But that would have to wait.
I drove another half-mile and turned into the parking lot of The Seaside B&B, where, as caretaker, my first order of business was squirrel infestation.
I’d begun my military career right out of high school as a sniper for the Army. In those days I learned how to move stealthily through the woods and tall grass, where distance traveled was often measured in feet per hour. What I’m saying, it was a rare day that I didn’t encounter snakes, rodents and insects of all types, so I had no fear of St. Alban’s tree squirrels.
But I had no intention of climbing into that attic yet.
Most animals will give you a wide berth, provided you don’t back them in a corner. In the wild, there are plenty of escape routes for the big and small beasties, all of who are nervous, frightened, or curious. When they see or hear or feel you coming, the nervous move on, the frightened growl or hiss and move on, and the curious stop to look, maybe piss or defecate near you, but eventually slither or scurry away.
But the Seaside attic was self-contained, with walls, a floor and a ceiling and only a few small holes available to the beasties as escape routes. I had no idea what might be lurking in the eaves and insulation-filled floorboards of that attic, but there was one thing I did know: this was their attic, not mine. It had been theirs for a long time, and I wasn’t going to change that in a day, or even a week.
I had a plan.
My plan involved the ladder I found in the storage shed that was located to the side and back of the property. It looked to be about twelve-feet tall, with an extension that would take it up to about twenty.
Beth had gone to Jacksonville for the day, and guests weren’t scheduled to arrive until after four, so Rachel and I had the place to ourselves. My plan was to make a quick, pre-emptive strike against the squirrels by boxing them in. I’d let them sit there awhile, let them expend some energy trying to scratch their way out, then gas them with a pesticide bomb and assess their response. I gathered some metal flashing, nails and a hammer, and propped the ladder against the side of the house by the openings the squirrels were using to enter and exit the attic. I boarded up the holes I could find. Then I put the ladder and other materials away, changed into a pair of khaki shorts, and swung by the kitchen long enough to crush some ice cubes in a blender and roll them into a hand towel. Then I headed to the beach where Rachel was sunbathing.
“Hey Scatman,” Rachel said.
“Scatman?”
“I looked it up on my laptop,” she said. “Scatman Crothers played the part of the caretaker in The Shining. Dick Hallorann?”
You had to love this girclass="underline" two days earlier I’d told her about the Grady Twins, today she was giving it back to me. Rachel had on a black and white striped bikini and was lying on a chaise. She wore her hair in a French braid with a white bow tied on the end. She’d pulled the braid over her left shoulder to frame her face. The glass beside her was empty; save for a small pool of water and a couple of nearly melted ice cubes, remnants of what I guessed had been a pina colada.
“Where’d you get the drink?” I said.
“I made it in the kitchen. They don’t have anyone to serve drinks here, can you believe that?”
“I think the waitress is supposed to serve the drinks.”
She looked at me curiously. “Well, that’s what I did.”
I nodded.
Rachel said, “What’s with the towel?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” I put the frozen towel around her neck.
She gasped when it touched her skin, but within seconds she was murmuring, “God, that feels good!”
I said, “I think I’ll take the car down A1A for a few minutes.”
“Like how many minutes?”
“Maybe twenty. You want to come?”
“No, I’m good. I want to catch some rays today if we’re still doing breakfast tomorrow. Are we?”
“We are.”
She looked up at me and squinted against the sun. “You sure you want to do that? Cook breakfast for tourists and townies?”
“I am. Can I get you another drink before I go?”
“Maybe you could bring me one when you come back.”
I kissed her on the cheek. “As you wish,” I said, quoting a line from our favorite movie, The Princess Bride.
“Thank you, Farm Boy,” Rachel said, not to be outdone.
A few minutes later I took A1A back to the church, but this time I felt nothing. Nor were there any old people in the churchyard. Whatever had happened, if it happened, had stopped happening. But I didn’t care; I knew how to find another great feeling.
I turned the car around and headed to the sand dune where we’d found the boy a couple nights ago. I parked on the shoulder of the highway and made my way to the fire ant colony, and lay on my back next to it the same way the kid had been laying. While I waited I wondered what I’d tell the cops if a squad car happened by.
Within minutes I felt them crawling on my arms and legs.
I closed my eyes and smiled.
Chapter 10
D’AUGIE HAD BEEN surprised to see Rachel sitting at the foot of his hospital bed the morning after his fire ant incident. She’d come to check on him, she said, adding that she and Kevin had come the night before for the same purpose. She’d laughed when he told her his name, and barked a couple of times. Under normal circumstances, he’d have slit a woman’s throat for making fun of him, but with Rachel, it seemed so childlike and cute, he found himself laughing along with her.
“Is it spelled D-O-G-G-Y?”
He told her the correct spelling.
“Is it foreign?”
D’Augie changed the subject. “Did you happen to find my knife last night?”
“You had a knife?”
“More like a pocket knife,” he lied.
So Creed must have found the knife and kept that information from Rachel. Which meant he’d be suspicious, and have his guard up next time D’Augie attacked. D’Augie had been mortified to hear that Creed saved his life. But it didn’t change things. He still intended to kill him, first chance he got. He decided to play it cool with Rachel, see if he could get some information that would help him kill her boyfriend.
He watched her remove a plastic water bottle from her purse and shake it. Then she unscrewed the cap, poured something red and gloppy from it into a plastic cup on his hospital table, and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he said.
“Red Drink.”
“What’s in it?”
“Water, grape juice, pomegranate juice, cranberry juice, protein powder, birch bark, a bit of citrus, some other stuff.”
He held it up to the light and stared at it. “What’s it for?”
“It’s full of antioxidants, and prevents you from getting sick. But if you’re already sick or get hurt, it heals you quickly.”
“This some sort of family potion?”
“No, it’s Kevin’s recipe.”
D’Augie abruptly put the cup down and silently cursed himself for being so stupid. He must have been reeling from the effect of the drugs they’d given him to have considered drinking this red concoction in the first place. He looked at the puzzled expression on her face. Then again, if Creed wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead. He wouldn’t have sent this girl to poison him.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel said.
Unless she was one of Creed’s assassins.
“D’Augie?”
But if she was one of his assassins, would she be so stupid as to tell him the drink was Creed’s recipe?