Dead on the Delta Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Actually, Dom, I was hoping you could do the paperwork for me. I’m already late to turn in my samples and—”
    “Sure, no problem. You did your share for us today.” He slows and turns back to me with a pained look on his face. I know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “I’m so sorry you had to do that. I know some things have to be done before we move the body but—”
    “I really have to run, Dom.” I edge around him, uncomfortable with his apology. Cane hadn’t bothered. He knows I don’t know how to handle apologies. He knows me better than I realize sometimes. Maybe he even knows that I didn’t mean what I said the other night.
    The thought makes me sad, which means it’sprobably time to put an end to things. I should have done it before now. A year and a half is too long for a casual relationship, and those are the only kind I want.
    “Sure, go ahead. I’ll fill out the forms after I call New Orleans. I’ll give them straight to Cane, no one else.”
    “Thanks, you’re the best.” I hurry toward my bike, oddly pleased to see Gimpy still wrapped around my cooler. Maiming Dicker has edged him onto my good side. For now.
    He yowls as I pull onto the road, pedaling toward town. It’s a low, pained sound, different from his usual complaining. He’s probably hungry. Who knows the last time he was fed? Maybe I’ll swing in and buy him a can of food at the Quik Mart on the way to the bus stop. I have twenty minutes until the shuttle to Baton Rouge leaves the square. If I hurry I can—
    A rustling sound ruffles the air above me. My head snaps up. Spindly brown legs hang from a fat tree limb, and child-sized feet wave listlessly in the breeze. I almost scream, but swallow the sound. It’s just a girl. An
alive
girl. There’s no need to freak out, even if the small toes are painted the same pink as Grace Beauchamp’s.
    It must be Deedee, Percy’s daughter. She and Grace are the only two kids on this side of town. Most of the families with little ones live close to the square, in renovated apartments near the town center. It makes people feel safer to be farther from the bayou.I’d thought that silly even a few days ago, but now …
    I wonder how much Deedee knows. Has she been told that her friend is dead?
    “Hey.” I wave at the feet. Deedee stares down at me, dark eyes glittering like stones under water. Then her legs and feet are gone. The branch shakes as she disappears into the dense leaves close to the trunk.
    Odd. Deedee’s usually friendly. Too friendly. She likes to show up when Marcy and I are having Saturday coffee on the square and spend thirty minutes talking Marcy’s leg off. She prefers Marcy to me, but I would have said we’re friends, and it’s not like I’m a scary person.
    At least not until you get to know me better.
    “Deedee? You okay?” Silence, but I can see a patch of skin near the top of the tree. “Deedee?”
    Nothing from the girl, but Gimpy hisses, protesting our lack of motion or his empty stomach or some other cat thing. Who the hell knows? Stupid cat. I should have left it in the swamp with the Breeze head.
    “Do you need anything?” I ask the tree, feeling obligated to try one more time. If Deedee’s heard about Grace she’s probably devastated. Not that I’m prepared to deal with a seven-year-old girl traumatized by death, but there isn’t anyone else here. “Want me to call your mom?”
    “No. I’m good, Miss Annabelle,” the girl hurries to say, making it clear she wants to talk to her mom even less than she wants to talk to me. “I’m just … playing.”
    Ah, the evasive “playing.” How many times did I tell my mom the same thing, usually when I was setting Caroline’s dolls on fire?
    “Oh. Okay. So you don’t need anything?”
    “No. I’m good.” Gimpy hisses again and Deedee sticks one hand through the branches to point at my trailer. “That’s a mean cat.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Can I hold it?”
    Kids, so dumb