by Jana DeLeon
Mayor Daigle appeared a bit mollified. “Perhaps so. Man’s rigid, that’s for sure.” The mayor stood there silent for several seconds, his gaze shifting among them. Paul could tell the man was just itching for them to provide him some more fodder for gossip, but it was as if they’d all made an unspoken pact to remain silent.
Finally the silence grew unbearable and Mayor Daigle gave them all his big, phony smile again. “Well, I’ve already taken up too much of you folks’ time and I know you got painting going on today. You let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“We will,” Ginny said. “Thanks for stopping by.”
The mayor gave Paul a final glance, then allowed Madelaine to usher him out of the café. She’d hardly closed the door behind him before they all started laughing.
“The look on his face,” Madelaine howled, “when none of us would give him any details.”
“Priceless,” Paul agreed.
Ginny shook her head. “That silence was incredibly uncomfortable, but the man seems to specialize in creating it. Why doesn’t he get that he’s being intrusive?”
“He gets it,” Paul said. “He just doesn’t care.”
“Yep,” Madelaine agreed. “Man’s always been nosy. Always in everyone’s business.”
Another knock sounded at the door, and this time Madelaine glanced at the clock then flew into overdrive, plopping table items into the box. “Darn, he’s here and we’re not done.”
“I’ll get it,” Paul said as Madelaine hurried to open the door and let Saul in. Ginny joined him in clearing the rest of the tables, and Paul tried to make an unobtrusive assessment of the contractor.
Saul stepped around Madelaine and scanned the café, scowling. “Stuff’s gotta be off all the tables and the walls. Don’t know why you called me to work when you weren’t ready.”
“We’re almost done,” Madelaine assured him. “It will just take a few minutes.”
“I’ll just step out and have a cigarette while you do. Still charging you for the time, though.”
Madelaine looked back at Ginny and Paul and rolled her eyes as Saul made his way out of the café. “The man doesn’t know subtlety. Do you really think he could be involved in all this?”
Paul shrugged. “I’ve seen stranger.” He looked out the window and watched as Saul lit a cigarette and leaned against a pole on the covered sidewalk. The contractor moved slowly, almost lazily, his eyes sweeping the street with casual observation. He hadn’t even glanced in Paul’s direction when he was inside the café and hardly looked troubled now. If he was involved in the happenings in Johnson’s Bayou, he was either a fantastic actor or had no blood pressure at all.
After they hauled the boxes to the kitchen, Madelaine waved him inside. As he righted himself from the pole, Paul noticed he favored his right leg for just a second. He grabbed a box of supplies out of the bed of his truck and made his way inside, still not increasing his pace, but no longer favoring the leg. As the man pulled a roll of masking tape from the box, it occurred to Paul that now was the golden opportunity to do a little poking around at Saul’s home. The contractor would be at the café all day, and if he left for any reason, Ginny or Madelaine could call and alert Paul.
Paul motioned Ginny back to the kitchen. As soon as the door was safely closed behind them, he whispered, “I saw him favoring his right leg, but only for a bit.”
Ginny shook her head. “He’s always favored that leg. Some injury from a million years ago. I’d guess he’s got arthritis in it now. It disappears once he moves for a while.”
Paul felt a flash of disappointment but then caught himself. Just because Saul had an old injury didn’t mean he couldn’t also have a new one. Paul leaned in close to Ginny and whispered his plan to check out Saul’s house. Ginny’s eyes widened.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she asked.
“It’s as safe now as it’s ever going to be.”
Ginny pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll turn the volume all the way up to be sure I hear calls. If anything happens, you let me know.” Her apprehension was clear.
Paul nodded and they walked back into the front of the café. “Madelaine,” Paul called across the café, “I’m going to purchase those new locks for you, now. Is there any particular finish you want?”
Madelaine looked momentarily confused by Paul’s announcement, but then she must have remembered their plan to spread the word about the new locks to the residents of Johnson’s Bayou. “Nickel is nice and would be a big improvement over that dated gold.”
Madelaine glanced at Saul and turned slightly to ensure her back was to him. “Be sure and get two for my house and one for Ginny’s apartment as well as the back door to the café.” She gave Paul a wink. “Do you need me to write it all down?”
“Nope,” Paul said and smiled at Madelaine. “I’m going to run a couple of errands,” he told Ginny, “so I’ll be back a bit later.”
Ginny only nodded but he noticed she stiffened slightly as he bent in to kiss her cheek. Was it nerves over him investigating Saul’s house, or was it because of last night?
Too many unanswered questions lurking in his mind, Paul jumped in his truck and tried to focus on one thing at a time. First, he’d pay a visit to Saul’s house. The surly contractor was unlikely to take a break soon as he’d just started to work, leaving Paul with the perfect opportunity to poke around his place.
He’d already gotten Saul’s home address from Mike and had mapped it on the internet, originally intending to spend some time shadowing the man. This was an even better opportunity, once you ignored the fact that it was broad daylight and Saul lived on a dead-end road in a town so small that everything was fodder for the local gossip. Paul supposed if he got caught poking around, he’d claim to have been sent to the wrong place looking for a fishing hole. It was as believable as anything else that was going on in Johnson’s Bayou.
“House” was an ambitious term for the shack that emerged at the end of the bumpy dirt road. For a man who made his living doing maintenance and repair, Saul Pritchard apparently didn’t bother to take any time for his own structure. One end of the porch sagged so low it covered part of a window behind it, and tin patching dotted the roof where shingles were likely missing beneath.
Paul parked his truck and tucked his pistol in his waistband before getting out. According to his partner’s research, Saul lived alone, but you never knew how accurate that was with bayou inhabitants. Sometimes extended families shared homes with only one person’s name on everything. Money was often scarce in these parts.
He approached the house carefully, ready to turn and flee if shots were fired, but only silence met his approach. He hesitated a moment before stepping onto the porch, wondering if the rotted boards would hold his weight. The last thing he needed was to get a leg stuck out here and be unable to get free. That might look suspicious to even the most cavalier of people.
The boards groaned and sagged as he took the first step, but they held. He let out a breath of relief and edged toward the grimy window next to the door. Peering inside, he scanned the cluttered, dusty room filled with torn, damaged furniture and stacked high with newspapers, half-filled boxes and at least three cats.
After reviewing Saul’s bank records, Paul’s partner had reported that he regularly removed a hunk of cash from the account where he received the mysterious deposits, but darned if Paul could see where he was spending it. Likely, he had a drinking, drug or gambling problem and the money got funneled into the New Orleans system during a weekend bender.
He knew he should leave. There was nothing here to see but the sad cabin of a disgruntled man, but he found himself testing the doorknob. He was surprised when it turned easily and the door popped open. One of the cats jumped off the couch and onto a stack of newspaper, sending it scattering across the littered floor. At the same time, a group of small birds hiding in a bush behind him decided the cat was too close and burst from the bush, leaving a shower of leave
s in their wake.
Paul spun around when the birds burst out of the bush, his pulse racing. When he realized it was the birds and not someone sneaking up behind him, he blew out a breath. This was stupid. He glanced back at the open door. But what if there was proof inside that Saul was Ginny’s attacker? Granted, it wouldn’t be admissible in court if he took anything out of the house, but he may be able to make a big enough stink to get the sheriff to get a search warrant, if for no other reason than to make Paul go away.
Before the sane part of his brain could talk him out of it, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. If anyone caught him, he’d come up with a story appropriate to fool whoever did the catching.
The shack was essentially one big room with a living area, kitchenette and a sort of bedroom, which consisted of a mattress and box spring stacked on the floor in the far corner. Paul stepped through the tiny room, scanning the paper on the floor and furniture for anything of interest, but it appeared to be mostly old newspaper.
How does someone live like this? Especially when they don’t have to.
Twenty-five thousand a year wasn’t wealthy standards, but that cashier’s check along with whatever he made contracting could have afforded Saul a much better lifestyle than this. He stepped into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door, expecting it to be full of beer, but it was empty. He started to close it then realized that no cold air had blasted out when he’d opened the door.
Paul had no idea really why he bothered to look behind the refrigerator to see if it was plugged in, but he was glad he did. There was no outlet at all on the wall, which was really odd because the kitchen cabinets fit around the refrigerator in the slot where it rested. Clearly, it was intended to be placed in this spot.
He scanned the wall again, certain he must have missed the outlet, and that’s when he noticed a tiny gap in the paneling. The refrigerator was an old model but still on wheels, and he easily pulled it forward to get a better look at the wall. He ran his finger down the crack between two pieces of paneling, then knocked on one of them.
It was hollow!
He gave the panel a shove and it opened wide, exposing a staircase. Nothing in the world could have stopped him from going down the staircase. Curiosity with just a tinge of fear overwhelmed him as he crept down, the light fading with every step. At the bottom of the staircase, the wall in front of him ended. Using his hands as a guide, he determined that there was an opening to the right.
Reaching around the corner of the opening, he ran his hand up and down the wall until he finally connected with a light switch. He paused for just a second, every possibility of what he might see flashing through his mind, and none of them good. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the switch.
And stared at the one thing he never, ever expected to see.
Chapter Fifteen
Ginny and Madelaine were stacking the boxes of café items in a corner of the kitchen when a knock sounded on the front door of the café. They stared at each other, frozen, for a minute, and Ginny knew they were both thinking that it was far too soon for Paul to return. He’d left only twenty minutes before, and Ginny had filled her mother in on Paul’s plan to scout out Saul’s house as soon as they’d gotten out of the contractor’s earshot.
Finally, Madelaine shook her head. “We’re letting ourselves get spooked.” She left the kitchen to see who was knocking.
Ginny watched as she walked through the doors to the café. Madelaine was right. They were all on edge…jumpy and suspicious. Ginny even more so after last night. The dream was bad enough, frightening enough to make her jumpy, but what weighed on her even more was making love to Paul.
She’d completely lowered her guard with him, responding in ways she’d never felt with another man—taking in the whole of him, body, mind and spirit. It had been exciting and passionate and a rush like nothing else she’d ever experienced.
And that scared her even more than the nightmare.
Paul wasn’t a local and wasn’t going to become one. Once he was satisfied that Ginny was safe, he’d head back to his regular life in New Orleans and reconnect with his sister. Even if Ginny were willing to move to the city, what was the point? Paul had never so much as suggested that what was between them was a relationship or a precursor to one.
And she didn’t blame him.
Anyone could take one look at her and know she wasn’t the kind of woman who took risks and certainly wasn’t the kind of person who had to have answers. All these years living a stone’s throw from that relic of a school and she’d never once wanted to know what happened—where she came from and why. She’d just accepted what was.
Or maybe she’d been too afraid of the answers she might find.
Paul was anything but a coward, and he deserved someone in his life who could meet him with the same level of energy and enthusiasm he had. Ginny was orderly and routine and relished simplicity. She wasn’t the woman for Paul.
“Ginny.” Madelaine’s voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up as her mother stepped into the kitchen followed by Sheriff Blackwell.
Instantly, Ginny’s thoughts flashed to Paul’s plan to search Saul’s house. “Is anything wrong?”
“No,” he reassured her. “I was just stopping to check in and give you an update.”
“You found something?”
The sheriff shook his head. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t a bit of evidence at your mom’s house, and I’ve been unable to track down any of the missing four-wheelers.” He looked as frustrated as Ginny felt.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I know you’re doing everything you can, especially with nothing to go on.”
Madelaine nodded. “Ginny’s absolutely right. Don’t let Mayor Daigle and his blustering agitate you. Everyone knows the man’s a windbag.”
Sheriff Blackwell narrowed his eyes at Madelaine. “When did you talk to Mayor Daigle?”
Madelaine frowned. “He stopped by here earlier, telling us how sorry he was and how he’d read you the riot act for not calling him up personally. I guess so he could do nothing.”
Sheriff Blackwell’s face was blank, but Ginny saw his jaw twitch and knew he wasn’t happy. She wasn’t aware of any animosity between the two men, but now that she thought about it, they didn’t seem to spend much time in each other’s company.
“Are you taking any precautions?” he asked. “On the off-chance that this wasn’t random?”
Madelaine nodded. “Paul’s gone to buy new locks for the café and my house right now, and he’s got a friend who’s pricing a security system for me.”
The sheriff nodded. “Times are changing. A security system’s a good idea.”
He looked over at Ginny, and she got the impression that he was studying her for something, but she had no idea what. Sanity, maybe? He must have been satisfied with what he saw, because finally he pulled his keys out of his pocket.
“Looks like you’ve got everything handled here,” he said. “I’ll get out of your way. You let me know if you have any more trouble.”
Madelaine followed the sheriff out of the kitchen to let him out of the café, then returned a minute later, wearing a frown. Ginny took one look at her and realized that her mother was just as bothered by the sheriff’s visit as she was, but the frown disappeared as soon as she realized Ginny was looking at her. Which could only mean one thing—Madelaine was hiding something to “protect” her.
“That was a little strange,” Ginny said, determined to get at whatever Madelaine was holding back.
Madelaine turned her back to Ginny and busied herself rearranging pots on the counter. “He was just checking in.”
“With nothing? More like he was trying to see if I was running with scissors or talking to myself. I saw him studying me. He still thinks I imagined the entire thing.”
Madelaine sighed. “Maybe he does. But he’s a stubborn, prideful man. He’ll do his job and look into it, even if he doesn’t believe there’s anything to find.
Maybe he’ll surprise us and come up with something that blows the lid off the entire mess.”
“It doesn’t bother you—what people might think?”
An angry flush crept up Madelaine’s neck. “It’s never once bothered me when people are wrong, and I’m not about to start letting it now. Time will tell who’s crazy in this town, but the one thing I’m certain about is it’s not you.”
Ginny smiled. Madelaine always had a way of making her feel protected and loved and, most important, normal. “So why the question about taking precautions?” Ginny mused. “Why the enthusiasm over locks and a security system if he’s so sure there’s nothing going on?”
Madelaine shook her head. “Maybe he’s just hedging his bets in case he’s wrong. Then if something happens he can at least say he followed up and suggested extra security precautions.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he knows something he’s not telling us. Something that makes him think there’s that slight chance I may be telling the truth.”
PAUL WAVED TO THE CLERK sweeping the sidewalk in front of the hardware store as he jumped in his truck with the bag of locks. He’d made sure to spread the word about his project and had no doubt that within minutes, residents of Johnson’s Bayou would begin to gossip that the young stranger was changing locks for the café owner and her single daughter.
But all Paul could think about was what he’d found in Saul’s house. He had no idea what to make of it and couldn’t wait to get back to the café and tell Ginny and Madelaine what he’d found. His cell phone rang and he glanced at the display.
Unknown caller.
He frowned and answered the call.
“It’s Kathy.”
Paul clenched the phone as soon as he heard the anxiety in her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you calling me from somewhere safe?”
“Yes. I’m at a friend’s house watching her kids while she goes to the doctor. I know you said not to contact you until you let us know it’s safe, but I had to talk to you.”
“Has something happened?”