DIXIELAND MURDER

“Miss Lucy, you gonna play with that fish or bring him in?” Mr. Wilkes leaned over the side of my runabout, the Little Mermaid. A grappling hook dangled from his hand.

“Mr. Wilkes, I grabbed a nice one, yeah?” I sputtered around a mouthful of water, fighting the catfish I held, his mouth seized in my gloved hand.

“Bring him over before you both go back under,” he commanded me.

Sweet Mr. Wilkes, he had my back as my employee and friend. I struggled to get closer to the runabout, wading through clogs of grass and sediment.

Suddenly my feet were pulled out from under me. The catfish and I went back underwater and then poof my fish was gone. Something had a grip on my right ankle. Kicking I tore free of my attacker and surfaced, sucking air like a thirsty drunk. Moving closer to the grassy bank, I gained purchase against the sandy riverbed before screaming bloody murder, ready to fight whoever played a prank on me. Husky laughter broke through my fury. I blinked twice before the image of Rene Caron swam before my bleary eyes. His wet black hair snaked out about his shoulders as he treaded water. Arrogant man, I seethed. I punished him with both my fists pounding his chest. The water lapped against us.

“What the hell you think you’re doing, Rene?” I yelled at him. I heard Mr. Wilkes chuckling in the background.

“Little mermaid, you’re not supposed to be grabbling on your own,” Rene whispered into my ear and then pulled me tight against his body.

I felt every inch of him pressing against me in the afternoon heat. The cool water had no effect on my overheated emotions. Rene was six foot two inches of pure testosterone and strong as an ox. His bronze chest was bare, and I had one hell of a time keeping my temper about me and not surrendering to him.

“What are you talking about? Mr. Wilkes is with me.” I pushed against him, not wanting to lose this argument due to raging hormones. My fingers tightened against his chest and I felt the rippling of biceps. Rene was so damned sexy with those dark brown eyes looking down at me through long black lashes. His dark hair clung to his head and trailed down the back of his neck. I itch to stroke the wet strands.

“No, Lucy.” His lips moved against my parted lips. “Mr. Wilkes is supposed to be in the water with you.” He grabbed a handful of my tangled hair, pulled my head back, and pressed a kiss of ownership upon my mouth.

Embracing, we floated away from the bank and sank in a pool of sunlight. His large hand slipped down my body, pressing me tighter against him. His fingers eased between my thighs and caressed the throbbing ache inside me. I felt along the waistband of his jeans. I cursed my weakness; the man was driving me crazy. I accidentally gulped water and came up sputtering and coughing.

“Rene, no need to drown her,” Mr. Wilkes scolded him sharply. He fired up the outboard motor and brought the runabout closer to shore.

“Now, Mr. Wilkes, I wouldn’t hurt your boss,” Rene said with a chuckle. He heaved me out of the water and into the runabout. “I don’t want to catch her grabbling alone again.”

“Rene Caron, just who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do?” I growled at him. I was waterlogged, grouchy, and mad as hell for losing that forty-pound flat-head catfish because of his shenanigans. I brushed by waist-length hair back from my face.

“You know who I am, little mermaid.” He winked at me and then turned away from us, swimming upriver toward his cruiser anchored in deeper water.

I had been so engrossed in the job at hand I hadn’t noticed the ripple of waves at his arrival. Lucy DelRose, you need to get a grip, I told myself. I flopped down into the bow of the boat and Mr. Wilkes handed me a towel to wipe my face. I watched Rene’s thirty-footer head downriver. He gave me a blare on his horn, but I looked the other way, ignoring his ornery ass. I swore I could hear his laughter as he motored past. Just because I was attracted to the man didn’t mean he owned me. I could still feel the pressure of his lips against mine. I liked the way his callused hands touched me. Goosebumps spread along my arm, evidence of my fantasies.

Mr. Wilkes settled in the pilot seat and trimmed down the motor. We entered the main channel, making our way upriver to DelRose Marina Dock. Magnolia trees in full bloom graced the sloping hills with their perfumed white flowers. A swarm of buffalo gnats attacked us. Mr. Wilkes shoved the throttle up and sent us flying over the white caps to escape the onslaught of flesh eaters. We settled back to a normal speed and sailed through a cold spot in the river where the air was like a quick dip inside a refrigerator.

Miss Queen’s, diesel motors rumbled past us as she headed downriver to the Port of New Orleans to unload her barges bearing grain. Captain Hayes waved to us from the pilothouse and gave a blast on his horn. I waved back, giving him thumbs up, and he returned the gesture. We were old high school buddies and always used this signal. His dark beard and curly hair made a nice combination for a riverboat pilot.

The floating marina came into view around the bend. It was held fast by two strong iron chains buried deep into rich riverbank soil. We rode in on our own wake to the dockside slip. Mr. Wilkes leaned over me and pressed the button to lift the boat from the river. His pink ears, speckled with brown freckles, shone delicate in the glare of the sun. Mr. Wilkes was like a tootsie roll — dark skin wrapped around a six foot frame. I dumped the cooler and fishing gear onto the dock before squishing my way toward the dock house. Mr. Wilkes followed, pulling the cooler.

“Lucy,” Gran called out. At ninety-one years young, she was eternally beautiful. A butterfly comb secured her braided white hair. She wore a summer blue cotton shift that matched the color of her eyes, and white sandals cushioned her slender feet.

“Yes, Gran, coming,” I mumbled, still grouchy. My hand burned like hellfire from the sharp teeth of the catfish. He left his mark on me, just like that half-breed Indian, Rene Caron. Wouldn’t I just love to bite him all over.

“Oh, Lucy, you’re hopeless,” I moaned to myself.

“Mercy, child, who are you talking to?” Gran shaded her eyes with the back of her hand and gave me a worried look.

“It’s nothing, Gran.” I kissed her velvet cheek. The dock swayed as a boater motored too close to the marina. We suffered his backwash.

“Mommy,” my son, Joey, called out to me from the dock house. I loved the sound of his voice.

“Out here, Joey,” I said. His blond head appeared around the screen door.

“Did you grab a flat-head?” He was eager to hear about my dangerous escapades.

“Joey, I need to talk with your Mommy, honey. Can you clean the tables for me? ” Gran smiled at him.

“Okay, Gran.” My seven-year-old obliged his grandmother.

“I’ll talk to you in a minute, sweetie,” I yelled out to Joey.

“Lucy, honey—” Gran paused and seemed to wrestle with her inner thoughts. “Sue Ann Dykes is dead.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised if Gran had suddenly dived into the Mississippi River.

“How?” I asked, dumbfounded. Sue Ann and Junior Dykes were like family. I fought back the tears that threatened to flow.

“Someone killed her.” Gran laid a hand on my damp sleeve and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“My God,” I said. Junior had to be going through hell. Sue Ann and Junior had had their problems of late, but they also had three adorable sons.

“Lucy, the sheriff’s department is questioning Junior. They seem to think he knows something about her death,” Gran ended in a whisper.

I gripped her arm. Junior was an old boyfriend who dropped me in our senior year to go with the head cheerleader.

Sue Ann had been the head cheerleader.