“Do you think the boat hit a log?” Cece asked when we stopped for a moment to catch our breath. The mud was thick and heavy and sucked at our feet, making the going rough.
“I don’t know what happened. It felt as if the propeller hit something. I’m not really a boat person, so I’m not sure. It could have been part of the motor freezing up.”
“They’ll check it out and know more tomorrow,” Cece said. Something was obviously troubling her.
“What are you thinking?”
“I think Clarissa deliberately pulled Kathleen over the rail. She was treating Kathleen badly all evening. Like she was a servant or something. I noticed it and so did Darla and several others. And Kathleen threatened to reveal some secrets.”
“What secrets?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
“And you think Clarissa was the aggressor? But the eyewitness said—”
“You know how unreliable eyewitnesses are. And Clarissa is well known in Columbus as a member of the elite class. Kathleen isn’t well known. She’s much quieter. You know people often see what their expectations train them to see. I’m just saying it’s possible that it happened the other way around. Or that they both lurched over the rail without touching each other. The boat took a pretty big jolt and a lot of people lost their feet.”
“If Clarissa did this as a deliberate act … If Kathleen isn’t found, that’s murder.”
“Yes, it is.” Cece was speaking quietly, but her accusation was powerful. “Think about it. Clarissa is your best suspect. She has the money to make all of this happen. And how smart to be the one to hire you to dig into this. Throws all the blame off her.”
“Maybe.” She had a point, but Clarissa had nothing to do with Tulla’s shock, as far as I could tell. And we had no proof she was involved in the destruction of Bricey’s car. Or Bart Crenshaw’s tumble down the stairs. Or even Kathleen’s disappearance, for that matter. My friend really disliked my client, and I shared her sentiments. But we couldn’t let emotion get ahead of evidence and logic, no matter how pleasurable that might be.
Some unusual marks in the weeds by the edge of the river caught my eye. “Look at this.” I eased closer, careful to avoid the pools of water and mud that were all about us. The swamp grass, normally very resilient, had been crushed down. There were ruts in the mud.
“Looks like something heavy was dragged up on the shore,” Cece said. She shone her flashlight all around. “I can’t tell what. It could have been a log or a person.”
From behind Cece came a harsh barking sound, followed by a terrifying hiss.
“Or an alligator!” we said in unison as we turned toward the bank.
Forgetting water and mud, we slogged toward firm land as fast as we could churn. My legs were virtual eggbeaters, whipping the muddy water to a froth.
“Gators are slower in the winter,” I said, hoping to give us both confidence in a fact I wasn’t certain was true.
“They only have six-inch legs, but they can run sixty miles an hour for a short distance,” Cece said. “We’re doomed!”
I grabbed her hand and tugged. “Run! Just shut up and run!”
“I’m running!” she called out as she put everything she had into making for the dock.
Somehow we managed to push through the unfriendly terrain without falling—or getting eaten by a gator. When we finally got to firm ground, I stopped and swung the light behind us. Nothing. Not even eyes reflected back at us.
“Was that really an alligator? Maybe it was a bird.” Cece gave a nervous laugh. “I’m going to feel like such a dolt if I let a bird chase me up the riverbank.”
“Don’t know. Not going back to find out.” I started toward the dock where people were still milling about.
“Wait! What if it was where Kathleen crawled out? What if that was her trying to get our attention to help her?”
“I don’t believe Kathleen would hiss and bark.” I wasn’t going to let Cece make me regret my hasty retreat to civilization.
“We have to go back.”
I turned to face her. “No, I’m not. Not without a gun.” I didn’t know if I could shoot an alligator. After all, the gator was just living its life. It wouldn’t be like shooting a criminal, someone who deserved a bullet. “Kathleen isn’t in that area, Cece. You know it and I know it. It’s crazy to risk getting ourselves hurt.” The truth was, we had searched our area very thoroughly. Other than the sliding marks in the mud and grass, there had been nothing that would indicate anything came out of the water and up onto the bank. “We’ll tell the police officers what we saw. Tomorrow, in the daylight, they can do a more thorough search.”
“If she’s along the shore, she’ll likely freeze to death before daybreak,” Cece said.
It was an ugly reality. One I had to accept, too. “Okay. Okay, let’s get a guy with a gun to go with us.”
Ten minutes later we were headed back to the Land of Alligators with Jerry Goode. He was about as pleased as we were to go clambering through backwater, mud, and slime with the possibility of meeting an alligator face-to-face. But he had a Q-Beam light and an automatic pistol. He was better equipped than we were.
We made it to the river’s edge without encountering anything—alive or dead. Jerry studied the marks in the mud and pulled out his phone to take photos. “You could have done this and shown them to me and I would have told you someone pulled a boat from the bank into the river. Strange place for a boat to be left, but it’s clear
