Wild Man's Curse (Wilds of the Bayou #1) by Susannah Sandlin Page A

fragile beneath his fingers. “Ride with me. You can get your truck after you decide where you’re going to stay tonight.”
    The look she gave him was anything but fragile, and she tugged her arm free. “I know exactly where I’m staying tonight: in my cabin on my land.” Her voice rose. “This freak is not going to scare me away.”
    “ This freak murdered your aunt and we don’t know why. It sure sounds like he wants back in that cabin.” Gentry took a deep breath. Stay professional. Stay detached. “Look, why don’t we see what Deputy Meizel has found and get his input before you decide anything.”
    Let Meizel be the heavy-handed officer coercing the stubborn victim to act like a sensible human being.
    “Fine, but I’m taking my truck.”
    He couldn’t help but smile at her defiance, which only increased the clench in her jaw. He threw up his hands. Call him a chicken and fry him for dinner. “Go for it. I’ll follow your lead.”
    For now, anyway.
    While they’d been talking, the rain had slowed to a light sprinkle and the sun had already reappeared. Gentry followed the old Chevy onto the highway and, in a mile or so, turned left into the muddy, puddle-filled drive. A white patrol car with the Sheriff’s Department logo on the side sat at the edge of the parking area, empty.
    Gentry glanced at the mud between the patrol car and the edge of the porch—the deputy’s footprints were almost submerged. Good. He’d been here long enough to make an assessment without feeling as if Gentry were butting in where he didn’t belong.
    Because he was just an acquaintance . . . or something.
    They met Meizel on the front porch, where he knelt in front of the door, scraping flakes of the writing into an evidence bag. He glanced up as they approached. “It’s paint, not blood. I’m taking a sample to the lab in case it has any unusual properties.”
    “Can I clean it up when you’re done?” Ceelie crossed her arms and looked at the door as if she’d like to set it on fire rather than try to remove the paint.
    “I’ve got a paint sample and photos, so it should be okay.” He put the evidence bag in a case he’d brought with him. “I need to take the skull with me.”
    “Want me to pull it down?” Gentry had a few inches on the deputy, so it would be an easy reach.
    “Yeah.” Meizel looked up at the ceiling of the porch. “Ms. Savoie, was that hook already up there?”
    Ceelie nodded. “When I was a kid, my aunt had wind chimes hanging there.”
    “We don’t need the hook, then,” Meizel said. “Broussard, see if you can get it down touching only the ropes. That way we don’t have to worry about your prints on the skull. And Ms. Savoie, you’re going to need to tell me everything. That skull wasn’t already here, was it?”
    “You mean because my aunt was the great voodoo queen?” Ceelie snapped, then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled-for. No, I have no idea where the skull came from.”
    “That’s good, actually. It’s another clue.” Meizel smiled at her. Gentry recognized the smile and the tone of voice—it was standard law-enforcement conciliation. Calm down the victim. Minimize the drama.
    Ceelie spoke softly as she repeated her story twice more, thinking about her answers before responding to Meizel’s questions and keeping her anger under control.
    While they talked, after checking with the deputy to make sure he wasn’t interfering, Gentry picked up the groceries that had gotten scattered around the porch, putting them back into the gray plastic bags. He recognized the makings of red beans and rice, although there was an industrial-sized package of ramen as well. Almost everything she’d bought was inexpensive. Her only splurges appeared to be a couple of pounds of good andouille and the biggest container of salt Gentry had ever seen. Maybe she had a sodium deficiency. Or really high blood pressure.
    The legal papers had gotten wet, but he wiped them off