Awash (The Forgotten Coast Florida Suspense Series Book 6) (8 page)

Is the night chilly and dark?

The night is chilly, but not dark.

The thin gray cloud is spread on high,

It covers but not hides the sky.

The moon is behind, and at the full;

And yet she looks both small and dull.

The night is chill, the cloud is gray:

‘Tis a month before the month of May,

And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

T
he early morning sunlight streamed through the large, twelve-pane windows of Bennett Boudreaux’s kitchen. Boudreaux sat at the small, round kitchen table, drinking his third cup of chicory coffee and perusing the newspaper.

Though he was sixty-two, Boudreaux could probably have passed for fifty, with his slim physique and full head of golden -brown hair, accented here and there with a bit of silver. His face had its share of lines, but starting with such a handsome base, those lines only made him look like a matured James Dean, had Dean had the opportunity to mature.

Boudreaux’s Creole housekeeper and cook, Amelia, stood at the kitchen island, watching over a skillet that contained one gently sizzling egg. She and Boudreaux both looked up when the back door swung open with some velocity and an aluminum walker clattered through it, followed with lesser velocity by Miss Evangeline.

Miss Evangeline was in the neighborhood of a hundred, but didn’t look a day over one hundred and twenty. Her skin was a mass of wrinkles and the color of strong tea, accented by a scattering of dark freckles and age spots. At four foot ten and less than ninety pounds, she was deceptively cute. The Coke bottle glasses, bright red bandana, and little flowered house dress only added to the illusion that she was a sweet little old lady.

Amelia set her skillet aside and crossed the room to close the door behind her mother.

“Morning, Mama,” she said.

“Ain’t, no,” Miss Evangeline answered, making for the table.

Boudreaux stood up and pulled out Miss Evangeline’s chair. “Good morning, Miss Evangeline.”

“Lie to me again,” she snapped. “I got the squish lizard on one my tenny ball. I tol’ you long time to rid us them lizard, runnin’ out in front of people like deers in the road.”

Outsiders often had a hard time unraveling Miss Evangeline’s odd
patois
, which was frequently difficult even for other Creoles back home, but after fifty-seven years with the woman Boudreaux had no such trouble.

He peered at the bottom of the walker, outfitted with bright green tennis balls. “What lizard?”

Miss Evangeline lifted up the feet of the walker, but only barely. “Him that’s squish,” she said, pointed to a small brown lizard, freshly flattened.

Boudreaux rolled his eyes as Miss Evangeline went through the protracted process of seating herself. Amelia brought a small plate over and set it at Miss Evangeline’s place.

“I get you some new tennis balls, Mama,” Amelia said. “You eat. Meanwhile,” she said to Boudreaux, “I gon’ be grateful you don’t start nothin’ with her this morning.’ I got too much to do, me.”

Boudreaux waved her off, and she walked out of the kitchen as Boudreaux took his seat. Miss Evangeline glared across the table at him as he topped off his coffee.

“What?” he asked her after he’d taken a sip.

“Them lizard,” she said.

“The lizards eat the mosquitoes you asked me to get rid of,” he said smoothly.

“Now you need get me some housecat for eat the lizard,” she said.

“You don’t like cats,” he said.

“Cat don’t kill himself all over my tenny ball,” she said by way of rejoinder.

Boudreaux thought perhaps it might, once properly motivated by life with Miss Evangeline, but he declined to voice that opinion. He was relieved when she changed her focus to her breakfast, picking up her knife and fork and commencing to slice her egg into minute pieces.

He picked up his newspaper and had a moment of peace before she piped up again.

“Tell ’melia don’t forget she pack my medicines,” she said.

Boudreaux lowered the paper. “She doesn’t need to pack your medicine,” he said. “I told you, you’re staying here.”

“No, I don’t, me,” she said. “I go home with you.”

“We went over this last night,” he said. “You don’t fly.”

“We don’t go the aeroplane,” she said. “We go Mr. Benny Mercedes-Benz.”

Boudreaux put the paper down and sighed. “No, we do not ‘go Mr. Benny Mercedes-Benz’,’” he said. “We don’t have time to drive to Louisiana and back, and one of us would die on the way.”

Miss Evangeline’s mouth pinched up, and he could see her arranging her lower plate with her tongue. “You in the mood to run your mouth to me today, then,” she said.

“We discussed this last night,” he said a bit impatiently. “You’re staying here. I’ll speak with Maggie later today.”

“I done already tol’ you leave that girl alone,” she said. “It ain’t good for her nor you, y’all go like you do.”

“And I’ve told you that we’re going to have to disagree on that,” Boudreaux said. “Now eat your breakfast.”

He picked the paper back up, and heard the gentle scrape of Miss Evangeline’s cutlery for a moment, then it stopped.

“Who the man on the paper?” she asked.

Boudreaux turned the paper around to see the front page, though he already knew what was on it. “Sheriff Hamilton,” he answered, before straightening his paper.

“What he do?”

“He’s resigning his job, taking some other job in the Sheriff’s Office,” he said.

“Why he quit the job?”

“According to the paper, it’s because he got shot a few months ago,” Boudreaux said. “But it’s because he loves Maggie.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Look like ever’body got the same problem,” she finally said.

Maggie had spent all of Monday dragging Zoe through mug shots from surrounding counties, and checking the whereabouts and alibis of a few locals who had, at some point, been arrested for or convicted of sexual assaults. She’d come up with nothing worthwhile and now, sitting at her desk on Tuesday afternoon, she was feeling the pressure of time between her shoulder blades.

It was looking less and less likely that they would have this guy in custody before Zoe and her aunt went back to their home today, and she hated it for the girl. It was very rare for a rapist to return to a victim, but that wouldn’t keep Zoe from expecting it every minute. In particular, every minute that she was home alone.

Maggie tapped her pen against the edge of her desk for a moment, then opened Zoe’s thin case file. After a moment, she found Dwight’s notes and located the name of the nurse who had taken care of Zoe before she’d sent her to live with Paulette Boatwright.

Maggie picked up her phone, hesitated long enough to decide she wasn’t really overstepping her bounds, and then dialed the number.

A woman who sounded middle-aged answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Lt. Maggie Redmond with the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office,” Maggie said. “Is this Gina Merritt?”

There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end of the line. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m handling a matter that concerns Zoe Boatwright, and I just wanted to speak with you for a moment.”

“I don’t—” the woman started. “What about Zoe?”

“I understand that you were her mother’s caregiver during her illness,” Maggie said.

“Yes, just the last few months.”

“You’re a hospice nurse?”

“Yes,” the woman answered.

“That must be very difficult work,” Maggie said.

“Well, yes, but it’s very rewarding,” Gina said.

“I’m sure it is,” Maggie said. “I understand that Zoe stayed with you for a while after her mother’s death.”

Gina Merritt took a moment to answer. “Yes, her mother and I had discussed it. She was estranged from her family, you know. Because of her husband.”

“Yes. How long did Zoe stay with you?”

“She was here for almost three months.”

“Ma’am, Zoe is in kind of a tough situation right now—“

“Is she in trouble?” Gina asked. “She’s a very good girl!”

“No, ma’am, she hasn’t done anything wrong,” Maggie said. “But she could use a change of scenery, a little break. I haven’t spoken to her or her aunt about it, but I was wondering if maybe you would be open to her visiting you for a short time?”

“Oh.” The woman sounded relieved. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

“I see,” Maggie said, though she didn’t. “That’s all right. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide not to keep Zoe?”

“Well, my son graduated from college, over at University of Florida, and he needed a place to stay,” the woman said. “This is just a little two bedroom, you know. He slept on the couch for a couple of weeks, but it just wasn’t going to work.”

“I see,” Maggie said. “You must be very proud of your son.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, and Maggie noticed she didn’t agree.

“Well, I appreciate your time, ma’am, and please don’t feel badly,” Maggie said. “Like I said, it was just an idea, and Zoe doesn’t know I’m calling you.”

“Well, I do hope everything’s okay,” Gina said.

“Everything’s fine, ma’am,” Maggie said. “You have a good day.”

Maggie disconnected the call and chewed at the corner of her lip, then scrolled through her contacts and dialed another number.

“Port St. Joe Police Department,” a young man’s voice answered. “This is Officer Landry; how can I help you?”

“Hey, this is Lt. Maggie Redmond in Franklin County,” Maggie said.

“Hey, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”

“I need to get some information on one of your locals,” Maggie said.

“Hold on a sec, and I’ll see who’s available,” the man said.

Maggie waited a moment, tapping her pen. After a moment, the line was picked up.

“This is Evan Caldwell,” said a man’s deep, smooth voice. “Can I help you?”

Maggie started for a moment. “Evan Caldwell? We met last month. I work for Wyatt.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Maggie Redmond.”

“Oh, sure,” Caldwell said. “I remember.”

Maggie had met Caldwell at a nursing facility outside Port St. Joe, while she and Wyatt were working on a case. Caldwell had worked with Wyatt at the Brevard County Sheriff’s Office before Wyatt moved to Apalach. Wyatt had been saddened to learn that Caldwell was visiting his wife at the facility. She was only in her thirties, but had fallen into a coma after a head injury.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little taken aback,” Maggie said. “Are you working for the department now?”

“More or less. I’m sort of on loan,” he answered. “I needed to keep myself busy while I’m here.”

“How is your wife?”

“She’s the same,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he answered politely. “What can I do for you?”

Maggie gathered her thoughts. “I have a rape case. A fourteen year-old girl. Her mother passed away in Mexico Beach several months ago, and the girl stayed for a while with the mother’s nurse. But then the nurse had the victim’s aunt bring her back here.”

“Okay,” Caldwell said.

“The nurse says she couldn’t keep Zoe because her son graduated from Gainesville and needed a place to stay,” Maggie said. “I’d like to check on the son.”

“Does he fit your description?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “All we have is that he was a young white guy, slim build, about five-seven to five-nine, with brown eyes. This guy’s the right age, but I don’t know about anything else. I don’t even know his name. I was calling about something else and I didn’t want to spook her.”

“Sounds like you don’t have much work with,” Evan said, not unkindly.

“No.”

“What’s the mother’s name?”

“Gina Merritt. Hold on.” Maggie looked back at Dwight’s notes. “Lives at 434 Grant Street, in Port St. Joe.”

“Kind of a trek for a sexual assault, but not unmanageable.”

“No.”

“Yeah, sure. Give me a little bit and I’ll get back to you when I have something.”

Maggie gave him her cell number, thanked him, and hung up just as Wyatt walked through her open door with an obscenely large Mountain Dew in one hand and a copy of Zoe’s case file in the other.