by Sharon Sala
The old army buddy, who had more than an affinity for carrying arms of his own, not only understood but had been waiting for him outside the airport with the handgun he was carrying now.
It occurred to him as he was waiting for the lights to go out that the army buddy might be another loose end that needed tying up, but he would worry about that after this was over.
Then a buzz near his ear warned him that another mosquito was approaching. He slapped at the sound. He had no idea whether he’d killed the mosquito or not, although the buzzing was gone. Somewhere in the distance, he kept hearing the familiar sound of baying hounds. He didn’t like dogs and shuddered, then stood. As he did, something shifted in the bushes behind him. He spun abruptly, the handgun aimed into the dark. His heart was pounding as a fresh wave of sweat beaded on his brow.
Son of a holy bitch. Who would willingly live in a place like this? Give me a city with its homeless and druggies, even its muggers, any day.
Finally he decided it was his imagination that was making him jumpy and looked back toward the house, continuing to mark people’s locations by taking note of the lights coming on and going off.
He thought about moving closer. There was always the possibility that he would get a good shot at her through a window. The getaway would be a cinch in the dark, he decided with confidence based on the cocaine he’d sniffed two hours ago. When another mosquito began buzzing about his ear, he decided the idea was good enough to act on.
He began walking toward the house and was only yards from the front door when a loud, raucous shriek sounded over his head. He fell to the ground and rolled onto his back, his gun aimed upward into the limbs of the trees under which he’d been standing.
Again the shriek sounded. It was somewhere between a Hollywood version of a banshee and a girlfriend he’d once had. He didn’t know whether to stay put or take cover back where he’d been. But the longer he lay there, the more certain he became that the residents inside the old mansion were not coming out. Obviously, whatever ungodly creature was making the sounds was familiar to them.
With one last look upward, he rolled to his feet. Anxious to get away from whatever was up the tree, he abandoned the last of his caution and ran the rest of the way toward the house.
There were lights on in the foyer, as well as some to the right of the front door and also upstairs. He crept along the boards of the old porch, then paused when one squeaked.
Cursing the situation in general, he went flat against the wall, half expecting someone to come running outside to investigate. But again he was pleasantly surprised by a lack of interest and decided that the age of the place was working in his favor. There were bound to be any number of odd creaks and groans from a place like this.
He shifted the gun to his right hand, then stepped away from the wall and moved directly into view of the first of the front windows. Had anybody been looking out at that moment, they could have seen him, or at least the shape of his body, but there was no one there.
Silently, he moved on to the next, and the next, then realized that everyone must have congregated in the kitchen at the back. Anxious to finish what he’d started, he jumped off the veranda and began to circle the old house, dodging clumps of greenery and bushes as he ran.
He heard the dogs again but thought nothing of it. This was low country. Hunting country. There were bound to be dogs.
Now he was standing on the back steps, and through the window in the door, he could see the back of an old woman’s head, the profile of a man, probably the one who’d closed the curtains, and then Laurel herself. At that point, he grinned and raised his gun. She was directly in his sights. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger and it would be over.
He shifted slightly to accommodate the difference in elevation, holding his breath as his finger tightened on the trigger.
At the same moment he squeezed off the shot, something came at him out of the darkness. The shriek that came with it was unnerving and loud. Whatever had been up that tree had followed him and was in the act of attacking. He was so startled that his aim went wild.
It came at him in a rush of sound and feathers, and he fell backward off the porch and into the dirt. The gun went flying from his hand, landing somewhere to his right. It was attacking him now in a thunder of vicious stabs and shrieks. Somehow he got to his feet and then ran toward the safety of the trees without stopping, without looking back.
***
Laurel was worried about Marie. The old woman had stayed faithfully by her side all during the day, but the toll was beginning to tell in her expression. Her café-au-lait skin had taken on a pale, ashy hue, and her steps were dragging as she moved from stove to sink. Now that they knew her father was safe, she was willing to end this day.
“Mamárie… please go to bed,” Laurel begged. “I can’t bear to see you like this.”
Marie straightened her shoulders and frowned.
“Like how? You trying to tell me I’m too old to stand a little upset now and then?”
“I’m not telling you anything. I’m asking because I care,” Laurel said.
“It’s been a long day,” Justin added. “I’m beat, too. If you two don’t mind, I’d like to stay the night. Just to make sure everything stays okay.”
Laurel wouldn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see the worry on his face, knowing that he was worried about her father’s warning, though no more than she was.
“Yes, please,” Laurel said. “I would appreciate the company.”
“Well, that’s different, then,” Marie said. She’d hung up the dishcloth she’d been carrying and was on her way out of the kitchen when the shot came through the window in the door. She turned toward the sound as glass splintered.
“Get down!” Justin yelled, and saw Laurel drop flat. He grabbed the old woman, taking her down with him.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then they could hear Elvis’s repeated shrieks on the porch out back.
Justin rolled over onto his side, saw Laurel staring at him in shock from beneath the kitchen table, then grabbed for Marie.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Except for those crazy hunters, I’m fine,” she muttered, then winced. “I think I bumped my knee.”
“I’m so sorry,” Justin said.
“I’ve a good mind to go out there and give them a good tongue-lashing,” Marie said.
“No!” Laurel said. “You could get shot.”
“It must have been a stray shot,” Justin said. “We can thank God that it missed.”
Laurel rose up on her elbows, then to her knees.
Justin frowned. “Honey, I don’t know if it’s safe to—”
She pointed toward the wall.
“If it had been a little more to the left, it would have gone through my head.”
Justin paled.
“I want both of you to stay down,” he said. “I’m going to call the men in and send them home. We’re safer with a panther in the grove than a bunch of men with loaded guns.”
But Laurel wasn’t convinced. “Something isn’t right,” she said. “That shot sounded like it was right outside. Would it have been that loud if they’d fired from inside the grove?”
Justin rocked back on his heels. He’d been so focused on getting both women out of the line of fire that he hadn’t thought that far. But as soon as she asked, he knew she was right.
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“Elvis is still pitching a fit,” Laurel said.
“He’s a pretty good watchdog,” Marie added.
“Never would let the neighborhood children onto the place for trick or treat at Halloween.”
Laurel’s voice quavered. “What if it wasn’t the hunters?”
“Are you talking about the warning your father gave you?”
She nodded.
“Damn it. I don’t like this,” he said. “I think we need to call Harper.”
“Wait,” Laurel said, and pointed
to the wall. “See if the bullet is in there.”
“Why on earth would—”
“Let me hold it. If it was DeLane who shot at me, I’ll know it.”
“Oh… yeah… all right. But don’t get up. Not yet, okay?”
“I’m gettin’ up,” Marie said. “And I’m goin’ to my room and take a hot bath before I seize up so bad I can’t walk tomorrow.”
“I’ll help you,” Laurel said. “Crawl over to me.”
“Not before I pull the drapes in the other rooms,” Justin said. “Sit tight.”
He took out his pocketknife, dug the slug from the old plaster wall, then dropped it into Laurel’s outstretched hand.
Even before her fingers closed over the lead, Laurel knew.
“It was DeLane.” She could see him running, feel the brush of limbs across his face, and knew he’d gone into the grove. “He’s in the trees,” she said, then let the bullet fall to the floor as if the mere touch had contaminated her skin.
“Damn it,” Justin muttered, then reached for the phone and dialed the number for the police. While he was waiting for an answer, he flipped off the light switch. Immediately the room went dark, lit only by a faint bit of light from the other rooms beyond the hall.
“Police department. How can I help you?”
“Harper there?”
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s Justin Bouvier. Get him on the phone now.”
A few moments later, he heard Harper pick up.
“Justin?”
“The man who kidnapped Laurel’s father just took a shot at her through the kitchen door.”
“Christ Almighty,” Harper said, then turned around and yelled into the dispatcher in the other room. “Get everyone on duty out to Mimosa Grove.” Then he put the phone back to his ear. “Everyone okay? Do I need to send an ambulance?”
“We’re good. Marie hurt her knee when I took her down, but I don’t think she needs an ambulance.”
“Lord, no,” Marie said. “Don’t think I’m goin’ off in one of those crazy contraptions. They drive too fast.”
“She says no,” Justin repeated. “Tell your men to hold their fire until we can get the hunters in from the grove.”
Harper sighed. “Why do I get the feeling I should have heard about them before I jumped the gun and sent out my men?”
“Laurel said it wasn’t them.”
Harper resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, she hasn’t been wrong yet, so no reason to doubt her. Right?”
“That’s the way I see it.”
“We’re on the way.”
“Thank you. We’ll be waiting.” He hung up the phone, then pointed to the two women still crouching on the floor.
“Wait here. I need to make sure the doors are locked and the other lights are out before you get up.”
“There’s a flashlight in the drawer by the sink,” Marie said.
Justin found it, then ran out of the room.
Laurel had heard the fear in Marie’s voice and was instantly filled with guilt.
“Mamárie, I’m so sorry this is happening. I would do anything for you not to have to endure this.”
“Just stop it,” Marie said, and clasped Laurel’s hand in her own. “It wasn’t your fault, and no one is hurt. That’s what we have to think on.”
Laurel leaned back against the wall, then clutched Marie’s hand. “Mamárie?”
“What, baby girl?”
“I’m scared for my father.”
“I know.”
“Even though we don’t often get along, he’s been the only parent I’ve had since I was ten. I want him to walk me down the aisle. I want him to play with my babies and spoil them the way he never did me.”
Marie sighed. She wasn’t going to mouth platitudes just to make someone momentarily happy. It wasn’t the way she was made.
“I pray to God that he lives, but you have to accept the fact that we don’t always get what we want. Sometimes life kicks you when you’re down.”
“So when that happens, what do you do?”
“Well… I suppose I’d cry for a while. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a good cry. Then I suppose I’d pick myself up and get on with my life, ’cause if I didn’t, then whoever or whatever got me down would have won.”
Laurel sighed, then gave Marie’s hand a soft squeeze.
“Do you think that if I live as long as you have, I’ll ever be as smart as you are?”
“Maybe,” Marie said, and then laughed.
Seconds later, Justin was back.
“Ladies,” he said, and held out his hands. “I think you’ll both be safer on the second floor, so follow me.”
When Marie tried to get up, she winced and then groaned.
“Oh, honey,” Laurel said. “You are hurt.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just old,” Marie said. “Wouldn’t matter whether I’d been tackled down or got down here on my own. I’d still be havin’ trouble gettin’ up.”
Justin chuckled. “Allow me,” he said gently, then handed Laurel the flashlight and picked Marie up in his arms. “Honey, will you lead the way?”
“Gladly,” Laurel said, and together, they went up the stairs.
18
Justin had carried Marie to Laurel’s room and then gone out to call in the hunters. But doing it without getting shot at again was going to be a trick. He thought for a few seconds, then remembered how his daddy had called him in from the creek below the house when he was a kid. He hurried to his truck, unlocked the door and began to honk his horn. After using three long, then three short, then three long honks again, to signal an SOS, he soon heard the hunters calling in their dogs. He ran to the back porch to wait, and when he saw their lights coming toward the house, he knew he’d accomplished his purpose.
***
Tula’s nephew, Manville, was a big, burly man nearing sixty, with a thick red beard and equally thick curly red hair. He had seven sons and two daughters, and a wife he loved so dearly that just the thought of her still made him weak in the knees.
He’d gotten the word from Marie LeFleur that there was a panther in the grove. And being the hunter that he was, he had gladly loaded up his dogs, four of his sons, enough lanterns to make sure they could see where they were going and headed into the trees.
They’d found sign almost immediately and turned the dogs loose, expecting to find the cat before midnight. Only it hadn’t happened as easily as he’d hoped. The dogs had lost the scent more than an hour ago and had yet to strike it again. Then they’d heard what sounded like a gunshot, then a distress signal from the old mansion. After that, Manville had called in the dogs. By the time they reached the grounds of Mimosa Grove, they were running. Less than a hundred yards from the back of the house, Justin Bouvier suddenly appeared out of the night.
Manville stopped abruptly, startled by the man’s appearance.
“Justin? That you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What’s happenin’ man? We heard a shot, then I guess that was you honkin’ your horn.”
“Yeah, it was me. We have trouble.”
Manville nodded. “Figured as much. What happened? Did our dogs scare the cat way up here?”
Justin shook his head, then put his hand on Manville’s shoulder and gave him a slight push.
“Keep moving toward your trucks as we talk. It’s not safe for you to be here right now.”
Manville frowned, but did as Justin asked.
“Let’s go, boys. Load up the dogs.”
His sons started toward their trucks at a jog, while Manville followed behind with Justin.
“What’s happening here? What was that shot?”
“It’s complicated, but the short of it is, someone kidnapped Laurel’s father, and now he’s come after her. He took a shot at her through the back door, then ran into the grove. It missed her, but Marie got hurt some when I took her down with me. So we needed to get you and your boys
out of there before he took a shot at one of you… or decided to take someone else hostage.”
Manville froze. Even in the shadows, Justin could see the expression of shock on his face.
“Tryin’ to kill her for true?”
“Yes.”
“And you tellin’ me that son of a bitch is still around?”
Justin shrugged. “Can’t be sure, but since he missed her, and if I had to guess, I’d say, yes.”
Manville shifted his rifle from his right arm to his left and looked up toward the house. The only light visible was a very small glow from a second-story window.
“Where’s the law?” he asked.
“On their way… I hope.”
Manville glanced back toward the grove, then at Justin.
“I reckon we’ll be staying around a bit… at least until help gets here.”
Justin took a slow breath, understanding immediately what had just been offered. These men, who barely knew Laurel, had just put their lives on the line to make sure hers didn’t end.
He put a hand on Manville’s shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.
“It won’t go unappreciated.”
Manville shrugged. “We take care of our own, is all.”
“Yeah, I know, and I’ll make sure Laurel knows, too.”
Manville turned toward the trucks.
“Boys… you got the dogs loaded?”
“Yes, Daddy,” one of them called.
“Then come on back here. We’re gonna stay here for a bit and take us a rest.”
All four of his sons, who were full-grown men, suddenly appeared out of the dark. They nodded their hellos at Justin, then fixed their gazes on Manville.
“What’s goin’ on, Daddy?” one of them asked.
“That shot we heard?”
They all nodded again.
“Well, someone’s tryin’ to kill Miz Marcella’s granddaughter. He missed. I thought we might stay around here awhile until the law arrives and make sure he don’t get a second chance.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. “Where you think we oughta be?”
Manville looked to Justin for orders.
Justin hated to ask but was secretly thankful that keeping the two women safe wouldn’t all be on his shoulders until the authorities arrived.