn’t leave enough time on Saturday to get back to Sinful, position the body in the maze, and return to work on schedule.”

  Gertie gave us a triumphant look. “He was late getting back on Saturday. Said he wasn’t feeling well and fell asleep in his car. Was gone almost two hours and right in time for our bathroom break.”

  “So motive and opportunity,” Ida Belle said.

  “He thinks he’s going to get away with it,” Gertie said, shaking her head. “He couldn’t help but tell us about what Garrett did even though it implicated him.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “He’d been holding it in so long, he probably didn’t think before blurting it out.”

  “Well, he’s thinking now,” I said. “You saw his expression when we mentioned the police questioning everyone. How do we handle this?”

  “Tell Carter?” Gertie said.

  “Tell him what? Our suspicions?” I asked. “We have no proof.”

  “So we get some,” Gertie said. “He had to cut off that head somewhere, right? So maybe the saw is still hanging around. There was an old shed in his backyard.”

  “You want to break into his shed?” I asked. “The guy who quite possibly stole a dead body and cut off its head to settle a business score?”

  “Why not?” Gertie said. “He’s working tonight. He lives alone. What’s the downside?”

  “Contaminating a crime scene for starters,” Ida Belle said.

  “We won’t contaminate anything,” Gertie said. “We’ll just take a peek and if it looks like that’s the place, then we’ll tell Carter and he can figure out how to get a search warrant.”

  “Before Greg hides the evidence, you mean,” I said.

  “Crap!” Ida Belle swung the steering wheel around and pulled a U-turn right in the middle of the street. “If there’s anything in the shed, he’ll be getting rid of it now. Probably on his way to work.”

  “He saw your vehicle when he opened the door,” I said.

  “So we’ll park one street over and find a place where we can see the backyard.”

  “Too late,” I said, and pointed to the blue Honda Accord I’d seen in Greg’s driveway. It was making a left at the stop sign at the end of the street.

  “He’s not due to work for an hour and a half,” Gertie said.

  “He could be doing anything,” I said. “Having dinner. Going to the post office.”

  “Destroying evidence,” Ida Belle said.

  I sighed. “Follow him but try to stay back. These aren’t exactly the ideal circumstances for tailing someone.”

  We kept our distance tracking Greg toward town, then followed him onto the highway. We lucked out and pulled behind a delivery truck. Ida Belle moved to the side every once in a while to make sure Greg was still ahead of us.

  “He’s pulling off the highway,” Ida Belle said.

  “Where does the road go?” I asked.

  “Nowhere,” Ida Belle said. “It dead-ends about a half mile from here at the water. There’s an old camp down there that belonged to one of the fishermen, but he’s been dead for years. Probably half collapsed by now. What do you want me to do?”

  I watched Greg’s car disappear into the woods. “Crap. Pull into those trees.”

  Ida Belle turned onto the unmarked road and found an opening large enough to put the SUV in. I jumped out. “Try to cover the back. I’m going to go after him on foot.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Ida Belle said.

  I headed for the road and picked up my pace as soon as I hit the hard-packed dirt. A half mile wasn’t anything, especially in seventy-degree weather. Checking the mail in hundred-degree weather was harder. I slowed each time there was a bend in the road, to make sure Greg wouldn’t catch sight of me in his rearview mirror, and finally reached the end of the road. It opened into what used to be a clearing but was now mostly weeds and moss that had overgrown what was left of a camp.

  I tucked in behind a tree and scanned the area. Greg’s car was parked just twenty yards ahead but he wasn’t in it. Since the best place in Louisiana to lose something was in the bayou, I figured he’d headed for the water and set out after him, easily picking up his trail through the brush. I moved slowly this time, listening for any sign of movement. In a couple minutes, I reached the edge of the water and spotted Greg standing on an overhang, holding a burlap sack.

  He opened the sack and looked inside, then tied the top and swung the entire thing around, tossing it into the bayou. He yelled some obscenities at the bag as it whirled through the air, then stood watching it until it sank below the surface of the water. When the last bubble disappeared, he turned around and headed my direction. I crouched down behind a clump of bushes and waited until I heard the car pull away before running for the bank.

  I paused only long enough to pinpoint the location where the bag had gone in and shed my pistol. Then I said a quick prayer covering alligators and certain death, jumped off the overhang, and dived into the bayou. The current wasn’t running strong right now, but the bag would sink in the gooey mud at the bottom and then there would be no retrieving it. It was now or never. I surfaced just as Ida Belle and Gertie ran up to the overhang.

  �
��Have you lost your mind?” Ida Belle asked. “Get out of there. This bayou is full of gators.”

  “He threw a bag in here,” I said. “I have to retrieve it before it sinks.” I checked my location in relation to the bank, then moved a couple more feet out and dived.

  There was no point in opening my eyes, so I didn’t bother. All it would get me was a dousing of dirty water across my retinas. The water was far too murky here to see anything so my hands were my guide. I put them in front of me and stopped swimming when they sank into the slimy bottom. I moved them side to side, trying to locate the bag. I was just about to resurface for air when my fingers caught the edge of a rope. I inched forward until I felt the bag and set off for the surface.

  I heard yelling as soon as I broke through. I opened my eyes and saw a blurry Ida Belle and Gertie motioning frantically.

  “It’s a gator!” Ida Belle said. “Get the hell out of there!”

  Chapter Twenty

  I didn’t bother to look. I just set off swimming as fast as I could go. Unfortunately, I was hindered by full dress, soggy tennis shoes, and a burlap bag wrapped around one arm. I was about five feet from the bank when I felt something bump into my legs. I whirled around in the water and saw the gator coming straight at me, mouth open.

  “Shoot him!” Gertie yelled.

  “He’s too close,” Ida Belle replied. But a second later, a shot rang out, just over my head. It must have hit the gator’s tail because it distracted him enough to cause him to duck underwater. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. My feet finally came into contact with the slippery bottom and I struggled to propel myself forward with both my arms and legs. Ida Belle continued to fire behind me as Gertie dug in her fanny pack.