Bloody? Torn up? What the hell had happened to him?
“I washed your jeans,” she added.
“We figured you’d be cooler and more comfortable sleeping without them,” Bubba said. “How do you feel?”
“My ankle and my head hurt, and my vision is kind of weird.”
“Maybe you need to go to the hospital,” Karen added.
He probably did, but not until he figured out what was going on.
“No. I mean, not yet, anyway. Where are we?”
“Southeastern Louisiana, not far from Mississippi,” Bubba said. “Part of the Pearl River Basin, if you want to be technical about it.”
“Got to get to New Orleans,” he muttered. When he tried to sit up, he winced because it made his head hurt even worse.
“What for?” Timothy asked. The small boy looked about eight years old.
He opened his mouth to explain but fell silent when memories of falling ambushed him. Then he was on the plane again as though it were yesterday. Maybe it really was yesterday? Hearing the whistling wind. Feeling like he might lose his lunch. Jack looking scared shitless because they were about to crash into a bunch of trees.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember crashing or how he’d ended up here.
Instinct told him not to be an open book. These people seemed nice and honest, but he didn’t know them. Swamps made good hideouts for refugees of the law. If some dirt-poor people realized he was rich and famous, they might decide to hold him for ransom. Until he found out what had happened to him, he would have to stay incognito. He missed his black hat, but no longer having the shirt that identified him as a member—or even a fan—of Breeze was probably for the best.
You’re being racist, Dee would say. No, he’d be cautious around white strangers, too. Dee. What he wouldn’t give to see her face or feel her loving hands on his injuries.
“To visit family,” he finally answered. “It can wait. Did you happen to find my cell phone?”
The woman shook her head. “No wallet, either.”
What had happened to them? He always carried that stuff around in his pockets.
“What’s your name?” Timothy asked next, smiling despite the poverty he lived in.
“Bill,” he lied. They couldn’t prove otherwise without his ID. “Is this your house?”
“It’s a houseboat,” Bubba said. “It’s small, but it’s home.”
That explained the floating sensation. It also meant he was probably depriving someone of a bed. He glanced around the small room, taking in the washbowl, toiletries, and hand towel. The small window had a screen in it, revealing muted sunshine and moss-draped trees.
“How long have I been here?” he asked.
“A couple of days,” Karen explained. “Bubba and Timothy found you floating on a log when they were out fishing.”
Floating? How had he gotten into the water? No wonder he’d lost his phone and wallet.
“You was bleedin’ like a stuck pig,” the boy said, “attracting all kinds of fish.”
“Karen, here, has some nursing training and fixed you right on up,” her father explained.
“I thank you kindly,” Rodney said. “All of you.”
It looked as if she’d worked on his ankle, but what if she didn’t set it correctly, giving him a limp for the rest of his life? And what if he needed brain surgery to fix his vision? Hopefully, it would clear on its own. After all, he’d just woken up.
“Oh, it weren’t nothing,” Bubba said. “Best excitement we’ve had around here in a while.”
The woman smiled back at him, making Rodney wish Dee were here more than ever. What an idiot he’d been to break up with her. He’d done it for the band, but now that it was temporarily out of his life, he didn’t miss the touring, pressure, or Jack’s constant demands. Who needed it?
Bubba’s face grew solemn. “You’re not an escaped convict, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Because we like to help folks, but we don’t want no trouble,” the man continued. “I got a hunting rifle here and know how to use it.”
Sounds like Dee’s father. Rodney couldn’t blame the guy for being cautious. These people didn’t exactly live in mainstream society, either.
He held his hands out. “I don’t mean any harm. You and your family are safe with me.”
“Glad to hear it,” Bubba said.
Timothy pointed to the bandage on his arm. “Did you get in a fight with an alligator?”
“Feels like I did.”
Then he thought about his bandmates, feeling guilty as hell. What had happened to them? Most of all, how had his brother fared?
“Do you keep up with the news around here?” he asked.
Bubba shrugged. “When I take the motorboat to town to get supplies, I catch up on things. If they’re big enough to be important, that is.”
“Hey, did you hear about that airplane crash, mister?” Timothy asked.
Adrenaline coursed through Rodney’s blood, but he did his best to look only mildly curious. “Yeah, I heard something about it. What did you hear?”
“Some famous white band was on it. Broke into pieces.”
Dread poured over him like gasoline. “Were there any survivors?”
“The crew died,” Bubba explained, “and so did one of the band members. At least that’s what they’re saying. Never found the body. Some of the others had serious injuries.”
Rodney couldn’t help wincing as sorrow and guilt flashed through him. If he’d overruled Jack’s poor judgment about flying through storms, the crew would be alive. Would the others survive their injuries?
Most importantly, which band member had died? Probably him. He was the missing body. Had to be.
And the crazy part was, he wanted to stay that way.
* * *
Dee sat in the conference room for another client meeting, wiping her sweaty hands on her gray business slacks. Between her demanding job, running for office, and mourning Rodney, she could barely keep herself together. Even coffee wasn’t working anymore. She could tell by the client’s frown her logic went into circles the more she talked.
After the woman left, Barry closed the door. “You’re off the case.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you blew it. If the
