by Sala, Sharon
Nola gasped. “He said you weren’t his son? But what—”
“That’s what he kept saying. Then Mom told him if he threw me out, she was leaving, too. He said he didn’t want her to leave, that he would forgive her. And her last words to him were that she would never forgive him for what he’d just done to me.”
Nola felt sick to her stomach. “And you came to me, and I rejected you, too.”
Tate sighed. “That’s what it felt like at the time, but once I calmed down, I realized how crazy I must have sounded. I didn’t know what to tell you, because Mom wouldn’t explain, and Dad just kept shouting, ‘He’s not my son!’ If Mom had an affair and I was the result, I didn’t know how to tell you without giving away a secret that was hers alone to tell. It wasn’t until Mom and I were on our own that I figured most of it out, then guessed the rest.”
“Guessed what? Who your real father was? What?”
Tate’s smile was as cold as the expression in his eyes.
“Oh, Don Benton is my father, he just doesn’t know it. Whatever Mom said that led him to believe he wasn’t, it came from one of her earliest hallucinations. Whatever she was rambling about that set him off, it wasn’t real. And he was in such denial over her diagnosis that he wouldn’t ever have considered that what she was saying might not have been true.”
Nola nodded. “I see what you mean. Like, who would willingly lie about having an affair when it didn’t happen?”
“Exactly, and to satisfy myself, I had a DNA test to prove it.”
“But how did you get a sample? Weren’t you already gone?”
He nodded. “It was actually Mom who furnished the sample and she didn’t even know it. The night she packed, she was throwing things into bags and accidentally took Dad’s hairbrushes instead of her own. I submitted my DNA and the hairbrush to a laboratory. It came back 99.99% positive that he was my father.”
“And you didn’t want to confront him with the truth?”
“No.”
“But why, Tate?”
“After what he’d done, I no longer wanted him.”
“I’m stunned! I’m hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me and so sorry for you all at the same time.”
“I handled it badly, but all I can say is that I was in shock. I kept thinking I needed to get away to survive it, and naively, I just assumed you would go. When you began pushing me for answers, I didn’t even know how to begin explaining.”
Nola got to her knees, then put her good arm around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.
Tate wrapped his arms around her without saying a word, and before he knew it, he was crying.
She crawled into his lap and held him tighter.
* * *
After last night’s chaos, Laura Doyle was still trying to put the bits and pieces of their rescue center back in order. They had just finished serving breakfast, and during the meal she had explained the basics of what had happened. Everyone had been sympathetic to Nola Landry’s plight and stunned by Bell’s arrest, but at the same time concerned she would come back and put their families at risk. Once they learned that she was gone, the mood shifted and a new calm began to spread.
But Laura’s troubles were just beginning. Because of what had happened, she’d lost three volunteers who were now too spooked to return, and another volunteer had called in sick, and she didn’t know if he was actually ill or too scared to come back. When Cameron and Wade showed up in her office, her concern increased yet again.
“If you have bad news, don’t tell me,” she said.
Cameron frowned. “I’m so sorry about all this. We just wanted to let you know we won’t be staying here anymore.”
Laura sat down in her chair and managed a shaky smile.
“Well, that’s good news and bad news.”
“Does that mean you might miss us?” Cameron asked, trying to tease her.
“I might,” she said, and then waved a hand as if dismissing the topic. “So, was this visit just an apology, or is there something I can do for you?”
“Have any volunteers quit after last night?” Wade asked.
“Yes. Three quit and one called in sick. I don’t know if he’s really sick, or if he just doesn’t want to admit he’s too scared to return.”
“We need a list of names and contact information,” Wade said.
Laura nodded. “Give me a couple of minutes. I need to pull up the info.” Then she added, “You do realize that this list only verifies their driver’s licenses and the fact that they don’t have a criminal record. I know Bell slipped past it, but in traumatic situations, no one expects a bad guy to come help the Red Cross, so I can’t say how carefully the results are monitored.”
“I understand,” Wade said. “Right now I just need the names of the people who were here and either quit or didn’t show.”
She got out her cell phone and scanned her contact list, making notes as she came to the names, and then handed the page to Wade.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome and good luck,” she said.
“Take care,” Cameron added, and then they were gone.
* * *
Hershel had been running a fever ever since he woke up. He’d taken aspirin, but it wasn’t doing much good, and he hated taking himself out of the picture at such a vital time. He wanted to know what was going on, but being stuck here in bed, he had no way of knowing.
You’re sick because God is punishing you.
He rolled over in bed and thumped his pillow.
“Louise, stop talking. I’m sick. The least you could do is take pity and stop talking.”
You didn’t have any pity when you killed all those people in cold blood. If I wasn’t already dead, I would divorce you. This isn’t the man I married.
“You’re right. I’m not the man you married. That man lost his mind when he lost you, and this is what’s left. Now either shut the hell up or bring me something cold to drink. I’m on fire.”
You know I can’t help you anymore. You have to help yourself.
Hershel moaned, then threw back the covers and staggered to the bathroom to get a drink and take more aspirin. He made it to bed and collapsed, trembling in every joint. It occurred to him that he could have caught some disease from being in the floodwaters. Every nasty thing he could imagine had been in that water, and after finding that motorboat caught in some debris up against the riverbank, he’d been in that water, too. He’d considered the boat a little gift from the Fates, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“Maybe I got typhoid fever or something,” he mumbled, and then rolled over and closed his eyes. “And maybe I’ll die.”
* * *
One of the volunteers who’d quit was a woman, and the agents quickly cleared her. It wasn’t the arrest of Judd Allen that had put her off, it was the attack on Nola Landry. Until the Stormchaser was arrested, she was sticking close to home.
They understood, didn’t blame her and moved on to the next person on the list: a man named Russell Warren. They found him in the backyard of his house, working on his truck. When he saw them drive up, he put down his tools and went to meet them, wiping grease from his hands as he went.
“Russell Warren?”
“That’s me,” Russell said.
“I’m Special Agent Luckett, and this is my partner, Special Agent Winger. Do you have time to talk to us a bit?”
“Sure. How can I help you?” Russell asked.
“After everything that happened last night, we were checking in with everyone on site, and Miss Doyle informed us that you quit.”
Russell nodded. “Yeah, I did. I hated to let her down like that, but the wife was pretty rattled when she heard what went on, and she was afraid the killer might come after her and I wouldn
’t be here. So, bad as I hated to do it, that’s why I quit.”
Cameron nodded. “I can understand that. Have you lived here long?”
“All our lives, and we’ve known Nola and Tate all our lives, too. Sorry about what’s going on, but my family comes first.”
“Do you know Leon Mooney?” Wade asked.
“Well, I know who you’re talking about, but I only met him up at the Red Cross setup. Didn’t know him beforehand.”
“So he’s not a local?” Cameron asked.
“Naw...don’t rightly know where he’s from.”
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
“Not for sure, but I think he said something about a travel trailer once. You might ask Jonesy. Mooney could have ended up there.”
“We’ll do that, and thanks for your help,” Cameron said.
Russell nodded, and they headed back to the SUV and drove away.
“So, let’s head back to the trailer park. We can get the groceries for Tate on the way, and then talk to the last two men.”
* * *
Hershel, wake up! You need to get up and take your medicine or you’re gonna die like I did.
Hershel moaned. “I’m too sick to get up.”
Get up now and get some water or you’re gonna dehydrate and have a stroke.
“Oh, for the love of God, Louise. I’d rather die than move.”
Well, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. Mark my words!
Hershel moaned again. His eyes were burning. His skin was so hot it felt sunburned, and he was so parched that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He knew Louise was right, and he didn’t really want to die, so once again he threw back the covers and swung his legs off the side of the bed. But the room was spinning, and instead of getting up, he braced himself, waiting for the world to settle.
Finally the dizziness passed and he felt steady enough to stand up. He headed toward the front of the motor home to get some water and was almost there when there was a knock at the door.
“Oh, hell no,” he muttered, and kept on moving toward the refrigerator.
But the knocking persisted, and then someone shouted his name. He looked out a window and recognized two of the three federal agents, and sighed. Whatever this was, better to get it over with.
He staggered to the door and then braced himself against the frame as he opened it.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’m Special Agent—”
Hershel waved off the introduction with a shaky hand.
“I know who you guys are. What do you want, and if you don’t mind, talk fast, ’cause I’m pretty shaky on my feet.”
Wade could see the guy was sick. His skin was flushed and his eyes were glassy.
“We were just checking on everyone who was at the gym last night when the ruckus started.”
“What ruckus is that?”
“When the police were there, and when Miss Landry was attacked.”
Hershel staggered, then steadied himself again.
“Good Lord. Didn’t know anything about any of that. I left right after we unloaded the last truck. I was already feeling bad, but I thought it was just a passing thing. I came home and pretty much passed out, and I’ve been in bed off and on ever since.”
“So you didn’t see a stranger out in the parking lot when you were leaving?” Cameron asked.
Hershel frowned. “Well, yes, I see lots of strangers every day. I’m not from here, you know. I couldn’t have said who belonged and who didn’t. Look, guys, I’m real sorry, but I gotta go lay back down before I fall down.”
“Sorry to have bothered you,” Wade said.
Hershel closed the door in their faces.
You lied, Hershel. You’re gonna have to stop that. Your mama didn’t raise you to lie.
Hershel didn’t bother answering. He needed to get that water and then get back into bed.
* * *
Wade looked at Cameron and shrugged. “That’s three down and one to go. What’s the last name on that list?”
“Leon Mooney. He’s supposed to be in Lot 9. He has a Dodge truck and a travel trailer.”
“Lot 9 it is,” Wade said.
They got back in the SUV and drove down a few lots, and then came back up on the other side, but to their dismay, the lot was empty.
“Damn,” Cameron said.
“We’ll stop by Jonesy’s again and get the tag numbers on the truck and travel trailer, then put out a BOLO to the Louisiana Highway Patrol. All things considered, this guy took off pretty fast. You’d think the least he would have done was sleep in before getting back on the road.”
“But his absence leaves us with yet more questions. Is he our killer or just a man fed up with the flood and all that came with it?” Cameron said.
“I guess we’ll know for sure if more bodies show up somewhere else,” Wade muttered. “Tate isn’t going to be happy to hear this.”
“What do you mean?” Cameron asked.
“All you have to do is look at him. He’s fallen hard for that girl all over again. He’s not going to want to leave her behind if we get sent to a new crime scene, especially with this threat hanging over her head. I mean, who’s to say the killer won’t sneak back and try to finish her off while we’re checking things out downriver?”
“One thing at a time, partner. Leon Mooney might not be our man, just like Judd Allen wasn’t,” Cameron said.
Wade nodded. “Okay, let’s stop at Jonesy’s, then notify the highway patrol.”
* * *
Nola was lying down in the living room, watching Tate sorting through the groceries and thinking of the time they’d lost that they would never get back. If things had gone the way they’d planned, they would have most likely had children by now, and Tate would have been working with Chief Beaudry, or maybe even have become chief himself. Or...they would have eventually left town together and started a life somewhere else. She was sad for what was gone and sadder yet about what had happened to their families. She didn’t have any parents left, and the one he still had didn’t want him. It was crazy.
Then Tate turned around and caught her staring, and for a moment their gazes locked. They’d come a long way toward reconciliation in a short while, but the future was still shaky. They had to get past this episode with the serial killer before anything else could take place.
“You know what?” he said.
“What?”
“Even though you look like you went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson, you are so damn beautiful it makes me ache.”
Breath caught in the back of Nola’s throat.
“Oh, Tate, I—”
The front door opened, bringing a brisk wind, and Wade and Cameron with it.
Nola stifled a groan as Wade walked in, talking in his usual bullet-point format.
“Three checked out clean. One checked out of Queens Crossing.”
It wasn’t easy, but Tate made the shift from Nola to business without giving himself away.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Leon Mooney.”
“I remember him,” Nola said. “He was that stocky, middle-aged guy with a gray ponytail, right?”
Cameron nodded. “Right. Good eye. Anyway, we got the tag number of his truck and travel trailer, and put out a BOLO to the Louisiana Highway Patrol. If they find him, they’ll detain him for us to question.”
“And if they don’t?” Nola asked.
“Then we wait,” Tate said. “If it’s him, bodies will show up somewhere else, but if they don’t, there’s every reason to assume our killer’s still here.”
That was a kick-in-the-belly answer she didn’t like.
“So what now?” Cameron asked.
Nola glanced at Tate, and then got up and walked out of the room. They were partners and he was going to tell them about his mother. They deserved that time together without her.
* * *
Laura Doyle was running shorthanded to the point that people who’d come seeking shelter finally stepped up and stepped in for the ones who’d quit.
Peg and Mary were stirring up their usual nonsense with the chili they were making for the evening meal. As if operating shorthanded wasn’t enough to cope with, the weather was turning on them again. Another storm system was sweeping through the state and bringing yet another round of thunderstorms, which meant the flood was going to worsen.
People who had been holding firm on their land had given up and were coming into Queens Crossing seeking shelter, and there was nowhere left to put them. The gym floor was packed to capacity with cots, and after a few frantic phone calls Laura had two churches volunteering their dining areas as new refugee centers. She was shuffling supplies and bedding to both places in hopes they had enough on hand to meet the increased need.
And then the storm hit.
Ten
The first clap of thunder rattled the windows in the deluxe model trailer, waking Wade up with a start. Then he heard the wind and thunder, and relaxed. As long as the noise was nature-made instead of ghosts, he was fine.
Cameron had just finished up the report on the day’s activities and hit Send when the lights flickered. He groaned as he looked down at the laptop, but the backup battery had saved him. The report had gone through. Relieved, he got up to refill his coffee cup and see if there was anything left to eat.
Nola woke up crying and realized her arm was aching.
The bottle of pain pills was on the nightstand, but her water bottle was empty. She shook out a pill and headed down the hall, meeting Tate coming out of his bedroom.