Wilde One (11 page)

“Well, there weren’t any stones behind the others unless you count the rocks holding down the lid of the dumpster, so this must be the right one.” He waved an oversized flashlight. “Let’s go take a peek then have a cocktail. We can always come back in the morning if we need to.”

“That’s true.”

They strolled around the side of the restaurant where gravel turned to dirt and weeds. The music dwindled to a muted beat as they picked their way along a rough path only to come up against a wrought iron fence. Sharp finials discouraged Griff’s immediate inclination to climb the barrier.

“Well, hell.”

“Maybe there’s a gate.” Ainslee grasped the iron bars. “Can you see what’s on the other side? Flash the light over there.”

He directed the beam through the fence to illuminate regularly spaced rectangular shapes that gleamed white in the dark.

“Headstones! It’s a graveyard.”

Griff nodded. “Looks that way. Those must be the stones we’re looking for.”

“But we can’t possibly figure out which ones we want in the dark.” Ainslee released the bars and clung to his arm. “Anyway, this place gives me the creeps. Look at the moss hanging from the trees. I expect some creature from a horror movie to jump out at me at any moment.”

He grinned. “Like what? A mass murderer or escaped lunatic?”

“I was thinking a zombie. Let’s go get that drink. Something bright and cheerful, maybe with a little pink umbrella.”

“Disgusting.” He wrapped his arm around her waist to guide her back down the path. “A beer along with a few shrimp ought to hit the spot. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”

“Doing what?”

When she stumbled, he held on tighter. “Breathing. I burn calories like nobody’s business. Pisses off my little sister.”

“I bet.”

When they reached the front entrance, Griff glanced toward the SUV. “I’d go put the flashlight back, but I don’t want to get Rocky’s hopes up and start him barking again.”

She frowned. “Poor little guy. Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“He’s fine. All the windows are cracked, and he has water. Let’s go inside.”

With a nod, she pushed open the door. A sign told them to seat themselves, so they cruised through, looking for a table. Finding one near the rear emergency exit, they sat. A menu encased in plastic lay next to a napkin dispenser and a bottle of hot sauce.

“What can I get for you?”

Griff glanced up at the waitress who stopped beside the table. Judging by her creased face, she was probably a contemporary of the original owner. “A draft ale and an order of shrimp. Ainslee?”

“I’ll take a margarita, blended, no salt.”

“You got it!” Tucking the order pad in her apron pocket, the woman hustled off with a bounce to her step.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I should have asked what she drinks. I could use a double dose.”

“No kidding. She personifies spry.” Ainslee glanced around the room then stiffened and pointed. “I guess we weren’t here first, after all. Check it out.”

His gaze followed the direction her finger indicated to land on a curvy figure encased in a tight purple dress. The woman stood at the bar. Dark, wavy hair cascaded down her back, and a cell phone was clamped to one ear.

Griff didn’t need to see her face to recognize the woman he’d noticed at the Liberty Bell. “Marietta Damonte, I presume.”

“Looks like her. She turned around the second she caught my gaze then whipped out her cell. Do you think she recognized us?”

“I’d bet on it.” Griff touched one loose curl at the side of her neck. “Even piled on your head, your hair is pretty memorable.”

Ainslee’s eyes darkened. “I wonder who she’s calling.”

“The woman seems to have that cell phone permanently attached to her ear.” He rolled his eyes. “She must be the needy type. Can’t make a decision on her own. That kind of female makes me nuts.”

“Maybe she’s just reporting her progress to someone. Do you think she found the next clue already?”

“Why would Marietta still be hanging around if she had? I imagine she’d hightail it off to…wherever.”

“Good point. Oh, thanks.” Ainslee took her margarita from the waitress.

He inhaled a whiff of the deep fried shrimp she set on the table and smiled at the woman. “That was fast.”

“We move them so quickly, we always have orders ready to serve. Let me know if you need anything else, honey.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Once she left, he took a swig of his beer. “What were we talking about? Oh yeah, Marietta. She…holy hell.” He dropped the shrimp back into the basket. “Ogden number four just walked in.”

“You’re kidding.” Ainslee spun in her seat. “Yep, that’s the blond guy from the bank.”

“Geez, don’t make it so obvious we’re on to him.”

She turned back. “Why pretend otherwise? He saw us in Boston. He knows we’re part of the hunt.”

“I guess so.” He squirted hot sauce onto his shrimp. “Who’ll show up next? Parnell?”

“Wouldn’t that be something? Talk about leveling the playing field. Although I guess he could be ahead of the rest of us. Obviously we aren’t as smart as we thought, and this is the superstar’s hometown.” She sipped her margarita. “We’d better get up early tomorrow. I don’t want to bump shoulders with the whole crew out in the graveyard.”

“First light.” He glanced toward the bar where Morris sat two stools down from Marietta. “She doesn’t look like an early riser, but all bets are off on the banker.”

Ainslee stole a shrimp from his basket. “Makes me mad. I thought we were so clever, figuring out the last clue as quickly as we did.”

“That was two days ago. The others probably flew from New York.” He grinned. “We’re smarter but slower.”

A frown marred her forehead. “I can’t afford a bunch of plane tickets, and I have nowhere to leave my car—”

Reaching across the table, he laid his hand over the top of hers and squeezed. “Hey, I wasn’t complaining. We’re doing just fine. We’re right in the thick of the hunt. I’m not worried.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to handicap you.”

“You aren’t.” He drew his hand back slowly and picked up a shrimp. “There goes Marietta. Amazing. She actually put away her phone.”

The door closed behind the dark-haired beauty. After downing the last of his drink, Ogden Morris tossed a bill onto the bar then turned and headed their way.

Griff’s hand stilled over the shrimp basket. “This should be interesting.”

“What should…” Ainslee glanced toward the bar then let out a yelp. “Yikes!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He looks kind of mad.”

A moment later, Morris stopped next to their table. Fine, blond brows lowered over hazel eyes. “I recognize you from the bank. You two working together now?”

Griff took a swallow of his beer. “Seems that way.”

The man crossed thick arms over a fine linen shirt damp with sweat. “That’s cheating. No one said we can get help—”

“I didn’t know there were any rules to follow.” Ainslee laid her straw on the table and pushed away her margarita glass. “We didn’t get instructions with the clues. Did you?”

“Maybe not technically, but…” He let out a huff of breath. “I need the money, and I’m not going to lose out on the treasure because the two of you decided to shack up.”

Griff’s gaze dropped to the man’s Italian loafers. With an effort, he held back a rude comment and forced a reasonable tone. “You don’t look like you’re hurting for cash.”

Hazel eyes glittered. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No, we don’t. Look, we aren’t trying to cheat. If you want help, ask someone. No one’s stopping you.”

Ainslee’s polite smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re both here at the same time, so obviously any advantage you think we might have isn’t paying off.”

“Whatever.” Turning on the heel of his expensive shoe, Morris stalked out of the restaurant.

Ainslee twirled the straw then crumpled it in her fist. “He certainly wasn’t very pleasant.”

“Seems like a jerk.” Griff ate the last shrimp.

“Since we’re getting the scoop on our fellow contestants, shall we ask our waitress about Parnell? I bet the woman knows everything that goes on around here.”

“Why not? She’ll probably think we’re obsessed fans and clam up, but you never know.” He raised a hand to signal for their check.

A minute later, their waitress hurried over and laid the bill on the table. “Pay the cashier on your way out, folks.”

Ainslee straightened and flashed an innocent looking smile. “Uh, Miss…”

A snort of laughter interrupted her. “I haven’t been a
miss
in over six decades. Call me Loretta.”

“Okay, Loretta. A friend told me Parnell Jones, the basketball player, might be in here tonight. I bet him he was crazy. Am I right?”

“Your friend might be crazy, but not about Parnell. His family owns this place. The manager is his second cousin, or something like that. Parnell was in here earlier. I hadn’t seen the man in months, and he gave me a big bear hug. Made my old heart pound.”

Ainslee scowled. “Well, rats. I’m sorry we missed him.”

“He mentioned he was looking for something and would be back tomorrow.” The waitress eyed a man waving a beer mug three tables over and backed away. “Stop by again. He’s good about signing autographs.”

Griff picked up the bill and stood. “Thanks, maybe we will.” He led the way to the cashier, paid their tab, then held the door open for Ainslee. The warm air settled over them like a blanket as they crossed the parking lot. Perspiration dotted his brow.

She opened the car door to lift the excited, yapping dog to the ground. Rocky trotted over to a scraggly bush at the edge of the lot and raised his leg. Waiting with her hands on her hips, she stared toward the dark cemetery. “Maybe finding the right stone won’t be a piece of cake. Obviously Parnell failed earlier today.”

“I was wondering about that. How the hell are we supposed to know which grave is the one where Victor hid the next clue? We solved the whole riddle already.”

“The rings have to give us the answer.” She turned abruptly then slapped a hand to her bare shoulder as a backfire echoed in the night. “Ouch! Crap, that hurt!”

“What?” Griff hurried over just as two Jeeps pulled into the lot, spraying gravel. Doors slammed as a quartet of men got out, complaining bitterly about the final score of the ballgame. Griff touched her arm to lead her away from the rowdy bunch. “What’s wrong?”

“Something stung me. Let me grab Rocky.” She bent to scoop up the dog. “I think I’m bleeding.”

He opened the SUV door, and waited while Ainslee climbed inside. Hurrying around the back of the vehicle, he joined her then flipped on the overhead light. A smear of blood marred the smooth skin of her upper arm. “That was one hell of an insect.”

She pushed Rocky out of the way and pulled some tissues from her purse to dab at the blood. “Must have been some kind of wasp. I heard the whirr as it buzzed by. It stings like mad.”

“Didn’t I see a first aid kit somewhere in the back?”

“Yes, but right now I just want to get out of here. I’ll put some antiseptic on it when we get to the campground.” She frowned at the blood soaked tissue. “And maybe a bandage. Good grief, what kind of insects do they breed around here?”

Uneasiness churned in his stomach as he drove through the city. He glanced over at Ainslee each time they stopped for a red light. She leaned back in the seat, tissue pressed to her arm, eyes closed. Rocky sat curled in her lap. Finally, they reached the small, private campground they’d discovered on the way into the city.

Pulling into their site, he turned off the engine, released his seatbelt then flipped on the overhead light. “Let’s take a look at that.” Grabbing a water bottle out of the cup holder, he squirted liquid onto a couple of tissue from the packet she’d left on the seat. With care, he wiped her arm.

She opened her eyes. “Strange. It throbs, but it doesn’t itch. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but don’t most bee stings itch?”

“There’s a reason for that.” He touched the skin beside the shallow gouge through her flesh, and his fingers shook. “An insect didn’t bite you. Your arm was grazed by a bullet.”

Ainslee lay in the dark tent, staring up at the wavering shadows dancing in the moonlight. Tree branches moved in the gentle breeze that had finally sprung up to stir the humid air.
Just trees.
Not a deranged gunman waving a pistol.

In the folds of the open sleeping bag, Rocky’s warm little body pressed against her leg. On her other side, Griff’s breathing was slow and steady, but she didn’t think he was asleep. Nothing quite like getting shot to convince her sharing a tent was an excellent idea. Not that anything between them had changed because of their new sleeping arrangement.

He rolled on his side to face her. One big hand settled over her hip. “It isn’t too late to call the cops.”

His touch offered comfort—and support. She blinked away a sudden rush of tears, so very thankful for his presence, then shook her head. Her hair fanned around her face on the pillow. “No, they’d just make us hang out in some overcrowded precinct waiting to give a statement—to what purpose? Obviously whoever shot at me is long gone by now. And it’s not like we can tell the authorities anything about who might have done it. Anyway, the fact that I got hit has to be an accident.” She shrugged the shoulder that didn’t ache. “I certainly don’t know anyone in New Orleans who would want to kill me, for crying out loud.”

“I’ve been trying to put together the sequence of events in my mind.” He held up a finger. “First, that backfire we heard was probably either the actual shot or covered the sound of it. Second, you yelped just as the two Jeeps pulled into the lot.” He flopped over onto his back. “You were turning to reach for the dog. From the angle of the graze, the shot must have come from the graveyard. I suppose it could have been a kid with a pellet gun, screwing around. With such a shallow mark, it’s hard to tell if it came from a pellet or a bullet, but it sure as hell wasn’t a damned wasp.”

She bit her lip. “There weren’t any more shots. If I was intentionally targeted, wouldn’t the shooter have fired again?”