Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,73
they’ll even let you in.”
A man walked out of the back room just then, tall and rangy, with silver hair, a large nose and square jaw. “That’s enough, Sophie. You ain’t bein’ paid to stand around and gossip.”
Her blond eyebrows went up and she flashed Claire a small, woman-to-woman smile. Men, it said. Always interfering. “Here’s your Mud Bugs. Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash.” Ben pulled out his silver money clip and peeled off the amount needed to pay the bill.
“Thanks for comin’ in,” Sophie said, handing him the box of candy and his change.
The man behind the counter said nothing, just stood in stony silence, his arms crossed over his chest.
It was cool when they stepped outside, the days creeping toward November, the hot, humid Louisiana summer finally over. As she slid into the passenger seat, Claire thought of Sam and her throat went tight.
“Sam loved the summer heat,” she said, remembering back to the summer before his mother died. “He can swim like a fish and he loves the ocean. He wants to learn how to sail.”
A muscle ticked in Ben’s jaw.
“Aggie Bragg lives with her brothers thirty miles away,” Claire continued. “Do you really think that’s where Sam is?”
Ben flicked her a dark, sideways glance. “Yeah, I do.” He dug out his cell phone and called Sol as he drove out of the parking lot.
“Bushytail Bayou,” he said. “That’s where the Bragg family lives. I need to know exactly where it is and what the hell’s going on out there.”
Sol said something Claire couldn’t hear, then Ben hung up the phone. “We need more information.”
“So how do we get it?” she asked.
“Get on your iPad. Look up the address for the Egansville post office. The Braggs have a box there. In a town this size, odds are someone will know them.”
Claire plucked the device from between the seats, turned it on and brought up Google, pulled up the address. “It’s on First Street. That’s just off the road we’re on.”
The area was extremely rural. The few buildings along the way sat on big parcels of flat ground far apart from one another. There weren’t many of them. It didn’t take long to find the single-story brick building that served as the local post office. Ben parked in front, and both of them got out of the SUV.
Inside, old-fashioned glass-windowed brass post boxes lined the walls. The office was empty except for the wizened little man who stood behind the counter wearing thick horn-rim glasses, a yellow pencil stuck behind his ear.
“Excuse me,” Ben said when the man didn’t look up, just kept sorting through the stack of letters in front of him. “I wonder if maybe you could help us.”
He finally glanced up, didn’t look friendly. “What can I do for ya?”
Claire stepped in, deflecting the man’s attention away from Ben’s icy stare. “We’re looking for a place called Bushytail Bayou. Can you tell us how to get there?”
“What business you got out there?” he asked Ben.
“We hope to visit some friends.”
He scratched his head. “What ya do, ya go south on 121 ’bout thirty miles. You’ll find the road right there in the middle of town. Road follows the Black Snake River.” He looked Ben over, took in the thick biceps beneath the sleeve of his dark gray T-shirt, the muscular chest and shoulders. “You one of them survivalist boys?”
Survivalist! Claire tried to hide her shock, but the picture of Troy and his brothers dressed in camouflage popped into her head. Oh, my God!
Ben shook his head. “Like I said, we’re just meeting some buddies.”
“Place ain’t easy to find and them boys don’t cotton to visitors lest you’re one of ’em. My advice be to forget the visit and keep on a-drivin’.”
Ben pretended to consider that. “I think maybe you’re right. We’re on our way to Natchez. It’s a long drive for a quick visit. Think we’ll just keep going.”
Claire sighed. “Sounds like a lot of trouble, and we don’t really know them that well, anyway.” The last thing they needed was someone telling the Braggs they were in Egansville looking for them.
She smiled at the old man, whose name tag read Jenkins. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Jenkins.”
He just grunted and went back to sorting letters into neat little piles. Leaving him to his task, they headed for the car, Claire having to hurry to keep up with Ben’s long, anxious strides.
“Survivalists,” she said as they climbed back into the Denali. “Not white