Read Online Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) by Linda Lovely - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Lovely
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Woody’s a
horse’s patoot, and Bea’s a stupid witch. How could he tell them and not me?”
I had no answer. If Janie was this troubled, she had reason.
Maybe she worried that her head—like Bonnie’s—might be destined for the
chopping block, and she’d be the last to know.
We rode in silence the rest of the way home.
FOUR
At the witching hour, I started my security watch of the
south end of the island. At least the skies had cleared. Patrolling in fog was
as much fun as swimming in pea soup. We seldom ride in pairs, and tonight was
no exception.
Only a handful of streetlights dotted the main drag while
total darkness cloaked any side street lined exclusively with undeveloped lots
and vacant houses. The gloom made me appreciate the world our ancestors
glimpsed by starlight. Swaying shapes, shadowy movements, the red eyes of
animals glowing like fiery embers.
At times, the island nightscape appeared serene and lovely.
I searched the heavens for falling stars and conversed with Jeff, imagining him
winking at me from above. However, this was not a night for communing. It had
an eerie edge.
By one a.m., I completed two slow circuits of the small
residential feeder streets, some paved, some gravel, branching off Dear Drive.
Since most of the island’s seniors played Taps long before midnight, the number of houses lit up like Halloween pumpkins surprised me. It seemed Stew’s death
would have a definite impact on electric bills.
His murder, just twenty-four hours old, made the undeveloped
Beach West terrain seem even spookier than Dear’s side streets. Entering this
black hole made me superstitious. But, at two a.m., it was past time to bump
down the logger’s lane that sliced into our island’s last bastion of jungle.
Twisting vines, thicker than a well-fed python, stitched the
palmettos, oaks and pines into a forbidding tapestry. Here and there, trees
felled by storms, insects or bulldozers provided visual breaks in the dense
growth.
A reddish light flickered through one of these windows. A
smoldering rubbish pile? I radioed the guard working the gate to let him
know I planned to leave my vehicle to investigate.
Absent a Bobcat, there was no way to drive to the glowing
beacon. So I picked my way through underbrush, wishing my feet were encased in
knee-high clodhoppers instead of lace-up work shoes. Last month Gator had to be
rushed to the E.R. after a water moccasin, residing in the general vicinity of
my shoe treads, sank its fangs into his ankle.
Uh-oh. The light spilled from a lantern. Scorched palm
fronds weren’t to blame. Crapola, who was out here? The fine hairs at
the base of my neck rose to attention. I sucked in a deep calming breath. Should
I creep back to my car and call for backup? Might a delay magically
improve my night vision? Would standing still give a snake time to slither up
my pants leg?
The call to action won. I’d get close enough to see who was
there, then decide on the appropriate flight or fight response.
Through the bramble, a hand appeared. It gripped a goblet
that glittered in the lantern’s beam. Blood red contents. Holy moly. For
courage, I brushed the gun at my hip. Did I really need to find out who inhabited the clearing by my lonesome? My brain waved a white flag.
Get out of this freaking swamp and summon backup.
My plan to retreat changed when my toe met a vine.
Freefalling into the clearing, I yelled, “Freeze,” like a reincarnated Elliot
Ness. My order prompted a girlish scream from a member of the interrupted
party.
Years of military training served me well. I hit the ground,
drew my gun, and recovered my feet in one fluid motion.
If you’re going to make an entrance, might as well go
whole hog.
I’m not sure what evil I expected, but it wasn’t the
Cuthbert twins. Jared stood still, a crimson decanter raised toward the
heavens. Henry paused mid-step in a shadow dance. His prop was a monster-sized
serrated hunting knife.
The spell broke. Jared fumbled
horse’s patoot, and Bea’s a stupid witch. How could he tell them and not me?”
I had no answer. If Janie was this troubled, she had reason.
Maybe she worried that her head—like Bonnie’s—might be destined for the
chopping block, and she’d be the last to know.
We rode in silence the rest of the way home.
FOUR
At the witching hour, I started my security watch of the
south end of the island. At least the skies had cleared. Patrolling in fog was
as much fun as swimming in pea soup. We seldom ride in pairs, and tonight was
no exception.
Only a handful of streetlights dotted the main drag while
total darkness cloaked any side street lined exclusively with undeveloped lots
and vacant houses. The gloom made me appreciate the world our ancestors
glimpsed by starlight. Swaying shapes, shadowy movements, the red eyes of
animals glowing like fiery embers.
At times, the island nightscape appeared serene and lovely.
I searched the heavens for falling stars and conversed with Jeff, imagining him
winking at me from above. However, this was not a night for communing. It had
an eerie edge.
By one a.m., I completed two slow circuits of the small
residential feeder streets, some paved, some gravel, branching off Dear Drive.
Since most of the island’s seniors played Taps long before midnight, the number of houses lit up like Halloween pumpkins surprised me. It seemed Stew’s death
would have a definite impact on electric bills.
His murder, just twenty-four hours old, made the undeveloped
Beach West terrain seem even spookier than Dear’s side streets. Entering this
black hole made me superstitious. But, at two a.m., it was past time to bump
down the logger’s lane that sliced into our island’s last bastion of jungle.
Twisting vines, thicker than a well-fed python, stitched the
palmettos, oaks and pines into a forbidding tapestry. Here and there, trees
felled by storms, insects or bulldozers provided visual breaks in the dense
growth.
A reddish light flickered through one of these windows. A
smoldering rubbish pile? I radioed the guard working the gate to let him
know I planned to leave my vehicle to investigate.
Absent a Bobcat, there was no way to drive to the glowing
beacon. So I picked my way through underbrush, wishing my feet were encased in
knee-high clodhoppers instead of lace-up work shoes. Last month Gator had to be
rushed to the E.R. after a water moccasin, residing in the general vicinity of
my shoe treads, sank its fangs into his ankle.
Uh-oh. The light spilled from a lantern. Scorched palm
fronds weren’t to blame. Crapola, who was out here? The fine hairs at
the base of my neck rose to attention. I sucked in a deep calming breath. Should
I creep back to my car and call for backup? Might a delay magically
improve my night vision? Would standing still give a snake time to slither up
my pants leg?
The call to action won. I’d get close enough to see who was
there, then decide on the appropriate flight or fight response.
Through the bramble, a hand appeared. It gripped a goblet
that glittered in the lantern’s beam. Blood red contents. Holy moly. For
courage, I brushed the gun at my hip. Did I really need to find out who inhabited the clearing by my lonesome? My brain waved a white flag.
Get out of this freaking swamp and summon backup.
My plan to retreat changed when my toe met a vine.
Freefalling into the clearing, I yelled, “Freeze,” like a reincarnated Elliot
Ness. My order prompted a girlish scream from a member of the interrupted
party.
Years of military training served me well. I hit the ground,
drew my gun, and recovered my feet in one fluid motion.
If you’re going to make an entrance, might as well go
whole hog.
I’m not sure what evil I expected, but it wasn’t the
Cuthbert twins. Jared stood still, a crimson decanter raised toward the
heavens. Henry paused mid-step in a shadow dance. His prop was a monster-sized
serrated hunting knife.
The spell broke. Jared fumbled
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