A Crying Shame (15 page)

That chill returned to Mike's stomach. That slimy, many-headed, sluggish, invisible feeling of dread. A feeling that this was something no sheriff's department —anywhere—should have to face alone.
More than one of them, ma'am?”

Yes. At least three. I suspect more. I could hear and make out their gruntings. None was exactly alike. Then, I saw them, during lightning flashes. After I killed that ... thing in the office, I began conserving my ammunition. I hit one of them ... the creatures ... outside the window. It was a well-placed shot. I saw him ... it ... stagger and scream. I had only the one box of shells for the pistol, and I certainly did not wish to run out.”

Smart move on your part,” Mike complimented her.
Very good thinking. Good presence of mind. Lots of people would have panicked.”

Paul insisted, before I came up here to join him, I attend classes at a local gun club in New Orleans; learn to be proficient with pistol, rifle, and shotgun. I am not a woman who panics easily.”

I'll go along with that, Mike thought. Damned sure wouldn't want you shooting at me.
Why would your brother insist you learn weapons, Ms. Breaux? Did your parents make a point of that?”

No, never. As to Paul's reasoning ... I don't know. I thought it very strange myself. But it was his request, so I obeyed. We—my brother and I—never really got along. Too much difference in ages, I suppose. Had something to do with it, I'm sure. Different personalities altogether.”

I have to say, Ms. Breaux, you're holding up extremely well considering all that's happened.”

Only now, Sheriff. Last night I went to pieces, during the storm. Sometime after the ... beasts left. Whatever those things are. I don't know what to call them. Had they returned, they easily could have killed me. I don't believe I ever really fainted, but I was hazy, shocky, and not really certain or aware of my surroundings.”

Educated lady, too, Mike thought. And very cool. I can understand why she didn't mix well with most of the people around here.
Miss . . . ah ... Ms. Breaux, why did you and your brother leave New Orleans and come up here?”

Something clouded the woman's eyes, just for a fast, mysterious second, masking the dark green. Mike could see it, but not read its meaning. He made a mental note of the puzzling murkiness.

Paul wanted to—in his words—get back to the land. He loved farming. He was not just a gentleman farmer, either, Sheriff; he worked just as hard as the hands. Paul majored in ... something about farming at LSU. And,”—she sighed, the movement lifting her breasts; Mike was grateful for his dark glasses, for his eyes followed the movement—
I'll be honest with you, Sheriff Saucier: there was something up here that seemed to ... I don't know ... mystify him—if that's the right choice of words; it may not be. For months before he came up here, Paul studied some kind of old journals and diaries belonging to our family—both sides. All sides. The Benoit/Breaux/Fortier families. I don't know what was in the journals—I never asked and he never volunteered any information.”