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

the best he could and stacked them. They’d be fine once she could spread them out to dry. Ten acres of prime bayou property. Nice.
    Ceelie’s smartest purchase was the last thing he found—a new deadbolt lock. Gentry pulled the multitool from his duty belt and made quick work of removing the old lock and replacing it with the new one.
    He looked up from a crouch to find Ceelie looking down at him. Her lips were curved into a small smile but her eyes were red-rimmed; she’d been crying. Meizel had upset her. The man had the finesse of a rampaging bull gator.
    “Broussard.” Meizel gestured him over to the far edge of the porch while Ceelie took the new deadbolt keys from Gentry and went inside the cabin. The deputy held up a plastic evidence bag. “Found this on the porch. Don’t know if it’ll give us anything, but Ms. Savoie’s visitor is careless with his smokes.”
    Inside the bag was a cigarette butt, smoked down to within about a quarter inch of the filter. “Maybe we’ll luck out and get fingerprints. Should definitely get DNA.”
    God, he hoped they weren’t a match for his brother’s, who’d had a few minor police skirmishes before his death—or undeath. “Might get DNA, although that’ll take until Christmas to get processed in Baton Rouge.”
    “Ain’t that right.” Meizel folded the bag around the evidence and tucked it in his uniform pocket. “Listen, can you talk some sense into Ms. Savoie? She’s insisting on staying here tonight, and we both know that’s just plain dangerous. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say whoever killed her great-aunt did this, and he wants her out of this cabin. We can’t force her to be smart.”
    Gentry nodded. While he’d been installing the new lock, he’d been thinking the same thing. “There’s something this guy wants. He either didn’t get it before or didn’t get all of it.” Whatever the hell it was. “So he wants another crack at that cabin. If we could get Ceelie to leave, I could stay in the cabin tonight and see if he shows up.”
    Meizel gave him a long, steady look. “No, you couldn’t. This isn’t your case, Broussard. If anyone stakes out this cabin, it’ll be the parish, not you.”
    Shit. Gentry held up his hands. “You’re right. Since I was the one who found old Eva, it feels personal. But I know it’s your case.” Last thing he wanted was to piss off Meizel or Sheriff Roscoe Knight. For now, Meizel was sharing information, and Gentry didn’t want him clamming up and seeing him as a problem.
    Meizel looked past Gentry at the open door of the cabin. Inside, Ceelie hummed that haunting song that had captured Gentry from the beginning. Her voice was remarkable.
    “Look, I get it, okay? You want to protect her and get the guy who did this.” Meizel dropped his voice and nodded toward Ceelie. “We’ve just gotta play everything by the book here so once we do catch this guy—and we will—there are no loopholes. Think you can talk her into leaving?”
    Gentry doubted it, but he’d already come up with a Plan B. “Let me see what I can do.”
    “Turn on that coonass charm you Dulac boys have.” Meizel grinned.
    Gentry seemed to recall the deputy was from the northern part of the state. “Yeah, a redneck cracker like you can only dream of such charm.”
    Gentry picked up the bags of groceries and took them inside. Ceelie stood in the little kitchenette, looking inside the refrigerator. As near as he could tell, it was almost empty. Time to turn on whatever coonass charm he possessed.
    “Here’s your food. I set the papers on the rocking chair outside.” He piled the bags on the counter. “Want to go to dinner? My treat.”
    Well, that was smooth as sixty-grit sandpaper.
    She looked up at him, and a playful glint shone in those remarkable blue-gray eyes. He’d seen her angry, sad, determined, frightened. He hadn’t seen playful, and he liked it.
    “You’re only asking me to dinner so I’ll leave the cabin.