Swamp Team 3 (25 page)

I fingered the latches, but they didn’t budge. I pushed the window back down and called out to Ida Belle and Gertie. Several seconds later, they hurried into the kitchen.
 

“Did you find something?” Gertie asked.

“Yes. But not what I wanted to find.” I pointed to the window. “Does that look locked to you?”

They both stepped closer and inspected the window latches. Gertie nodded and Ida Belle said, “It looks fine to me.”

“Try to open it,” I said.

Ida Belle frowned and reached for the window. Her eyes widened when it slid easily. “What the hell?” she said, bending over to inspect the latches. “They’ve been cut off from the back!”

I nodded.

Gertie’s eyes widened and some of the color left her face. “But there’s no reason at all to do something like that unless…”

“Unless you want to sneak into someone’s house without them knowing,” I said.

“What is going on here?” Ida Belle asked. “Nothing about this makes sense.”

I nodded. She was right. The arson, the creeper, Floyd’s murder, Big and Little, the real estate agent…I had this feeling all of them were important somehow, but no matter how I arranged the pieces, they didn’t make a picture. “Did you find anything upstairs?”

Gertie shook her head. “It’s just as we thought. Ally’s mother had modest tastes and wasn’t much for clutter, which was to our benefit. She had a couple of nice jewelry pieces, but nice in a sentimental way for Ally. I can’t imagine they’d bring more than a couple hundred dollars with a jeweler, even less at a pawn shop.”

I looked at the window again and frowned. “Everything is so inconsistent. If someone wanted something inside this house, then why try to burn it down?”

Gertie shook her head. “And if they wanted something badly enough to rig the window, why haven’t they taken whatever it is already?”

“Maybe they have,” Ida Belle said.

A dark thought popped into my mind. “Or maybe what they wanted was no longer here.”

Gertie sucked in a breath. “Ally?”

Ida Belle’s expression turned grim. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. It would explain the window and the creeper.”

“But not the fire.” I banged my hand on the kitchen counter, causing both of them to jump. “Damn it! I can’t help feeling it’s all right there in front of me, and I know I’m missing something.”

Ida Belle placed her hand on my arm. “We’re going to figure this out. Nothing is going to happen to Ally. Not on our watch.”

I felt a sense of relief run through me as she spoke. No one I’d ever known backed up their word like Ida Belle. She was right. If someone wanted Ally, they’d have to go through the three of us. I almost felt sorry for anyone who tried.

Almost.

“The sun’s going down,” I said. “We should get ready to head over to Floyd’s.”

“I’ll check the front,” Gertie said and hurried off to the living room. A couple seconds later, she called out, “Houston, we have a problem.”

Ida Belle and I hurried to the front to peer out of the blinds.
 

“Across the street three houses down,” Gertie said. “That brown sedan doesn’t belong to Beatrice or her daughter, but it’s parked in front of her house.”

I squinted, trying to get a better look at the car in the diminishing daylight. Two figures were in the front seat, and from the build of the shoulders, I was positive they were men.

“It’s the FBI,” I said and stepped back from the window.

“What?” Gertie stared at me. “Why are they watching Floyd’s house? Surely they don’t think the killer is going to return?”

“I’m sure they don’t,” I said, “but my guess is they’ve stationed a couple of Bureau Babies in the car as a cover-your-ass thing. I kinda figured they would.”

Ida Belle nodded. “So those guys won’t be the same two who went to see Carter this morning?”

“Not likely,” I said. “Senior agents are usually in charge of an investigation. Juniors do the grunt work.”

“Like sitting in a car staring at an empty house all night?” Gertie said. “Sounds riveting.”

“We all have to start somewhere,” I said.

Gertie raised one eyebrow. “I bet that’s not how you started.”

“Ah. Well, I was a bit of an overachiever.”

Ida Belle snorted. “Like we didn’t already know. You think they’re going to be there all night?”

“Probably, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t leave the car unless they see movement in the house. We just have to make sure the blinds are closed and don’t direct your flashlight toward a window. As long as no one is on the bayou, we should be able to get in and out without anyone being the wiser.”

Ida Belle nodded. “The fishermen should all be packed up and gone soon if they aren’t already. I saw a couple of boats on the stretch behind Ally’s house from her bedroom window, but unless someone’s using a broad beam light, we should be able to avoid any traffic that might come down the bayou once it’s dark.”

“We’ve got about five minutes till sundown,” Gertie said.

“Then let’s get ready to do this,” I said. I grabbed the purse I’d brought with me and pulled out three sets of gloves. Once we’d donned our gloves, I handed out flashlights. “I’ve got a hammer and a pry bar, in case Floyd got ambitious with the fence.”

Gertie snorted. “More likely he propped it back up like it was before.”

I pulled the strap for the bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go see, shall we?”

We exited Ally’s house through the back door, locking it behind us. That way, if anything went wrong, her house wasn’t compromised. The barest sliver of moonlight lit the backyard and we hurried to the back fence and let ourselves through the iron gate. I scanned the bayou as we crept to Floyd’s fence, but it was clear of any traffic. When we got to the fence panel that had fallen before, I gave it a gentle shove. It wobbled, so I shoved harder and the entire thing fell into Floyd’s backyard.

“It’s a good thing he never mows,” Ida Belle said. “All the weeds helped cushion the sound of it falling.”

I scanned the dimly lit backyard, looking for any sign of movement. “You guys see anything?”

Gertie shook her head. “No FBI agents. No bobcats.”

Ida Belle snorted. “You wouldn’t be able to see either of them unless they were standing in front of you under a spotlight. But no, I don’t see anything.”

“Follow me.” I walked across the panel and started down the right side fence line, following it all the way to the house. I checked the back window, but it was locked, so I moved onto the porch and jiggled the doorknob. It was the cheap and old sort, so I pulled a screwdriver out of my bag and made quick work of it.
 

I inched the back door open and poked my head inside. The FBI had left a light on in the stairwell, and it cast a glow over the kitchen and living room, which were open to each other. It didn’t take a second to see they’d also been through everything. I stepped inside, motioning Ida Belle and Gertie to follow me, and stared, disgusted, at the mess.

Every drawer in the kitchen had been pulled from its slot, the contents dumped on the kitchen counter or floor. Every container had been upended and items pulled out of all the cabinets, the broken remnants littering the floor.

“They do delicate work,” Ida Belle said.

“Typical,” I said. “And clumsy. When you search a house like you’re driving a plow, you tend to miss things that are important.”

“Have you had many dealings with the FBI?” Ida Belle asked.

“Not really. The, uh…serious aspects of my job only occur in other countries. But I talk to a cop at the range back home. He’s always bitching about the FBI.” I scanned the mess and sighed. “Let’s see if we can find anything the FBI missed.”

I started at one end of the kitchen counter, Gertie at the other. Ida Belle headed into the living room.

“They ripped the cushions on the couch and tore out all the stuffing,” Ida Belle said. “What a mess.”

I shook my head and started parsing through the mess on the counter—plastic forks and Styrofoam plates were scattered across the counter, and I pushed them toward the back in some semblance of a stack. Canned goods had been tossed onto the counter and the floor.
 

“Anything?” Gertie asked.

“He liked baked beans,” I replied.

“And cigarettes,” Gertie said. “There’s four cartons in this cabinet.”

“Did the man have any good habits?”

“People with good habits don’t usually get capped,” Gertie said. “I’m going to take a look at the dining room table.”

I nodded. “I’ll finish up here.” I moved to the next section of counter, shoving cereal boxes to the side. My pulse ticked up a notch when I saw paperwork underneath. I picked the stack up and started flipping through it.

“You find something?” Ida Belle asked as she walked into the kitchen.

“Late notices, disconnect notices, insurance policy.”

“Life insurance?”

I flipped back to the policy document. “No. Looks like homeowner’s.” I tossed the stack back on the cabinet. “All that does is tell us what we already know—that Floyd was broke and needed to put his hands on cash fast. What about the living room?”

Ida Belle held up a glass object. “Drug pipe. No drugs though.”

“No money to buy them,” I said. “I saw a couple of empty shotgun shells in the sink. Do you think Floyd did his own refills?”

“Probably. Most of the hunters around here do. Is that important?”

“Not that I can see. I was just curious.” I looked around the room and shook my head. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m at a loss. I don’t have a single idea of what to do next. Not even a moronic, dangerous, almost-certain-to-fail one.”

Ida Belle frowned. “Me either.”

“Me three,” Gertie said as she walked back into the kitchen.

Ida Belle glanced over at her. “If Gertie’s out of harebrained ideas, then we’re doomed.”

Gertie leaned back against the kitchen counter. “I’m too depressed to argue.”

“Hey,” I said, “it was a long shot to begin with. We took a chance on it but it didn’t pay off. Things could be a lot worse.”

“Sure,” Gertie said. “Like the FBI could come storming through the door, guns blazing, and arrest us all for breaking and entering.”

The words had barely left her mouth when we heard a key turning in the front door lock.
 

Chapter Eighteen

Okay, so the FBI agents weren’t exactly storming into the house, but it was enough to send us into a panicked flight for the back door. Gertie was closest but her reaction time wasn’t as good as mine and Ida Belle’s.
 

Ida Belle bolted around the counter with me right on her heels and practically shoved Gertie out the back door. As I reached back to smash the porch light with my hand, I heard someone shout at us to stop. I ran to the edge of the porch and leaped off, landing on Gertie, who’d already miscalculated the plunge.
 

Ida Belle and I each grabbed an arm and yanked her up from the ground, and we all took off at a dead run for the back fence. The moon had disappeared behind clouds, leaving only the tiniest sliver of light to illuminate our way, but that meant the FBI agents couldn’t see us either. I increased my speed, hoping Ida Belle and Gertie were keeping at least 80 percent of my pace. Our only chance out of this was to lose them in the swamp.
 

As long as they didn’t start shooting.

The words had no sooner flashed through my mind when the first gunshot sounded behind me. “Warning shot,” I said as we ran. “The next one won’t be.”

I heard the FBI agents yelling behind us and knew they were in pursuit. I bolted across the fallen fence panel and set out into the swamp. The moon had reappeared, and a dim glow reflected off of the bayou, giving me a little light to operate by. Unfortunately, the FBI agents would have the same advantage.

I skirted the bayou and headed straight toward dense foliage, where I hoped I could lose them. One glance behind and I saw that Ida Belle and Gertie were keeping decent pace only twenty yards behind me. The agents hadn’t yet breached the backyard. I focused on a hedge in front of me and pushed harder, my thighs burning with the effort.

When I was five feet away, the growl I’d hoped never to hear again echoed through the swamp, and I tried to put on the brakes. As I slid to a stop, the bobcat launched out of the bushes and ran directly for me. I whirled around and took off in the opposite direction, flying right by a stunned Ida Belle and Gertie. But I had a plan. Sort of. Maybe.

“Keep running,” I told them as I passed.

I heard them continue behind me, and pulled out my flashlight, squinting to see Floyd’s back fence in the moonlight. As soon as the FBI agents came around the back of the fence and into the swamp, I flicked on my flashlight and trained it on the ground in front of the bobcat, swirling it around on the swamp grass and praying that wildcats and domesticated cats shared some of the same affinities.

The bobcat immediately locked in on the beam of light and pounced. I moved the light away and he took off after it at a dead run…straight toward the FBI agents.