by Sam Cheever
I straightened quickly, nearly overcorrecting, and stumbled backward as dizziness swamped me. Holding my forehead, I tried my wit on him. “Ha. Ha, ha. I guess I was bending over too long.”
Nothing on his face moved except one bushy brown eyebrow. It eased slowly up in the middle, as if somebody had tied a string to it.
“Ha. Ha, ha.” I backed toward number nine. “Sorry. It was all a mistake. My keys hit your window.” I held the keys up as if they were proof of what had happened.
The second eyebrow eased upward.
I jangled my keys, walking backward. If I tried really hard I could really annoy him. “I’ll just…” I held his gaze as I fumbled with the key, afraid to look away for fear that would be the moment he’d strike. I dropped the keys twice. “Ha. Ha, ha.”
He crossed massive arms over his chest, watching me like one watches the clowns at a circus. Look at the buffoons trying to stuff themselves into the silly little car.
Finally the key slid home and I turned it, plunging through the door and slamming it shut behind me. I locked all the locks and leaned against the closed door, panting from nerves. Just my luck Mr. Scary would be habitating right next to us.
I listened until I heard Mr. Scary’s door slam and then slouched toward the bathroom. I needed a long, hot shower to ease my nerves and soften my stress-stiffened muscles. Then I would deal with the next problem.
Surviving the night with Sexy Cal sleeping in the next bed.
###
Cal pulled the Jeep up to the curb in front of Francine’s Café and we went inside. I stumbled toward the nearest empty booth and slid into it. My vision was blurry from exhaustion and I yawned widely enough to crack my jaw as Cal slid in across from me.
His lips quirked up at the corners. “I can’t believe you’re still tired. You went to bed at eight.”
Yes, I had. Because it was either that or sit and try to make small talk with a man who thought small talk meant using small words in even smaller sentences. I wasn’t going to tell him that I’d lain awake all night listening to him breathe and wondering why he hadn’t tried to kiss me.
I knew it didn’t make any sense because I’d been sweating just such a thing earlier, but even I had never been able to explain my own tendency toward schizophrenic sensibilities.
“Coffee?”
My head shot up. “Yes! Please.”
The woman holding the coffee pot didn’t even blink. She looked like she was used to dealing with crazies. She poured black gold into my cup and I thanked her before taking a quick sip.
“Francine, isn’t it?” Cal held his mug up for her to fill.
“That’s right. You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m Cal Amity and this is Miss Chance.”
I waited for the usual smirk over our names but the woman just nodded. “It’s nice ta meet ya.” She set the pot down on the table and pulled out a ticket book. “What can I get y’all to eat?”
Cal ordered a massive breakfast with eggs and bacon and sausage, biscuits and gravy and pancakes and I ordered an English muffin.” Francine ambled toward the kitchen with our order.
“She’s very calm,” I observed.
Cal sipped his coffee. “The sheriff told me to talk to her about Bubba. Apparently he came into the café on a regular basis.”
My eyes would have widened in surprise if they weren’t limp from lack of sleep. Remembering Pim’s description of Bubba as filthy and stinky, I said, “That must have been fun for the other customers.”
Cal shrugged.
Halfway through my cup of coffee I realized I’d never told Cal about our neighbor at the motel. “Hey, did you by any chance run into the guy in room eight at the Backwater yet?”
Cal ripped paper off his straw and dropped it into his water glass. “What guy?”
I frowned. “The guy in number eight. He’s kind of scary looking. He came out of his room last night while I was trying to get inside.”
Cal stopped sipping his water and set it down, fixing an intense look on me. “He didn’t hurt you did he? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I was too busy worrying about you jumping my bones and then being disappointed because you didn’t. I shook my head. “He didn’t hurt me. He just stood there in his underwear looking all judgmental.”
Cal’s eyebrows lifted.
“Yeah. Just like that.”
A few minutes of silence and sipping later, Francine returned with too many plates for one woman to carry. Somehow she managed. Settling plate after plate in front of Cal, she looked at me and frowned. “Oh, that’s what I was forgetting. I’ll be right back.”
I rolled my eyes as Cal dove into his food. He tucked a fork full of eggs into his mouth and then realized I didn’t have anything in front of me. “Where’s yours?”
“She forgot it.”
He set his fork down.
“Go ahead, your food will get cold.”
“I’m not eating until you do. My mama taught me better manners than that.”
“Really, go ahead.”
His expression turned to stone and I knew it reflected his will. A more stubborn man I’d yet to meet. It’d been an asset while searching for my father when everyone else had given up, but it was a titch annoying to deal with on a daily basis.
Francine finally arrived with my muffin.
Cal pulled the picture of my father out of his pocket. “I was wondering if you’d ever seen this man around the café?”
Francine took the picture and nodded. “That’s Bubba. ’Cept he doesn’t look like this anymore.”
Cal took the photo back from her. “He comes into the café?”
“Every Sunday, during church services. He likes to get a banana pudding before the church ladies get here and grab it all up.”
I couldn’t resist asking. “Pim Gordon says he’s always kind of disheveled.”
Francine fixed me with a bored look. “He doesn’t wear a suit or anything. His hair’s long and kind of straggly. But he’s usually clean. His clothes aren’t ratty.”
I nodded, feeling guilty for being so judgmental.
“Does he ever talk about where he lives? Or what he does with his time?”
The proprietor of Francine’s shook her head. “Bubba’s real private and soft spoken. He doesn’t talk to anybody. He orders his food and sits quietly until I bring it. Then he pays me in cash and leaves.”
I nodded but inside my head alarm bells were going off. Felonius Chance was anything but soft-spoken and private. He’d always been a take-charge kind of guy who liked to be the center of attention wherever he went.
“You didn’t happen to notice which way he goes out of town?”
Francine cocked her head, looking suspicious. “Why’re you askin’ all these questions about Bubba? He’s not in some kind of trouble is he?”
I opened my mouth to assure her that he wasn’t, but Cal ran me over.
“He might be. We just want to make sure he’s all right.”
She scanned us both again and then said, “He rides his bike South, down toward Alligator Bridge.” Francine started to turn away and stopped. “I don’t know if it means anything, but Bubba didn’t come in last Sunday. I hope he isn’t sick…or somethin’.” She let her gaze skim over us one last time and returned to the kitchen.
“Bike?”
Cal dug into his food. “That’s new information for sure. We’ll check out Alligator Bridge tomorrow.”
“What are we doing today?”
He swallowed a big bite of pancake, swiping his napkin over his mouth. “We’re going to Number Two.”
Shoving all the potty jokes that jumped into my brain aside, I grimaced. Wonderful. I’d always wanted to visit a gator infested island in the swamp that smelled like turds.
CHAPTER FIVE
Turned out we needed a boat to visit Number Two, so the intrepid Cal and I had driven the few blocks across Sinful to the General Store to rent one. Fortunately for us
, Cal had explained as we climbed into the Jeep, we needed to talk to Walter the owner anyway about Bubba, so we could “kill two Black-bellied Whistling-ducks with one stone.”
I skimmed him a glance as we headed for the brick-fronted store. “Well look at you, all bird watchy and stuff.”
Cal’s lips turned up in an embarrassed grin. “My dad’s family is from n'awlins. Dad and Uncle Mike used to bring me down here in the summer to fish in the bayou.”
My eyes went wide. “So you’ve been to Sinful before?”
He pulled the wooden screen door open and stepped back to let me precede him into the store. “No, but I’ve been within a dozen miles of this place. These bayous have the best fishin’ in the state of Louisiana.”
I realized with a start that it was the most Cal had ever told me about himself. The new knowledge put chips in the image of the marble god on a pedestal I’d created for him.
His marble had become slightly flesh colored.
I soon forgot my revelations as I looked around the store. It was filled to burstin’ with stuff. All kinds of stuff. Everything from cans of tuna to sleeveless party dresses. Cal fixed me with a look that glittered with humor. “You okay?”
My mouth had fallen open as my shopping fixation was engaged and I started down the first aisle like a zombie. I’d spotted a rack filled with purses. “Be right back,” I murmured.
I vaguely noted the sound of voices as the slightly less godlike Cal apparently discovered Walter.
I was all but oblivious. I’d found a one of a kind purse. My heart sang.
When I approached the checkout counter on the Bayou side of the store a few minutes later, Cal’s ocean-blue gaze locked onto my treasure, narrowing slightly. “What the hell is that?”
I was undaunted. A man couldn’t be expected to understand the genius of eclectic purse-wear. “It’s a one of a kind beaded, alligator shaped purse.” And so it was. The detail was amazing. The big, bulgy eyes of the critter looked so real I almost expected the gator to snap the grimace right off Cal’s face.
I handed the bag to the man behind the counter and he nodded. “These are handmade by a local woman. Her shop is in a cabin on stilts down in the lowlands.
I gave Cal a smug, see I told you so, look.
“You mean like the Baba Yaga?” Cal asked.
I glared while Walter chuckled.
Cal shook his head as I paid for my treasure. “Do you have a map of the bayou that will take us to Number Two?”
Walter reached beneath the scarred wooden counter and pulled out a photocopy of a hand-drawn map. “I tried the state maps for a while but folks just kept getting lost. So I drew one up myself.”
Cal looked it over and nodded. “This is good. Thanks.” He offered the owner his hand and slid me a look as I claimed my new purse. “You gonna take that on the boat?”
“I am.” I didn’t want to explain to him that one of the reasons I’d gotten the bag was because it had a wide, soft strap that was long enough to wear across my body. The gold I’d reclaimed from Pim Gordon was so heavy my leather bag was cutting into my shoulder. Plus it had a zipper so I didn’t have to worry about the gold falling out.
I didn’t think it was safe to leave the gold in the motel or the car so I was carrying it around with me. My new bag would make that a lot easier. “Let me just run out to the Jeep and switch my stuff over to the new purse.”
“So what kinds of stuff does Bubba buy from you?” I heard Cal ask Walter as I stepped out into the bright Louisiana sun.
I glanced quickly around before I opened the door of the car and started transferring the gold. A few people were fishing off a nearby dock. Several yards away, two women stood in the shade created by the roof’s overhang, their backs to me, chatting. And a man disappeared around the corner of the building, heading for the water. I frowned, thinking something about him was familiar. But I didn’t get a good look at him so I shrugged it off and did my business.
“Gettin’ some supplies?”
I jumped, cracking my head on the door frame and turned, rubbing the sore spot. The two women I’d noted in the distance were standing a few feet away. I realized who they were.
“Hi, Ida Belle. Fortune.” The younger woman stiffened slightly as I looked at her and one of her hands slipped around to the small of her back. I couldn’t shake the feeling we’d met before. We locked gazes for a beat and then I couldn’t help asking, “Did you grow up around here, Fortune?”
She smiled but it didn’t make it all the way to her eyes. Tucking a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear, the other woman shook her head. “I’m a transplant. My aunt Margie died a few weeks ago and I came down to close up her house.”
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Fortune shrugged, frowning slightly.
“Where’s your handsome shadow?” Ida Belle asked.
“He’s inside. We’re going to rent a boat and search Number Two.” I must have grimaced a little because the other women nodded pityingly.
Fortune stuck her hands into the pockets of her cut off jean shorts. “Make sure you ask Walter for some Mentholatum to put under your noses. It helps drown out the stink.”
Ida Belle nodded.
“Yeah.” I grimaced again. “Thanks. I’m really looking forward to this.”
“Oh, you got one of Lena Borne’s purses!” Ida Bella smiled. “She’s in the SLS.”
I grinned. “Yes! I’m so excited. I love it. Does she do any other animals? I’d like to get my BFF in Indiana one. She’s just gonna die when she sees this.”
Fortune snorted and then looked alarmed. “Did I say that out loud?”
Ida Belle glared at her friend. “Lena feeds her family with those purses. She’s a genius with beads. You know that’s a real alligator tooth on the pull.”
“I didn’t know that—”
The door opened and Cal stuck his head out. “You ready?” He gave Ida Belle and Fortune a brisk wave.
I slipped my new bag over my shoulder and closed the door of the Jeep. “I’ll see you two later.”
“If you want I’ll take you out to Lena’s place tomorrow.”
I turned, walking backward toward the store. “I’d love that!” My heel hit the bottom step and I fell backward, slamming into the second step with my butt. My new bag hit the wood next to my hip with a thud.
“You got bricks in that thing?” Fortune asked.
“Ha. Ha, ha.” I shoved to my feet before Cal spotted me and hurried up the steps, intending to tell him we needed Mentho-something for the stench.
I was hoping it would help me enjoy the trip up the Bayou. If not our stint on the turd scented island.
###
I lay back against the wood platform at the front of the low-slung metal boat, trailing my fingers through the water and soaking up the sun.
Cal didn’t speak for several minutes, his mind seemingly on guiding the boat down the narrow, winding waterway.
The water was mud brown and still, dotted with tall, knobby stumps that Cal was busily working to avoid. They were rounded at the tops and usually found in clusters. “Those don’t look like any tree stumps I’ve ever seen before.”
“Swamp cypress knees. The root of a swamp cypress grows straight down into the bayou, as long as the tree is tall. But since they’re under water most of the time, they sprout these knees, which are really outgrowths of the roots, so they can catch air.”
“Hmm, who knew?”
Cal’s gaze slid in my direction. I noted the soft crinkling in the corners of his eyes. The sun off the water was blinding.
“You should have gotten sunglasses,” I told him.
I’d dug sunglasses out of my gator purse and slathered sunscreen over my exposed parts. The perks of carrying around a large bag. I always had room for emergency supplies.
“Don’t like ’em. Never have.”
Alrighty then. I lay back and trailed my fingers for a couple more minutes.
Cal shi
fted a little on his bench and jerked his chin upward. “You might want to pull your hand in.”
I glanced where he was looking and gave a little squeal as the inspiration for my new purse slithered by not more than five feet from the boat. The gator had to be ten feet long. “Holy crap!”
When I looked at Cal he was grinning. “You should see your face.”
He laughed and something thumped warmly in my stomach. “Ha. Smart guy.” But I grinned back, happy that the stick in his ass seemed to have softened a bit. “How much farther is it?”
A soft breeze wafted a sewage-like scent over the water and I coughed, covering my nose with my hand. “Never mind. Obviously we’re close.”
“You might want to break out that stuff Walter gave us.”
I was way ahead of him. I had my purse open and was pulling the little plastic jar out. “So you never told me what you and Walter talked about.”
“While you were shopping?”
I handed him the jar, arching an eyebrow at his grin. “It was a cool store. Sue me.”
He laughed, shaking his head. I couldn’t help noticing how the intense Louisiana sun painted his coal-black hair with blue highlights. He had the most beautiful, thick black hair, which waved a little on top and curled just over his ears.
“…boat. He said the guy always paid cash.”
I shook myself out of my daydream and sat up straighter. “Wait…Walter sold Bubba a boat?”
Cal cut the power on the motor. “Among other things, yes.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Things you wouldn’t use in a ramshackle cabin on a stinky fishing island.” He jerked his chin toward something behind me.
I turned and saw a series of small, broken down buildings dotting the island we were slowly approaching.
The boat lurched softly forward. Cal was using a long pole to maneuver it around several clusters of the tree knees.
“Sheets, blankets, cookware. He bought some DVDs.”
My eyes widened. “No electricity out here,” I offered unnecessarily.
“Nope.”
“Then this is a wasted trip.”