The Awakening (6 page)

“Got that right.”

Tanner hesitated for a moment, not sure he should say what was on his mind, but he took a breath and forced it out. “She’s lying. Josie, I mean.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know yet, but I can tell she’s hiding something from me.”

“Do you think it’s relevant to the investigation?”

“I don’t think
she
thinks it’s relevant, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

Holt sighed. “I wish I had some magic words that would make people air their dirty laundry, but I don’t. I deal with the same thing on every case. Some are worse than others.”

“Does what they’re withholding always affect the case?”

“Hard to say. Sometimes the information could have led us down the right avenue of investigation. Sometimes it could have prevented us from going down the wrong one. But sometimes, what they’re hiding is simply some embarrassing family secret.”

“Maybe Josie is hiding something about her father.”

“Maybe. She wouldn’t be the first person to feel embarrassed or guilty over things her parents have done.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Tanner mumbled. He’d spent most of his life trying to hide the fact that he was Walt Conroy and Margaret LeDoux’s son, which is why he’d changed his last name as soon as he’d been legally able, just like his brothers had done. That bit of information carried way too much baggage for any one man to find tolerable.

Holt was silent for a couple of seconds, and Tanner knew his half brother got the meaning of his disgruntled statement.

“Sometime soon,” Holt said, “Max and I need to talk to you.”

“You just talked to me the other day. Now I’ve changed professions, I’m tracking a mythical swamp creature and living with a lying woman. The way the first conversation turned out, I’m not so sure I want another one with you and Max.”

Holt chuckled. “I can’t exactly argue with you. But still, when you feel up to tackling some old issues, there’s something Max and I need your help on. I’ll start these background checks this morning and give you a call as soon as I have some information.”

“I’m going tracking as soon as I get off the phone, so leave a message if you don’t get me,” Tanner said, unable to keep from wondering what else his brothers had in store for him.

“No problem. It might be afternoon before I finish enough of them to warrant taking up your time with a call.”

“I won’t be back until I find something or the light runs out.”

“Be careful, Tanner. Whatever reason someone has it in for Josie, they’re not going to appreciate your butting in. Watch your back, especially in the swamp.”

“I will.” He disconnected the call and looked out his bedroom window across the lawn. Josie was leading a stallion out of the barn to work him. The stallion’s sleek black coat seemed to shine over his rippled body. Tanner knew enough about horses to know he was looking at a prime Arabian specimen worth some serious money.

Josie started working him on the lead and Tanner paused a minute more, thinking what an incredible sight the two of them made. Finally, he tore himself away from the window, grabbed his backpack and headed outside.

He’d seen Emmett Vernon head to the swamp on the south side of the property when they’d been eating breakfast. First thing, he was going to track the man down at the work site and ask him some questions. Then he was going to spend the rest of the day attempting to prove that the Honey Island Swamp Monster was nothing more than a myth used to sell swamp tours and hotel rooms.

* * *

T
HE VANDAL WATCHED THE
woman and the horse from the dense undergrowth of the swamp. She didn’t appear troubled, much less scared. The work crew had reported what they’d seen, but apparently, Josette Bettencourt was as stubborn as her father.

The man who’d raced outside last night exited the house and started across the lawn toward the swamp. The man was a problem. The vandal didn’t know who he was or what he was doing there, but it couldn’t be good. If the man didn’t leave soon, he’d have to be dealt with.

No one was going to get in the way of the master plan.

* * *

J
OSIE HAD JUST STEPPED
inside the back of the house for a break when the phone started ringing. Instantly, her lower back tightened and her chest hurt. The first payment wasn’t due to the bank for another three weeks, but what if they’d heard about her problems? What if they called the note and ignored the earlier agreement?

She picked up the phone and barely managed to get out a “hello.”

“Josie,” the loud male voice boomed over the phone, “this is Samuel.”

Josie blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. Sam Walker was the local Realtor and busybody. He’d been able to talk people into a coma as early as elementary school. “Hi, Sam. How are you?”

“I’m doing great. Hope you’re doing the same.”

“Everything’s just fine. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing in particular. I was just wondering if you’d given any thought to that talk we had a couple of weeks ago.”

“There wasn’t anything to think about,” she said, trying to control the sharpness in her tone. “I’m not interested in selling.”

“No need to get upset over it. I figured as much, but I told the client I’d follow up, so I am. I’ll find him something else to suit. I always do.”

“I’m sure that’s the case.” People probably bought something just to get away from him. “Well, if that’s all, I’m kinda busy.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d be interested in having dinner. I’m free every night this week.”

Shocking.

“While I appreciate the offer, I’m not really interested in dating. I’ve got too much on my plate right now for romantic entanglements.”

He laughed. “Not all entanglements between a man and woman have to be the romantic kind.”

Okay. Ick.

“I’m not interested in
any
entanglements right now.”

Or ever with you.

“Well, the offer for dinner is still open. No entanglements required. You have to eat.”

“And I plan to. Usually in my own kitchen and in between tasks. I appreciate the invitation, but my schedule is just too busy right now to take that kind of time off.”

“I heard you had a little trouble out there. I figured you’d put off the opening until you could deal with it.”

Josie felt a flush of anger run through her. She knew exactly where Sam had heard about her trouble—Sheriff Reynard. That loudmouth wouldn’t do anything to help, but he had plenty of energy to gossip all over town about her private business.

“You figured wrong,” she said, keeping her voice calm and even. “The bed-and-breakfast will open in time for the New Year’s guests.”

“Then I best let you get back to it. If you change your mind about selling or the dinner, let me know.”

She hung up the phone without forming a reply, not sure she had a polite one left in her. If Sheriff Reynard was telling everyone that she’d come to see him, worried about the delays in construction that the vandalism was causing, they might start to speculate about just how little money she had left. Right now everything was only rumor, but more than a few eyebrows had gone up in town when she sent some of her mother’s expensive paintings to New Orleans for auction. People probably wouldn’t have to dig very deep to find out just how hard up she was.

If that information got back around to Tanner, she’d be mortified, although she had no idea why. In theory, it seemed stupid to care what a stranger, a hired one at that, cared about her. But for some reason, the idea of him knowing she was broke and making deals with the bank to keep her family home wasn’t something she wanted to think about.

Enough people had already guessed the truth. She was going to do the best she could to change her situation before everyone had proof.

* * *

T
ANNER STRODE DOWN THE
path in the swamp to where the crew was working on the fencing. With all the construction noise, it wasn’t hard to find them, despite the many branches and forks of the swamp trails.

The men froze as he came through the brush, and Tanner could tell they were ready to flee if necessary. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

An older man, probably mid-fifties, stepped toward him. “You didn’t. You have to be aware working in the swamp, and with the trouble lately, we’re paying extra attention.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Tanner said. He extended his hand to the man, who he guessed was the crew leader. “I’m Tanner LeDoux.”

“Ray Melancon. I run this crew. Are you a new foreman, Mr. LeDoux?”

“Please call me Tanner, and no, that job is still Emmett Vernon’s. I was hoping to talk to him. Is he around?”

Ray looked mildly disgusted. “He shows up for a minute or two. Then he’s gone. All day, I worry and wait on equipment and guidance, but he’s nowhere to be found. This morning was no different.”

Tanner frowned. “I just came from the house, and I didn’t see him anywhere around the grounds.”

“He walked that way,” he said, and pointed deeper into the swamp. “About an hour ago.”

Tanner scanned the foliage where Ray was pointing. What could he possibly want out there?

“If you’re not a new foreman,” Ray said, “can I ask what you’re here for?”

Tanner smiled. “I’m here to track down a monster.”

Ray’s eyes widened and he took a step back from Tanner. “You shouldn’t joke about such things. The creatures that haunt these swamps don’t like to be the butt of jokes.”

“Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t joking. I’m a professional tracker. Ms. Bettencourt hired me to see that the vandalism stops. That means catching the vandal.”

“You can’t catch the Tainted Keitre. No one can.”

“You’re probably right, as it doesn’t exist, but I can catch a man trying to make you believe he’s a monster.”

Ray shook his head. “You young people don’t understand the swamp like the elders. My great-grandfather taught me everything about this swamp, including the legends.”

“And what legend covers vandalism?”

“It’s an awakening.” Ray looked back at the crew, who’d stopped working to listen. Some of the men nodded. Most just looked at him with fearful expressions.

“You think the creature was awakened? By what?”

“Maybe the construction. He seems to target the repairs,” Ray said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“But that’s not what you think.”

Ray shook his head. “I think the creature appeared because a greater evil is present in the swamp. Something that wasn’t here before. It’s out of balance. Can’t you feel it?”

Because Tanner had always felt the Honey Island Swamp was out of balance, he wasn’t sure how to reply. Of all the places he’d lived, the swamps in Mystere Parish had been the only place that he’d never relaxed. All those years in the Atchafalaya Basin and he’d never felt the unease that settled over him after only five minutes of standing in the Honey Island Swamp.

“You
do
feel it,” Ray said. “I see it in your eyes.”

“Look, the truth is, the swamps in Mystere Parish have always felt uncomfortable, especially the Honey Island Swamp.”

“Ah, then you are a man in touch with the ebb and flow of nature. Even on its best day, this swamp is different than others—I’ll give you that—but lately, I feel something darker than usual. Something malevolent.”

Ray shook his head. “I think it’s a good thing that you want to help Ms. Bettencourt. She’s a lady and there’s not a lot of women these days that I’d call as such, but I know what I saw and it weren’t no man.”

“Not even a man wearing a hairy suit?”

“A man in a hairy suit can’t disappear in the brush without even a whisper of sound. A man in a hairy suit can’t make an unholy howl like the one we heard.” He waved his hand at his crew. “We know the truth. We saw it. You can choose not to believe, but you should at least prepare as if you do.”

Because he couldn’t argue with the man’s logic, Tanner nodded. “I’ll let you get back to it. Thank you for your time.”

Ray gave him a single nod. “Be aware, Mr. LeDoux. Very aware.”

Tanner stepped past the crew and into the swamp in the direction Ray had indicated Vernon had gone. It was a simple matter to pick up Vernon’s trail. The ground was so damp with morning dew that partial footprints showed often in open patches of dirt. The brittle, dead branches snapped easily when pushed or stepped upon and marked the man’s passage, as well.

Tanner wondered why Vernon had gone off into the swamp at this location, where there was no clearly defined path. He could tell he’d been moving steadily southeast, but had yet to locate a trail that had been traveled with any regularity. Wherever Vernon was going, he hadn’t gone there this way before.

Yet another mystery, when he hadn’t made any strides on the first.

He continued through the swamp at a decent clip, his mind rolling back through his conversation with Ray. The man was Creole, and according to the personnel files, had lived in the Honey Island Swamp his entire life. He was not unlike the men who’d taught Tanner everything he knew about tracking, hunting and survival. They were tough men, cunning in their environment.

But Ray was afraid.

That bothered Tanner more than he wanted to admit. He understood the superstitions of the swamp people and those that still believed in the old ways of voodoo and the like. People who believed in such things were naturally cautious and extremely observant, but rarely scared. It quite simply wasn’t the way they were made.

He was still trying to make sense of it all when he followed Vernon’s tracks around a huge cypress tree and then stopped short. The smell that wafted past him wasn’t one he recognized. It was musky, like a skunk, but fouler, like decaying remains.

The swamp, which had been filled with the sounds of insects and birds just seconds before, had gone silent. Not even a breath of air passed over him, and the silence echoed in his head.

He sniffed the air, turning his head to try and determine the direction of the smell, but he couldn’t be certain.

Suddenly, a twig snapped, the tiny sound echoing like a sonic boom in the silent swamp. Instantly, he locked in on the direction of the sound, pulled out his pistol and crept toward a thick grove of brush about twenty yards in front of him. When he was about ten yards away, a low growl came from the brush. He paused for a second, trying to place the sound, but his mind couldn’t lock in on a match.