Not One of Us(77)

Burnt-orange cubes flared again as the voice issued some command that I didn’t quite catch. So this was the killer.

“Jori? What are you doing here? Everything all right?”

I turned. And stared into the face of the devil himself.

Uncle Buddy.

The man I’d always believed to be our family’s benefactor, the reliable uncle who could be counted on in a financial pinch, the respectable businessman and community leader in the bayou. He was a fraud. A murderous fraud. All this time—I’d never really known the man at all.





Chapter 32


BUDDY MUNFORD


One look into Jori’s eyes told me all I needed to know. Panic and shock radiated from every tense muscle in her body. She was a gazelle, set to run at the least provocation.

I walked toward her slowly, as though I didn’t recognize her fear. As though I were still her dear old kindly uncle—the one who’d lent them money for so many years. Actually, I had been a damn good uncle. I’d helped out my sister and her ill daughter for years, paying their bills, making sure Zach received excellent care for his special needs, and making sure Jori’s mom had the best medical care when she was struck with cancer. Wasn’t my fault that it had to end. I’d done my best to scare Jori off from sniffing around that damn adoption.

How was it possible that she’d discovered the truth? And after all these years too. It wasn’t fair.

“Dana told me you were acting strange. That something was wrong.”

“I-I’m fine,” she lied.

Deception had never been her strong suit.

“Well, now, that’s debatable,” I said, smile in place, easing forward. “When Dana told me what direction you’d headed, I figured this was where you’d end up.”

Jori glanced left and right, then over a shoulder at the blue expanse behind her. “Kayakers should be here soon,” she said quickly. “They have to pass by here to get to the finish line at the dock.”

I stopped walking. She was right. I’d forgotten all about that damn kayak race. Jori hurriedly punched something into her phone, and I frowned. Was she texting for help? My fingers curled into my palms, my hands tightening into fists. I had to get the phone from her.

I marched to Jori and grabbed her arm. “I’ll take that.”

She cried out as I pried the phone from her hand.

“Give me my phone back,” Jori demanded with false bravado.

Keeping a firm grasp on her arm, I scrolled up the screen with my opposite hand and read the message Jori had just sent.

It’s Buddy. Help.

Above that line was a link to an MP3 recording. The recipient of Jori’s text was Deputy Tegan Blackwell. I clicked on the link.

It wasn’t until I heard the gunshot and the screams that I realized what it was. Shock gave way to panic, then anger. Someone had recorded the shooting? How had we missed finding it when we cleaned up the house?

A sharp kick on my shin sent pain radiating up my right leg. My grip loosened at the surprise attack, and Jori took off running into the woods. Twenty feet inside the confines of the wooded area, I caught up to Jori and tackled her to the ground from behind.

She didn’t even have time to let out a scream before her body hit the dirt with a loud thud. I fell on top of Jori and grabbed a handful of her hair.

She yelled, and I pulled her hair tighter. “Shut up and I’ll let go. We need to talk. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said, moaning and whimpering.

I flipped Jori onto her back and wrapped my hands around her throat. “Now you’re going to answer a few questions. What did you mean when you told the cop it’s Buddy?”

“N-nothing,” she stammered, eyes glazed with panic.

I pressed my thumbs into the soft hollow of her neck. “Liar. I don’t have much time. Why do you think it was me on that tape?”

She didn’t answer right away, and I realized I was squeezing her throat too tight for her to speak. I eased up on the pressure. “Well?”

“Your voice,” she whispered hoarsely. “I recognized it.”

I frowned. “How could you possibly . . .” Then I remembered. Oatha had mentioned several times in the past that Jori had something called colored hearing.

“What bullshit,” I said fiercely. How could something so abnormal . . . so freaky . . . defeat me? I refused to let it.

I thought fast, realizing I had very little time before either a cop or maybe even Dana came looking for my niece. I’d have to kill her. And quickly. The cops couldn’t prove anything, especially if her body were never found. Momentary guilt stabbed my heart, but I tamped it down. Killing Oatha’s beloved grandchild, the great-niece I’d watched mature into a kind, intelligent young lady . . . well, it was such a shame.

Keeping one hand wrapped around her neck, I retrieved her cell phone from my pants. “Password?”

“Noscam8871.” Despite her fear, loathing filled her eyes. “You sick bastard.”

I winced inwardly at the insult. Jori didn’t understand that you could care about someone but recognize that all that really mattered in this world was your own survival. My needs came first, always. Quickly, I dialed Cash. “We’ve got a problem. Bring the car around to mile marker five on Conch Road. I’ve got a hostage and need a quick getaway. How soon can you get here?”