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“About ten minutes ago.”
Guitreaux scratched his neck.
“They’re really getting around, those FBI guys,” Erica said, hoping to elicit a reaction. Just one small reaction from Guitreaux. If she knew anything about men, she knew they couldn’t stand being outdone by another man. Especially when it came to their jobs. The fact that a man and a woman might outdo Guitreaux was probably even worse.
The Detective looked toward the window. “I’d like a coffee and one of those chocolate danishes, if you don’t mind,” he said, scratching his neck some more.
“They were questioning Chris,” Erica added.
“Is that so?”
She set a cup and saucer in front of Guitreaux. She filled the cup with coffee. “Made him so upset we’re closing early for the day. You’re the only one I’ve let in since he left.”
She pulled a danish from the pastry bin and served it to him. “Seems like they know something they’re not sharing,” she prompted. “Think they do?”
Guitreaux dipped the pastry into his coffee then took a big bite.
“Chris. . . a peeping tom. Really. Now how weird is that?” she said.
Guitreaux almost choked.
“Where’d you hear that?” he spat, wiping his mouth.
“From the agents. They talked about it here at the counter like it wasn’t a secret or anything. Is it?”
“Now don’t go spreading that around,” Guitreaux warned. “That’s not information the sheriff wants out there.”
“You know anything about this Sarah Greene girl?” Erica asked. “I mean, have any clues turned up that you know about?”
He quietly chewed.
“She take anything with her when she disappeared? Like a runaway would? Clothes? A toothbrush?”
Guitreaux took a long drink of his coffee. He set the cup down. “You’re full of questions. Thought you didn’t know the kid.”
“I don’t. I just want to, you know. . . learn about what ya’ll do. Investigations stuff.”
“You’re kiddin’ me. A pretty little girl like you?”
Erica tried hard not to glare at him. She needed something from him. Something important.
“Just doesn’t seem like the kind of work that pretty ladies like you would be interested in is all,” he added.
Erica lowered her voice. “I’m writing a book. A mystery. So I’m, you know, doing some research.”
For a second, his eyes filled with what looked to be curiosity. “No shit? School project or the real thing?”
“The real thing,” Erica said between clenched teeth. The guy turned her stomach with his incompetence. But she knew the sheriff wouldn’t give her the time of day, much less the FBI, so her hands were tied.
“What about?”
“Can’t really say,” she said. “Anyway, think I could tag along with you a little? Watch how you investigate?”
Guitreaux shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You may be a little distracting, honey. . . if you know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t. What do you mean?”
He looked her over for a long moment. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Hmm. . . Yeah, I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 58
“YOU SLEEPIN’ WITH him?” Mac asked, his eyes shiny against the dull glow of the porch light.
“What?” Haley asked, incredulously. The dust hadn’t even had a chance to settle since Austin and Erica had driven off. It felt strange to find Mac waiting for her.
“I’ve noticed he’s been taking you home an awful lot,” he said. It was the first time she’d seen Mac’s eyes look so cold.
“Mama’s been leaving with the car lately. We work together, so Austin’s given me a few rides.”
“Wasn’t Erica working tonight? She could have taken you home.”
“Austin took her home, too, Mac. Her truck won’t start. Besides we closed early today. What is this about exactly?”
He took his gold lighter from his pocket and snapped it open, then shut. “You didn’t answer my question.”
A wave of anger passed through her. “No, I’m not sleeping with him. He’s got a girlfriend. But even if I were, I don’t think you and I would be discussing it.”
Mac said nothing. He held the gold cigarette lighter in his hand and the lid snapped open and shut again. Then he looked down at his muddy boots.
“And how did you know Erica was working tonight? Are you checking up on me?”
“I watch out for you,” he said, his voice soft but the vein in his neck trembling. “You know that.”
“But that’s not your job anymore.”
He looked out at the bayou. “Yeah, guess not.”
Haley studied Mac and suddenly wondered if he was more sad than angry. She noticed a sack next to the rocking chairs. “You brought crawfish?”
Mac nodded. “Ordered extra from Comeaux’s. Thought about your family.” He pulled his cap from his head and looked at her, his hair disheveled and plastered against his skull. He ran his fingers through it. “So, you like him like that?”
“What?” she asked.
“Austin.”
“Like what?” she countered. “The way you like Rachel Anderson?”
Chapter 59
HE HURLED THE large rock and the big window shattered, the racket slicing through the still night. What he was about to do was risky. Riskier than anything he’d ever attempted. But he had no choice. Rachel was gone and this might be his only chance.
He had given Tom the benefit of the doubt with Tiffany, thinking that if he destroyed her, the family would have the opportunity to go on happily. Tom had had his chance and failed miserably.
Now he’d suffer the consequences for his actions.
A light blinked on in the bedroom. A moment later, one in the living room. The backdoor swung open and Tom Anderson stepped outside.
“What the hell?” He shuffled toward the broken window, stood in his bathrobe and scratched his head.
The crickets had gone mute those first few moments after the earsplitting noise of the window shattering, but now they began chirping again.
Adrenaline boiled in his veins. In a flash, he rushed up to Tom and struck him hard in the head with a metal bat. The older man cried out and, immediately, dropped to the ground. As Tom squirmed in the damp grass, his head cradled in his hands, he struck him several more times. In the kidneys, the backs of his thighs, his shoulders. Then he cuffed him.
He pulled him to his feet and pressed the hunting knife to his throat. Tom groaned.
“Fuck with me. . . just one time, and that’ll be the last thing you do. You clear on that?” he growled from behind the wool ski mask.
Tom nodded.
“Get movin’,” he snarled and pushed Tom toward the woods. He needed the man to cooperate for the trek back to the pond. Once there, he would finish him and dispose of the body.
Shivers coursed up the back of his neck as they walked through the dense brush, a hunting knife jammed into Rachel’s husband’s back. A second knife wedged between his belt and waistband. An owl screeched, its nocturnal hunt interrupted. The moon, fat and furious, sliced through the trees to light their gloomy path.
But he was suddenly having difficulty breathing. His breaths came ragged and shallow behind the itchy wool ski mask and he knew it was just the begi
As they marched, single file, among the indistinct shapes and shadows of the murky woods, he forced himself to think of Sarah Greene. Her kill had been different than Tiffany’s. With Sarah, he’d spent a fair amount of time scrubbing blood from the walls and dingy carpeting of his bedroom.
The rush was like nothing he’d experienced before. It had been even more intense than with Tiffany. But the calm didn’t last for long. After only a few hours his mother’s horrifying presence had made it back inside his head. He wondered when it would ever end. And if it even would.