But Not For Lust by BJ Bourg (comprehension books .txt) 📕

“Yup. Start looking to the sky.”

I inadvertently glanced up. It was blue but clouds were starting to gather. I thought I’d heard something earlier about a cold front blowing through tonight. It would bring some rain, which would hamper our search somewhat.

“Look to the sky for what?”

“Vultures,” she said simply. “Tonight will be the fourth night he’s missing. Thanks to the warmer weather we’ve been having, I’m betting he’s ripe right about now. He’ll be on their radar.”

Although I was well into Chateau Parish and miles from Mechant Loup, I glanced up at the sky again, searching for a flock of circling birds.

“Thanks for the tip,” I mumbled, still not happy about the prospect of finding Ty dead. I just kept hoping he was wandering around somewhere, lost and confused. I figured we would find him, get him some help, and he’d get well enough to tell us what happened to his mom.

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “My consulting fee gets deposited into my bank account every other Friday. I mean, I guess that’s what we can call it, since I haven’t been to work in forever.”

I didn’t want to get all sentimental and dampen the conversation, so I refrained from telling her that it was the least the town could do, considering how much she had sacrificed for the people of our community. Instead, I asked her if she thought Ty had been murdered or died from the elements.

“What’s the hammer look like?” she asked.

“Like a hammer.”

“I mean,” she said in feigned sternness, “does it have blood or brain matter on it?”

“I looked at it, but I didn’t see anything. If Logan used it to kill Ty, I’m sure he would’ve cleaned it before putting it away.” I shook my head. “Our only hope is that the lab can recover something from it.”

“God, I wish I was out there.” She was silent for a few seconds and then said she had to go. “I’ve got to practice.”

“Practice?” I asked.

“Yeah, I want to get back to doing back flips.”

I laughed and shook my head as I tossed my cell phone on the center console. I thought about that laughter. It was good to be able to do that again. Rather than going back to that night and dredging up those horrific scenes in my mind, I focused on the present. She was recovering—both physically and emotionally—and she would be back at work in no time.

“Too bad it wasn’t in time to help with this case,” I said aloud, as I turned on the highway that led to La Mort. “I can sure use some help.”

Thanks to a crash on the interstate, it took me forty minutes to make it to the crime lab. I signed the chain of custody forms, delivered the hammer to the intake officer, and then hurried back to town. I made it across the bridge just as the sun was going down and it was starting to rain.

I found Susan at the police department with the other officers and some of the volunteers who had been searching the fields all day.

“Well, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Susan asked. “We covered a lot of ground, but we didn’t find any sign that Ty might have come through there.”

I sighed heavily and sat at a table in the break room. A few people milled about, and I saw Melvin talking to Sam Beard. There were a few pots on the stove, and I figured I’d eat here before heading home. My mom would’ve fed Grace and I knew Susan had already eaten.

“I think I’m calling it,” I finally said. “If Ty did walk down Camp Street, he either doubled back and returned to this side of town or fell in one of those drainage canals. Either way, we’re wasting our time in those woods.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.” She frowned. “Ready to go home and get some sleep? I have a feeling it’ll be another busy day for you tomorrow.”

It was impossible for any of us to know it at the time, but the words of Susan and Amy would both prove to be prophetic.

  CHAPTER 35

I woke up at seven o’clock on Thursday morning—a bit later than the past few mornings—and took my time getting ready for work. Susan was already up and fussing over breakfast when I walked downstairs. Grace was chasing the dogs around the living room and my mom was sitting at the table. She looked up when I approached.

“Clint, you look tired,” she said with a frown. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I never get enough sleep.” I joined Susan and helped her finish breakfast. We ate breakfast over small talk and Grace kept interrupting to ask questions in her improving English.

“Daddy, you a cop?”

“Yes, Pumpkin.”

“You catch bad boys?”

After swallowing a mouthful of grits, I nodded. “I catch bad boys and bad girls.”

“Mommy’s a bad girl.”

Susan gasped. “Am not!”

“Daddy, Mommy said a bad word.” Grace paused long enough to drink from her cup. A trickle of milk leaked down the side of her face and she wiped it with the front of her shirt. “Mommy said shit.”

“Gracie, don’t say that!” Susan tried to sound stern, but the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile. “That’s a bad word. Only grownups can say that word.”

“I’m a big girl!” Grace exclaimed, holding up four fingers. “I’m three!”

“Not yet, Pumpkin,” I said, patting her red hair. “You’ll be three in three months. Show me three.”

Grace wiggled from side to side in her chair as she lifted up her right hand. Four fingers shot up and she scrunched up her face. The pinky wouldn’t cooperate, so she pulled it down with her left hand. Grinning triumphantly, she said, “I’m three, Daddy!”

I started to cheer, but was cut