The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou (13 page)

Madelaine started to argue, but the sheriff, likely sensing a never-ending family squabble, interrupted. “I know your heart’s here with your daughter, Madelaine, but I’d really like it if you’d come with me to your house. I need to know if anything’s missing and see if we can figure out how he got in. The sooner I have the facts, the faster I can get out an alert to other towns for this guy.”

“I’m not leaving her alone,” Madelaine said.

“I’ll stay with her,” Paul said. “I can’t help the sheriff with your house, but you can. Please go. I promise I won’t leave her side.”

Madelaine was clearly torn between wanting to mother Ginny and wanting to contribute to capturing the man who’d hurt her. She looked back and forth between Ginny, Paul and Sheriff Blackwell and finally grabbed her purse from the chair she’d tossed it in earlier and gave Ginny a kiss.

“Call me if you need anything,” Madelaine said, then turned to Paul. “And if her condition gets worse,
make
her go to the hospital in New Orleans. I mean it—or you’ll both need medical attention.”

“If the doctors say she needs to go, I’ll make her go,” Paul promised.

Madelaine didn’t look completely convinced, but she walked to the door and looked over at the sheriff. “Better get a move on. If one of those silly deputies of yours makes a mess in my house, you’re going to hear about it for a year.”

Sheriff Blackwell, wearing the expression of a much-maligned and abused male, followed Madelaine out of the room, smart enough to keep silent.

“Do you think it happened like the sheriff said?” Ginny demanded as soon as everyone had cleared the room.

“I think it’s possible, but very unlikely, given the circumstances.” Paul removed an extra pillow from a shelf in the corner and motioned to Ginny to lean forward so he could place it behind her. “But you have to remember, you and I are the only people aware of those circumstances, and the sheriff isn’t going to put any stock in a ‘feeling.’ We need evidence.”

Ginny leaned back on the plump pillow but was far too wound up to relax. “He tried to kill me. How much more evidence do we need?”

“Evidence that it was personal and not some random attack associated with stealing four-wheelers. I know it’s hard to be objective given what we know, but put yourself in his shoes. Even if we told him everything we knew, what reason does he have for thinking someone’s after you?”

“Someone was in my apartment.”

“With no sign of forced entry.”

“He shot at us when we were at the school.”

“He could have been a poacher either mistaking us for deer or trying to prevent anyone from talking about his poaching.”

Ginny sighed. “You’re right. There’s a logical assumption he could make about every incident, but isn’t it an enormous coincidence that all of them are happening to the same person within a matter of days? Especially someone like me. I’ve never been in trouble and don’t have any enemies.”

“That’s not true,” Paul said quietly. “You just aren’t aware of who your enemies are.”

Ginny was silent for a moment. Paul was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. In fact, now that she’d moved past fear for her life and fear that she’d sustained a serious injury, she was moving straight toward mad.

Paul shook his head, clearly frustrated. “Even tonight is questionable. If he really wanted to kill you, why not shoot you? He had a gun. Why sneak up behind you and crack you over the head?”

Ginny stared at Paul and drummed her fingers on the blanket. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Then what in the world did he want? It doesn’t make sense. Unless it’s like the sheriff suggested…”

Paul frowned. “As distasteful as the thought is, it’s not impossible. But I still don’t think that’s the answer. I have no concrete reason for thinking this, but I still believe that it’s all connected to your past. We just don’t have enough information to connect the pieces.”

“Since there’s no evidence, what do we do about tonight—nothing?” she asked. “Because, I’ve got to tell you, that’s not good enough for me.”

“Me, either,” Paul agreed. “The first thing we do is figure out as much as we can about your attacker.”

“I told the sheriff everything I knew.”

“Actually, you probably didn’t. But given his view on things, I didn’t see the point in attempting to draw more information out of you while he was here.”

Ginny stared at Paul, her interest piqued. “What kind of information?”

“Let’s start with a physical description. How tall was he?”

“I don’t know. I was too panicked.”

Paul sat on the bed next to her and placed his hand on her arm. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Now, picture that scene you described in the kitchen—you were on the floor, looking up at the attacker. How much space was in between the attacker’s head and the ceiling?”

The scene replayed in Ginny’s mind as if she were watching a movie. She felt her heart quicken, but she managed to focus on what Paul asked for. “About two feet,” she said, surprising herself that the answer had been gained so easily.

“And how high are the ceilings in your mom’s house?”

“Eight feet.”

“Good. So now we know he’s approximately six feet tall.”

Ginny nodded, starting to feel a little hope. “That’s great! Can we do more?”

“When you stabbed him, what part of the leg did you hit him in?”

“Just above the knee. I remember thinking I was lucky I didn’t hit the kneecap or it wouldn’t have gone in.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I can’t believe I thought all that or remembered it.”

“That’s great,” Paul said, his voice encouraging. “Now, how high off the floor was your hand when you stabbed him?”

Ginny sat completely upright in bed and held her arm down off the side of the bed, trying to replay the scene in her mind. “Maybe this high,” she said, holding her hands apart to show Paul the estimated distance.

Paul smiled. “So now we know that he’s approximately six feet tall and has long legs. Now, let’s talk about weight—trim or loose?”

“Not skinny or fat. Broad shoulders and some size, but more like man-size versus boy-size, not fat. Does that make any sense?”

“He was a mature man. That makes complete sense. Now, think about his movement—was he fast, agile?”

“He sprang at me at the same time I went for the knife. We were probably covering the same distance, but I got there first. He didn’t seem to have an injury or anything, but I moved faster. Does that mean he’s older?”

“Possibly,” Paul said. “You did really good, Ginny. I think your attacker lives in Johnson’s Bayou. That stab wound is going to give him trouble, but he won’t seek medical treatment for it. He’ll do his best to hide it altogether, but if we’re keeping a close watch, we may be able to catch someone slipping.”

Ginny blew out a breath. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they had before. She looked up at Paul. “I never got to thank you for rescuing me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“I didn’t…” Paul broke off speaking and looked at her, the care, compassion and fear still resident in his expression, along with something else that Ginny hadn’t seen in a long time. Her eyes widened as he leaned closer.

She knew he was going to kiss her, but when his lips touched hers, she was still completely unprepared for the surge of emotion and desire that coursed through her.

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice sounded from the doorway, and Ginny and Paul sprang apart. Ginny looked over at the young nurse.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the nurse said shyly, “but I need to check your head. The injury, I mean.”

Paul rose from the bed. “I’m going to find the doctor and see how long you need to stay.”

Ginny watched him leave the room as the nurse removed the bandage from her forehead. Check her head, indeed. What in the world was she thinking, letting Paul kiss her? And even worse, kissing him back? She was going to completely ignore the fact that she’d enjoyed it.

The last thing she needed right now was another complication. Her usually uncomplicated life had just exploded on every level. Adding romantic feelings to the mix was a recipe for disaster, especially at a time when her emotions were already running so high. More complication meant more distraction—her attention spread out over too many places.

Right now, she needed to focus only on staying alive.

Chapter Eleven

Sheriff Blackwell studied the kitchen then frowned. Madelaine stood beside him, hands on her hips, wanting answers she’d bet he didn’t have.

“Well?” she demanded. “How did he get in my house?”

“I don’t know. When the deputy got here, the house was locked tight. He had to bust out a panel on your kitchen door to open the dead bolt. All the windows were locked tight, and you said they were all that way when you left. Unless you forgot about an open window, I have no idea. As far as I can see, there’s no other way into this place, unless you can walk through walls.”

“My daughter wasn’t attacked by a ghost, or he wouldn’t have bled on my kitchen floor.”

The sheriff ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I know that, but what do you want me to say? Does anyone else have a key besides you and Ginny?”

“No, and those locks are new from when I replaced the doors last year. Only two keys came with that lock, and Ginny and I account for both of them.”

“You didn’t make a spare?”

“Yes, but I keep it in my desk drawer at the café, not under the doormat like a fool.”

Sheriff Blackwell looked up and down the hallway, then out the back door once more before coming to stand directly in front of Madelaine. “How’s Ginny been lately?”

“What do you mean? She’s been Ginny.” Madelaine stared at him, wondering what in the world had gotten into the man. It was as if he’d lost all common sense. Suddenly, it hit her and she felt a flush creep up her neck and onto her face.

“I’m certain,” she said, struggling to control her rising anger, “that you’re not suggesting she imagined all of this.”

The sheriff sighed. “Madelaine, I’m not trying to make you mad or cast any aspersions on Ginny, but you got to look at the facts. The house was locked tight when my deputies arrived and you can’t do that without a key. There was no blood on the floor to substantiate her story of an attack.”

Madelaine pointed to the knife holder. “My butcher knife is missing, and I don’t clean my floor with bleach.”

Sheriff Blackwell looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet. “It may be that Ginny took the knife herself, maybe tossed it in the swamp as she drove away. Maybe she spilled bleach on the floor earlier and doesn’t remember because she spooked herself.”

“And the ATV? She imagined that, too?”

“The deputies have scanned every square inch of the road and there’s no sign of ATV tracks.”

“So you’ve got a logical reason for dismissing the entire thing as imagined or misunderstood.”

“I’m sorry, Madelaine. I know how hard that is to wrap your mind around, but it’s something both of us have to consider.”

Madelaine struggled to control her frustration. She knew what he thought. Knew what they all thought—that Ginny was a ticking time bomb and one day the past would come back to haunt them. All because Madelaine had taken her in and kept her in Johnson’s Bayou. But a bunch of foolishness wasn’t going to keep Madelaine from doing what she darn well pleased—not then and not now. And what pleased Madelaine was protecting her daughter.

“He could have covered his tracks,” she argued. “He could have lifted a key from me or Ginny at some point and made a copy. We’re not always careful with our keys when we’re working.”

Sheriff Blackwell nodded. “Yeah, he could have, but that’s an awful lot of planning to attack someone with no provocation. Far as I know, no one in Johnson’s Bayou or anywhere else has a problem with Ginny.”

“Maybe it was the other thing you suggested,” Madelaine said, not wanting to actually say the word. “Maybe he was fixated on my Ginny and it wasn’t about stealing or killing her.”

“Perhaps. But he would have had to already have a key made, already have an ATV stashed, already have bleach ready to go. That means premeditation and stalking. And on any given night, it would have been far easier to break in and attack her in her apartment, as all the businesses on that end of the street close up at night. Why wait to follow her out here?”

“I don’t know,” Madelaine said, her frustration hitting its peak. “You’re the sheriff. You’re supposed to be the one figuring this out. All I know is that my daughter is not crazy and she’s not a liar. If she says someone was in here and he attacked her, then you best believe it happened. I suppose you think Paul is lying along with her?”

“No, but we have to assume Ginny was panicked when he called her. I believe he heard a shot and took a shot at someone, but likely it was poachers.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” She glared at him. “Well, you’ve got a choice—you can pretend my daughter’s crazy and sit around and wait for it to happen again. But I wouldn’t want to be wrong if I were you—especially when it comes around to election time.”

Sheriff Blackwell drew his shoulders back and stood up straight. “If you’re implying that I’m going to do anything less than my job looking into this, you’re wrong. I’m just giving you an alternative in case I come back with nothing. I can’t create evidence, and if I don’t find anything to support Ginny’s story, that’s something the two of you are going to have to figure out how to deal with.”

He left the kitchen and never looked back as he exited the house, closing the kitchen door behind him. Madelaine stared at the door, her mind whirling with thoughts, and none of them good. Either someone was stalking Ginny, or Ginny was imagining it all. Neither option was a good one for a mother to consider.

She glanced down at her watch. It had been two hours since she left the medical center. If she knew Ginny, that girl had already pestered Paul into taking her home. She grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her, for whatever good it might do. She wanted Ginny to rest, but she knew better than anyone that once Ginny was rested, she’d close up like a vise. It was a low-down dirty trick to ferret information out of her daughter when she was in a weakened state, but Madelaine wasn’t above using any trick necessary to be a good mother.