Waters Run Deep

“And chocolate milk,” Spencer observed gravely.

“Yes, and chocolate milk.”

They exited the bathroom, passing the unhappy manager, and walked out into the oppressive heat. First day of fall, her ass. Felt more like a mid-August heat wave. No wonder her hair looked like it belonged in a Twisted Sister video. But, really, why did she care? She had never worried about her hair, her makeup or wearing kicky little kitten heels. Annie was a professional. Hair got in the way. Makeup wasn’t necessary. And she’d be damned if she ever wore anything on her feet like Tawny Keene did. Spencer’s mother was asking for a broken ankle.

She pressed the button on the key fob, unlocking the doors of the rental car sitting by the pump. Spencer wriggled into the booster seat in the back and grabbed his iPod touch. Annie made sure the seat belt was snug and then swiped the credit card issued by the Keene family and filled the car.

Even though they were only thirty minutes from their destination, Annie knew a full tank of gas was always a good idea. Be prepared. First as a security officer in the Air Force and later as a field agent in the FBI, Annie had taken pride in expecting the unexpected. She had never been without extra ammunition, money, false IDs or any other necessities an agent might need.

She glanced around, taking stock of her surroundings. No one had followed them from Baton Rouge. Whoever had been sending threatening messages to the Keene family was likely back in California, but she couldn’t be too careful. Her job was to protect Spencer while helping to investigate the threats. That’s what she was getting the not-so-big bucks for.

Annie set the gas handle in its cradle and screwed the lid on the tank. She had to stop beating herself up. She’d gotten herself into this situation and she’d have to make lemonade from the lemons. She could always toss in some vodka to make it less painful.

But not on the job. Never on the job.

She slid behind the wheel and started the engine, determined to have a better outlook—after all, she’d avoided vomit on her new shoes, hadn’t she?

Just as she pulled forward a government car swung in front of her. She held one hand over the horn, but pulled it back as the car slid into a parking spot in front of the gas station/deli. The door opened and one long leg emerged followed by its owner.

The man wasn’t in uniform, but Annie knew automatically he was a cop. Or a detective, more likely. Something about him had that aura. Smart. Disciplined. Sexy.

She shook her head at the last thought and inched forward, wondering if the heat had gotten to her.

The man turned toward her, giving her a nice view of a strong jaw, dark hair and crooked nose. The nose, whether acquired in a bar fight or merely a hazard of the job, made him more interesting. He worked out, that was certain. His chest was broad, but he looked quick enough. He must have felt her perusal because he zeroed in on her as the car swooped by him.

She saw the antenna raise and bleep in his mind. Awareness of something different. Rental car. Note license plate. File away in recesses of mind for later use if necessary. It was exactly what she’d have done.

Spencer started humming as she pulled onto the highway, glancing at the GPS affixed to the windshield. Twenty-two more miles until the turnoff for Beau Soleil, the plantation home where Carter and Tawny Keene waited for them. The mansion served as a backdrop for the movie Carter was directing, some mystery or horror movie starring Spencer’s mother as the dumb blonde who ironically doesn’t get axed in the opening. Or something like that. Annie hadn’t paid too much attention—horror films didn’t interest her. She liked period pieces, so maybe the old house would be interesting. She would be staying there with the Keene family while the rest of the cast and crew stayed at a local motel.

The drive to Bayou Bridge, the town nearest the plantation home, was uneventful. Tangled woods with palmetto lurking beneath branches lined the highway with the occasional pasture interrupting. Then there was the long bridge over the mysterious swamp basin with thin trees and brackish waters giving rise to the flight of the odd egret. It had a unique beauty that drew Annie’s eyes from the monotonous asphalt more times than it should.

The cell phone sitting in the cup holder chirped. She looked down. Tawny again. The woman was a high-maintenance nightmare, but she worshipped her Spencer. Annie ignored the jittering phone since they would be there in ten minutes and she didn’t want to pull over and waste time.

“Is that my mom?” Spencer asked.

“Um—” She didn’t want to lie. The books had said be truthful with children. “Hey, we’re almost there. Then we can see about getting some of those crawfish for dinner, huh?”

“Really? Cool.”

Mission accomplished.

She exited the interstate and drove through the charming Bayou Bridge before taking the turn on the highway that hugged the Bayou Tete. Annie wanted to stop the car and indulge in the sight of colossal live oaks fanning their branches over the snaking river, but didn’t. Beau Soleil sat on the bank of the bayou so there would be plenty of time to contemplate the land of Evangeline later. She could only imagine the breathtaking sunsets and her footfalls on the hidden paths beside the water. Maybe she could sneak a run in that very evening.

“Am I gonna get to see a real alligator, too?” Spencer interrupted her yearning for tranquility and a good sweat. She never knew kids asked so many questions, but they did. Lots.

“I don’t know.”

“But this is Wouisiana. I gotta see an alligator.” Spencer allowed a little whine into his voice. She’d given him a picture book about the bayou state when she found out they’d have to go. He’d studied the thing on the plane, pointing out Mardi Gras floats, crawfish and his absolute favorite subject—alligators. Then she’d found a book called Mr. Breaux Bader and his Ghost Town Gator at the airport and read it three times while they waited on their luggage.

“It’s Louisiana, and I’m sure we can find someone who will take us to see an alligator.”

“Cool. I can’t wait.”

The trees hung over the road, blocking out the afternoon sun, and as Annie took a big curve, she saw the iron gates opening to Beau Soleil. First impression was stately, old and very Southern. Annie felt a shiver as she drove through. She wasn’t sure if it was a sense of homecoming, which would have been weird, or a sense of foreboding, which would be alarming. But something snaked along her spine.

“We’re here.”

She heard the iPod touch thump against the seat.

“What’s that?” Spencer asked.

“What’s what?”

“That.”

Annie swiveled her head to see a small patch of ground ringed with an old iron fence laced with rose bushes. Concrete tombs surrounded a huge mausoleum sitting in the center. “Um, a cemetery.”

“What’s that?”

The questions the kid asked. Jeez. They hadn’t addressed death in those books she’d studied. Wasn’t that a parent’s job? Be truthful. “It’s where they bury people when they die.”

“They put you in a box like that? I thought you got put in dirt or something. That’s where they put my gram. They covered her up with dirt.”

“Well, usually they do, but this area is below sea level so they can’t do that here in South Louisiana.”

“What’s sea wevel?”

Lord, help me. She glanced in the mirror. He looked perplexed. “Ask you mother.”

Explaining death, burial and the fact bodies would float if they were buried below sea level wasn’t in her job description. She had to draw the line somewhere.

The car crunched down the gravel road framed by thick woods on either side. Finally, the view opened to reveal a huge yellow plantation home.

“Wow,” Spencer breathed from the backseat.

His response was an understatement. The home sitting at the end of the drive was beautiful in the way a grand old dame was. Clinging to the vestiges of beauty, showing the good bones beneath but helpless against the ravages of time. It was the perfect house for a Southern Gothic horror flick.

Spencer bounced around in the backseat.

“Hey, are you out of the booster?”

“Yeah. We’re in the driveway.” He said it with a teenager’s “duh” tone.

“Doesn’t matter. If I applied the brakes, you could get hurt.” She tapped the brakes a bit to show him. Spencer flew forward and smacked his head on the console.

“Owwww!” he cried.

Crap. She smothered another stronger curse under her tongue and stopped in the middle of the drive. She turned to the boy who had started wailing. “Oh, Spencer, I’m sorry. Let me see.”