to dinner with that clown?”
The clown in question cleared his throat from his spot a few feet behind us, just in case Alex didn’t mean for him to overhear.
“It’ll be fine,” I whispered. “We’ll have dinner, and then he swore he’d forget all the crap I promised him after Katrina.”
Alex shook his head. “Just watch your back. And take the staff with you.”
“Rene! Le bateau—arrêtez!” Jean bellowed suddenly, pounding on the side of the wheelhouse.
What the hell? Alex and I ran to Jean’s side of the deck, and I caught my breath. Denis Villere sat on the bank holding a shotgun. A few feet away from him lay a man.
A man who was way too bloody to still be breathing.
CHAPTER 7
After tethering the Dieu de la Mer a few yards down the bank, Rene joined us on the aft deck. Already in FBI mode, Alex was pulling on his shrimp boots. Denis hadn’t moved.
“You”—Alex pointed at Jean and Rene—“stay onboard.” He frowned at my bootless feet. “DJ, you stay too, at least for now.”
“I got extra boots probably fit you if you need ’em, babe.” Rene headed back into the wheelhouse and began digging through a bin. He emerged a few seconds later holding a pair of white rubber boots with big, glittery silver fish on the sides. Their sheer outrageousness was cool. I wanted them.
“Thanks.” I sat down and pulled them on in place of my running shoes. I was going to have to buy my own shrimp boots when I got a chance. The last couple of years, there always seemed to be a swamp or a flooded house I needed to wade through.
By the time I stood up, Alex had splashed ashore. He squatted next to the body as he talked to Denis in a low voice. Surely it had to be a body. The man’s lower legs were the only parts of him not covered in blood. Alex looked up at me and shook his head, and I shivered despite the sun.
Alex and Denis exchanged sharp words I couldn’t make out. Finally, the mer thrust the shotgun at Alex, butt first. He looked mad as hell, which seemed to amuse Rene. What a jackass. Nothing about this was funny.
Giving a wide berth to the area immediately surrounding the body, Alex waded back to the boat, cracked open the shotgun, unloaded it, and handed it to me. Smart man. I wouldn’t hand me a loaded gun, either. He stuck the shot in his pocket and climbed onboard, Denis’s stony stare drilling holes in his back.
“Is there any way you can tell if our dead guy is human?” Alex asked. “If he is, I need to call the Plaquemines sheriff. If not, we need to call the Elders.”
“I might be able to tell.” I lowered my voice. “You think Denis did it?”
“He says no, that he was just coming to watch the water sampling to make sure Rene didn’t pull any funny shit, but who knows. Guy looks like he’s been dead a while, and he wasn’t killed with a shotgun.”
“He ain’t one of my people, or a Villere either one,” Rene called from the foredeck, in case we didn’t know he was listening. “Man’s too tall to be a mer.”
If the guy had been dead several hours, anybody could’ve done it, including Rene or even Jean. “How about an animal attack?” I asked Alex. “One of those wild boars you guys were talking about?”
“No, he was definitely carved up with a knife. Something sharp that could cut through muscle and bone, like a filet knife.” Alex shifted his eyes to where Rene and Jean sat in the shade on the foredeck, looking daggers at Denis. “You know, like a hunter or fisherman might use. It would take somebody strong.”
Well, hell. Could be Denis. Could be Rene or Robert or T-Jacques or just about anybody else in Southeast Louisiana. “Leave me alone a minute and see if I can feel anything.”
Back in the old days, before Katrina, the sentinels had sophisticated equipment to tell us when a preternatural came across the border from the Beyond. Now, there were so many pretes strolling in and out of the region we’d quit using the trackers. I’d have
The clown in question cleared his throat from his spot a few feet behind us, just in case Alex didn’t mean for him to overhear.
“It’ll be fine,” I whispered. “We’ll have dinner, and then he swore he’d forget all the crap I promised him after Katrina.”
Alex shook his head. “Just watch your back. And take the staff with you.”
“Rene! Le bateau—arrêtez!” Jean bellowed suddenly, pounding on the side of the wheelhouse.
What the hell? Alex and I ran to Jean’s side of the deck, and I caught my breath. Denis Villere sat on the bank holding a shotgun. A few feet away from him lay a man.
A man who was way too bloody to still be breathing.
CHAPTER 7
After tethering the Dieu de la Mer a few yards down the bank, Rene joined us on the aft deck. Already in FBI mode, Alex was pulling on his shrimp boots. Denis hadn’t moved.
“You”—Alex pointed at Jean and Rene—“stay onboard.” He frowned at my bootless feet. “DJ, you stay too, at least for now.”
“I got extra boots probably fit you if you need ’em, babe.” Rene headed back into the wheelhouse and began digging through a bin. He emerged a few seconds later holding a pair of white rubber boots with big, glittery silver fish on the sides. Their sheer outrageousness was cool. I wanted them.
“Thanks.” I sat down and pulled them on in place of my running shoes. I was going to have to buy my own shrimp boots when I got a chance. The last couple of years, there always seemed to be a swamp or a flooded house I needed to wade through.
By the time I stood up, Alex had splashed ashore. He squatted next to the body as he talked to Denis in a low voice. Surely it had to be a body. The man’s lower legs were the only parts of him not covered in blood. Alex looked up at me and shook his head, and I shivered despite the sun.
Alex and Denis exchanged sharp words I couldn’t make out. Finally, the mer thrust the shotgun at Alex, butt first. He looked mad as hell, which seemed to amuse Rene. What a jackass. Nothing about this was funny.
Giving a wide berth to the area immediately surrounding the body, Alex waded back to the boat, cracked open the shotgun, unloaded it, and handed it to me. Smart man. I wouldn’t hand me a loaded gun, either. He stuck the shot in his pocket and climbed onboard, Denis’s stony stare drilling holes in his back.
“Is there any way you can tell if our dead guy is human?” Alex asked. “If he is, I need to call the Plaquemines sheriff. If not, we need to call the Elders.”
“I might be able to tell.” I lowered my voice. “You think Denis did it?”
“He says no, that he was just coming to watch the water sampling to make sure Rene didn’t pull any funny shit, but who knows. Guy looks like he’s been dead a while, and he wasn’t killed with a shotgun.”
“He ain’t one of my people, or a Villere either one,” Rene called from the foredeck, in case we didn’t know he was listening. “Man’s too tall to be a mer.”
If the guy had been dead several hours, anybody could’ve done it, including Rene or even Jean. “How about an animal attack?” I asked Alex. “One of those wild boars you guys were talking about?”
“No, he was definitely carved up with a knife. Something sharp that could cut through muscle and bone, like a filet knife.” Alex shifted his eyes to where Rene and Jean sat in the shade on the foredeck, looking daggers at Denis. “You know, like a hunter or fisherman might use. It would take somebody strong.”
Well, hell. Could be Denis. Could be Rene or Robert or T-Jacques or just about anybody else in Southeast Louisiana. “Leave me alone a minute and see if I can feel anything.”
Back in the old days, before Katrina, the sentinels had sophisticated equipment to tell us when a preternatural came across the border from the Beyond. Now, there were so many pretes strolling in and out of the region we’d quit using the trackers. I’d have
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