Swamp Cabbage -- The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles book 6

Chapter 2 In the Briar Patch

by Paisley Ray

Chapter 2 In the Briar Patch

Lady's Island in Beaufort County, South Carolina, was thirty-three square miles. But with all the water inlets and with only one unpaved road on and off the island, Halbert Larkin's property seemed like no-man's-land. A quick exit to Highway 21 was impossible, and Hodge's slow-moving white '80 Chevy Cavalier's exterior took a lashing from the mud puddles. He drove as fast as I walked, mindful of not losing a wheel in the water-filled potholes that decorated the sparsely graveled lane.

"It took awhile for you to fetch us. We was scared you weren't coming," Francine said.

"Sorry 'bout that. Couldn't locate no keys in the dark." He sighed. "They's in the ignition the whole time."

The rain hadn't let up, and the short sprint from the front porch to Hodge's car had soaked my clothes and tennis shoes. In the backseat, I rocked my hips from side to side, trying to unsuction the skin beneath my wet shorts from the plastic upholstery.

Mewing noises gurgled next to me, and I glanced at Francine. With closed eyes she pressed a dishrag to her forehead. While we waited for Hodge, she had claimed a migraine was coming on and had wrapped ice cubes she popped out of the plastic freezer tray into a kitchen towel. We'd lived in close quarters for three years, and I'd never known her to be susceptible to headaches. Despite the throb in her temples, she had managed to drag her tushie along for the car ride. Nothing would convince either of us to stay behind in the house, and even with my delicate ankle, I was anxious to vacate.

Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on the seat back. I took a deep breath and asked, "Did you look in the garden shed?"

Francine moaned as she readjusted the cold compress over her eyes.

"No, miss. I may not be smart, but I'm not stupid. Whatever's in there ain't my business."

"But you're the grounds keeper. The shed is your workshop. Right?"

The car lurched off the road, and we bounced as the rear end of the car scraped dirt. Hodge maneuvered a sudden left jolt on the steering wheel to straighten the vehicle. "Yes, miss. Ten years I been working for Mr. Larkin. Doesn't pay so good, but the rent is free. There's good huntin' and fishin' on the island."

"Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Anybody around that shouldn't be?"

"Just because you know someone in the FBI, doesn't make you qualified to investigate."

It was amazing how Francine's mouth worked even though her head was impaired. "Don't you have a migraine?"

"Being with you makes my head ache."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Not far now," Hodge said.

"You think you're some kind of southern knighted Nancy Drew."

Fumbling in my jacket pocket, I removed a cigarette and lighter. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No, miss."

"Yes, he does. He's being too polite to say so. Aren't you, Hodge?"

"Rain seems to be letting up," he said.

"You know what your problem is?"

"Um-hmm. I have an idea."

"You force your opinion on people in a threatening manner. No one dares to speak their real thoughts 'cause they're afraid Francine Battle will unleash her wrath."

The wet washcloth snapped my knee, and her lawyer voice took over. "Rachael O'Brien, you're in denial."

Hodge peered in the rearview mirror.