Swamp Sniper (23 page)

“Why are they standing around in the cemetery talking?” Gertie asked. “It’s morbid. They should go to a bar or something.”

“They’re already dressed for it,” I agreed.

I shifted the backpack back over my shoulder and lifted the binoculars, taking a second to lock on to my two suspects. They were still standing in the same place chatting and showed no signs of leaving.

I reached for the focus and twisted it a bit to sharpen my view. I had just gotten it perfect when I heard a gunshot. A split second later, the branch above me splintered.

Chapter Twenty

Immediately, I tucked in behind the trunk and ducked. “What the hell!”

Gertie had flattened herself on the branch, her legs and arms dangling on each side, one hand still gripping the video camera. “You never know—”

“When someone might start shooting. I know. But why are they shooting at us?”

A second shot rang out, but this one farther away, and a flock of gray birds flew out of the tree, some of them headed straight for us. I ducked as two of the birds zoomed by but Gertie wasn’t as fortunate. One of them smacked her right on the head and sent her tumbling backward off the branch.
 

I lunged for her, but couldn’t reach her in time. Gertie’s body went into survival mode and her legs locked around the tree, preventing her from falling, but leaving her dangling like a bat, the video camera still clutched in her hand with a death grip.

“Doves,” Gertie said. “They’re not shooting at us. They’re hunting out of season.”

A third shot rang out. “Let’s talk later,” I said as I grabbed Gertie’s shirt and pulled her up, praying the fabric held. When she was back on the branch enough to keep from falling, I reached down and grabbed the video camera from her and then tossed it into my backpack.

“Start down and try to stay on the back side of the tree,” I said.
 

I pulled the binoculars from my neck and secured them in the backpack, then glanced down at Gertie, who had managed to get as far as the bottom branch but was now perfectly still and squinting at something in the cemetery. I glanced up and my heart dropped. Carter was running across the cemetery, and at the rate he was moving, would hit the tree line in less than a minute.

“It’s Carter,” I said. “Go. Go.”

I flipped over the branch and swung down to the lower one, releasing the upper branch with perfect timing and grabbing the lower like an Olympic gymnast. But with gunfire. As soon as my hands gripped the lower branch, I dropped straight down and made a perfect ten-point landing on the ground below.

I looked up at Gertie, who was still inching down the last branch. “Hurry up.”

Gertie looked down and frowned. “We’re not all in our twenties anymore, and that bird shit on me. It’s gross.”

“Forget the bird shit. Just drop. I’ll break your fall.” If she didn’t get out of that tree in the next ten seconds, Carter would be on top of us, and there was no way we could come up with an explanation for this one that would slide.

I’d expected an argument, or at least hesitation, but the words were no sooner out of my mouth than Gertie let go of the branch and plummeted down like a stone. Before I could brace myself, she slammed into me and we both hit the ground with a thud. I was up before the dirt even had time to land on my clothes and pulling Gertie up behind me.

Carter was only thirty yards away and closing fast. “Run,” I hissed and shoved her down the trail. She took off at a clip faster than I thought she had in her and I set out after her. Another shot rang out and I was pleased that it was off to our right. That should draw Carter off of us a bit and give us some time to get to the boat and get away cleanly.

Then Gertie veered to the right and I realized the trail was probably going to put us right on top of the shooters.
 

We burst into a clearing, and two men wearing camouflage and holding rifles froze and stared. Neither one of us even hesitated. We just ran right by without so much as a glance. A second later, I heard Carter yelling behind us and then the sounds of the men dashing off into the swamp. With any luck, the hunters would make more noise than us and draw Carter off.
 

We were running so fast, we didn’t realize we’d reached the bayou until it was too late. The trees abruptly ended and Gertie launched off the bank and dropped five feet below into the water right next to the boat. I put on the brakes and grabbed hold of a tree to keep from going in right behind her.
 

I hustled down the cypress roots into the boat and reached over the side to help a sputtering Gertie into the boat. As soon as she had two feet inside, she sprang up and hurried to start the motor. It roared to life with a single pull and I barely had time to stow my backpack in the bottom of the boat before Gertie twisted the throttle.

The boat leaped out of the water and I clutched the sides, praying her addled brain cells could operate at this speed. Her diminished mental capacity and constant refusal to wear glasses combined with the rate at which she whipped the boat down the curvy bayou was enough to make a thrill-seeker take up knitting.

I kept my head down in case Carter made it to the bayou before we got out of sight. I have no idea why. There couldn’t possibly be that many combinations of an old woman driving a boat like a bat out of hell and a young woman with a blond ponytail holding on for life in the bow.
 

I thought we had made it but as we made a hard left about fifty yards from our docking point, Carter leaned over the bank and looked down the bayou. Gertie whipped the boat around the corner so close to the bank that the side of the boat rubbed against the cypress roots as we went.
 

“Move to the center!” I yelled.
 

Gertie overshot the middle by a good twenty feet and only managed to move the boat as close to the right bank as she had been to the left. “Did Carter see us?”

“Yes. Right before we turned the corner, but I’m not sure he could make out who we were.”

“But he’ll suspect.”

Oh yeah. He’d suspect all right. “We need to get back to Ida Belle’s as soon as possible.”

It was the right sentiment, but the wrong thing to say. Gertie twisted the throttle on the boat even harder, roaring past a couple of fishermen headed the other direction. They yelled at her to slow down, but it didn’t faze her one bit. By the time we rounded the corner to the boat launch, I was certain I would die in a flat-bottomed aluminum boat on Sinful Bayou.
 

And that was just all levels of wrong.

Gertie didn’t cut the engine until she was only ten feet from the dock. I didn’t even bother to try to catch one of the pylons and chose instead to drop down into the bottom of the boat rather than be catapulted out of it when we collided with the pier. The force of the impact sent Gertie sprawling into the bottom of the boat, cussing a blue streak.

“Get the trailer,” Gertie yelled as she struggled to get up. “As soon as the boat’s on it, take off. Don’t worry about the hook. Just get to Ida Belle’s before Carter does.”

I grabbed the backpack and leaped onto the dock, digging my keys out as I scrambled for my Jeep. I vaulted into the driver’s seat and backed the trailer down the boat launch with the skill of a seasoned bass fisherman. Gertie had already backed away from the dock and was circling around to get a straight shot at the trailer.

I wasn’t convinced of Gertie’s “no hooking” plan but with no time to come up with something better, I put on the parking brake and waved her up.
 

Time was of the essence. I knew that. But I didn’t expect Gertie to launch the boat toward the trailer with quite the gusto she did it with. I knew she’d miscalculated the instant she took off, but with a rattled head and no glasses, I was going to get potluck. I waved my hands and yelled, trying to slow her down, but she was only twenty feet from the trailer before she realized she was going way too fast.

She cut the engine, but the damage was already done. The boat shot straight up the back of the trailer, but didn’t stop when it got to the front. Instead, it rode right over the top of the trailer and straight into the back of my Jeep.
 

I jumped away from the Jeep as the bow of the boat crashed to a stop across the backseat. The back of the boat tipped down into the trailer, wedged between the side rails.
 

“Go! Go!” Gertie yelled, still perched in the boat.

I jumped back into the Jeep and took off, praying the boat didn’t fall off the Jeep. As I pulled out of the boat launch area and onto the street, the boat slid a bit on the back of the Jeep, and the sound of metal grinding on metal made my teeth ache. I cringed and pushed my foot down on the accelerator, going as fast as I thought I could risk.
 

I could hear the trailer bouncing behind me and I checked the rearview mirror to make sure Gertie was still holding on. The top of her head barely peeked out from the bottom of the boat, so I pressed the gas a little harder.

As I squealed around the corner into the neighborhood, a car started backing out of his driveway and I knew there was no way I could stop in time. I laid on the horn and the car jerked to a stop. By the time I blew past, the middle-aged man driving the car had jumped out and was staring, mouth open. Maybe I’d luck out and he’d be one of those town drunk types that no one believed. I made the four blocks to Ida Belle’s house without any more trouble and let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see Carter’s truck anywhere.
 

Ida Belle was standing on the sidewalk in front of her house and waving me toward the garage. Her prized Corvette was parked at the curb. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind because the Jeep and the trailer weren’t even going to fit in the garage, but I whipped the Jeep around and backed the trailer into the garage, hoping our minor boat problem wouldn’t be as noticeable.

Ida Belle ran into the garage to help Gertie out of the back of the boat. I grabbed my backpack, jumped out of the Jeep, and ran into the house after Ida Belle and Gertie. I didn’t stop running until I got to the living room, where I collapsed on the couch. Gertie stumbled in after me and slumped in a recliner.
 

Ida Belle stood in the center of the living room, hands on her hips, glaring at the two of us. “What the hell did you do to my boat?”

“It was her fault.” Gertie and I both spoke.

I glared at her. “How could it possibly be my fault?”

“You backed the trailer too far in the water.”

“Are you kidding me? I could have been parked in Texas and you still would have driven that boat into my Jeep.” I looked at Ida Belle. “No more boats until you teach me how to drive.”

“Given that it’s probably going to take a crane to get my boat out of your Jeep,” Ida Belle said, “you’ll get no argument from me.” She looked at Gertie. “What exactly is the big rush? All I understood from your phone call was that I needed to open my garage and move my car.”

“Two guys started shooting at doves in the trees right next to us,” I said. “Almost hit us with the first round.”

“It’s not dove season,” Ida Belle said. “It’s not
anything
season.”

“That’s what Gertie said, which explains why Carter came running straight to our hiding place.”

Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “Oh! That’s not good.”

“So we hauled it out of there and made for the boat. He didn’t catch us in the swamp, but I’m pretty sure he saw us in the boat before we rounded the corner.”

“Crap,” Ida Belle said. “Do you think he made you?”

As I opened my mouth to answer, her doorbell rang. Ida Belle rushed to the window and peeked out the blinds. “It’s Carter.” She looked back at us and shook her head. “I got nothing for this one. I’ll have to make it up on the fly.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Ida Belle walked to the door and opened it. “Hello, Carter. What can I do for you?”

Carter peered into the living room and frowned when he saw Gertie and me sitting there. “I need to talk to you about your boat.”

“You looking to buy a new one?”

I saw his jaw flex. “No, I’m not looking to buy a boat. Your garage. Now!”

Ida Belle glanced back at us as she followed Carter outside. Gertie and I jumped up and hurried out behind them. I had zero idea how to explain the situation, but I needed to come up with something in the next ten footsteps.

Carter walked right to the back of my Jeep and pointed to the boat, still resting halfway in my vehicle. “Anyone care to explain this?”

“We were working on my boat,” Ida Belle said. “I don’t have a lift, so we improvised.”

I held in a smile. Damn, she was good.

He stared at each of us one at a time, his eyes unwavering. But he’d met his match in the three of us. We all looked him straight in the eye and with the most innocent expressions you’d ever seen. Quite frankly, if I wasn’t so worried about blowing my cover, it would have been downright scary.

“You expect me to believe that this boat, that is dripping water all over your garage, has been sitting here all afternoon, and that the three of you have been working on it?”