River of Bones (3 page)

Sassy Smit gripped the handles of the wooden rocker, her flesh prickling. She sat bolt upright, muscles trembling, sweating and cold with fear. Was that a scream? Someone yelling? She held her breath to listen, waited several seconds. Nothing. Sassy forced herself up, hobbled to the front door, and threw it open. She narrowed her eyes. The noise had come from across the swamp, from the old plantation house. She couldn't see anyone. Caretakers came from time to time, keeping the place up, renovating, but they never stayed long—they didn't dare.

Sassy shook her head, she could have sworn she heard a scream, and before that, the ruckus of a passing car or truck. But she couldn't be sure. Her hearing wasn't what it used to be, and she'd be damned if she would wear one of those hearing contraptions. She returned inside, and reached for the phone hanging on the wall underneath an outdated calendar. Sassy jerked her hand back and sighed. Better not, they'd probably take her away. Say she was too old to live alone anymore. No, she'd tend to her own business, finish her crossword puzzle and stitching.

Just her ancient ears playin' tricks, that's all it was. No need to get all tangled up. Her arthritic hands shook. Too bad they just didn't burn the place down. Ashes to ashes, that's what it needed, though she doubted it would do much good.

I stared into the alligator's eyes, not daring to make any sudden movements. One snap and it would have me in its jaws, rolling over and over until my lungs burst. The creature stirred, moving awkwardly in the underwater current. My heart leapt. Something wasn't right. The gator wriggled in the tide, flopping to one side, its intestines spilling out of its belly. Dead.

Kicking hard, I rose from the suffocating depths, gasping for air. Tears stung my eyes. How many times had I accused my mother of being careless and it was me who had lost Benny for good. Searching the water clogged with plants and muck, I wondered how long it would take for his little body to surface. Anger tightened my chest. I wouldn't give up. I inhaled another deep breath, preparing to dive again, when I heard a faint giggle. Benny's giggle. I spun around, hunting the bank for the source of the sound.

The giggle erupted again. There he was, to my right, nestled in a stand of cattails, clutching his blanket and waving his cup. How did he get there? He wasn't even wet. I had seen him fall, had heard the terrible splash.

He got to his chubby feet. And took off again! I struggled to reach the shore, plants tangling around my legs like skeletal hands. Benny toddled through the grass.

“Benny. Wait!”

He turned around, grinned at me and took a sip from his cup. A few yards behind him, the grass whipped. Something else was coming, barreling through the thicket. No, please, not again! My feet touched bottom and I plodded to shore, fighting the wet muck sucking at my shoes. I bolted through the tall grass like a football player, lunging for my little brother. I snatched Benny into my arms.

Ahead, a huge black dog broke into the clearing, foam steaming from its massive jaws. It paused, head tilted to the side, studying us. Suddenly it lowered its muzzle and charged.

Frantically, I waded back into the bog with Benny. What was I doing? I couldn't out-swim a mad dog with Benny in my arms. A scraggly tree grew in the middle of the pond. Its branches stuck out like the arms of a scarecrow. It wasn't that far, I could wade to it and climb into the safety of its branches.

A shrill whistle pierced the air. The dog slid to a stop behind us, turned and loped toward a guy about my age riding a four-wheeler. He drove the ATV to the pond's edge, killed the engine and hopped off. A golden tan offset his olive-black eyes, firm jaw and sun-streaked hair, which hung a little long in the front of his brow.

“Hi, I didn't know anyone was here. Sorry if we scared you,” he said, eyeing me up and down with a strange look. “Wow...that must have been a miserable dip.” His voice was deep, his accent Southern with a hint of Cajun.

I slogged to shore with Benny squirming in my arms, stretching to reach the dog. The Boxer wagged its tail playfully and sniffed at Benny's hand. Foamy drool ran from its mouth.

I jerked Benny's arm back. “Your stupid dog tried to kill us, and my brother almost drowned. Don't they have a leash law here in Hickville?”

The dog leapt forward and licked my foot. I glared at the Boxer. It gazed up at me with big liquid eyes, begging for a pet. Its tongue lolled to one side. I suddenly felt stupid. This dog was no killer.

The stranger patted the dog's head. “It wasn't Scooter. We just got here and besides, he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“We'll something chased us and…”

He frowned, took a step closer and plucked a long weed from my dripping hair. My checks burned. Earth, seriously—just swallow me now.

“Uh…thanks.”

“No problem.”

He picked up a stick in the brush and waved it in front of the dog's nose. The Boxer sprang up and down, barking.

“Fetch!” The guy hurled the branch into the air.

Scooter tore after it. Benny squealed and kicked his legs, fighting to free himself from my arms. The Boxer retrieved the stick and dropped it at my feet. I grabbed the stick before Scooter could take it, and flung it near the pond. The dog slid to a stop at the water's edge, barking and whining to reach the object without getting his paws wet.

“That's weird,” the guy said. “He usually loves the water.” He turned his attention to me. “So do you have any idea what they want done, or where I should start?”

I stared at him, water dripping off my nose like some kind of sea creature. “What do you mean?”

“I was supposed to mow the lawn. But it looks like I'll have a ton of work to do first.” He frowned, studying the area. “Man, someone really let this place go.”

I took a step forward and tripped, barely catching myself. Not a big surprise. In my lifetime, I have managed to fall, stumble or trip practically every day. It's like I'm wearing an invisible pair of giant clown shoes or something. It's even worse when I'm nervous. My brain and my body are constantly at war, and they can't seem to come to any kind of agreement. Ever.

He returned his attention to me. “Are you with the real estate agency?”

“No, my mom and I are here to do research.” I didn't want to get into the whole embarrassing ghost hunting deal.

“Cool! You guys must be the ghost hunters, right?” His eyes widened. “I've heard some pretty wild stories about this place.”

Darn. Word must have already spread about us coming. I bit my lower lip, hoping it was all good. I always lived with the fear that mom would get thrown in jail when the locals caught onto her scam.

“I could tell you some scary stories, but I guess you'll find out soon enough on your own. Wouldn't want to influence your findings. I'm Wolf Bodine, by the way.”

I frowned. “Your name is Wolf? Seriously?”

“Yep, short for Wolfgang.”

“As in Mozart?”

He nodded. “My mother is a classical pianist. So, lucky me.”

I smirked, thinking how my mother would love this flirty guy, with his unusual name and muscled body.

“I'm Dharma. I'd shake your hand but I'm a little disgusting right now.”

He glanced at the pond and shuddered. “Whatever made you dive in there must have been pretty scary.”

I nodded. “I thought Benny had fallen in and drowned.”

“Wow, glad he's okay.” Wolf grabbed Benny's foot. “Hi there, big guy.”

Benny giggled and kicked his legs.

“Sorry, he doesn't talk yet,” I said. “At least not in English.”

Wolf surveyed the area. “Did you get a look at whatever it was that chased you?”

“No, but I heard it crashing through the brush and growling.”

“Might have been a black bear, or maybe even a cougar.”

“Maybe it was a bear, and as far as cougars go, my mother had already left for town by then.”

“Wow.” Wolf cracked a wide grin. “Your mom must really be something.”

“Oh, she's something all right. Wait until you meet her…Just be careful, if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Water dripped down my back and I shivered.

“I've got a towel and an extra T-shirt in my truck. I was going swimming later, but it's getting late. I just stopped by to see what needs done and scout the area. Safer by four-wheeler than getting my rig stuck. Hop on and I'll give you guys a ride.”

I hesitated for a moment then climbed onto the back, holding onto Benny and Wolf at the same time, thankful we wouldn't have to walk through the weeds again. Scooter chased after us, barking and biting at the rubber tires. The cool breeze chilled my skin and I hugged Benny closer.

We roared past the iron gates toward the house. A black Chevy truck and trailer, with a riding mower strapped onto the trailer was parked in the driveway. My gaze shot to the ground, a habit from collecting rocks, always on the lookout for agates nesting in the gravel, when I noticed a weird rusty mark smeared across the top of my sandal. I wiggled my toes, testing for wounds I couldn't feel quite yet. They throbbed from where I'd tripped over the statue, but they weren't bleeding. I frowned, staring at the ugly stain. The statue must have had a rusted metal base. Hopefully, it would come out.

We climbed off the four-wheeler and Wolf strode to the pickup. He reached inside the driver's side window, then tossed me a towel and Harley-Davidson T-shirt. Benny played with the controls on the ATV while I dried off and slipped on the oversized shirt. The cotton warmed my frozen skin and smelled of spiced cedar.

This guy definitely fit the part of a biker. Black jeans, a matching shirt that said
untamed
as it stretched over his broad chest, and heavy leather boots. For a moment, I couldn't catch my breath, which is ridiculous because I don't really like motorcycles. For starters, they're noisy, especially if they have those big obnoxious pipes that amplify the sound. Plus, I get totally anxious when I see motorcyclists weaving in between cars or passing where it's not safe. But, if I had a chance to ride on the back of a Harley with this guy—all my worries would melt away.

Wolf glanced at his watch. “It's after five. I should go. I'll leave the trailer out front and be back tomorrow.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Are you going to be okay here?”

I looked to the darkening sky. My mother obviously wasn't coming back. It was cocktail hour and no doubt she was dining with the real estate agent. “I don't suppose anyone gave you a key to the house, did they?”

“No, but I have some tools. I can get you inside. I'm pretty sure I can turn on the water so you can take a shower.”

“Thanks. That'd be great.”

He cocked his head and smiled. I noticed one of his front teeth had a slight chip in it, which only added more character to his smile. “Or,” he said with a wink, “we could just go to my place.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a pathetic squeak.

Wolf grinned. “It was a joke. Relax!”

I gave a fake laugh, which came out more like a lame snort, and watched as he walked to his pickup—hoping he hadn't heard me.

Wolf reached into the truck bed and pulled out a toolbox. “I'll pry open the door. Maybe we'll find some cool stuff inside.”

I studied the house and frowned. “By the looks of it, the only thing we're going to find is a corpse.”

Scooter emerged from the weeds on the side of the road and sniffed the grass near the front gate. His black coat glistened with moisture. Rain drizzled onto my head and I tilted my chin upward, letting the drops fall onto my face, hoping to wash away some of the disgusting stink from the pond.

Wolf tied the toolbox onto the back of the four-wheeler. “Let me put Scooter in the truck so he doesn't get into trouble.” He whistled at the dog. Scooter ignored him, intent on sniffing around the gate. “Come on, boy!” Wolf called, but the Boxer headed back into the weeds.