Poison Fruit Read Online Free PDF Page B

old lady fled.
    Somewhere in the course of Scott’s less-than-coherent recitation, the chief gave me an inquiring look, which I answered with a slight shrug and head shake. I wasn’t sure if a succubus was anything like an incubus, but it didn’t sound at all similar to my mother’s experience. Other than that, I couldn’t think of anything in Pemkowet’s eldritch population that would fit the profile.
    “All right, ma’am,” the chief said to Dawn Evans when her husband had finished. “What’s your version?”
    She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “There weren’t no old lady, sir.” There were dark circles under her eyes. “Scott’s got the PTSD. Sometimes he sees thangs. And he ain’t bin takin’ his meds.”
    “It’s got nothing to do with the meds!” he shouted. “She was there , dammit!”
    “Oh, honey! Ah know yuh think so.” Sorrow, a whole world of it, had replaced the anger in her tone. “But she weren’t.”
    It was enough to convince Chief Bryant. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. Scott, Mrs. Rogan here’s going to take your statement, and I’ll send Officer Mallick over to examine the apartment forany sign of forced entry. Meanwhile, I want you to go home and take your medication. Can you do that for me?”
    “I guess.”
    “Is that an affirmative, soldier?” The chief pressed him.
    Scott Evans stood a bit taller. “Yes, sir!”
    “Good man.” The chief nodded in approval. “All right, then. Carry on.”
    Feeling bad for Dawn, I sat with her while her husband repeated his story and Patty took down the details. “I take it you’re not from here?” I said to her.
    “No’m.” She gave me a tired smile. “Is it that obvious?”
    “Kind of, yeah,” I admitted. “Where are you from originally?”
    “Alabama,” Dawn murmured, tears filling her eyes. She sniffled and knuckled her eyes. “Ah’m sorry. It’s just that this is so hard . Ah love Scott, ah do, but this is so goddamn hard . His family tries to help as best they can, but . . .” A stifled sob escaped her, and she clenched her teeth on another.
    “Hey, hey!” I put my arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but . . . just breathe, okay?”
    Dawn swallowed and nodded. “Thank yuh.”
    I found a tissue in my messenger bag and handed it to her. “So how did you end up here in Pemkowet?”
    She blew her nose. “We met in Iraq,” she said, pronouncing it “eye-rack.” “Same ole story. Girl meets boy, falls in love and gits married, moves to his hometown.”
    “You served in Iraq?”
    Dawn gave me a sidelong look. “Yes, ma’am. U.S. Army, maintenance and repair personnel. Ah drive a mean Humvee.”
    “I’m impressed,” I said.
    “Yuh mean surprised?” she asked wearily.
    I was beginning to regret my initial assessment of Dawn Evans as “skinny, bleached-blond chick.” Okay, I stand by the hair—it was pretty bad—but there was a lot more going on here. God knows, I knew what it was like to be underestimated because of my looks and age, and the thick Southern accent probably wasn’t doing her anyfavors in these parts. “Look.” I lowered my voice. “You’re probably right about this whole thing. I mean, you know Scott. You know what he’s been through. I don’t. I can’t even begin to imagine what you guys have seen and done and how you’re coping with it. But just to be on the safe side, it wouldn’t hurt to sprinkle your bed with holy water. And, um, hang some cold iron over your front door. An old horseshoe or something. It keeps away the fey.”
    She knit her brows. “Yuh think—”
    “I just think it’s worth taking the precaution,” I said. “I’m going to look into it. And if it happens again . . . call me. Oh, I’m Daisy, by the way. Daisy Johanssen.”
    “Ah know who yuh are,” Dawn said, fishing for her phone so we could trade numbers. “Yer the ghostbuster. Ah seen yuh on YouTube.”
    I winced. “Right.”
    “Ah