None of that should have amused her. Nevertheless, laughter bubbled up in her throat. “Oh for God’s sake, you two. Pappy, put the shotgun down. Johnny loves whiskey. He could drink you under the table with your own moonshine.”
A long minute passed while birds sang, frogs croaked, and insects buzzed. Finally, Pappy yelled back, “If Gomer likes him, he can come closer. If not, you can both leave. Gomer, go!”
Melia heard the dog’s slow-as-molasses approach. “Here he is. Hey, Gomer.”
The dog plodded forward, sniffed her outstretched hand, and let her ruffle his floppy ears. To Johnny, he bared his teeth.
“Say hey,” she told him.
“Hey, dog,” he replied.
“Don’t let him see your gun.”
“Seriously?”
“Gomer’s a smart dog, whatever you might think.”
“He okay, Gomer?” Pappy sounded winded. Not a good sign.
“Scratch his ears,” she said.
“Mel…”
“Do it. I’m worried about Pappy.”
Johnny did one better. With the dog’s teeth still showing, he crouched and looked straight into the animal’s eyes. “Friend, Gomer. We’re here to help Pappy.”
The dog stood still for a moment, then dropped his head and let Johnny rub his ears.
“We’re good, Pappy,” Melia called out. “We’re coming in.”
No more shots went off. In fact, by the time she and Johnny and Gomer had navigated the weed-filled yard and reached the old man, his shotgun was lying on the ground beside him and his head was lolling.
The dog barked. Melia went to her knees, then checked the old man’s vitals. When his eyelids flicked open, she looked at him. “Your pulse is thready, your eyes are bloodshot, and you smell like your own still. It’s early morning, Pappy. You shouldn’t be drinking at this hour.”
“Foot hurts like a bitch,” Pappy declared. “Who’s he?”
Johnny crouched again. “I’m her friend. Nothing else here interests me.”
Pappy had wrapped what appeared to be an old pillowcase around his left foot. It didn’t look clean, and neither did he.
“Did you step on something?” she asked him.
His head shook against the wall of the outbuilding. “I was out hunting. I got in a disagreement with a trespasser. Warned him I was going to call the sheriff, but he ignored me. Said he and his buddy only wanted some fresh meat, and him killing a rabbit or two wasn’t gonna hurt me none. When I told him to get the hell off my land, that’s when he got mean.”
Melia carefully unwrapped Pappy’s foot. What she saw brought a hiss of sympathy and outrage. “He shot you!”
“Yep.” Pappy’s eyes closed. “Pretty sure he was aiming for my kneecap, but I moved faster than he thought. High-powered sucker, too. Good thing for me, no one knows this area like I do. I got away. Too bad I’d been hunting myself, else I’d have had more than a couple of bullets left in my rifle.”
Johnny looked around. “Did you shoot him with those couple of bullets?”
“Shot at him. Might’ve got his arm. I saw blood, or something, and he looked plenty pissed.” The old man gave a burbling snicker. “Gomer snuck up behind him and bit his leg. He howled like a stuck banshee then. I fired again and he skedaddled.” Pappy winced at his swollen foot. “Patch me up, doc. I got stuff to do ’round here. Lotsa stuff.”
His hand went limp on the last word, and his head rolled to the side.
Melia checked his pulse again. “We need to get him to a hospital. There’s one in Bellwater. We can go in my SUV.”
“What’ll they do for him there?”
“Treat the infection. I think the bullet went right through. I see an exit hole.” Melia held fast to her calm. But she wanted to swear when her eyes met Johnny’s. “One of Satyr’s people, do you think?”
“That’d be my guess. Most construction workers wouldn’t be toting a high-powered rifle around the swamp.”
“Apparently, whoever he is, he doesn’t share Satyr’s philosophy of focusing on a specific target. He shot an old man, Johnny, because the old man wanted him off his land.”
“He also got shot himself, possibly, and bitten. If it helps, Mel, I’ll get him. And when I do, it won’t just be retribution for an old man. It’ll be one less person after you.”
One less person after her. The words echoed in Melia’s head. She looked down at Pappy’s badly infected foot and wondered if that was supposed to make her feel better.
Five hours and two long consultations later, Pappy was safely ensconced at the Bellwater hospital. Complaining bitterly whenever he happened to wake up, but in a ward where his injuries could be properly treated.
Melia drove back to Deception Cove with Johnny, deep in thought and riding shotgun.
“Whoever did this to Pappy might have left town,” she speculated.
“Might have,” Johnny agreed. “But I doubt it. One reason would be that he’ll probably want his own revenge now.”
“Because of Pappy?”
“And Gomer. Hell, he got shot by an old man and bitten by a dog. In the end, that’s going to swing around to being your fault. And mine. Another reason is that Satyr’s money will still be dangling in front of him. Satyr pays well for services rendered. It’ll be worth this guy’s while to finish the job. On the other hand, if he’s Mockerie’s man—doubtful, in my opinion—then whoever Satyr sent probably won’t appreciate the interference.”
“Great.” She slid a pair of dark glasses on to combat the sun’s glare. “So what you’re saying is we have no idea how many bad guys are out there or who sent them.”
“Satyr prefers low numbers as a rule, two or three max. He won’t be happy no matter how many guns Mockerie sends.”
“Will the two factions be working at odds or together?”
“I’m guessing they’ll be aware of each other, likely in communication to some degree. That doesn’t mean either faction will report those communications back to their respective employers. I still don’t know what Mockerie’s angle is, but if he’s involved, and I’m betting he is, you can count he’ll throw himself into this mess full bore. Don’t know whether Satyr will know that or not.”
“Sounds like it’s a tricky business being a hitman. Particularly in a situation like this.”
“It has its complexities,” he agreed. “For now, I need to meet more people.”
She regarded the dash. “It’s one thirty. I figure that snack we grabbed in Bellwater must have sucked for you. We can stop at the diner outside Deception Cove. Food’s only so-so, but the woman who runs the place gets a lot of traffic. She’s also a talker.” Melia grinned. “Remember, you’re my cousin from California. I’ll fill Gert in later today. She’ll love the idea of a secret. It’s very old Hollywood mystery movie. Gomer will be another matter for her. I promised Pappy we’d take care of him. I’m not sure how Gert feels about dogs.”
When they pulled up, the diner, called Mabel’s in honor of its owner, was busy, the lunch counter filled. It had an old-fashioned Airstream trailer look about it, with supersize shakes, greasy fries, and bacon burgers on the menu. The cholesterol levels made her shudder, but Melia gave it a pass under the circumstances, and because that food in Bellwater really had sucked.
Mabel Travers, Sheriff Travers’s mother, ran the place and had since she was eighteen. Her eye for business was surpassed only by her ear for gossip.
“There you are!” she exclaimed when Melia walked in. “Ethan’s been hunting high and low for you.”
Her skin resembled old leather, her hair was the texture of steel wool, and the pouch under her chin wobbled when she spoke. But the twinkle in her blue eyes took years away from the actual number and always made Melia smile.
“Who have we here?” Eager to hear the story, Mabel shooed two of her midday regulars away and patted the counter where they’d been sitting. “I hope you’re a relative and not a new beau. That just wouldn’t do at all.”
“Johnny’s my cousin from California,” Melia told her. “He’s in hotels.”
“Johnny Rose?”
“No,” Johnny said automatically. Then he caught Melia’s eye and backpedaled. “Sorry, yes. Sort of. We’re steps.”
“Step-cousins ?” Mabel set her chin on her fist. “Sounds fascinating.”