by June Shaw
Both of us knew how word of what happened could affect our lackluster business. It could destroy it.
For a brief moment, I wondered if Fancy Ladies would even let me sell women’s undies. Being the optimist, I said, “But we’re going to get to see Dave again now. That’s something, right?”
Her eyes remained stern.
Chapter 13
More vehicles than I’d ever noticed parked along the road around the jail. The jail. How hard it was to get the thought of Dave being behind bars in my mind. Eve parked. We looked at each other, both sighed, and after a moment got out. She and I ambled in one of the slowest walks I had ever taken until we reached the front gate. A large black dog that didn’t look friendly followed us inside the fence like he was going to pounce on us the second we tried to get inside. He didn’t plan to lick our faces.
My shoulders trembled while I walked. They tensed once we reached the gate. A heavily armed guard stood beyond it. He turned a steely eyed gaze at Eve, held it on her a long moment, and then turned it on me. There was nothing in his stance or expression that would invite us to smile at him. Obviously what he was doing was that initial oh-you’re-identical inspection. After his scrutiny ended, he said, “Yes?”
My throat had dried so much I could hardly tell him our purpose here.
Not so for Eve. She lifted her chin. “We’d like to visit Dave Price.”
My whole body stiffened. I couldn’t believe Dave was locked inside there.
The guard scanned us much quicker than before and then checked what resembled an iPad. “What are your names, and how are you related to him?”
“We aren’t related,” I said, “but—”
He lifted a hand. “If you aren’t related, you aren’t allowed in here.”
Shoulders dropping, I looked at Eve. We could tell him, yes, we were related, of course that would be to each other, but somehow I figured he would find out what we meant and show us what his real unhappiness looked like.
“Can we call him?” I asked, aiming my eyes toward the entrance door to the place. I hoped it would open, and he would come outside.
The guard swung his head and held his pad up to show us. “This has lists of people who can call or visit our prisoners. That would be only their close family members.”
Just hearing him call Dave a prisoner made my heart squeeze until it felt it would burst. “Thank you,” I told the guard, and we walked away, the dog sniffing us and keeping us in view while he strode as quickly as we did.
“What now?” Eve hooked her seat strap.
I sighed. “Let’s go buy him a card. At least we can let him know we’re behind him all the way and working hard to get him out of there.”
My suggestion met with Eve racing down the road. She seemed to remember we were still near the jail, probably not the place to drive way over the speed limit, and slowed. She headed for the nearest drugstore, only a few blocks away. We took our time poring over cards with just the right sentiment. We couldn’t find one that mentioned jail and wouldn’t have wanted it to, so we settled on one with words about caring about the recipient and friendship.
Eve wrote in it first. We sat in her car outside the drugstore, and she penned many words while I watched. My sister’s face displayed one emotion after another when she looked up straight ahead, seemed to think of what else she wanted to say, and quickly wrote it. With her eyes lowered at their outer edges, her lips pulled tight, and after penning more words, she smiled. She handed the card and pen to me. “Would you like to sign it?”
What I wanted to do was write about how much I cared about him and hoped we could soon be together. My eyes flitted to Eve. “Sure.” She watched as I wrote that we supported him and were working to prove he was innocent. She had signed it Love, Eve. He knew she wanted to go out with him or even much more, but now with my sister eyeing each word I jotted wasn’t the time to express each of my feelings. All my best, Sunny, I wrote.
She took care to slide the card into the envelope and seal it. “He’ll like this.”
“I’m sure he will.”
Back at the jail, we parked in the same place, had the same black dog sniff at us and follow our steps inside of the fence until we reached the gate. The same guard frowned when he looked at us.
“You still can’t come in.”
“We know,” I said.
“But we can bring him a card, can’t we?” Eve pulled it out of her purse.
“Sure. It’s for Dave Price, right?”
“Yes,” we said at one time.
He placed his hand near the small opening at the gate and bent his fingers like Eve should pass the card to him.
“He should be real happy to get that,” Eve said to me while the officer took it, and I nodded.
“Sorry I need to do this.” The guard yanked a knife out of a sheath on his belt and in one swift motion, slit the envelope.
My mouth fell open. Eve’s certainly did, too, although I watched the officer in disbelief. “Why did you do that?”
“Do we look like drug dealers?” Eve grabbed the fence with both hands.
The dog rushed near, his growl and teeth warning her to move back. To accentuate that suggestion, he barked and jumped, slamming his front paws where Eve had just slid her hands off.
Beside him, the guard showed no sign that he even noticed an animal on his side of the fence. He was inspecting the envelope’s glue, sniffing it, and pulling the now-cut card out of the envelope. He read the words we had written—did he think we had told Dave we were planning a getaway for him—skimmed his gaze over us, probably trying to detect which of us had written the most words and expressions of love. Returning his attention to the card, he checked the back of it and, just in case, shook the thing. Once nothing fell out, he jammed the card sideways into the cut envelope.
“I’ll make sure not to bring him anything breakable,” I said, anger heating my face.
“This is just how it is. Some people try to sneak in drugs and blades. We need to inspect everything.”
Eve just shook her head and turned back to her car. “We have to get him out of there.”
“I know.” As we sped off, I wished we hadn’t even gotten Dave a card. How bad would it make him feel to see that we’d brought him one and then watched a guard rip it apart? “I feel awful.”
She kept nodding. “Okay, now we have to really go after a killer to prove it’s not him or us.”
“Right.” My intense nods matched hers. “So where should we go first?”
“We might need to do some separate investigating. We’ll go check on your truck right now.”
It seemed a good idea although I dreaded what I might hear.
I had reason to. My truck was back down outside the entrance to Larry’s Garage. Inside his shop, he bent over, inspecting under the hood of another truck. “Hm, I can give you an estimate and tell you what day I can start working on it,” he said once he saw me. His item list and prices of all the parts and repairs stiffened my back and made my stomach pull tight.
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.” I took my keys from him, started my truck, winced, and hummed when the bumper rattled.
“We could leave it here and use my car.” Eve walked up beside my door.
“I’m good. Let’s go look for a killer.”
She grimaced toward the rear of my grumpy truck. “While we’re doing that, maybe we could start a job or two that wouldn’t affect your shoulder much. Possibly we could help bail him out of that place after the judge sets bail.”
“Okay, Sis.” She could be optimistic about finances since she had accumulated some, mainly from previous marriages, although that was certainly not unlimited. I, however, had previously sold undergarments at Fancy Ladies before excruciating heel spurs made me quit the job that required me to be on my feet all day, so actually I couldn’t work there even if they wanted to rehire me. Eve had started the remodeling and repair business with me but onl
y after she’d moved back to town not that long ago, so we had little business cash in reserve.
“Suggestions?” she asked.
Her question made me feel good about myself. So many teachers and students from schools I attended hadn’t understood or cared about my dyslexia that I’d often doubted my ideas. A special teacher and my sister worked to do the opposite. “We can check on jobs, but first I want to pass by Dave’s camp and see how things look.” I recalled the hammering and sawing that came from the camp not too far past his. “And maybe we can check out the people at the camp close by.”
“Good idea. I’ll meet you there.”
She waited for me to lead the way toward Bayou Boogie Woogie, surely to see whether my truck would fall apart. I glanced in the rearview mirror, appreciating her even more than usual and hoping that when we reached Dave’s camp, the police tape would be gone. He had wanted to give me a key to that camp, which again made me feel special. If the police tape was gone, maybe we could do a closer inspection of his place that might give us better clues as to what really happened there.
Chapter 14
The bayou felt like it went on and on, with the oak and cypress trees and thick palmetto beside it. The waterway and narrow road I drove on didn’t get longer, I knew. It only felt like it now because the wind had picked up and seemed determined to shake the rear end off my truck. People in the handful of vehicles that drove past turned to stare while I approached. Probably my truck looked and sounded like an animal with a wounded backside that was desperate for a surgeon or for someone to put it out of its misery.
There were no buildings on either side of the road this far down the bayou. Only tall grasses and scrub bushes and scraggly trees that won out when hurricanes passed through.
A bald eagle swooped to the water and then up toward trees beyond the bayou when we approached Dave’s camp, which would have been an enticing sight except it clashed with the yellow plastic still surrounding his place.
I pulled off the roadway and parked. Eve stopped behind me, and we left our vehicles. We were tall enough that we could easily step over the tape stretched around Dave’s place. It was yards away from the building so that we couldn’t get close enough to try to look in through the windows.
“Mrs. Wilburn was dead in there,” I said, arms stiff and fists clenched at my sides. I didn’t want to believe that really happened. Didn’t want to relive finding her.
“I know. It all seems surreal. Her gone. Dave arrested…”
“Somebody killed her someplace else and brought her here.”
“How would he have gotten inside? Do you think a man came dragging a garbage bag with her body here and happened to notice that key to the back door on the carport floor just like you did and used it to open the door and bring her inside? And then he replaced the key where it was?”
“Why would anyone consider bringing her here in the first place?”
I inspected the gravel driveway leading to the carport and didn’t see any sign of something heavy being dragged across the shells or nearby dirt. The carport held the wood he’d had delivered still stacked inside. We both stepped aside and surveyed the areas we could see around the camp but had limited views because of wild bushes with trees on one side and a bayou in back. The slim plastic that protected this place said: Police Line. Do not cross. and repeated the warning numerous times in case anyone forgot.
“Somebody might come around if we do it,” Eve said, reading my mind that held the intent to step across it.
“Yes, and that guy watching us from the wharf over there might even be a cop.”
“Or a judge.”
We stepped back to the vehicles we’d driven. I puttered ahead to the camp that was larger than Dave’s and looked more like a fine house than a fishing camp. By the time we reached his place and got out, the man who I figured owned that place had left his wharf and was stepping across his yard toward us.
“Hi. Can I help you?” His face was friendly, maybe because it held so many freckles across the nose, and his pale eyes smiled and looked kind. He was maybe fifty and wearing jeans and an LSU T-shirt. Score one for him with the shirt. The top of his head came only to my breasts, and I was wearing flats. Not so with Sunny who wore heels. He had lots of really fine tools and other equipment in his yard and on the wharf beyond. I couldn’t envision this guy being a murderer.
“This looks like a real nice place,” Eve told him. “Did you build it?”
He pulled off his cap that advertised a tractor brand, ran a hand over his brow to wipe off sweat, and replaced the cap. “No, I wish I could do things like that.” He swept his arm toward the structure. “I can only do minor work with tools.”
“You have some good ones.”
That got a smile out of him. “I like to get the best of things.” He swung his eyes from one toward the other of us. “And you look the same. But I doubt that you’re here to sell me a cleaning supply or your religious beliefs.”
“No, neither,” Eve said.
“Besides that, I noticed you two going to that camp over there and getting down. Something happened there.”
“I’m sure the police came and questioned you and told you all about it,” I said, and he nodded.
“But I don’t know the guy who just bought that place, and I sure didn’t know the dead woman either.”
“I’m Sunny Taylor.” I put my hand out and shook his soft palm. Strange that he owned such excellent tools if he obviously didn’t do outdoor work often.
“Eve Vaughn,” she said, shaking hands with him, her eyes flitting toward mine like she noticed the same thing.
“I’m Bill Hernandez. I live in Alabama, but I like to come out here with my wife and just chill.”
“Except you’ve been working out here,” I pointed out.
He replied with a tight smile. “So you’ve been around.” His eyes widened like an idea was registering. “Oh, you’re the two who were out there that day.”
Eve and I nodded, our chins going up and down together like seesaws. “You were out here, too,” she said.
His eyes swerved from one to the other of us, all friendliness from them gone. “I need to get back to work.” He headed to his front door.
“It was nice meeting you,” I called out, but his response was a door slam.
“Okay.” Eve spoke while I took a breath. “I didn’t learn anything useful.”
“Neither did I.” A splash from the water drew my attention. “Except there might be some good fishing out here.”
We shared weak grins. Eve tilted her head toward the brown bayou. “I want to fish with Dave soon after he gets out.”
I felt my lips droop. I didn’t mind sharing a fishing trip with him and my sister, but I did not want to otherwise share him with her. And this feeling of attachment to a man was so unique I couldn’t believe I was experiencing it. But I needed to admit to myself that I was.
My mind bounced back to Bill Hernandez. “He wears an LSU shirt, and he’s from Alabama?”
“That does seem strange.”
We stood staring at his place. There was no sign of his wife.
“Okay, before we do anything else,” Eve said, “let’s take your truck back to your house. I couldn’t think too well while I kept watching your bumper shaking so much while I drove here that I was afraid it would drop off right in front of me.”
“I guess I could think better without it rattling, too.” We motored back up the bayou, passing a couple of more trucks the nearer we got to town. Traffic increased to its normal not-too-many cars and trucks as we reached Sugar Ledge, many people inside them whipping their heads toward me. I guessed they thought my truck’s rear end might drop. I feared the same thing.
When we reached our neighborhood, we parted ways. Eve turned at the corner and would drive down the next street to her house.
I drove down my street. In the yard two houses before mine, a plump figure bent over a flowerb
ed, looking like a thick beach ball except for the wide-brimmed straw hat on her head. Mrs. Hawthorne glanced up as I approached, surely my truck’s noise calling her attention. She stood and waved at me with her small gardening shovel, and I waved back. Then noticed she wasn’t only waving. She was flagging me down.
I pulled to the curb.
She came to my window and said the obvious. “Your truck has a problem.”
“It sure does. It needs a truck doctor.” I offered a pleasant smile. She probably only wanted someone to talk with a minute or two.
“I have a cousin who does that kind of work. Would you like his name?”
“Of course.” This woman was probably as old as my mother, and her cousin was, too. Surely someone that age could not get rid of my mega-fender bender and solve my truck’s woes.
I wrote the name and phone number she gave, intensely nodding like I was really interested. I actually wanted to get home and turn this motor off. “Thank you for this,” I said, holding the pad up, ready to pull away.
“Oh, and Sunny, I thought about you and the police asking me if I’d heard or seen anything unusual before Mrs. Wilburn died.” I nodded but knew she saw little of the world because she was always bent to the ground, working her flowers, the brim of her hat blocking the outer world from her view. “I did.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I didn’t see it, of course, but I did hear him yelling a day or so before she was found dead.” She pointed at the house across the street from hers. The couple there was young and, as far as I knew, kept to themselves. I had no idea how this information could be connected to anything but paid attention.
“He must have been outside for you to have heard him. Did you see him?”
She shook her head, the brim of her hat bending toward her face. “No, but I looked since he was so loud. They must have been in their backyard.”