Not One of Us(82)

He shrugged. “No. It was a different cabin.”

I began to tremble. Thank God he hadn’t hurt my brother. He’d killed one nephew, so he certainly would have no compunction killing another.

“You still couldn’t keep from snooping, could you? Had to go and talk to Ardy. That stupid sucker. Tressie always could bend him to her will.”

My mind raced ahead. “You must have killed Strickland too. Was that really necessary?”

“Of course. He put the screws on me when he was paroled, threatening to hire another investigator or attorney over Jackson’s illegal adoption. I’d already had to kill one lawyer over the matter.”

“I still don’t get it. Why kill Louis Cormier?”

“Guy was a jerk. So smug and self-righteous when I confronted him in his backyard.” Uncle Buddy smiled with grim satisfaction. “He wasn’t so smug when I pulled my gun. He told me right quick where he kept his investigation notes on Jackson’s adoption.”

“And Deacon and his mom?” I asked softly, my throat constricting with pain. “Why did you kill them?”

“That’s Cash’s fault. Not mine. Cash told me Louis was working in his backyard and that his family had gone shopping in Mobile. So I paid him a visit.”

Uncle Buddy’s face grew red with anger. “Louis refused to drop Strickland’s case at first. Not only that, but he had that knowing look in his eyes. He was running against me for a county commissioner opening. The bastard would have ruined me and taken my power.”

His anger suddenly spent, Uncle Buddy sank onto the sofa opposite me. “I couldn’t have that,” he said, his voice again casual. “So I shot him. Then, unbelievably, I heard a scream from inside the house. So I had to take care of them too.”

Take care of them too. His words were like bullets ricocheting in my mind. If only Deacon and his mom hadn’t been home. If only they’d spent another hour out shopping.

“You bastard,” I said with a hiss, too angry to hold it in. “You damn bastard.”

“And now you’re a problem,” he said calmly.

“If you kill me, they’ll know it’s you.”

He smiled. A chilling, eerie smile that frightened me more than anything else had this day. He picked up my phone. “Noscam8871,” he mumbled, then swiped the screen and began tapping the keyboard.

My heart jackhammered, and my breath grew shallow. “What are you doing?”

Uncle Buddy tapped a few more seconds, then read from the screen.

Hey Tegan. Sorry for the earlier message. It was Cash’s voice on the recording. I’m off to confront him. Later!

He shut off the phone. “I’ll toss this thing in the swamp on my way home. I’ll give Cash his orders to dig a hole out here for your body. By the time the cops arrive, I’ll be long gone, and Cash will be caught red-handed. Of course, I’ll deny any involvement. Who are they going to believe—me, or a guy with a bit of a shady past?”

Uncle Buddy pulled a gun from the back waistband of his pants and aimed it dead at me.

My time had run out.

“Please don’t shoot.” I closed my eyes, thought of my family. What would become of them? “Think of Mimi and Zach.” I opened my eyes and pleaded in a last-ditch effort to appeal to his mercy. “There’s no one left to take care of them if I die.”

The deadly determination in his eyes didn’t flicker. His mind was made up.

I screamed, even knowing it was useless. There was no one to hear me but Cash.

This was it, then. No escape.





Chapter 36


TEGAN


“Here we go.” Oliver held up his phone screen showing a Google Earth map of Buddy Munford’s property. A small cabin sat only twelve feet from the road. I pictured Jori in there, held hostage. Or was she still alive? I steeled myself, preparing for the worst.

“What’s the plan?” I asked. “We have to assume this is a kidnapping, right?”

“Correct. When we get within two hundred yards of the place, we’ll pull over to the side of the road and approach by foot. I’ve warned backup not to arrive with sirens blaring.”

He faced me. “Be prepared to take whatever force needed. I’ll take the lead, and you follow my instructions. Don’t rush in and risk someone being shot. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He scanned the road and checked our coordinates. “Slow down. We’re close.”

I let my foot off the gas.

“Here. Pull over.”

I stopped the car on the side of the road, and we exited the vehicles, shutting the doors quietly. Oliver withdrew his gun from his holster and nodded at me to do the same.

Silently, I pulled out my gun and gripped it securely, its weight comforting. We walked quickly toward the cabin, keeping close to the trees. Suddenly, Oliver held out an arm, then put a finger to his mouth. Peering around him, I spotted Cash Johnson outside, pacing near his truck and smoking a cigarette. His movements were jerky, and he kept running a hand through his hair as though agitated. By his side, a gun dangled in his right hand. We were close enough to be in range of bullets. Oliver motioned for me to stay in place while he crept closer.

For his size and weight, Oliver moved with amazing stealth. But with every small twig that snapped beneath his shoes, I feared for his life. Despite Oliver’s prowess, Cash swept his gaze along the tree line, squinting and tense as a frightened deer. As an experienced hunter, he was no doubt alert to every tiny noise emerging from the woods.