Mimosa Grove by Dinah McCall Page B

listen close.”
    Justin swiped at the rain beating down on his face. As he did, a large chunk of a rotting tree came sweeping through the arm of the bayou in which he’d been searching. It hit his fishing boat, causing it to lurch suddenly to the left. His heart skipped a beat as he tightened his hold on the steering arm of the outboard motor, then let the accelerator idle down as he pressed the radio tight against his ear, straining to hear above the storm.
    Harper held the radio close to Laurel’s mouth and began to feed her questions.
    “Rachelle…can you hear me?”
    “Yes.”
    Harper shuddered. It was too damned eerie hearing that voice come out of this woman’s mouth.
    But Justin didn’t have the privilege of knowing where the voice came from. All he knew was that it sounded like his niece’s voice.
    “Rachelle! Rachelle! Are you there?”
    When there was no answer, it dawned on him that Harper had not released the key on the radio, which meant no one could hear him talking. Panicked, he grabbed a piece of canvas from the bottom of the boat and then ducked under it, using it as a buffer between him and the rain. Even though the rain was still pelting down, thanks to the heavy canvas, the exterior sounds had been muted. He could hear Harper’s voice and what sounded like Rachelle’s. And yet, it wasn’t Rachelle. If Marcella Campion was still living, he would have known what was happening. But he’d been to her funeral. He’d watched them carry her casket into the family crypt. So who was at Mimosa Grove? Desperate for answers and willing to try anything, he focused on the faint voices coming to him through the storm. He heard Harper’s voice, asking another question.
    “Rachelle…can you tell me where you are?”
    Laurel shuddered, then wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was freezing.
    “In the rain. I’m in the rain.”
    “What do you see? Can you tell me what you see?”
    “It’s dark. I can’t see nothin’ but the dark.”
    “Is there still lightning?” Harper asked.
    “Yes. I’m scared. It’s too bright. It hurts my eyes.”
    Harper looked down. The woman held Rachelle’s jacket in a wad beneath her chin, as if trying to absorb it.
    “Yes, I know it’s bright…and it’s scary…but the next time lightning comes, I need you to keep your eyes open. I need you to look around and tell me what you see.”
    Seconds later, Laurel screamed, but she didn’t hide her face. Harper watched her eyes widen and would have sworn that he was looking into the eyes of a frightened child and not the woman lying prostrate on the stairs before him.
    “Tell me, Rachelle…tell me what you see.”
    “A big cypress tree that’s broke in half, but still growing and…and…there’s a little house on long wooden legs. It looks broken, like the tree.”
    Justin’s heart stuttered to a stop and then jump-started itself as his pulse leaped. That sounded like Marcus Sweeny’s old fishing shack, and it wasn’t far away. He threw the canvas off his shoulders, checked his compass to make certain he was going in the right direction, readjusted the big searchlight mounted on the bow of his boat, then accelerated carefully.
    The wind was at his back now as he moved cautiously through the inky darkness. The rain continued to fall, adding to the misery and difficulties he was facing, but he kept thinking of Rachelle out alone in the storm and knew he would do anything to get her back. He kept the radio close to his ear, listening for more clues as he drew closer to the location of the fishing shack.
    Harper’s hands were shaking as Marie slipped past him, only to take a seat on the stairs so she could cradle Laurel’s head in her lap.
    “She wearin’ out,” Marie warned as she eyed the pallor of Laurel’s skin and the frantic tic at the corner of her right eye. Even though she understood what was happening and had assisted her old mistress, Marcella, in the same manner over the years, she was still