Randy White: Haunted

“Police will be more interested in a corpse you’ll find down by the river-most of his face missing,” I said.

That got the man’s attention. I told him my name, and added, “I’m a friend of Joey Egret and probably a dozen other people you know. My uncle was Jake Smith, and I’m related to the Summerlins. I’m not asking for your blessings, sir. Just the loan of one bullet.”

In rural areas, surnames are tribal and carry weight. Instantly, the man’s sympathies shifted and I was granted temporary rank in his cavalry of one. Mr. Harney-that was his name-kept my Devel pistol trained on the monkey but first wanted a question answered. “The other woman, where is she?”

I assumed he had mistaken the wailing cry of fire and wind for a human voice.

“No,” he insisted. “When that big pine went up, she waved for me to come. Sort of looked like you, but longer hair and wearing a bright red shirt. She ain’t here? Or… or maybe it was you.”

In the fire’s heat, I felt a chill and could not answer until I’d returned with the rifle, a Winchester.30-30. I said, “Mr. Harney, in my SUV-if we find it-I’ve got a picture I’d like you to see.”

Then I shucked a round and finished the job.

Randy Wayne Whiteis the author of twenty-three Doc Ford novels, most recently Deep Blue ; the Hannah Smith novels Gone , Deceived , and Haunted ; and four collections of nonfiction. He lives on Sanibel Island, Florida, where he was a light-tackle fishing guide for many years, and spends much of his free time windsurfing, playing baseball, and hanging out at Doc Ford’s Rum Bar & Grille.

randywaynewhite.com

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