Twenty-One
The sign for Catahoula Candy Makers sat in front of a long, low, metal-roofed building outside the Egansville city limits on the west side of town. The town itself had a population of twenty-one hundred, bigger, at least, than Converse. Claire couldn’t keep the hope from rising in her chest as they approached the front door.
Ben held it open and she walked to the counter, where a middle-aged woman wearing a clean white apron and a name tag that read Sophie came up to greet them. She was small, with short blond hair and dark eyes.
“Welcome,” the woman said with a smile. “What can I get for you today? We got the Mud Bug twelve-pack, if you’re interested. Saves you ten percent. They keep real good, so you can’t go wrong stockin’ up.”
Claire smiled brightly. “That sounds great.” She hoped she could keep Ben from jumping into interrogation mode, which, with those pale eyes and the way he was grinding his jaw, would send the poor woman running for cover. “We’ll take a twelve-pack.”
“Sure enough,” Sophie said, obviously pleased. She disappeared into the back and returned with a white cardboard box holding twelve packages of Mud Bugs wrapped in clear cellophane, each piece twisted at the ends.
“You ain’t from around here,” the woman said as she wrote out the receipt. “How’d you hear about us?”
“A friend told us about you,” Ben said, taking Claire’s lead, thank God, and standing down, at least for the moment. “Troy Bragg. We tried some at his house. You don’t know him, do you?”
She shook her head, continued writing up the order. “’Fraid I never met him.”
Claire’s spirits fell.
Sophie added the tax. “I know his sister, Aggie, though. She comes in a couple of times a year. Aggie loves our candy.”
Claire couldn’t breathe. Thank heaven Ben stepped in, because she couldn’t get out a single word.
“That’s what Troy told us.” Ben managed a smile that looked at least halfway sincere. “We thought while we were here we’d stop by and say hello. You wouldn’t know her address, would you?”
The woman laughed. “Aggie don’t exactly have an address. She and her kin live about thirty miles south of here, out to Bushytail Bayou. Egansville’s the closest town. Aggie and some of the others come in for supplies once or twice a year.”
Finally back in control, Claire pasted on a friendly smile. “I know she has six brothers. I didn’t know they all lived together.”
Sophie started frowning. “I figured if you knew Aggie, you’d know about that.”
“We’ve mostly talked to Troy,” Ben said smoothly. “He mentioned something about a big family. I can’t remember exactly what it was.”
The woman grinned. “Then if you go out there, you’re in for a real surprise—if they’ll even let you in.”
A man walked out of the back room just then, tall and rangy, with silver hair, a large nose and square jaw. “That’s enough, Sophie. You ain’t bein’ paid to stand around and gossip.”
Her blond eyebrows went up and she flashed Claire a small, woman-to-woman smile. Men, it said. Always interfering. “Here’s your Mud Bugs. Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash.” Ben pulled out his silver money clip and peeled off the amount needed to pay the bill.
“Thanks for comin’ in,” Sophie said, handing him the box of candy and his change.
The man behind the counter said nothing, just stood in stony silence, his arms crossed over his chest.
It was cool when they stepped outside, the days creeping toward November, the hot, humid Louisiana summer finally over. As she slid into the passenger seat, Claire thought of Sam and her throat went tight.
“Sam loved the summer heat,” she said, remembering back to the summer before his mother died. “He can swim like a fish and he loves the ocean. He wants to learn how to sail.”
A muscle ticked in Ben’s jaw.
“Aggie Bragg lives with her brothers thirty miles away,” Claire continued. “Do you really think that’s where Sam is?”
Ben flicked her a dark, sideways glance. “Yeah, I do.” He dug out his cell phone and called Sol as he drove out of the parking lot.
“Bushytail Bayou,” he said. “That’s where the Bragg family lives. I need to know exactly where it is and what the hell’s going on out there.”
Sol said something Claire couldn’t hear, then Ben hung up the phone. “We need more information.”
“So how do we get it?” she asked.
“Get on your iPad. Look up the address for the Egansville post office. The Braggs have a box there. In a town this size, odds are someone will know them.”
Claire plucked the device from between the seats, turned it on and brought up Google, pulled up the address. “It’s on First Street. That’s just off the road we’re on.”
The area was extremely rural. The few buildings along the way sat on big parcels of flat ground far apart from one another. There weren’t many of them. It didn’t take long to find the single-story brick building that served as the local post office. Ben parked in front, and both of them got out of the SUV.
Inside, old-fashioned glass-windowed brass post boxes lined the walls. The office was empty except for the wizened little man who stood behind the counter wearing thick horn-rim glasses, a yellow pencil stuck behind his ear.
“Excuse me,” Ben said when the man didn’t look up, just kept sorting through the stack of letters in front of him. “I wonder if maybe you could help us.”
He finally glanced up, didn’t look friendly. “What can I do for ya?”
Claire stepped in, deflecting the man’s attention away from Ben’s icy stare. “We’re looking for a place called Bushytail Bayou. Can you tell us how to get there?”
“What business you got out there?” he asked Ben.
“We hope to visit some friends.”
He scratched his head. “What ya do, ya go south on 121 ’bout thirty miles. You’ll find the road right there in the middle of town. Road follows the Black Snake River.” He looked Ben over, took in the thick biceps beneath the sleeve of his dark gray T-shirt, the muscular chest and shoulders. “You one of them survivalist boys?”
Survivalist! Claire tried to hide her shock, but the picture of Troy and his brothers dressed in camouflage popped into her head. Oh, my God!
Ben shook his head. “Like I said, we’re just meeting some buddies.”
“Place ain’t easy to find and them boys don’t cotton to visitors lest you’re one of ’em. My advice be to forget the visit and keep on a-drivin’.”
Ben pretended to consider that. “I think maybe you’re right. We’re on our way to Natchez. It’s a long drive for a quick visit. Think we’ll just keep going.”
Claire sighed. “Sounds like a lot of trouble, and we don’t really know them that well, anyway.” The last thing they needed was someone telling the Braggs they were in Egansville looking for them.
She smiled at the old man, whose name tag read Jenkins. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Jenkins.”
He just grunted and went back to sorting letters into neat little piles. Leaving him to his task, they headed for the car, Claire having to hurry to keep up with Ben’s long, anxious strides.
“Survivalists,” she said as they climbed back into the Denali. “Not white supremacists.”
“Yeah, and word gets out we’re looking for them, they’ll be ready for us.”
“Are we calling the sheriff?”
“Maybe. I want to talk to Sol, see what he comes up with first. In the meantime, we need a room, somewhere out of town, preferably on the road south. We need a place to stash the gear, use the computer and strategize.”
“Maybe we could drive by the area first, see what it looks like.”
“Hell, no. I’m not going anywhere near those guys with you in the car. Besides, I’ve got a hunch their compound won’t be easy to find.”
As Ben drove through the small rural community, he pressed Sol’s number. “Bushytail Bayou is thirty miles south of—” Ben broke off the sentence and started nodding. Apparently, Sol had already found the location.
“The Braggs are involved in some kind of survivalist group,” Ben told him. Sol said something. “Yeah, definitely not good news. They all live together in some sort of compound. It’s bound to be guarded. I’m going to need to find a way in.”
Sol said something, and a few minutes later, Ben hung up the phone.
“He’s on it. He’s sending area maps and intel. In the meantime, how are you coming with that room?”
Claire looked down at the Google page, open on the iPad in her lap. “There’s nothing out there, Ben. No motel for a jillion miles.”
“Try fishing camps. Lots of water around. People love to fish. See if there’s something with a cabin we can rent.”
She typed in the reference, looked up at him. “I can’t believe it. Uncle Buster’s Cabins. Look’s like it’s on a lake off road 121. They rent fishing boats and there’s a small RV park. If I call from here, we might be able to get something.”
“Sounds good.”
She looked down at the iPad. “From the photos, the cabins look pretty good, but there’s no cell phones, no internet.”
“Sat phone. We won’t be incommunicado.”
Claire leaned back in her seat. They were close. She could feel it.
While she made the reservation, Ben pulled into a rural market to pick up supplies for a couple of days, sandwich fixings and breakfast rolls, a couple of bags of potato chips, some milk. Claire grabbed a bag of raw almonds, picked up some apples and bananas, a jug of orange juice, a six-pack of bottled water.
As they climbed back into the car and Ben pulled out of the lot, she said a silent prayer for Sam. We’re coming, sweetheart. Be strong. Don’t give up. We love you, Sam. Her eyes felt misty, her throat tight when she finished.
Ben reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’re going to find him, Claire. We’re going to bring him home.”
But it wouldn’t be easy. Claire thought of the bullet wound in Ben’s side that was barely healed, and the other scars he carried.
This time her prayer was for Ben.