The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,101

arrest, if he were standing nearby.

“Where the hell is the coffee pot?”

Hands on my hips, I examine the thing a little more closely and find each button has a picture of a coffee cup. A small, medium, and large. Lightbulb flickering inside my head, I set the cup beneath the spigot and search for the coffee grinds, instead finding oversized creamer-looking things, like something offered in a greasy spoon. Another ten minutes of fiddling and learning, and I press the button for my first cup of coffee.

Hells bells, I could’ve made a whole pot in the time it took to figure the damn thing out.

Finally sitting down at the bar, I flip the note open:

Make yourself at home, but don’t make a mess.

Don’t go swimming.

Don’t get into trouble.

~T

“What, no love?” With a snort, I toss the note aside and polish off the rest of my danish, which clearly isn’t enough, because my stomach revs up again. Mug in hand, I open the door and step out onto the deck of the boat, where the humidity greets me like a damp rag across my face. The sun here is different than in Michigan. It almost seems to hunt out pale, northern-girl skin with an invisible blow torch. Mosquitos buzz at my ear, and I swat them off like a young stripper at a cougar convention. The little shits are relentless in their quest for fresh blood, and it’s then I realize, the swamp is a thing of beauty, so long as you’re looking at it through the window of an air-conditioned boat. At a nip of my arm, I slap it hard, nearly spilling my coffee. Another sting at my leg, and I smack the little bastard hard enough to spatter blood over my palm.

“Damn it.” Throwing up the white flag, I head back in to rinse my hand of the carnage and find something else to eat.

Head buried in the refrigerator, I weed through bowls of apples and oranges, what looks to be already-prepped meals in stacked containers, neatly arranged cans of sparkling water, and bottles of beer whose labels are all forward facing, of course. I twist one to the side, just to mess up the uniformity, and pull out a slick slab of fish on a plate, along with a couple of eggs from an egg drawer. What the hell does one need an egg drawer for when cartons exist?

Shaking my head, I close the refrigerator door, and at a flash of an unfamiliar face, I drop the eggs onto the floor with a gasp.

“Son of a bitch!”

Face brimming with curiosity, a petite, older woman, dressed in clam diggers and a flannel shirt, tips her head. Staring at me. Graying hair, gathered back in a red bandana, and tan wrinkled skin, puts her fairly close to seventy, but it’s the bright, white smile that eases the tension in my muscles. “Mais la, I di’n’ mean to scare ya. Mr. Bergeron never mentioned a guest.”

“Um. Who are you?” Keeping my eyes on her, I set the fish on the counter, blindly reaching for the paper towel roll.

The smile on her face doesn’t fade when she reaches past me, tearing away the paper towel I’m struggling to grasp, and kneels down to the floor.

“Oh, hey, I can clean that up. It was my fault. I dropped it.”

“Non, chère, I got dis!” With a gentle bat of her hand, she waves me off. “Name’s Joelle, but you can call me Jo. I live right up da way from here, with Mr. Boudreaux.” The woman tosses the broken egg into the nearby trash bin. “I come by once a week to do da cleanin’ and washin’ for Mr. Bergeron.”

“Oh, well, Thierry never mentioned it. You just startled me when you first walked in, is all.” Hiking a thumb over my shoulder, I glance back toward the fish, still intact on the counter. “I was just about to make some breakfast. Want some?”

Shaking her head, she pushes up from the floor. “Dat’s very kind of you, but I ate some back at home. I’m just gon’ pass a mop real quick, an’ I’ll get out your way.”

“You’re not in my way, at all. It’s kind of nice knowing there’s another human being around. Thought I’d be hanging out with nothing but alligators all day.”

“You met Moses?”

“Yeah. He’s adorable.”

Chuckling, she rifles through a closet, pulling out a mop and a bucket. As she reaches for some detergent, I swipe up the bucket to fill