Gratefully she saw the waitress she’d come to talk to approaching, her bright red hair gleaming like a beacon in the dismal environment. “Billy said you wanted to talk to me. I just got a few minutes, so make it fast,” she snapped, slapping her serving tray on the bar next to where Shelby sat.
“I understand you and Fayrene Whitney were friends,” Shelby began, thankful as Billy moved away and started talking to another nefarious-looking older man.
Winnie frowned and plucked nervously at a gray eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call us bosom buddies. She was in here a lot and we talked most evenings during my breaks.” Winnie sat down on the stool next to Shelby and pursed her ruby lips. “Fayrene was an odd one, not much for sharing confidences. Damn shame the way she died.”
“Did she ever talk to you about men?”
Winnie snorted. “Wasn’t much else Fayrene liked talking about.”
“Anyone in particular?”
Winnie’s heavily lined eyes darted to Billy. “Him. Fayrene was crazy when it came to Billy.”
“Crazy how?”
Winnie grinned and shook her head ruefully. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Fayrene killed Tyler, then stabbed herself just to get Billy’s butt thrown in prison. There’s nothing worse than love gone bad, and Fayrene was ate up with bad love for Billy.”
“But Fayrene didn’t inflict those wounds on herself. When was the last time you saw her before her death?”
“She was in here the night it happened. I told the sheriff all this,” she said impatiently.
“I don’t work for the sheriff,” Shelby explained. “I’m just trying to find out what happened, who killed Fayrene and Tyler.”
“You ain’t never gonna find out. Billy is going to go down for this sure as I’m sitting here.” She nodded sagely. “When this town needs a fall guy, it’s always one of us from the swamp that takes the fall. And before it’s all said and done, they’ll probably have him guilty of the serpent murders, too.” Laughing wryly, she stood and grabbed her serving tray. “Mark my words, missy. There’s some in this town who’d love nothing better than to see Billy Royce behind bars. He’s spent a lot of time sticking his nose where it don’t belong, getting a lot of the town people mad at him.”
Shelby pulled off her glasses and rubbed her forehead. If everyone in town hated Billy Royce, how was she supposed to find the person who’d killed Fayrene and Tyler? How was she going to find out who would be happy if Billy took the fall for a crime he didn’t commit?
“Just a couple more questions,” she said as Winnie looked at her watch. “On the night of her murder, when Fayrene was in here, did she say anything about anyone giving her problems, or being afraid or involved in something that had her frightened?”
Winnie shook her head. “Nah, she was her usual self, laughing and drinking, dancing up a storm. Fayrene wasn’t scared or worried about nothing.”
“Did she leave alone that night?”
“No, that pretty boy Tyler came in and got her. They talked for a few minutes, then they left together.” Winnie looked at her watch once again. “Look, it’s a damn shame, the way Fayrene died, but I don’t know anything about it and I got to get back to work.”
The moment Winnie moved away, Billy reappeared next to Shelby’s side. “Did you get any answers?”
“I’m not even sure I know the right questions to ask,” she admitted, rubbing her forehead once again. She’d drunk just enough and that, combined with the smoke and noise, had created the beginning of a headache that pulsed behind her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.” She slid off the stool and walked toward the door, eager for fresh, clean air to take away the stench she feared permeated her very pores.
She didn’t stop walking until she reached the pickup, where she leaned against the polished side, closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths of the sweet-scented night air. “You okay?”
Opening her eyes, she looked at Billy. “No, I’m not okay.” She sighed, then folded her glasses and dropped them into her purse, her mind racing with everything Winnie had said, most of which was no use to Billy’s defense. But one thing stuck in her mind. She drew in another deep breath, then looked back at Billy. “I want you to make a list of all the people you’ve had angry words with in the last year.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Billy stared at her a moment, one corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. “Might be easier to make a list of the people I haven’t had words with.”
He moved to stand before her, an arm braced on either side as he captured her against the side of the truck. “Enough about that. I have something else on my mind.” He stepped closer and trailed a finger down the side of her jaw then slowly, languidly ran his fingertips across the fullness of her mouth.
Shelby remained unmoving beneath the sexual onslaught, although her heart skipped erratically, letting her know her body responded to him despite her attempt at control. “Move that finger any closer to my teeth and I’ll bite it off.” He laughed and dropped his hand. Shelby sighed. “Billy, you’ve got to stop thinking with your crotch and start using your head.”
“Ah, but don’t you know that the mind is the most sexual organ in the body?”
“Billy, I don’t care about your sex life. I’m trying to find out the truth of who killed Fayrene and Tyler. Isn’t it possible somebody set you up? Somebody who knew the odds were good that you’d be charged in these murders?” She pushed away from him. “Just make a list.”
A loud crack resounded. A searing heat instantly exploded in Shelby’s shoulder. She gasped as Billy tackled her. Together they hit the ground, a grunt escaping her as Billy’s body covered hers. As her head cracked against the hard earth she momentarily saw stars.
“Are you all right?” Although he didn’t move, she could feel his tension as his gaze focused on the thick brush and trees that lined the parking area.
“Yes, but-”
“Shh,” he hushed her, his head cocked alertly as he scrutinized the area where the shot had come from.
Moments stretched into minutes and they remained unmoving. Apparently the sound of the shot had not been heard over the commotion in the bar, for nobody came running out.
“Whoever it was, I think they’re gone,” he finally said. He rolled off Shelby and sat up. “Well, darlin’, you can’t say I’m not an exciting date.”
“Do all your ‘dates’ end the evening with a trip to the hospital?” she asked, gritting her teeth against the nauseating pain that ripped through her shoulder.
She started to sit up, but a wave of darkness swept over her. Vaguely, she heard Billy curse as she gave in and fainted into sweet oblivion.
Chapter Eight
Billy knew the bullet that had pierced Shelby’s shoulder had been meant for him, and for the first time he realized the depth of passion stirred in Black Bayou by Tyler’s and Fayrene’s murders. Fayrene’s loss was insignificant; it was the death of Tyler that had summoned fury, stirred fear. The good people of Black Bayou were accustomed to bad things happening to the swamp people, but Tyler had been one of their own.
The truck bounced and careened over the back roads, unconscious groans escaping Shelby with each jolt. She was slumped against his side, her breath warm against his neck. His right arm held her steady as his left hand worked the steering wheel.
He could tell her wound wasn’t life threatening. He’d immediately ripped her blouse aside and had seen that the bullet appeared to have grazed the top of her shoulder, rather than pierced it. There had been an initial burst of blood, but by the time he’d gotten her in the truck, the bleeding had nearly stopped. Still, his heart beat an unsteady rhythm as he thought of how close she had come to being killed.
“Damn it.” He slapped the palm of his hand on the steering wheel, a whisper of rage building in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t angry that somebody had attempted to shoot him. He’d half expected something like this. But his rage was built on the sloppiness of the shooter, who’d missed his
target and instead hit Shelby.
One thing was certain. As far as this particular case was concerned, Shelby was finished. He’d take his chances with another attorney. He wouldn’t risk her life to save his own.
He wheeled into Doc Cashwell’s place and parked the truck in front of the back door that led to the office and examining room. Shutting off the engine, he got out of the truck, then leaned back in to scoop Shelby up in his arms. Her face nuzzled against his shirtfront, muffling another soft groan against his beating heart.
Doc Cashwell must have heard them drive up, for he met Billy at the door. “What have we here?” The old man gestured for Billy to follow him through the small waiting room and to an examining room, where Billy placed Shelby gently on the paper-covered examination table.
“Gunshot wound to the shoulder,” Billy said tersely, stepping back so the doctor could perform his magic. “She fainted almost immediately.”
“How long has she been out?” Doc Cashwell quickly cut the blouse away from the wound.
“Just a few minutes, as long as it took me to get her here from The Edge.”
The old man paused in his ministrations and cast Billy a curious glance. “Did you shoot her?”
Billy leaned against the doorjamb and grinned indolently. “No, Doc, there’s no way anybody can pin this one on me.”
“Git out of here so I can clean this up. If she doesn’t come to soon, I’ll bring her around when I’m finished.”
Nodding curtly, Billy went back into the waiting room and sat down on one of the plastic chairs. The bullet to Shelby’s shoulder changed everything. When he’d first realized he was the number-one suspect in the murders, he’d talked to several lawyers in New Orleans. None of them seemed willing to take on what they considered a losing case. It had shocked and surprised him when one of them recommended Shelby. The lawyer had told him Shelby had a reputation for tenacity, especially when defending an underdog. God knew Billy was an underdog.
For Billy, it had seemed right that he would be the reason for her coming back home. Especially since he’d been the reason for her leaving in the first place. But somebody had just raised the stakes and made this a deadly game. That bullet, a couple of inches one way or the other, could have been lethal. He couldn’t consciously put Shelby in harm’s way.
He’d have to take his chances alone, and if things didn’t go his way then he’d take Parker and disappear so far into the swamp nobody would ever find him again. He’d do whatever it took to keep Parker mentally well and physically safe. Hell. He raked a hand through his hair, a rueful smile curving his lips. That particular sentiment was what had gotten him in this predicament in the first place.
SHE WAS EIGHTEEN years old again. The humid, thick night air embraced her as she tried to walk off the anger that always appeared after spending an evening with the family. As usual, her father had spent the family time raging at each child for some imagined sin. None of them had been spared vicious verbal lashings as Big John recited his litany of complaints and disappointments. He’d finally run out of steam over dessert and had left the house, slamming the back door with enough force to shake the foundation. One by one the children had drifted out as well, unable to stay in the oppression of the house with only their drunken mother as company.
As always, Shelby sought the comfort of the swamp, intent on ending the evening in a visit with Mama Royce. Mama Royce always made Shelby feel safe and warm… loved.
As she walked through the woods she practiced trying to be as silent as possible. Billy had told her that in order to walk with the stealth of a wild animal she had to become an animal, but she remained mystified by Billy’s skill in traversing the wooded area without making a single noise.
It was a crazy moon night, the kind where the moon shone so full on the water it looked as if the swamp had swallowed the lunar globe whole.
She wasn’t far from Mama Royce’s shanty when she heard a soft whimper followed by hoarse, guttural, but unintelligible words. Confused by voices this deep in the swamp, disturbed by the fear-filled whimpers, she parted the brush in front of her, searching for the source of the noise.
For a moment she didn’t understand what she saw. Figures locked in a macabre embrace, shadows and slivers of moonlight splashing them in surreal lighting. She was too far away to see their features, but could tell it was two figures. As she watched one of them transformed, features blurring as skin turned reptilian. Suddenly it was no longer human, but rather an alligator. Maybelline. Clutched in her massive grip was Gator, his wrist spurting blood as he whimpered like a child.
Consciousness came abruptly. Shelby sat straight up and batted a hand under her nose, fighting against the strong ammonia scent that pulled her from the strange nightmare and into the real world of pain.
“Welcome back.”
She stared blankly at the white-haired old man, who looked vaguely familiar. “Wha…what happened?” She gasped as a fiery pain arrowed through her shoulder, bringing with it the memory of the sound of the gunshot, the grit of the gravel beneath her and Billy’s animal-like watchfulness as he eyed the surrounding woods.
“You’ve been shot, dear. Do you remember what happened?”
She nodded and reached for her shoulder, her fingers encountering a bulky bandage and the unfamiliar material of a hospital gown. “Is it serious?”
“About as serious as a splinter.” The old man grinned, and instantly Shelby recognized him. He was older, his hair no longer the sandy brown she remembered, but the smile was the same one that had graced his face when Shelby had been a child and had been brought to him for a variety of childhood ailments.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Doc Cashwell continued. “The bullet grazed the top of your shoulder. It will be sore for a couple of days, but should heal up without complications. Unfortunately, your blouse is beyond my medical expertise.” He held up the pale pink blouse, the shoulder ripped and bloody.
Shelby swung her legs over the side of the examining table and eased herself to a standing position. Clutching the edges of the hospital gown together, she felt as if she’d been run over by a semi. Her body ached and her ribs felt bruised. “Is Billy all right?” she asked.
“Fit as a fiddle and out in the waiting room.” The doctor walked with her to the door. “Keep the bandage clean and check back with me in a couple of days.”
He opened the door, and Shelby walked out into the waiting room just as Bob entered the small room from the back door. “Shelby.” He rushed to where she stood. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, her gaze going to where Billy stood motionless at one end of the room. “What are you doing here?” she asked Bob.
“Doc called me, said you’d been shot.”
“I’m duty bound to report all gunshot injuries,” Doc interjected.
“What the hell happened?” Bob demanded. He raised a hand and touched Shelby’s cheek softly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Shelby moved away from his hand, uncomfortably aware of Billy’s dark gaze. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and I’d like to go home.”
“Somebody needs to tell me what happened.” Bob turned and looked at Billy. “What do you have to do with this? Why is it every time there’s trouble, you’re around?”
“I’m just lucky, I guess.” Billy’s voice held ill-disguised sarcasm. “We were leaving The Edge and somebody shot at us. If I was to guess, the bullet that hit Shelby was probably intended for me.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Bob replied. For a moment the enmity between the two men shimmered in the room. It was Billy who finally broke the moment. “Shelby, I’ll wait for you out in the car.” He spun on his heel and went out the door.
Bob sighed and raked a hand through his hair, his gaze focused on the spot where Billy had stood. “Someday somebody will put a bullet through his thick head.” He looked back at Shelby, his features softened. “Shelby, I told you this was ugly, and promises to get uglier
. Tyler’s death has stirred emotions and there’s no way I can police everyone’s passion.” He sighed again and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. “You want to tell me exactly what happened so I can make out a report?”
Shelby leaned against the wall, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her. “Bob, would it be all right if I come into the station tomorrow and make a report? I’m really tired and my shoulder hurts.”
“I think that is an excellent idea,” Doc Cashwell replied. “Shelby has had a nasty shock, and needs to go home and get some rest.” He looked at the sheriff. “Surely the report can wait until tomorrow.”
Bob closed the notebook and put it back into his pocket. “Okay, I can get the details tomorrow. You want me to drive you home?”
She shook her head. “Billy can take me. I’ll be fine,” she added as he frowned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hesitated a moment, as if wanting to say something else to her. She saw the worry in his eyes, a worry coupled with emotions too personal for Shelby’s comfort. She had a sudden memory of her junior high school friends teasing her about big-eared Bob’s crush on her. Bob had grown into his ears, but she had a feeling he hadn’t quite outgrown the crush.
“Shelby, I want to give you some pain pills before you go.” Dr. Cashwell broke Bob’s inertia. With a final goodbye he left the office.
Minutes later, clutching a handful of sample pain pills and a package of sterile bandages, Shelby left the office and joined Billy in his pickup truck. “Just take me back to my car. I can drive the rest of the way home from there.”
“You sure?” He started the engine and pulled out of the doctor’s driveway. “I don’t mind taking you all the way home.”
“I’m positive, just take me to my car.” She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, momentarily lulled by the silence and the gentle movement of the truck. She didn’t open her eyes until the truck pulled to a stop and she realized they were parked next to her car.
“I want you to go back to Shreveport.” Billy broke the silence between them, his dark eyes glowing in the illumination from the dash lights.
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