“Kidding.” Tugging on her hand, he’d claimed not to need a light. “I know my way.”
Contributing to the creepiness was a thick fog, which had made it impossible for her to see anything clearly, and the falling mist was so fine, it had felt like a sheer veil drifting across her face. She’d tried to keep from tripping over exposed treeroots, or getting bogged down in the spongy ground, or stumbling over the natural debris that littered it.
Mitch’s surefooted tread had been soundless.
They hadn’t gone all that far before she saw the blurry outline of a structure. It gradually had taken the shape of a house built in the Acadian style with a sloping roof and wide front porch.
When they reached the front steps, Mitch had cautioned her to be careful of the second one. “It rocks, but that’s on purpose.”
“Why?”
“To alert anyone inside of an unexpected approach.”
The explanation had an ominous ring, but she’d let it pass.
Mitch had produced a key from under a porch floorboard, used it to open the door, then had ushered her inside and flipped a wall switch to turn on a bright overhead light.
Noticing that she’d blinked against the sudden glare, he’d gone around the room turning on lamps, then had extinguished the overhead fixture. He’d also switched on a wall-mounted AC unit that coughed and sputtered but produced a stream of cool air that relieved the stuffiness.
Now he was facing her, apparently amused by her stupefaction. “John told me Beth had the same reaction the first time she was here. Kinda dumbfounded.”
“I don’t quite know what to make of it.”
“It’s a fishing camp, handed down through generations of John’s family, his father’s, I think. It now belongs to him by default. Nobody else wanted it.”
“Well, it is rather hard to get to.”
“Except by water. We’re on an island, surrounded by a network of bayous, which you have to know like the back of yourhand to find the place. That track we took from the highway to the garage is the only way to drive on and off it.”
“It’s an inconvenient location.”
“Not for moonshiners and bootleggers.” He grinned. “But that was a century ago. Now, it’s sorta John’s secret hideout. Maybe I should’ve blindfolded you before I got to the turnoff.”
“Don’t worry. If tortured I couldn’t tell anyone where I am. Do you come here often?”
“Yeah. John and I spend a lot of time here. Well, we did,” he said and shrugged ruefully. “I’ll be right back.” He turned away.
Unable to suppress her sudden panic, she said, “Where are you going?”
“To wash the blood off my hands. If you need a bathroom… through there.” He pointed to a doorway on the far side of the large room.
He went into a room on the opposite side and closed the door.
She stayed where she was, feeling the glassy eyes of the stuffed animals staring down at her. Eventually she ventured into the kitchen area, set the drugstore bag on the dining table, and washed her hands in the large, utilitarian sink, using liquid soap from a dispenser. As she was drying them with a paper towel, Mitch rejoined her.
He took two bottles of water from the refrigerator and passed one to her. She was too thirsty to refuse it, but after taking a long draught, she said, “Mitch, we can’t possibly stay here.”
“It’s rustic in character, but it’s got electricity and a freezer full of good Cajun cooking. After John and Beth married, she insisted on upgrading the bathroom fixtures. A toilet hasn’t backed up since, so you’re safe on that score.”
He looked down at her evening shoes, which the walk from the garage had all but finished off. “I’m sure Beth’s got some shoes here that you can swap out for those. You appear to be about the same size.”
“It’s not the amenities, Mitch. It’s—”
“I know what it is. You’re afraid you won’t be able to resist my animal magnetism. Hey, it happens. Especially in a secret and sultry atmosphere. Tell you what. To avoid temptation, you can bunk in John and Beth’s bed. I’ll use the guest room, where I sleep when I’m here.” He indicated the room he’d gone into to wash his hands. “I have a designated drawer and everything.”
She exhaled. “Stop being funny. I’m telling youseriouslythat Roland was busy in the restaurant all evening. From eight o’clock when I arrived until you saw us come out, I can vouch that he was in the dining room.
“When the fight in the median started, he was livid, cursing a blue streak, which isn’t the reaction of someone who expected or planned it. He blamed it on the homeless infiltration of the neighborhood.
