by Jana DeLeon
“Doves,” Gertie said. “They’re not shooting at us. They’re hunting out of season.”
A third shot rang out. “Let’s talk later,” I said as I grabbed Gertie’s shirt and pulled her up, praying the fabric held. When she was back on the branch enough to keep from falling, I reached down and grabbed the video camera from her and then tossed it into my backpack.
“Start down and try to stay on the back side of the tree,” I said.
I pulled the binoculars from my neck and secured them in the backpack, then glanced down at Gertie, who had managed to get as far as the bottom branch but was now perfectly still and squinting at something in the cemetery. I glanced up and my heart dropped. Carter was running across the cemetery, and at the rate he was moving, would hit the tree line in less than a minute.
“It’s Carter,” I said. “Go. Go.”
I flipped over the branch and swung down to the lower one, releasing the upper branch with perfect timing and grabbing the lower like an Olympic gymnast. But with gunfire. As soon as my hands gripped the lower branch, I dropped straight down and made a perfect ten-point landing on the ground below.
I looked up at Gertie, who was still inching down the last branch. “Hurry up.”
Gertie looked down and frowned. “We’re not all in our twenties anymore, and that bird shit on me. It’s gross.”
“Forget the bird shit. Just drop. I’ll break your fall.” If she didn’t get out of that tree in the next ten seconds, Carter would be on top of us, and there was no way we could come up with an explanation for this one that would slide.
I’d expected an argument, or at least hesitation, but the words were no sooner out of my mouth than Gertie let go of the branch and plummeted down like a stone. Before I could brace myself, she slammed into me and we both hit the ground with a thud. I was up before the dirt even had time to land on my clothes and pulling Gertie up behind me.
Carter was only thirty yards away and closing fast. “Run,” I hissed and shoved her down the trail. She took off at a clip faster than I thought she had in her and I set out after her. Another shot rang out and I was pleased that it was off to our right. That should draw Carter off of us a bit and give us some time to get to the boat and get away cleanly.
Then Gertie veered to the right and I realized the trail was probably going to put us right on top of the shooters.
We burst into a clearing, and two men wearing camouflage and holding rifles froze and stared. Neither one of us even hesitated. We just ran right by without so much as a glance. A second later, I heard Carter yelling behind us and then the sounds of the men dashing off into the swamp. With any luck, the hunters would make more noise than us and draw Carter off.
We were running so fast, we didn’t realize we’d reached the bayou until it was too late. The trees abruptly ended and Gertie launched off the bank and dropped five feet below into the water right next to the boat. I put on the brakes and grabbed hold of a tree to keep from going in right behind her.
I hustled down the cypress roots into the boat and reached over the side to help a sputtering Gertie into the boat. As soon as she had two feet inside, she sprang up and hurried to start the motor. It roared to life with a single pull and I barely had time to stow my backpack in the bottom of the boat before Gertie twisted the throttle.
The boat leaped out of the water and I clutched the sides, praying her addled brain cells could operate at this speed. Her diminished mental capacity and constant refusal to wear glasses combined with the rate at which she whipped the boat down the curvy bayou was enough to make a thrill-seeker take up knitting.
I kept my head down in case Carter made it to the bayou before we got out of sight. I have no idea why. There couldn’t possibly be that many combinations of an old woman driving a boat like a bat out of hell and a young woman with a blond ponytail holding on for life in the bow.
I thought we had made it but as we made a hard left about fifty yards from our docking point, Carter leaned over the bank and looked down the bayou. Gertie whipped the boat around the corner so close to the bank that the side of the boat rubbed against the cypress roots as we went.
“Move to the center!” I yelled.
Gertie overshot the middle by a good twenty feet and only managed to move the boat as close to the right bank as she had been to the left. “Did Carter see us?”
“Yes. Right before we turned the corner, but I’m not sure he could make out who we were.”
“But he’ll suspect.”
Oh yeah. He’d suspect all right. “We need to get back to Ida Belle’s as soon as possible.”
It was the right sentiment, but the wrong thing to say. Gertie twisted the throttle on the boat even harder, roaring past a couple of fishermen headed the other direction. They yelled at her to slow down, but it didn’t faze her one bit. By the time we rounded the corner to the boat launch, I was certain I would die in a flat-bottomed aluminum boat on Sinful Bayou.
And that was just all levels of wrong.
Gertie didn’t cut the engine until she was only ten feet from the dock. I didn’t even bother to try to catch one of the pylons and chose instead to drop down into the bottom of the boat rather than be catapulted out of it when we collided with the pier. The force of the impact sent Gertie sprawling into the bottom of the boat, cussing a blue streak.
“Get the trailer,” Gertie yelled as she struggled to get up. “As soon as the boat’s on it, take off. Don’t worry about the hook. Just get to Ida Belle’s before Carter does.”
I grabbed the backpack and leaped onto the dock, digging my keys out as I scrambled for my Jeep. I vaulted into the driver’s seat and backed the trailer down the boat launch with the skill of a seasoned bass fisherman. Gertie had already backed away from the dock and was circling around to get a straight shot at the trailer.
I wasn’t convinced of Gertie’s “no hooking” plan but with no time to come up with something better, I put on the parking brake and waved her up.
Time was of the essence. I knew that. But I didn’t expect Gertie to launch the boat toward the trailer with quite the gusto she did it with. I knew she’d miscalculated the instant she took off, but with a rattled head and no glasses, I was going to get potluck. I waved my hands and yelled, trying to slow her down, but she was only twenty feet from the trailer before she realized she was going way too fast.
She cut the engine, but the damage was already done. The boat shot straight up the back of the trailer, but didn’t stop when it got to the front. Instead, it rode right over the top of the trailer and straight into the back of my Jeep.
I jumped away from the Jeep as the bow of the boat crashed to a stop across the backseat. The back of the boat tipped down into the trailer, wedged between the side rails.
“Go! Go!” Gertie yelled, still perched in the boat.
I jumped back into the Jeep and took off, praying the boat didn’t fall off the Jeep. As I pulled out of the boat launch area and onto the street, the boat slid a bit on the back of the Jeep, and the sound of metal grinding on metal made my teeth ache. I cringed and pushed my foot down on the accelerator, going as fast as I thought I could risk.
I could hear the trailer bouncing behind me and I checked the rearview mirror to make sure Gertie was still holding on. The top of her head barely peeked out from the bottom of the boat, so I pressed the gas a little harder.
As I squealed around the corner into the neighborhood, a car started backing out of his driveway and I knew there was no way I could stop in time. I laid on the horn and the car jerked to a stop. By the time I blew past, the middle-aged man driving the car had jumped out and was staring, mouth open. Maybe I’d luck out and he’d be one of those town drunk types that no one believed. I made the four blocks to Ida Belle’s house without any more trouble and let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see Carter’s truck anywhere.
Ida Belle was standing on the sidewalk in front of her house and waving me toward the garage. Her prized Corvette was parked at t
he curb. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind because the Jeep and the trailer weren’t even going to fit in the garage, but I whipped the Jeep around and backed the trailer into the garage, hoping our minor boat problem wouldn’t be as noticeable.
Ida Belle ran into the garage to help Gertie out of the back of the boat. I grabbed my backpack, jumped out of the Jeep, and ran into the house after Ida Belle and Gertie. I didn’t stop running until I got to the living room, where I collapsed on the couch. Gertie stumbled in after me and slumped in a recliner.
Ida Belle stood in the center of the living room, hands on her hips, glaring at the two of us. “What the hell did you do to my boat?”
“It was her fault.” Gertie and I both spoke.
I glared at her. “How could it possibly be my fault?”
“You backed the trailer too far in the water.”
“Are you kidding me? I could have been parked in Texas and you still would have driven that boat into my Jeep.” I looked at Ida Belle. “No more boats until you teach me how to drive.”
“Given that it’s probably going to take a crane to get my boat out of your Jeep,” Ida Belle said, “you’ll get no argument from me.” She looked at Gertie. “What exactly is the big rush? All I understood from your phone call was that I needed to open my garage and move my car.”
“Two guys started shooting at doves in the trees right next to us,” I said. “Almost hit us with the first round.”
“It’s not dove season,” Ida Belle said. “It’s not anything season.”
“That’s what Gertie said, which explains why Carter came running straight to our hiding place.”
Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “Oh! That’s not good.”
“So we hauled it out of there and made for the boat. He didn’t catch us in the swamp, but I’m pretty sure he saw us in the boat before we rounded the corner.”
“Crap,” Ida Belle said. “Do you think he made you?”
As I opened my mouth to answer, her doorbell rang. Ida Belle rushed to the window and peeked out the blinds. “It’s Carter.” She looked back at us and shook her head. “I got nothing for this one. I’ll have to make it up on the fly.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ida Belle walked to the door and opened it. “Hello, Carter. What can I do for you?”
Carter peered into the living room and frowned when he saw Gertie and me sitting there. “I need to talk to you about your boat.”
“You looking to buy a new one?”
I saw his jaw flex. “No, I’m not looking to buy a boat. Your garage. Now!”
Ida Belle glanced back at us as she followed Carter outside. Gertie and I jumped up and hurried out behind them. I had zero idea how to explain the situation, but I needed to come up with something in the next ten footsteps.
Carter walked right to the back of my Jeep and pointed to the boat, still resting halfway in my vehicle. “Anyone care to explain this?”
“We were working on my boat,” Ida Belle said. “I don’t have a lift, so we improvised.”
I held in a smile. Damn, she was good.
He stared at each of us one at a time, his eyes unwavering. But he’d met his match in the three of us. We all looked him straight in the eye and with the most innocent expressions you’d ever seen. Quite frankly, if I wasn’t so worried about blowing my cover, it would have been downright scary.
“You expect me to believe that this boat, that is dripping water all over your garage, has been sitting here all afternoon, and that the three of you have been working on it?”
“We were scraping barnacles off of it and giving it a good scrub,” Ida Belle said. “How were we supposed to clean it without water?”
Carter shook his head, clearly exasperated. “So if I question your neighbors, they’ll tell me they saw you all out here working on this boat? You couldn’t possibly have been on Sinful Bayou behind the cemetery.”
Ida Belle shrugged. “Most of my neighbors are buttholes, so I have no idea what they’ll say. But you’re free to ask.”
Carter turned around and looked straight at me. “What were you doing in the swamp?”
The guilt was overwhelming and I chastised myself, once again, for letting things get personal. If I hadn’t allowed myself to get friendly with Carter, I wouldn’t feel bad about lying to him now. I never thought I’d admit it, even to myself, but being a normal person was so much more difficult than being an assassin.
“We weren’t in the swamp,” I said, working hard to keep my voice level. “We were here all afternoon.”
I could tell he was disappointed. Despite the fact that I hadn’t given him any tells, he knew I was lying. The evidence was simply stacked against us.
His cell phone signaled that he’d received a text and he pulled it from his pocket and frowned as he looked at the display.
“Fine,” he said when he looked back at me. “If that’s the way you want it.” He turned around without another word and strode back to his truck. Without so much as a backward glance, he drove off.
I felt my heart clench as I watched him drive away. I hated lying to Carter. And I hated that I hated lying. Why had I let things get so confusing? I needed to get back to basics, and the most basic rule was always “don’t get personal.” My partner, Harrison, would be the first to point out that every problem I’d had since my arrival in Sinful could have been avoided if I’d just followed rule number 1.
“What was that about?” Gertie asked. “I know he thinks we’re lying—”
“Because we are,” I pointed out.
“Naturally,” Gertie agreed, “but it’s hardly the first time we’ve done so. Hell, Ida Belle and I have been making up tales for local law enforcement since we were teens. Carter has been frustrated with us in the past, but I’ve never sensed he took it personally until now.”
“I don’t think his disappointment is because of you and me,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie looked confused. “Then why… Oh.” She looked at me.
“Why are you looking at me?” I asked. I knew why, of course, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
Gertie grinned. “Carter’s got a crush on you, and your duplicity is breaking his heart.”
“That is better fiction than I saw on television last night,” I said.
Gertie shook her head. “Ida Belle’s right. Carter’s never taken it personally when we’ve made up stories to cover our shenanigans. Not until now. And the only thing that’s changed is you.”
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “We barely know each other, and even you have to admit that we haven’t exactly had smooth going since I’ve arrived.”
“True,” Ida Belle said, “but despite all of that, he’s still interested. I may be an old maid, but I know what male interest looks like.”
Gertie waved a hand at her. “Walter slipping you a free pack of toilet paper with your grocery order hardly qualifies as the ultimate in male interest. But despite Ida Belle’s overblown description of her knowledge of how men think, I think she’s right this time.”
“Well, it’s all a moot point, isn’t it?” I said, desperately wanting to bring the discussion to a halt. “I’m not going to stop lying to Carter when it’s necessary, and he’s not going to be able to stand it. So we’re at an impasse. I’m more worried about that text he got. Regardless of what you two think Carter feels, I don’t think my lies had anything to do with his abrupt exit.”
Gertie sobered and shot a worried look at Ida Belle. “Do you think it’s about the tests on the poison?”
I shook my head. For Ida Belle’s sake, I hoped not because I didn’t think the outcome was going to be in her favor.
“Then we best get this show on the road,” Ida Belle said. “Please tell me the cameras didn’t go into the bayou with Gertie?”
“How do you know I fell into the bayou?” Gertie asked.
“You stink of it for one thing, and I think I’d remember if you left my house with your hair wet and stuck to the side of your
head. Besides, you’re dripping all over my garage.” Ida Belle rolled her eyes at me and waved us back inside, where she sent Gertie upstairs to dry off and change.
I sat down at the kitchen table and retrieved the cameras from my backpack. Ida Belle connected the first camera to her laptop and pressed play. I watched as the view of the cemetery went from blurry to only slightly blurry and then focused on Shelly and Lyle.
“I hope the picture clears up some,” Ida Belle said.
I held in a groan. “I wouldn’t count on it. That was Gertie’s camera.”
Ida Belle glanced over at Gertie, who’d just walked into the kitchen, and sighed.
Gertie threw her arms in the air. “Fine. I’ll go get new glasses. Are you happy?”
“Immensely.”
“Absolutely.”
Ida Belle and I both answered at the same time and Gertie shot us both dirty looks.
I dragged my chair closer to Ida Belle’s and leaned forward a bit to get a better look at the monitor. “Unless I missed something, I didn’t see much going on while Father Michael was speaking.”
“Nothing but people trying to keep from yawning,” Gertie agreed as she stood behind Ida Belle’s chair and peered over her shoulder.
We watched Shelly and Lyle closely while Father Michael did his thing, but they wore either bland or slightly bored expressions. Nothing to indicate guilt or fear of being discovered. Finally, they began the dirt-tossing part of the ceremony.
I watched closely as Lyle tossed the dirt. “Stop that. Back it up and see if you can pause the video right before he turns to walk off.”
It took a couple of attempts, but Ida Belle finally managed to freeze the video at the spot I wanted. I smiled. I’d been right. “He’s smirking,” I said.
“Does that mean anything?” Gertie asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “Start it back up again, Ida Belle.”
“Shelly is coming up next,” Gertie said.
I watched as Shelly picked up her handful of dirt and leaned over to toss it on the grave. Something about it looked as odd now as it did when I’d seen her in the cemetery. “She’s doing something,” I said. “Rewind it again.”