Dead on the Bayou. June Shaw
she said.
Not getting any conversation from her, I drove to what would become Dave’s fishing camp. I told her I’d seen an alligator in the bayou, but she didn’t look for one. She showed little reaction when I pointed out an eagle that swooped low to the water. They were fairly rare here, but did build nests along some bayous. Reaching Dave’s camp, I was pleased to see his truck pulling into his drive ahead of us.
“Thank you for coming,” he told Eve, who gave him a tight smile. “Since y’all are guests, I’ll let you in through the nicer entrance.” He unlocked the front door and stepped aside for us to go in first. “The place doesn’t look like much, and it doesn’t need to for me to use it for relaxing. But I will want to fix it up some and hope you and Sunny might help.”
Eve mumbled something and didn’t try to get close to him, which was so unlike her.
Maybe if I took myself out of their space a couple of minutes, she would perk up. “Dave, you might want to show Eve around. I’ll just check out some things over here.” I scuttled from the living area, and he guided her toward the hall.
I stepped into the utility room. It was small with only enough space for the old white washer and dryer that must have come with the place and might or might not work and the water heater. A large black garbage bag that looked almost full leaned against it.
Plastic and heat don’t mix well together, I would tell Dave after he and Eve finished their tour. In the meantime, I grabbed the top of the bag to pull it away from the heater. The thing didn’t budge. I opened the top to remove some of what must have been chunks of wood or maybe plaster, judging from the wide shape at its bottom.
“Jingle bells,” I bellowed, spewing more lyrics.
“Sunny, what’s wrong?” Eve ran in ahead of Dave, knowing my unwilling song stemmed from fright.
My arms quivered and mouth dried as all three of us stared at the slumped body in the trash bag. Even though blood matted her hair, it was easy to see this was Eve’s neighbor Mrs. Wilburn. The odd twist of her neck assured us she was dead.
Chapter 3
Eve and I rushed from the utility room, my heart pounding so hard I heard it thrusting into my head over the sound of my carol and almost missed hearing Dave say he was calling 911.
My twin and I stopped in the kitchen, both shaking. We held each other’s hands, my eyes surely as big as hers had become. A mask of fear gripped her face. My feet quit moving, but my heart slammed my ribcage as if it were a power drill.
Dave stepped into the room with us. “Police are coming.”
Eve flung herself against him, circling his neck with her arms. His arms came around her. I knew she clung to him for support, and I wanted it, too.
“You two stay together.” He pulled away from her. “I’m going to hurry through to make sure whoever did that isn’t still around.”
“Do you have a gun?” I asked.
“Yes, but it’s in my truck. I won’t leave you in here to go get it.”
“We could wait outside,” Eve offered, but immediately reconsidered. “No, the killer could be out there.”
Dave shook his head. “I don’t think it just happened. The blood doesn’t look fresh enough. Wait there.”
I stood in place, not wanting to think of what he would do if he discovered a murderer.
We were with Eve’s neighbor yesterday. How could she be dead now? And why here in the little building down on a remote bayou where Dave wanted to make his relaxing fishing camp? What about her poor motherless son?
“There’s no one here.” Dave’s words competed with the cry of the sirens that I first thought was the electric saw from the next camp’s wharf. He strode outside and car doors slammed. Moments later, he returned with two deputies, one I recognized and one I didn’t. Both were real young and with solemn stances and faces, one of the faces wearing freckles. The one I’d never seen before stared at me. At Eve. And at me again, certainly registering that, yes, we were identical—except, Dave had told me, for the gold flecks that the sun picked out only in my clear blue eyes.
The deputy we’d seen before stayed in the room with us and began asking questions and taking notes while the unfamiliar one moved to the utility room. Sirens again swamped the air outside, and more men and a woman in uniform rushed in. With gloves and cameras and a gurney, they swarmed the building that grew tinier while I tried to pay closer attention to all of the questions and to Eve’s and Dave’s answers.
Thick black brows and lips so full they would put most women’s to shame gripped my attention. The man owning them stamped to us on stubby legs.
“I’m Detective Wilet with the Landry Parish Sheriff’s Department,” he announced to Dave. His gaze grabbed us. “You two, again.”
Eve and I offered tight-lipped smiles. We couldn’t help it if we were involved in previous murders. We hadn’t committed any, then or now.
“We’ve answered a lot of questions already,” I told him as though I believed that should end the discussion and the need for any query from him.
“We didn’t do it.” Eve wiggled her finger between the three of us who had been there.
“And we don’t know who did.” I gave him a shrug as though that would put his mind at ease and send him off elsewhere to locate a killer.
We didn’t throw him off, though. While a woman snapped pictures around us, I tried to focus more on what this detective asked and said, and heard him in a disappointed tone ask Dave if there wasn’t a place to sit.
“Only the floor,” Dave said. “The previous owner left a couple of appliances, and I wanted to get opinions from the twins before I put anything else inside.”
“Like a body?” The detective lifted his chin.
“Absolutely not.” Dave grimaced.
“Detective Wilet, Dave didn’t kill her and neither did we. Dave showed me around in here yesterday, and I can guarantee you Eve’s neighbor wasn’t here.”
The detective’s stance stiffened. “I’ll need you three to answer more questions at the office.” He tilted his head toward Dave. “Officer Bennings will give you a ride.”
I bustled forward. “Wait. Are you arresting him? He didn’t do anything. He needs an attorney. He needs his rights read to him.” All of these words swirled through my mind and probably rushed from my mouth. And then bits of words I’d heard registered. Dave had told him he’d gone home after we left here yesterday. No one could attest to that fact. He had been at work earlier today, arrived right before we did, and nobody else had a key to this place.
The freckled-face officer walked us out with Detective Wilet following. “I’m going to inspect in here and meet y’all there later,” Wilet said.
Fearful that Dave would go to prison for something he didn’t do, I fought to stop the carol that tried to rush from my mouth, biting down on it while I glanced toward the wharf at the camp beyond. The man on it was no longer working but standing and watching all of the commotion over here. Yes, the police would question him, and if we were lucky, that man had witnessed the killer getting Mrs. Wilburn inside here.
My eyes skimmed Dave’s carport. Something looked amiss. “Wait,” I said, and the officers stopped walking. The detective’s dark brows tightened into one, letting me know I had better come up with something good. “I saw all your people coming in the front door.”
“And?”
“Look back there.” I pointed inside the carport.
“There’s wood he’s going to use for this place.” Wilet swept his arm toward the stacks.
“The stacks were neat, but if