Not One of Us(56)

When the road dead-ended into swamp water, I realized I’d driven straight past the place. I turned the car around on the narrow road and then slowly cruised it again. This time I found it, a small nondescript cabin so nestled against a tree line of pine and cypress that it almost blended seamlessly into the woods. There was no driveway or even a mailbox on the side of the road to make it easier to locate.

I called in my location to the dispatcher and approached the cabin with a can of Mace in my palm, my trigger finger on the nozzle, at the ready. Thankfully, I was relieved not to hear the sound of loose dogs barking. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, least of all my fellow officers, but I had a real fear of stray dogs, which was odd since I’d never had a bad encounter with one. But I’d almost rather face an armed assailant than a wild bayou beast.

An old Buick was parked at the side of the house, and I hoped that meant Johnson was home. I’d rather question him here than at his place of employment.

Before I could knock on the door, it was opened by an older man with a short, wiry stature. Physically, there was certainly nothing intimidating about his looks. My grandma could probably beat him in a fight.

“Mr. Cash Johnson?” I asked, pasting on a bright smile. Last thing I wanted was for him to report me to Oliver for harassment.

“Yes?” His voice was so soft it barely registered over the fresh morning breeze.

“I’m Deputy Blackwell with the Erie County Sheriff’s Office.” I kept my smile firmly in place. Nothing to fear from me, just a casual-chat kind of smile. “I’d like a minute of your time, sir.”

He didn’t even ask why. Just stood there, hands in the pockets of his plaid shorts, and regarded me impassively with flat eyes, as though he wasn’t even curious about my reasons. It was disconcerting.

“We’re reinvestigating the Cormier case. As their nearest neighbor, I wondered if you might have any information on regular visitors at the house—that sort of thing.”

He spat at the ground, only a foot from my polished black uniform shoes. “Told the cops then that I didn’t know nothin’ about them fancy-ass folks. Ain’t nothin’ changed over the years neither.”

“Is that so?” I acted puzzled as I withdrew a notepad from my shirt pocket and pretended to scan notes. “Are you saying that you never observed anyone coming and going on the grounds? Maybe even at odd hours during the day or night?”

“Ain’t none of my business what people might have come and gone.”

“Surely you’d let us know if you saw something unusual around the time of their disappearance, something that might give us a lead to solve the murders.”

He deliberately hesitated a moment before answering. “Yeah. Right.”

“Excellent. I’m glad to hear it. So perhaps you’d like to reconsider your answer. Did you ever observe anyone sneak onto the Cormier property?”

“Maybe.”

I stared him down. Johnson sighed. “Used to sometimes spot a teenager sneaking ’round to the smokehouse to meet up with her boyfriend.”

“Her name?”

He gave another exasperated sigh. “Jori Trahern. There—you happy now? I work for her uncle and don’t want no grief. It’s the best job I ever had.”

“What is it that you do around here?”

“I manage the campgrounds, plus I’m over all the tour guides during the busy season.”

“How long you been doing this work?”

“Started working for Buddy almost twenty years ago. Got promoted a few years in, seeing as how I’m such a stable employee and live so close. It’s been a convenient arrangement for both of us.”

“I can see why you don’t want to rock the boat. So Jori would meet up with Deacon Cormier in the smokehouse some evenings?”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

He snorted. “Several times a week.”

“And how did you happen to observe these meetings?” I gestured to my left. “That old smokehouse is far enough away from your place that you can’t see it from here.”

His face flushed, and he looked truly uncomfortable for the first time. “I’m a hunter. I’m up early in the mornings roaming the woods.”

“Did you ever speak to Jori Trahern or Deacon Cormier when you came upon them?”

“Nope. I reckon if they was sneaking around, they weren’t in the mood to chitchat with an adult.”

“Did you ever tell either of their parents that these two were rendezvousing in the woods?”

“Weren’t my business. They weren’t my kids.”

“So you didn’t think you had any responsibility as an adult to speak to their parents?”

“Hell, no. Nobody likes the messenger of bad news. Besides, they were just being normal kids. Wasn’t like I was no saint at their age.”

“What exactly did you see in those early mornings?”

“Seen them both leaving the smokehouse and head their separate ways.”

“Did you see them kiss?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over my shoulder, as though unwilling to look me in the eye. “I guess. A time or two,” he admitted reluctantly.

I took a deep breath, deciding to take the plunge. “Is that why you were really in the woods most mornings, Mr. Johnson?” I asked softly. “To try and catch them together?”