Page 86 of Going Once

Nola was at the window when their neighbor drove past their trailer. She watched him stop and get out at his motor home, but instead of going inside, he glanced in their direction, and then didn’t look away.

“That’s weird,” she said.

Tate looked up.

“What’s weird?”

She waved him over. “Hurry.”

Tate bolted toward the window.

“He’s been staring like that ever since he got out of his truck,” she said.

His eyes narrowed and before she knew it, he was out the door, standing on the porch. He gave the man a “What the hell’s going on?” gesture. The man had a strange look on his face as he pointed up to the roof.

Tate stepped off the porch and backed up to see what was so interesting, then saw the vulture. It was staring straight at the man and the motor home like they were a tasty piece of roadkill.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

The vulture didn’t budge, and when Tate turned to look at their neighbor again, he was gone. Tate shrugged, went back inside and shut the door.

“What’s the deal?” Nola asked.

“He wasn’t looking at us, he was looking at what’s sitting on the roof.”

Wade looked up. “What’s on the roof?”

“A vulture. Craziest thing is, it’s just sitting there staring at his motor home like it was about to become dinner.”

Wade shivered suddenly. “Damn it. We’re sleeping in a haunted trailer, and now we’ve got a vulture using it for a roost. If that doesn’t say ‘crazy,’ I don’t know what does.”

Nola shook her head. “It’s not crazy. My granny would have called that an omen.”

Tate frowned. He remembered her granny. She was part Cherokee and lived a lot in the old ways.

“An omen of what, honey?”

She shrugged. “All I’m saying is, if she was here, she’d be saying, ‘Somebody’s going to die.’”

Tate’s phone rang.

“Hello?”

Nola watched his facial expressions, and when his eyes widened, she had a feeling her granny would have been standing there saying, “I told you so.”

Moments later, Tate hung up.

“The Stormchaser struck again. Killed a father and son right out in their front yard upriver.”

“They weren’t stranded?” Wade asked.

“Their house was surrounded by water. They were out in the yard reinforcing the sandbags they’d put around the house. But either he’s getting sloppy, or he thinks he’s immune to discovery.”

“Why?”

“He left another witness. I doubt he knew she was there, just like he didn’t know Nola was there, but it’s happened twice now. The younger man’s wife was upstairs and got a good look at him, although it’s probably another disguise. This time he was dressed like a biker. Black pants and leather vest, a bushy mustache, black shaggy hair and wearing a baseball cap. And this time he used a rifle, probably because of the distance,” Tate said.

Wade frowned. “A single bullet to the head with a rifle, from any significant distance, isn’t easy. This isn’t as simple as driving a boat right up to them and taking them out with a pistol. Our man is either ex-military or a damn good hunter.”

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