So it was Bette that morning, huh? Melia smiled. “Where did you find the picnic basket?”
“Just inside the front door, under the drop leaf table.”
“Anything look good for breakfast?”
“Quite a lot, actually, but then I have a fondness for all things decadent, and that cake is at least five layers of frosted sin.” A brow went up after she turned. “My, my, don’t you look happy with yourself this morning. Finally gave in to your womanly urges, did you? That Johnny, he surely is a dish.”
“Can’t argue with you there.” Melia poured herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “What do you think about men and lies and things being done in your best interest that you’d rather hadn’t been done at all? Things that ruined your life in one way, but saved it in another?”
“I think what you just said was a mouthful. I’ll need to digest it before I can give you a straight answer. Elaborate, darling, if you can.”
Leading the way to the back porch, Melia perched on the rail, sipped, and considered. “Johnny and one of his colleagues—his boss, actually—took it upon themselves to direct the course of my life.”
Bette sank onto one of the loungers and lit the cigarette in her holder. “How fascinating. When did this happen?”
“Three years ago.” Turning slightly, so she could see the sunrise, Melia sighed and, feeling the need to talk, gave Bette the nutshell version of the story. She finished with a confused, “I love him. I never stopped loving him, even when I hated him. But I still think he should have told me what he wanted to do. It’s not easy to accept that someone, even someone you love, has taken control of your world.”
“Under extraordinary circumstances,” Bette interceded. Then she shrugged. “I’m sorry, I’m not judging you or Johnny. I’m simply stating what seems to be a fact. Death at your door strikes me as a rather exceptional turn of events.”
“Then you think what Johnny and his boss did was right?”
“Right, wrong.” Blowing a stream of smoke, Bette sat back to contemplate. “Is it really a matter of one or the other? I would say your husband made a choice at the time. Out of love, and very likely fear.”
Had she thought of the fear aspect, Melia wondered. Or had she been focused solely on her own concerns. Her own thoughts and feelings? Her anger?
“Now don’t get me wrong.” Bette wagged a finger. “In your shoes, I’d want to slow roast his nuts over a red-hot flame, but if you can get past that point, I think what he did probably saved your life. And walk a mile in his shoes here, Dr. Rose. You most certainly suffered for what you believed you did. But how much did the man who loves you also suffer, by doing what he did? Not to mention that he turned the wrath of a dreadful criminal onto himself. And all so that criminal, that madman, would leave you alone.”
Well, hell, when she put it that way… Talk about a lot to process. And yet how simple and true did it all seem when someone unconnected to any of it put the whole thing in perceptive.
Slipping from the rail, Melia bent and kissed Bette’s cheek. “You should have been a psychologist instead of an actress. You have a knack for cutting through the bullshit and getting straight to the meat of the situation. Thanks for that.”
“You’re quite welcome, darling. Now I believe I’ll finish my cigarette and watch the sun come fully up.”
Melia glanced into the yard, spied Laidlaw making his rounds, and let a smile tug on her lips. Another hour out there wouldn’t hurt him. Bette wanted to watch the sun come up, and more than even last night, Melia wanted to jump Johnny’s bones.
Two cranberry muffins, a bowl of orange slices, and a fresh pot of coffee waited for them in the kitchen. That would’ve been Bette’s doing, Melia realized.
Johnny hunted through the basket on the counter. “All she left us is a container of potato salad and some kind of green loaf thing that smells like mold.”
“Mabel’s blue cheese bread. Her regulars at the diner love it.”
“I wanted cake.”
“So did Bette, apparently. God, you’re grumpy after sex. I don’t remember you being like this three years ago.”
“I’m not grumpy, I’m starving, and muffins and oranges aren’t going to fill me up.”
Coffee would help, she thought, amused by the expression on his face. Still… “Okay, one-time deal,” she said. “I’ll fix you an omelet. Will that make you happy?”
He grabbed a slice of orange. “With bacon?”
“You know, Johnny, if Satyr and Mockerie don’t get you, your arteries certainly will.”
“Trust me, we ate worse than bacon in Iraq.”
She could believe that. “Where’s Laidlaw?”
“Out scouting in the swamp. I’m hoping he can pick up a line on Junior.” As he spoke, he pulled his ringing cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. His lips twitched when he read the screen. “Speak of the devil… Did you find something?” he asked.
Whatever Laidlaw said, Johnny’s entire body went on alert. She motioned for him to put the call on speaker. He did and set the phone on the table.
“…mostly in a mud hole,” Laidlaw was saying. “The ass end was sticking up out of the water. It sunk while I was looking at it, so I’m thinking someone ditched the thing fairly recently.”
“Lowell Felcher’s truck,” Johnny relayed to Melia. “Any sign of Felcher?” he demanded.
“Nope. Not him or anyone. I checked at the campsite where those first three guys you took out were staying, but it’s deserted.”
“Give me your location,” Johnny said while Melia retrieved a pair of travel mugs from the cupboard.
“Ten point three miles due north of the Brewer Farm. There’s a gravel road leading out, then a twisty mud path two miles on. Follow the mud path. I’ll be waiting.”
“Boots,” Melia said as she filled the mugs with coffee. “Sneakers won’t cut it that deep in the swamp.”
“Comforting thought.”
“It’s reality around here, Johnny. I’ll leave a note on the door for my patients.”
Johnny glanced over at Gomer, sleeping peacefully with Pepper by the pantry door. “Bring the dog. And we need to make a quick stop at the Brewer farm.”
Melia regarded him shrewdly. “You think Lowell Felcher’s dead, don’t you?”
“Could be. Put a leash on Gomer and let’s move. There’s something in the air today. Stuff’s happening.”
Talk about comforting thoughts. Shoring up, she grabbed a handful of napkins, both muffins, and the travel mugs. And prayed to God whatever they found—whoever they found—wouldn’t turn out to be one of Dick Brewer’s kids.
Laidlaw flagged them down deep in the bog. He used his bandana and continued to use it long after they’d stopped. To swat mosquitoes, Melia assumed, since he was swearing up a storm when they climbed from the truck.
“I’m gonna be a giant bug bite by the time I leave this bitching swamp. Truck was there.” He flapped his bandana in the direction of a muddy pool. I’ve been poking around since we talked, but the whole frigging place smells like dead rot to me. Good luck to the dog.”
Crouching, Johnny let Gomer sniff a wrinkled T-shirt he’d taken from Dick Brewer’s outbuilding. Gomer took a whiff and barked softly.
“He’s got the scent,” Melia said. “Let him go. He knows how to lead us, if there’s anything to lead us to.”
Gomer went straight to the mud pool and sniffed the ground lavishly. He gave two woofs, turned, and started toward the trees.
Laidlaw flapped a tired hand. “You lead, Johnny. I’ll bring up the rear. Lady in the middle, just in case.”
“In case of what?’ Melia asked. “Johnny’s the one who’s had shots fired at him lately, not me.”
Laidlaw’s laugh contained a wicked undertone. “They always get you when your guard’s down, doc. I figure firing at Johnny is Satyr’s way of throwing us off the track.”
“Is that what you think?” Melia asked Johnny as he pushed aside a moss-covered limb.
“No.”
“Then what?” Laidlaw called out.