Scaredy Cat (2 page)

Chapter 3

Quinn drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of her truck as she watched the drawbridge open for a shrimp boat as it meandered down the bayou that split the town in half. She’d lived in Cypress Glade all her life, except for the six months when she’d escaped the confines of the small town. Love had drawn her to Boston; heartbreak had left her colder than the winter there. She’d returned home to thaw, and though the mild climate was more accommodating, the emotional trauma to her heart was further exacerbated by the strained—or better yet, nonexistent—relationship with her mother.

Nelda Scott adored Quinn’s siblings Jacob and Dawn, but Quinn was a major disappointment. A staunch Catholic, Nelda didn’t approve of what she considered Quinn’s lifestyle choice. Quinn’s lesbianism was a serious bone of contention between mother and daughter. Quinn resented herself for the ever-present need for her mother’s acceptance. She did whatever she could to make her mother’s life in the nursing home more hospitable. She laundered her mother’s clothes and kept the small cabinet in her room stocked with the things Nelda liked to nibble on. Quinn had even purchased a dorm-sized fridge so Jacob could fill it with his homemade dishes since Nelda considered the food at the home shit. But all these acts of kindness did little to mend the rift between them because Quinn could not be the straight mother and wife that Nelda expected her to be.

Quinn glanced at her watch and drummed harder on the wheel. “Come on, the boat’s clear. Turn the bridge.” She was already late by five minutes and mightily perturbed that Dawn had volunteered her as babysitter for some neurotic author. The only thing that made Quinn agree to the unenviable task was the money and the fact that Blake Taylor was gay. Once word got out, and it would, Blake would also be ostracized. Quinn knew that kind of rejection well.

After Glenda Percy had outed her, people Quinn had known all her life became strangers. It made her blood boil to realize that they refused to see her as a person any longer. She was simply known as the queer. There were a few, like Grant Sommers, who owned the grocery store, who were unfazed by the revelation, but Quinn kept mostly to herself, unwilling to try to regain acceptance.

As the base of the bridge began to turn, Quinn stared at the bars and restaurants along the waterfront and missed shooting pool at the Captain’s Quarters. It seemed a lifetime had passed since she warmed a barstool there and snacked on fried pickles, but no one knew her secret then. When the arm lifted, opening the bridge to traffic, she crossed and drove slowly down a boulevard filled with crepe myrtle trees of all colors when they were in bloom. Cypress Glade was a pretty little town built on the shrimping industry. Generations of shrimpers and their families called it home. Most days, Quinn called it hell, and she was stuck there because she would never leave again.

Quinn turned onto Tulip Street, and after a few blocks, the houses were spread out a bit more. She could see the rows of pecan trees on the Meyers property and the big oak that took up most of the front lawn near the porch. She missed the owners, Curtis and Polly. The older couple had always been kind to her. Avid travelers, they shared pictures and stories of the places they’d been. Quinn would sit for hours listening to them tell of their adventures. Curtis had been left a house in Montana when his brother died, and he and Polly spent most of their time there. They rented the house in Cypress Glade, unable to part with the home where Curtis had grown up.

As Quinn pulled into the driveway, she noticed that the lawn service Dawn had hired to maintain the yard had done a minimal job. The grass was cut, but the flowerbeds that had always been so lovely were overgrown with weeds. Polly would be disappointed. She climbed out of her truck, opened the chain-link gate, and walked toward the porch. The blinds covering the window of the front door moved, and Quinn put on her best smile as she climbed the steps. The door didn’t open. She knocked softly and stepped back.

“Who are you?” a muffled female voice inquired.

“Quinn Scott, I’m your…tour guide, I suppose.”

“Press your ID to the glass, please.”

Quinn blinked for a moment. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Quinn dug her wallet out of her pocket as she studied the pile of things lying on the porch. An umbrella, candlestick, a box of nails, and a couch pillow. She pulled out her driver’s license and held it close to the window.

“The picture is of a blond with short hair, yours is kind of long and reddish,” the disembodied voice said suspiciously.

“Because I stopped bleaching it, and it’s grown out.” Quinn laughed at the absurdity and pressed the license to the glass. “My face hasn’t changed that much.”

“It says you weigh one forty-five, and you don’t appear to be more than one thirty. Your height of five-ten appears to be correct.”

“Well…thanks.” Quinn stuffed the ID back into her wallet. “I know the people who used to live here. They never locked their doors. We have the typical criminal mischief, occasional vandalism, shoplifting, disorderly conduct, but there’s never been a murder in Cypress Glade. We call it Cypress for short.”

“There’s always a first. You also don’t look thirty-six, more like thirty.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Quinn said with a smile.

“Are you armed?”

Quinn suppressed a laugh. “No, I left my nine at home.” She held up both hands. “Hey, I know you’re from New York and probably have a skewed view of us Southerners, but we don’t all carry guns. I don’t really even own one.” Quinn shuffled from foot to foot when there was no response. “It’s gonna be kind of hard to show you around if you won’t open the door.”

“You’re very pushy. I find that disconcerting.”

Quinn was stunned. “Well, I...okay, I obviously make you uncomfortable, so I’ll just go.” The woman behind the door made no attempt to stop her, so Quinn turned and left. “She’s a nut case,” she said when she climbed into her truck. There was a slit in the blinds. Quinn knew she was being watched as she turned the engine and backed out of the driveway. She’d drop by Dawn’s, choke her a little bit for the interruption of her weekend, then go home and watch TV.

She’d just made the block when her phone rang, and Dawn sounded excited. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m on my way to your house, so I can throttle you.”

“Do that later, get back over there.”

“She wouldn’t open the door. I didn’t even see her face. Dawn, she made me hold my driver’s license up to the window and took issue with my hair. She’s crazy.”

“Eccentric, and very nervous about being in a new place. Please, go back. Her agent just called me all upset because you left.”

“It sounds like her agent needs to come down here and cart her ass around. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like what?”

Quinn pulled off the road. “Floss my teeth, trim my toenails, which sounds far more exciting than standing on a porch and begging a neurotic mess to open her door.”

*******

“Blake, you open that damn door.”

“She doesn’t look anything like her driver’s license photo. The woman that showed up could be an imposter.”

“I spoke to her sister, and the woman that was on the porch—the one you ran off—is Quinn Scott.” Cassidy took a deep calming breath. “Do I have to remind you that you have a deadline to meet? Have you written more than a page?”

Blake looked at her computer screen. It held a grocery list and a stream of random thoughts.
When are pecans harvested? Do bears eat pecans? I think there’s a ghost in the hall closet. Why does that damn bird keep staring at me every time I look out the window? I think it’s foaming at the beak.

“Your silence means no. Quinn is going to come back, and when she does, open the door, allow her in, offer her a seat and something to drink. Talk. If you don’t like her, then I’ll try to find someone else.” Cassidy’s voice rose an octave. “Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Blake said with a sigh.

“Good, I’ll call you later.” Cassidy hung up without saying goodbye.

Blake set her phone aside and went back to the door where she peeked through the blinds. A few minutes later, the same red truck turned into the driveway. Quinn hopped out. She was tall and fair-complexioned, moderately attractive with big expressive green eyes, dimples, and some freckles. Her smile was wide, but she wasn’t smiling then.

Quinn walked up on the porch and put her hands on her hips. “I know you know I’m here. A strip search is out of the question. Don’t even think about trying to pat me down.”

Blake inhaled sharply and opened the door. “Come in quickly, please. I don’t like the looks of that bird out there. It could be diseased.”

Quinn looked over her shoulder, then stepped inside. “The red thing hanging from the branch beneath it is a feeder. The bird is waiting for you to fill it with seeds.”

“God no,” Blake said with a shudder, “more will come.” She closed the door quickly and locked it. “Can I offer you something to drink? I only have water and Mountain Dew, or I could put on a pot of coffee if you… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Quinn shrugged. “I’m checking you out. I want to make sure you don’t have something like a machine gun hidden beneath your shirt.”

Blake straightened and stood tall, which wasn’t very impressive at five feet three inches. “I’m sorry about earlier, you can never be too careful. So something to drink?”

“Dew sounds great,” Quinn said distractedly as she eyed the strip of duct tape stretched over the hall closet.

“It rattles,” Blake explained.

“A piece of cardboard in between the door and the jamb works, too,” Quinn said with a slight smile. “They’re logging not far from here. The trucks aren’t supposed to come down this road, but occasionally, they do because it’s a shortcut to the highway. That might be the cause of the rattle.”

“That’s good to know. Have a seat,” Blake said as she walked into the kitchen.

Quinn sat on the couch and looked around. “Did you just move in?”

“Yesterday.”

Sealed boxes lined one wall. Wires hung out of an entertainment center, but the TV at least appeared to be hooked up. In the corner of the room was a desk, and everything on the surface was arranged neatly around a laptop. It looked as though that was the only thing Blake had truly bothered to unpack and set up. “Do you plan to stay long?”

“I’m not sure.” Blake returned and handed Quinn a glass. “That depends on whether my characters begin to speak or not.” She sat in a chair across from Quinn. “So far, they haven’t said a thing.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Blake looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m a writer. I come up with a general story idea, but my characters tell the tale. It sounds strange, but it’s almost as if they sit beside me and whisper. I write what I hear in my head.”

Quinn nodded as she sipped her drink, but the expression she tried to hide behind the glass was one of puzzlement. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I understand you write scary stuff.”

Blake nodded as she looked away.

“I have to admit that I’m not much of a reader. I mean, I can read, I just don’t do it much for pleasure. It must be an amazing feeling to have people all over the world read your creations. I imagine you must travel extensively.”

“Only in my head and on the Internet as of late,” Blake admitted softly. “I’m more of a homebody.”

“May I ask where you get your inspiration?”

Blake had heard that question a million times; her answer was well rehearsed. “Dreams, fears. I write what scares me. I have a very vivid imagination. It’s cathartic in a way to purge them onto a computer screen.”

“How many books have you written?”

“Eighty…something.” Quinn looked taken aback. “Wow, you must have a lot of fears.”

Blake stared at the floor. “What do you do?”

“It’s very exotic, I’m a plumber. My father owned the business, and my brother and I took up the trade. When Dad died, he left the company to me and Jacob.” Quinn smiled wryly. “We still get our hands dirty. It’s just the two of us unless we contract out for larger jobs like new construction. If you want to see scary, crawl under some of the houses in this town.” Quinn waved a hand. “That’ll give you nightmares.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Blake shook her head to dispel the images of spiders and snakes. “So…you’ve lived here all your life?”

“Yes. How about you? Did you grow up in New York?”

“No, I’ve only lived there for the past ten years.” Blake glanced at Quinn and looked away. “I’m an army brat. I was born in Georgia, and we lived there until I was six. After that, we moved all over the country and spent a little while in Guam.”

“Cool.”

It was anything but. Blake, unlike her sister, despised being constantly uprooted. She lacked Danielle’s gregarious personality; friends weren’t made easily. And there was always the fear of being in a strange place.

The conversation lulled. Small talk was not Blake’s strong suit. From the corner of her eye, she could see Quinn studying her intently. It made her want to squirm. “How far is Oak Alley Plantation from here?” Blake blurted out suddenly.

“About forty-five minutes. Is that something you’d like to see?”

“I feel like I should,” Blake said, loath to leave the house that she was only beginning to get comfortable with.

“Well, I’m off tomorrow. We could strike out first thing in the morning if you’re interested.”

Blake mustered a smile. “Sure.”

“What else would you like to see?”

“If you have time, the grocery store. I need to stock up on a few things.” Blake winced when Quinn’s right eye twitched slightly.

Chapter 4

Blake shopped as though she were going to be shut in for a year. Quinn stood behind a brimming cart as Blake tossed in a variety of frozen foods into another. The woman had a sweet tooth, too; she’d ransacked the cookie aisle and was eyeing frozen pies.

“Did you happen to bring an extra freezer when you moved down here?”

Blake shot Quinn a quick glance and closed the freezer door. “You have a point.”

“I’ll bring you to shop anytime you want to go, so please don’t feel like you have to stockpile.”

Blake wrinkled her nose. “I think I may’ve gotten caught up in the experience. I don’t shop for myself all that often.”

Quinn followed as Blake pushed her cart into the next aisle. “Must be nice to not have to go to a grocery store,” she said, glancing in Glenda’s direction. Glenda’s brown gaze moved over Blake like a laser as she sized her up.

Quinn found Blake visually appealing but straight up weird. She fidgeted nonstop, very rarely made eye contact, and when they left the house to get into the truck, she ran with her arms over her head. On the short drive to the store, she admitted to a dozen phobias. Fear of birds, bridges, and broccoli were just a few that Quinn remembered. It was September and still in the nineties, but Blake had on a long-sleeved black button-down shirt, jeans, and a pair of black boots. Quinn felt underdressed in her shorts and T-shirt as she watched Blake decide on what toilet paper she wanted to buy.

“Do you write slasher novels, you know the kind with masked freaks wielding chain saws?” Quinn asked out of the blue.

Blake tossed a pack of toilet paper into the cart and grabbed two more. “I mostly write about ghosts, sometimes demons. In my last book, I delved into the darkness of the human psyche, there was some bloodshed. Have you heard of the movie
Elizabeth Torn
?”

“Yes, because my brother Jacob is into horror movies. He saw it and said it scared the crap out of him. As I recall, he said the main character was haunted by a dark entity, and in the end, she realized that it was a part of her.”

“That was mine,” Blake admitted lowly.

Quinn chewed the inside of her cheek as she remembered Jacob recounting the grisly murders. “That’s what you write?” she asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.

Blake nodded as she moved down the aisle. “It was based on a nightmare I had. I dreamed that I awoke and someone or something had wrapped the bed sheet around my head. It was terrifying. I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t open my eyes, but when I did actually awaken, I found that I’d managed to wrap myself up. I was completely tangled in the sheet.”

Quinn blew out a breath. “I think the last nightmare I had was of a chocolate cake that was trying to eat me. That was after my nephew’s birthday party, and I’d overindulged. I’m sure the dream stemmed from guilt. How do you eat all this sugary stuff and stay so small?”

Blake shrugged. “I’m a nibbler. I seldom sit down and eat an actual meal. One pack of cookies may last me a month.”

Quinn looked at the crap in the cart she was pushing. If that was the case, Blake was set for life on snacks. “So…you dream of ghosts…and demons, too?”

“No, those haunt me when I’m conscious,” Blake said as she rounded the corner of the aisle.

Quinn’s flip-flops actually skidded to a halt as Blake’s statement settled in, then she took off. When she rounded the aisle, she nearly plowed over Blake, who was looking at the potato chips. “You’re gonna have to elaborate on that last comment. Are you telling me that you believe that you’re possessed? Is that what you meant about characters whispering to you?”

Blake looked as though she were trying to decide between barbecue and plain chips. She tossed both bags into the cart. “My imagination runs rampant and leans toward the dark. You may see an old house and admire the architecture. I look at it and see ghosts in every window. Not literally,” Blake said as she waved a hand when Quinn blanched. “That’s how my imagination works.”

“Okay,” Quinn said slowly. “Where exactly do the demons come in?”

“The news mostly. It’s hard for me to comprehend that people commit the heinous acts that they do, so I demonize them. I’m sure you never read
Behind His Smile
. It was about a congressman that was possessed.”

“Was he a Republican?”

Blake nodded.

“I might actually read that one.”

“I think I’m done.” Blake looked over the baskets.

They headed to the checkout where Glenda was ringing up Tom Watley. Instead of taking her time, Glenda tossed all of Tom’s items into one bag and hurried him as he tried to use his bank card on the machine. Poor old Tom looked stunned when Glenda snatched the card from his hand and swiped it on her side. She handed him the card and receipt and literally shooed him away like a stray animal. She returned to her lazy pace when Blake began loading her things onto the conveyor belt.

“Are you new in town, sugar?” Glenda asked as she studied Blake.

“Yes.”

“You must be renting the Meyers place then. I saw a moving truck in the driveway when I passed there yesterday.” Glenda smiled, and it reminded Quinn of a dog baring its teeth. “I’m the president of the Ladies’ Auxiliary, we usually welcome in the new residents. I can’t believe Dawn didn’t tell me about you.”

“I won’t be staying that long,” Blake said as she continued to load stuff onto the belt so high that it almost blocked Glenda’s view of her.

Grant walked by and appeared surprised to see Quinn standing behind a full cart. “Hey, Quinn, move on over to the next register and I’ll check you out.”

“I’m with her,” Quinn said with a smile and pointed to Blake, “but thanks, Grant.”

Grant looked as though he were about to speak to Blake, but Tom caught his attention. Glenda continued to move at a snail’s pace, and Quinn almost regretted not taking Grant up on his offer.

“You must have a large family.” Glenda eyed the mound of groceries.

“Yes, five kids and two very mean dogs,” Quinn lied with a smile.

Blake looked confused, and Glenda glared. “I don’t see any dog food,” Glenda said as she filled a bag with canned goods.

“They don’t feed them, that’s why they’re so mean. The dogs just eat whatever comes into the yard—the mailman, birds, cats…nosey neighbors.”

Glenda ignored her and turned her attention back to Blake. “What does your husband do?”

“He makes exotic weapons, axes that could chop a brick in half. He was working on a new dagger that can slice through bone when we left.” Quinn was thoroughly enjoying herself, and it was all she could do to keep from laughing.

Glenda waved a pack of toilet paper when Blake reached for it. “We have a cooking club that meets every Thursday night, do you bake, Mrs.…?”

“Blake and no. Would you mind moving a little faster? I have a lot of items here.”

“Dismissed,” Quinn said under her breath with a chuckle. Blake was weird, maybe a bit crazy, but she’d made Glenda Percy’s face turn red, and in Quinn’s book, that made Blake a goddess—for a few minutes at least.