Page 17
When she reached her shanty, there was a sheet of paper taped to her front door. She stopped at the foot of her bridge and stared at it. From this vantage point, she couldn’t see what it said, but the fact that it was there alarmed her.
Both of her sisters in the recent past had received threatening notes on their doors. Angelique’s had warned of something bad about to happen now that their voodoo mother was dead. Dominique’s had been from the obsessed man who had eventually kidnapped her.
Who had left her a note and why? It didn’t have to be anything bad, she told herself, but that didn’t staunch the small chill that slithered up her spine. In any case, she wouldn’t know what it was until she read it.
On leaden feet, she walked slowly up the bridge and reached the door. She tore the note off and read it.
STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING
The words were written in bright red ink, and there was a skull and crossbones drawn at the bottom of the page.
She shot a quick look around but saw nobody. She unlocked the door and quickly went inside. On trembling legs, she walked to the sofa and collapsed, fear still racing through her. She dropped the chilling note on the coffee table in front of her and stared at it.
STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING
Had somebody figured out what she and Jacque were up to? That was the only thing the note could be about.
Who had left it? A new chill raced through her as she realized the very real possibility that her mother’s killer had written it.
Jacque attacked the bushes and vines creeping too close to his house with a machete. Sweat rolled down his shoulders and pooled in the center of his back as insects buzzed in the humid air.
It was always a battle keeping the swamp away from the exterior of his shanty. Keeping the area around it cleared out assured that no unwelcomed critters would find their way inside.
He was just about finished when he started to grab a vine and then froze. About a foot in front of him a large snake coiled around the thick vine. It was not just any snake. It was a northern cottonmouth, one of the venomous snakes the swamp housed.
It had a blunt snout and elliptical eyes. Jacque knew from his reading that it also had heat sensing pits between the eyes and nostrils.
The snake would now be sizing him up, trying to discern if he would be aa threat. Jacque remained frozen, his muscles tensed. The last thing he wanted was to startle it enough that it lashed out. After several stressful minutes, the snake finally slithered away. Jacque released a deep sigh of relief and decided to call it a day.
He went inside, grabbed a towel and then headed for the shower.
Minutes later he toweled off and headed back into the shanty.
He looked forward to a quiet evening. He wasn’t upset about not going out with Monique tonight. Each time they went out, he was filled with tension and worried that danger could come at any moment.
But that wasn’t all that bothered him about spending time with Monique.
She’d awakened a hunger in him…the hunger a man felt for a woman. He hadn’t believed he would ever feel a physical attraction for a woman again. He’d been dead wrong. He tried to tell himself that he would have felt that way about any woman he spent any amount of time with, but he’d be lying to himself.
It was Monique herself. Monique with her full breasts and small waist. Even though she was short and petite, she had an hourglass figure he found very attractive. Whenever they were together, her full lips seemed to beckon him for a kiss.
But no matter what, he wouldn’t act on his attraction to her. He’d sworn to himself he’d never care about anyone again.
Already, he liked her. He liked that there was a softness about her. Although he didn’t agree with her plan, he liked the fact that she was passionate about it. He admired how she handled herself with other people. There was a grace about her he found quite appealing.
He consciously shoved all these thoughts away as he dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a navy T-shirt and then headed back into the living room where he sank down in his recliner and picked up the book he’d been reading.
Most evenings he either went out to do a little fishing or he read. He was partial to thrillers along with an occasional fantasy or dystopic read. He felt sorry for the souls who either didn’t know how or who chose not to read. He enjoyed the escapism it granted him and how he always seemed to learn something new.
As far as he was concerned, reading anything heightened intelligence and opened up a world of new ideas. That was why he was so committed to the men in the swamp who wanted to learn to read.
He was soon engrossed in the book. However, it wasn’t long before a knock fell on his door. Who the hell could it be? Other than the men he taught, nobody ever came to his door in the evenings. He got up and went to answer.
“Monique,” he said in surprise at the sight of her. As always, she looked lovely in a pair of jeans and a bright red fitted blouse. What wasn’t lovely was the deep frown she wore.
“I’m sorry. Am I confused? Were we supposed to go out tonight?” he asked.
“No, but something has happened. Can I come in?” Her dark eyes radiated concern, along with a touch of excitement. Definitely a strange combination. She grasped a piece of paper in her hand.
