Catch the Girl

by Melinda Woodhall

  “What?” the heavy-set man named Dooley yelled back, his voice muffled by the massive propeller behind him.

  Barker shook his head and gave up. Yelling would attract even more attention than the orange flag.

  Steering the big boat toward a canal hidden within a thick cluster of mangroves and swamp maples, Dooley called out again.

  “Big gator up ahead…there, to your right.”

  Frankie clutched at Barker’s arm, as if the alligator might jump over the edge of the boat and climb into the elevated chair next to him.

  “Calm down, Frankie,” Barker yelled, hauling his arm out of Frankie’s grasp. “We’re up here and the gators are down there.”

  The boat slowed down as the waterway narrowed and the mangroves grew thicker along the edge of the canal. Barker tried to see past the cordgrass and the towering cypress trees without success.

  If this boat breaks down, I’m waiting for a tow. No way am I walking through that.

  Ten minutes later the canal opened into a wide lake, the banks thickly wooded with pine trees and water oak. Slowing the boat, Dooley pointed to the right, where the tree line faded into a gentle slope.

  “That’s the backend of the CSL compound,” Dooley said, scratching his considerable paunch. “They own those gardens and that grove of citrus trees. Oranges and tangerines I think.”

  Barker stared over at the neat vegetable patches and symmetrical rows of trees. From what he could see, it didn’t appear to be a dangerous place.

  Looks more the Garden of Eden than the lair of the beast.

  A man walked into view, pushing a wheelbarrow, followed by several women carrying baskets. They looked over at the sound of the airboat’s propeller. The man set down the wheelbarrow handles and began walking toward the water’s edge.

  Dooley raised a lazy hand in a half-hearted wave, then accelerated past the commune’s dock, steering the airboat toward a slow-moving tributary. When they were out of sight of the compound, Dooley cut the engine.

  “So, that’s it.” Dooley stifled a yawn. “What else you wanna see?”

  “What about the guy who runs the place…Jacob Albright?”

  Dooley rolled his eyes in Frankie’s direction.

  “I thought we already went through that last night, Frankie. Jake’s a local boy. Sure, he served some time, but now he’s back. That’s all I know.”

  Barker studied the man’s chubby face, not liking the defensive tilt to his weak chin. The little man was hiding something.

  “You ever see Jake outside of the compound with any girls? Does your good buddy like to party? He frequent any of the bars around here?”

  Dooley shook his head, his eyes not meeting Barker’s.

  “You know, Dooley, you sure are a shitty liar,” Frankie said, keeping his eyes on the water around the boat. “Why are you protecting a scumbag that served five years for being a damn pervert? I thought you were a God-fearing Christian boy.”

  Keeping his eyes on the bottom of the boat, Dooley say back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I am a Christian,” he muttered, “but around here folks fear Buck Henry more than God. And he and his boys don’t like anyone talking to outsiders.”

  “Who the fuck’s Buck Henry?” Frankie asked, watching a water snake slither through the murky water with wide eyes. “And what does he have to do with Jacob Albright?”

  Impatient for anything that might lead him to Taylor, Barker was tempted to grab the pudgy man and shake him. Maybe then some valuable information would fall out. Instead he forced himself to remain quiet and listen.

  “Buck Henry’s the man Jake works for.” Dooley looked around as if the alligators might be listening. “He makes…deliveries for Buck, only no one knows what’s in ‘em.”

  Barker wondered what kind of deliveries Jacob was so determined to hide. He pictured the CSL produce truck he’d encountered on Highway 42, and the aggressive young man who’d chased Barker away.

  Maybe he wasn’t hiding information about Taylor after all. Maybe he was just hiding a delivery for the local tough guy.

  Barker glared over at Dooley.

  “The blond boy that drives the CSL truck. What’s his story?”

  “He’s not from around here,” Dooley said. “But I can tell he’s a strange one.”

  Frankie grinned, then leaned over to whisper in Barker’s ear.

  “My mama always said it takes one to know one.”

  Barker shoved him away and scowled, then turned back to Dooley.

  “What do you mean by strange? What’s he done?”

  Lowering his voice, Dooley leaned toward Barker.

  “I seen him coming out of the swamp a few nights back. He was covered in blood. Looked like he’d been huntin’ gators and snakes with his bare hands.”

  Frankie’s smile faded, and his eyes returned to the water.

  “And he’s always carrying a shotgun around. Besides, he just looks like a crazy little fucker."

  Dooley looked up at the sun peeking out from behind a gray cloud.

  “Look, I gotta get back for my next ride.”

  “Just one more thing,” Barker said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Taylor’s picture.

  “You ever seen this girl around here?”

  Dooley stared at the picture, then blinked.

  “Yeah, I've seen her before. She used to work over at Little Gator's Diner. The only good-looking gal Chester ever had workin' for him other than that granddaughter of his.”

  Barker’s heart hammered in his chest.

  “You remember the granddaughter’s name?”

  Dooley closed his eyes and strained hard as he tried to think, earning a dirty look from Frankie.

  “I can’t remember,” Dooley finally said. “I think Chester called her Honey or Sugar or something like that. All I know is she was a real looker.”

  “What happened to her?” Barker asked.

  Dooley seemed stumped. He shrugged his meaty shoulders.

  “I dunno. She just wasn’t there one day…just like the girl in that photo. Maybe they done run off together. Can’t say I blame ‘em. There’s nothing but trouble around here for girls like that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Frankie’s stomach lurched along with the airboat as Dooley navigated a wide tum and headed back the way they’d come. Seeing open water ahead, Dooley stomped on the accelerator and jammed the rudder stick forward, causing the boat to hydroplane, and for a heart-stopping second Frankie felt the boat tilt sideways, before it settled onto the water’s surface again with a messy splash.

  As they sped toward the commune Frankie fumbled for his phone, opening the camera app just as they approached the wooden dock. He held up the phone with numb fingers, willing himself not to drop it over the side of the boat.

  Cause there’s no fucking way I’m going in after it.

  Aiming the camera toward the sloping lawn and citrus grove that was now visible to his left, Frankie saw the figure of a short man standing at the foot of the dock, a rifle held in the crook of one arm.

  “He’s armed,” Barker hollered to Frankie. “Get ready to jump.”

  Frankie twisted to stare back at Barker, wondering if the older man had lost his mind.

  “I ain’t jumping nowhere,” Frankie yelled back. “He can shoot my ass before I go in that water.”

  But the man made no move to lift the gun or point it toward the boat. He just watched as they jetted past, his face blank, his white-blond hair reflecting the few rays of sun that had managed to make their way through the overcast sky above.

  Using his free arm to wave, Frankie used his other hand to take a random series of shots, training the phone’s camera on the man with the rifle and the people working in the garden and the grove.

  Once they’d passed out of view, Frankie lowered his stiff hand and dropped his phone back in his pocket.

  “You see anything interesting?” he called over to Barker, who was stari
ng back toward the commune.

  Barker didn’t respond, he just stared into the distance, wearing a dazed look that worried Frankie. The rest of return trip was spent in silence, with Frankie keeping watch for rogue alligators and Barker seemingly lost in his thoughts.

  The tiny Viper Airboat office was crowded when they docked the airboat and went inside. A family on a road trip from New Jersey to Naples had booked a swamp tour, and Hank was giving them the obligatory safety talk. Frankie motioned for Barker to follow him back to the Prius.

  Pulling out his phone, he began thumbing through the pictures he’d taken, most of which were hopelessly blurry, showing only distorted streaks of water, land and sky. He stopped when he saw the final few photos.

  A clear picture of the rifle-toting man on the dock was followed by a shot of several women standing in the garden. One of the women was tall and slim, with long dark hair falling down her back.

  “Look at this one, Barker,” Frankie demanded, the excitement in his voice causing Barker to grab the phone from him.

  Barker stared at the photo, zooming in on the same woman that had caught Frankie’s attention.

  “Is it her, man? Is that Taylor?”

  Frankie watched Barker’s face, holding his breath as the ex-detective studied the picture. After a few seconds Barker sighed and shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Frankie. I’ve been looking for Taylor for the last two years. I see her on every street and in every car. Anywhere there’s a tall girl with dark hair. But none of them ended up being my Taylor.”

  Frankie placed his long, skinny hands on Barker’s shoulders and gave him a shake.

  “Stop the pity party, man. That girl back there might be your daughter. She could be alive and safe and only a few miles away."

  Barker nodded, his eyes raising to meet Frankie’s with both hope and fear.

  “And if the murders of those two girls are connected to the commune, Taylor could be in real danger."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Eli stood by the dock watching the airboat speed across the lake and out of sight. His head hurt, and his eyes burned from fatigue, but he’d still managed to recognize the older man from the other day.

  It was the same man who’d been nosing around the truck when he and Zac had broken down. The same one who’d snuck into the compound and confronted Jacob. The one that looked like a cop.

  Eli wondered who the other man was, and why he’d been taking pictures of the commune.

  They sure don’t look like tourists to me. Must be the ones Angel warned me about. The ones that want to destroy the congregation.

  Hearing voices approaching behind him, Eli rubbed his sore eyes, took one last look at the water, then began walking up the slope toward the garden. His pulse quickened when he saw Marie among the group of women that had come to gather oranges.

  Anxiety flashed through him when he saw the other women in the group. Naomi, Judith and Priscilla crowded around Marie, each trying to harvest as many oranges as possible before the temperatures fell below freezing.

  As Eli drew closer to the grove, he slowed down, trying to catch Marie’s eye, hoping for a smile.

  “You planning to shoot us, Brother Eli?” Priscilla asked as she dropped several plump oranges into a crate at her feet. “Or is that a toy gun?”

  “It’s a real gun all right, Sister Priscilla.” Eli adjusted the rifle in his arms, trying to ignore the headache that was growing stronger. “I’m on guard duty. Brother Jacob says we gotta protect the congregation.”

  Naomi looked up at the mention of her husband’s name, her bright green eyes silently assessing Eli.

  “Well, make sure you’re careful with that thing, now,” Judith said, picking up an empty crate from the stack. “I’m sure Brother Jacob doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  “Listen to your mother now, Brother Eli,” Naomi said, as she pulled down a ripe orange. “She always knows just what my husband wants. Why, she hangs on his every word.”

  Priscilla scowled at her daughter’s spiteful remark, but before Eli could react, Judith lightened the tension with a soft laugh.

  “I do have a weakness for Brother Jacob,” Judith admitted. “He helped Eli when few other men would, and he allowed me to come and be near my boy as well. He’s a good man.”

  Eli instinctively bristled at the words of praise for a man that had proven to be so selfish, before feeling a sense of shame and dread wash over him. Jacob had welcomed him into his flock and called him brother, and yet Eli was sitting in judgment of him, branding him a sinner.

  Will I be struck down like Ruth and Candace for my betrayal?

  Eli shook the thought from his head, noticing that Marie had kept herself out of the conversation. She worked quickly and silently, focused only on harvesting the oranges, her deft hands reaching, twisting, pulling and dropping the fruit with effortless grace. Eli wondered why Marie was ignoring him.

  Maybe she’s still shook up after what happened this morning.

  He felt bad about shooting at Marie and Jacob in the garden earlier. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but Angel had given him an order. He could still hear her ominous voice in his head.

  "It is God's will, not mine…you must stay strong."

  Recalling the pitiless gleam in her eyes, Eli felt an involuntary shiver ripple down his back. He knew from experience that defying Angel’s orders could prove deadly, and he’d given up trying to resist her plans.

  Besides, she hadn’t wanted him to really shoot them, had she? His head ached, making it hard for him to remember exactly what she’d said, but he was sure she’d just wanted to scare Jacob away from Marie. Deep-down Eli knew he had wanted the same thing.

  Brother Jacob’s already hurt enough women around here. I don’t want him hurting Sister Marie, too.

  Circling around the women and their growing stacks of crates, Eli headed up toward the main house. He looked back over his shoulder, hoping for another glimpse of Marie, only to find her staring after him with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Brother Eli, can we get some help over here?”

  Forcing himself to pull his eyes away, Eli turned to see Ma Verity shuffling through the garden toward the smooth expanse of lawn by the water. Zac was struggling to carry her big rocker while keeping a steadying hand on the older woman’s arm.

  “What are you doing, Brother Zac? Why are you bringing Ma down here?” Eli glanced nervously at the water, half-expecting to see the men on the airboat returning. “It’s not safe.”

  Zac shrugged, his face sagging with worry.

  “I wanted to get some sun, Brother Eli,” Ma Verity called out, her voice slurring on the words. “It’s too cold for my old bones up in that old house.”

  Positioning the chair on an even patch of grass, Zac turned to walk back toward the house without a word.

  “That boy’s not very happy, is he?” Ma Verity muttered at Zac’s retreating figure. “Must be worried about poor Sister Ruth.”

  Eli looked away, avoiding the woman’s pale blue eyes, unsure what he should say about Ruth.

  Sister Ruth was a traitor…she got what she deserved…

  Somehow he knew that wasn’t true, no matter what Angel said, and no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself. Ruth had been innocent. He clutched at the throbbing pain in his head and stumbled toward the women in the grove, driven by a need to talk to Marie. To explain what he’d done and why.

  But Marie was gone. Confused, Eli stopped, looking up toward the house, then down to the water; there was no sign of her. The other women ignored him as they hurried to fill their crates. He stood, his head spinning, then moved toward the potting shed. Maybe Marie had gone to collect herbs for teatime.

  A cluster of moss-covered oak trees hid the entrance to the wooden shed, and for a minute Eli thought he’d missed it. When he spied the little wooden door, he had to put a shaky hand on the doorframe to stop himself from falling.

  Wrenching the door open, he
peered inside. The dim interior was cold and silent. He blinked, his eyes trying to adjust to the light, trying to focus on the long white sheet draped over a long table.

  Is that a body under there? Could Angel have already gotten to Marie?

  He knew it was impossible, but his throat constricted, making it hard for him to draw in a breath as he crept toward the sheet, waves of dizziness washing over him with each step.

  “Marie?” His voice sounded hollow in the quiet room.

  Lifting a numb hand, he picked up the edge of the sheet and pulled, revealing a tray of purple flowers. Weak with relief, Eli stared down at the blossoms, wondering vaguely if he should bring some leaves back to the house, but not sure what part of the plants were needed to make Angel’s special tea.

  "She's not here,” a voice hissed behind him, the words sending bolts of ice through his veins.

  Eli jumped, but he didn’t turn around. Temples throbbing, he closed his eyes, resisting the urge to raise his rifle and turn to confront the woman behind him.

  “Sister Marie is the one that helped Sister Ruth run away. She’s part of the plot against us. The little whore could ruin everything."

  Eli shook his head, his hands clenching around the cold metal of the rifle, his mind reeling as she told him what lay ahead.

  The killing wasn’t over, and Marie would be the next to die.

  Chapter Thirty

  Marie stepped back from the big window in the kitchen, careful not to be seen by Eli as he scanned the lawn and main gardens then headed toward the west end of the property. She knew without a doubt that he was looking for her. What he wanted with her wasn’t as clear.

  When Marie had first arrived at CSL, Father Jed had welcomed her with paternal affection, and Eli, also a newcomer to the congregation, had seemed to be the little brother she’d never had.

  All the heartbreak and guilt she’d been running from had faded behind the comforting walls of the compound, and she believed she’d found a new family. A family that was based on simple truths, honest work and shelter from the evils of the world outside. But then Father Jed’s sudden death had changed everything.