Read Online Water Witch by Deborah LeBlanc - Free Book Online

doggonnit!”
    “Just listen to dat,” Poochie said with a
snort. “Dem two is at it again.” Having reached the glass door
first, she turned her walker sideways and hipped her way into the
building.
    Once inside, it was easy to see why Angelle
had laughed when I’d asked if the place was a bed and breakfast.
Judging by the four aisles filled with assorted foodstuffs, we’d
entered the grocery store end of the Bloody Bucket. The small place
looked clean but old, and it smelled of grilled onions and fresh
fish. The short, narrow counter near the right wall was crammed
with various displays—chewing gum, cigarette lighters, artificial
fishing bait, rhinestone bracelets, beef jerky, and Eveready
batteries. There was hardly room for the cash register, which was a
punch key model circa 1953. Butted up against the backend of the
counter were two tables, both with faded red bench seats made out
of hard plastic. Each table held an ashtray, salt and pepper
shakers, a bottle of ketchup and an even taller bottle of Tabasco
sauce. On the other side of the room was a set of old saloon type
swinging doors, which I assumed led to the bar. And to the right of
the doors stood an elderly couple who appeared to be in the middle
of a hand-wrestling match. The woman was nearly half a foot taller
than the man and probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds.
    “What’s all de noise about?” Poochie
demanded. “We could hear y’all big mout’s all de way ‘cross de
bayou.”
    The wrestling stopped immediately, and the
couple turned towards her at the same time. Angelle let out a
little gasp, and my heart did a kerthunk when we caught
sight of the generous amount of blood smeared on the front of the
man’s white t-shirt.
     
     
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “Merciful Jesus and all de saints!” Poochie
said, her face growing pale. “What you did, Sook? Stab him?”
    The woman tsked loudly. “No, the darn fool
did it hisself.” Grabbing the man’s left hand by the wrist, she
pulled it into view. A blood soaked paper towel covered his palm.
She yanked it off, revealing a deep gash that promptly sprouted
fresh blood.
    The man grimaced. “Dammit, woman! Look it,
you got it bleedin’ again. Now I gotta start over with the paper
towels.”
    “Don’t you‘woman’ me, Vernon Francis Nezat,
and don’t you be cussin’ like that in front of comp’ny. That thing
needs stitches and you know it.”
    Poochie nodded vigorously. “Dat’s for sure.
Sook said it right on de nose.”
    “And quite a few stitches from the looks of
it,” Angelle said grimacing. “How on earth did you manage to do
that?”
    He pulled his hand out of Sook’s grip and
hissed in pain through his teeth. “First off, ain’t nobody takin’
after me with no needle and thread. I can fix it my ownself.
Nothin’ a little rubbin’ alcohol, paper towel, and freezer tape
won’t cure.” He marched over to the counter, grabbed a roll of
paper towels, and tore off a few sheets.
    Sook stuck a fist on her hip and huffed.
“Freezer tape ain’t gonna hold that, you old hard-head.”
    “Then I’ll use duct tape goddam—” He threw me
a quick, sheepish look. “I mean doggonit. Sorry.”
    I grinned. “No problem.”
    “Now ain’t that a fine howdy-do,” Sook said,
and headed towards me. “We standin’ ‘round here like fool idiots
that ain’t got a lick of sense for introducin’. You’ve gotta be
Gelle’s sister. How you doin’, Sugah?” She held out a hand, which I
quickly scanned for blood before shaking. “I’m Sook, and that
skinny piece of man over there with blood all over ‘im ‘cept for
that darn camouflage cap on his head is my husband, Vern.”
    “Dunny,” I said still holding my grin.
    She gave my gloved hand a curious look, and I
saw the question flash in her eyes. She didn’t ask it, though, only
released my hand and grinned back up at me. Her smile appeared easy
and genuine, but it did little to soften her face. Sook’s head and
neck