Chaos in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law Mystery/Romance Series) (10 page)

“Not really,” she said and gave him a description of what she found, or the lack thereof. “I was about to search the cabin…see if I can find a photo of the boat maybe, but I wasn’t sure of jurisdiction.”

“The game preserve extends into that area, but I’m not certain if Clifton’s cabin lies within the perimeter. I’ll head over that way. If Clifton returns home and gets bent because we’re tossing his place, I can always claim probable cause on a missing persons case. If he doesn’t have anything to hide, it shouldn’t be that big a deal.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anyone who doesn’t have something to hide.”

“Welcome to my world. I’m about twenty minutes out from where you are, coming in from the north. Go ahead and start looking around.”

“Yep,” she said and slipped the cell phone back into her pocket. In twenty minutes, she could probably disassemble the entire cabin, given its size. By the time Colt arrived, she’d likely be done with her search and taking a nap.

She glanced around and decided to start with the living room. The coffee table and the two end tables both had drawers. Maybe she’d find a photo shoved in one of them. She started with the coffee table but found only matches and old receipts. The end tables didn’t provide anything other than a television remote and batteries.

The few kitchen drawers and cabinets held only kitchen items, and the tiny pantry revealed nothing but canned goods and cereal. She was just about to move into the bedroom when she heard a stick snap out back. Immediately, she pulled out her pistol and pushed the curtains of the kitchen window over just far enough to peek outside. The cabin backed up to the swamp, with a small clearing of mostly weeds that stretched about ten feet from the back wall of the cabin to the tree line.
 

She couldn’t see anything moving in the brush or the trees, but that snap had been loud enough to carry through the cabin walls and definitely hadn’t come from a twig breaking. Which meant none of the smaller swamp inhabitants had caused the noise. Something larger was lurking outside, but what?
 

She eased open the back door and looked outside. From this perspective, she had a better view of the weedy backyard and saw it contained only an old ice chest and a rusted metal chair. The swamp was equally still, with only the very tops of the cypress trees moving in the light breeze.
 

The gunshot caught her completely by surprise.

The shot boomed through the swamp, splintering the thin cabin wall and leaving a hole. She sprang back inside the cabin and dropped to the floor. What the hell? No vehicles had driven up to the cabin or she would have heard them, so it wasn’t likely that Clifton had returned home. But what possible reason could anyone else have to shoot at her?

To throw the shooter off her location, she crawled into the bedroom and crouched in front of the back bedroom window, barely shifting the curtains to the side to see out. She scanned the tree line twice but couldn’t see movement or shadows, then something moved in her peripheral. Immediately, she locked in on the black shadow sitting ten feet into the tree line and twenty feet diagonal from where she hid.
 

Standoff.
 

He knew she was inside and she knew he was outside. If he was going to make a move, it would have to be soon. Cell phone service was fine here and she could call for backup. The shooter had no way of knowing that backup was already on the way. He also had no way of knowing what her skill level with a pistol was, but she was sure he’d seen the weapon when she looked outside.
 

Trying to approach the cabin from the swamp left him a sitting duck, so her best guess was that he’d open fire on the cabin and hope he hit her. She scanned the cabin, looking for anything that would make a good barrier, but she didn’t see anything that would withstand bullets. She glanced back outside, but the shadow was still in place.

Momentarily, she considered running for her Jeep, but the shooter would easily make it around the cabin and have a clear shot at her driving off. It was too risky with so little distance between them. She looked out the window again and sucked in a breath when a wide ray of sunlight shone where the shadow had been. Where did he go?

A second later, she heard a vehicle pull up in front of the cabin. The bedroom didn’t have a window facing the front of the house, so she had to go back into the kitchen to see who had arrived. It could be Clifton, or Colt, or more backup for the shooter.

She crawled back into the kitchen and eased up the side of the cabinets until she could peer out of the window above the sink. Her breath rushed out when she saw Colt’s truck parked next to hers. Then she heard footsteps on the steps outside and he stuck his head inside.

She motioned him inside and down and he slipped into the cabin, immediately crouching below the windowsill next to the front door. She hurried into the living room, careful to stay hunched over below the windows, and crouched beside him.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his pistol already drawn.

Jadyn explained about the shooter and the shadow in the swamp.
 

“But he’s not there now?”

“No, but I didn’t see where he went.”

Colt frowned. “We can try flanking him—one of us on each side of the cabin. But if he’s moved from the back, he’ll have a clean shot when we exit the cabin.”

“What are the other options? We can’t sit here all night.”

“I could call for backup, but it would take them at least an hour to get here.”

“Exactly. Which would give him plenty of time to shoot up these thin walls. I think we have to make a move.”

“Okay, then follow me out. I’ll go around to the right. You go to the left. Stay low and yell if you see something move.”

Jadyn nodded and followed Colt out the front door. Before she even made it down the steps, they heard a boat engine roar to life behind the cabin. Colt took off for the swamp and Jadyn rushed behind him. He barely slowed when he hit the tree line, pushing his way through the brush as he ran in the direction of the racing boat motor. When they burst out of the trees at the bank of the bayou, Jadyn saw the back of a bass boat disappear around a corner about fifty yards ahead.

###

The shooter sped around the corner, then directed his boat down one of the narrow channels. He cut the engine and rowed along with the tide, using the channel to double back toward the cabin. When he reached the end of the channel, he jumped onto the bank and made his way through the narrow strip of land until he could see across the bank.

The man and woman were both still standing there, but not for long. Seconds later, they moved away from him, no doubt returning to the cabin.
 

What did they know?
 

That unanswered question was the only thing that had kept him from raining bullets down the side of the cabin. But what if his suspicions were wrong? Killing someone would only up the heat, and things were already sweltering.
 

He’d thought he had the perfect plan with the perfect backup plan, but things were proving to be outside of the expected scope. Years of living within a well-oiled machine appeared to be unraveling in a matter of days. He needed to be patient and smart…adjust and change things so that he came through it all with everything he planned on.
 

And he’d planned on a lot.

Chapter Seven

Colt cursed as the boat slipped out of their view. “I didn’t get a good look at it.”

“Me either.”

“What in the world is going on?” Colt asked. “Do you have any idea why someone would take a shot at you?”

Jadyn thought about her last shrimp house visit and frowned.
 

“What?” Colt asked.

“It’s nothing, really. Nothing more than a feeling.” She explained what she’d seen at the last shrimp house. When it came to Helena’s role in things, Jadyn explained it as her lingering and managing to overhear the part about Clifton and the arguing between Bobby and Peter.
 

She shook her head when she finished. “Taking a shot at me seems a drastic action to take when they don’t even know what little I overheard.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit extreme, but I’m not sure I like the alternatives any better.”

“You’re thinking if someone sabotaged Clifton’s boat, they may have come here looking for him or something else and found me instead.”

Colt nodded. “I haven’t liked the look of this from the beginning, and every little thing that happens sends me leaning more and more toward thinking some big trouble is going on behind all of this.”

“Me too. But any of the stops I made today could be the one that set someone off. Some people are better at hiding things than others.”

“Unfortunately true. Did you finish searching the inside of the cabin?”

“No. I was just about to move into the bedroom when I heard the shooter out back.”

He blew out a breath. “Then let’s do that and head out of here. There’s a diner on the highway about ten miles from here. We can stop there and ask about Clifton.”

Jadyn’s stomach rumbled.

Colt smiled. “And maybe grab a bite to eat.”
 

“Sure,” Jadyn said, trying to brush off her embarrassment. Stomach-rumbling probably wasn’t the most attractive look to guys.
 

Jadyn’s mind whirled as they headed back to the cabin. Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the shooter had mistaken her for Clifton or someone else? Was it really that simple? Or had her questions at the shrimp houses stirred something up that she couldn’t yet put her finger on?

As they rounded the corner of the cabin to the front, an older man with silver hair and a shotgun stepped from behind Colt’s truck, the shotgun leveled at them.
 

“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing here?” he asked.

They both lifted their hands. “Are you Clifton?” Colt asked.

“I asked you first.”

“I’m Sheriff Bertrand, from Mudbug. This is Jadyn St. James, the game warden. We’re looking for Clifton.”

The man narrowed his eyes at them. “Show me some ID. And no funny business.”

They both pulled ID out of their pockets and held them up. The man stepped a bit closer, then lowered the shotgun. “Sorry about that,” he said, “but there’s been some break-ins around here lately. Last one hit an eighty-year-old woman with a lamp, and she fell and broke her hip. Can’t be too careful.”

“I understand,” Colt said. “So are you Clifton?”

“No. I’m a friend, of sorts.”

“What do you mean?” Jadyn asked.

“I mean, Clifton don’t have friends. More like acquaintances that he sometimes drinks a beer with.”

“So why are you here, Mr.…?” Colt asked.

“Dagget. Warren Dagget. I’m here because Clifton didn’t show up to pick up the new nets he ordered from me. He was losing money every day trying to keep the old ones patched. He was supposed to show first thing this morning. I’ve called several times but never got an answer. Then I remembered the break-ins and thought I might ought to check things out.”

“That’s a neighborly thing of you to do, Mr. Dagget,” Colt said, “but if there’s vandals around, it’s also a dangerous one.”

Dagget frowned. “Did something happen to Clifton?”

“We’re not sure,” Jadyn said. “But maybe you can help us.” She pulled out her phone and approached Dagget. “A fisherman found this boat washed up in a cove this morning with no way to identify it. We’ve been trying to find the captain and followed a shrimp house lead here.”

Dagget looked at the pictures as Jadyn scrolled through them. “It could be Clifton’s boat. I don’t remember the floors being that color, but it’s been years since I seen inside. He’s probably painted since then. It’s the same model as his.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure it’s the same model, and I’m sure Clifton didn’t show up for the nets he’s been calling about every day for the last two weeks they was on back order. You don’t think…I mean, if you found the boat…”

Jadyn looked back at Colt, who shook his head.
 

“I have to be honest. It doesn’t look good,” Jadyn said. “Is there anyone who would know if Clifton left town? Does he have a camp nearby?”

Dagget shook his head. “No camp that I’m aware of, and no one he would check in with. Hey, wait, he usually has dinner at the diner on half-price chicken-fried steak night. That was last night. You might want to ask around the diner.”

“Thanks,” Jadyn said. “We had already planned on stopping there.”

“Do you know where Clifton sold his catch?” Colt asked.

“Last time he said anything about it was a couple months ago. Said he’d heard the shrimp house in Pirate’s Cove was paying a premium for redfish. Vincent Brothers, I think it’s called, but when I asked later, he said it wasn’t the case. Best I know, he was mostly selling to the shrimp house in Frederick’s Bayou.”

Jadyn nodded. Frederick’s Bayou was one of the three shrimp houses on her list that she hadn’t yet gotten to. “I don’t suppose you know the name of his boat?”