They drove for more than three hours, once again in nothing resembling a straight line. As the crow flew—unless it was flying drunk—it couldn’t have been more than fifty miles from the diner to Ryder’s next swampland destination. However, the route he took to get there turned fifty miles into a hundred and fifty, and waning daylight into star-hazed night.
He only stopped once, shortly after they left the diner, for coffee—which Mia appreciated—and fuel. Then it was back on the road en route to wherever he deemed it safe for them to sleep.
Of course safe didn’t necessarily preclude attractive, or even habitable. A sharp turnoff took them down what could at best be called a footpath to a ramshackle building bordered by misshapen trees and a number of swampy knolls.
Constructed of old wood, old stone and rusty metal, the structure stood in a mist-shrouded clearing. A parking lot jutted out next to it. Although it was partly obscured, the moon cast a decent amount of light, enough for Mia to spot a sign nailed to a tippy picket.
When Ryder said nothing, she faced him with a smile. “Let me guess. You found us another bar-slash-inn. Only this one’s been abandoned since the powers that be condemned the place. I’m guessing that would have been about the time our borrowed truck was born.”
He shut everything down, engine, country radio station, headlights, his expression…
“We could have driven another five miles while you asked that question, Mia. To which the answer is a simple no.”
Her temper flared, more at his tone than the words he used. “Don’t patronize me, Ryder. I’ve had a bad day—a string of them actually—and sitting here, staring at a backwater bayou shack, knowing I’ll probably be sleeping in it, doesn’t make me happy. Where are we, and why are we here?”
He glanced at the road behind them as he hopped out. “Town’s called Nightshade.”
“What town?” Following his lead, Mia climbed down. “All I see is a stone, wood and metal box surrounded by trees that look like moss-men. I’m sure it’s very pretty here by day, but at night, it’s totally creepy.”
“It gets better,” he said, and pulled her forward.
“Ryder, this is hardly what I’d call…” She stopped to stare at the now visible sign. “Mad Mama’s Antiques?” Unsure whether to laugh or seriously question his sanity, she opted for middle ground, folded her arms and arched a brow at him. “You expect me to feel safe in a place that has the word ‘mad’ in its name?”
“It’s a sign, Mia, not an omen.”
“There were signs in Whitechapel. There was also a crazed murderer and a bunch of dead women.”
Taking her arm, he drew her up the creaking stairs. “Whitechapel’s in the East End of London. It’ll be easier to see what’s coming at us in a rural environment.”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Fine. You win. Does Mad Mama know she’s having houseguests?”
Ryder’s answer was a cryptic smile that told her nothing.
He twisted the knob on the door. It opened with a screech loud enough to wake any corpse in a five-mile radius. The shop air smelled musty, but Mia detected an underlying scent of beeswax. The floors, little more than worn strips of plank, sagged precariously beneath her feet.
She took a moment to…well, “gape” was probably the best word for it.
A clock ticked deep inside, but otherwise the place was silent. The main room was crammed with old furniture, paintings, tools, toys, jewelry, books and ornaments. Each piece vied with its neighbor for elbow room, of which there was none. The contents of the shelves actually brushed the low ceiling in many areas. A desk lamp with a deep blue bulb gave off a ghostly glow that had Mia rubbing her arms and wishing she’d worn a jacket.
“A jacket, right,” she said. “In ninety degree heat.” She turned to Ryder who was looking through the front window. “Can I wander?”
“Just stay where I can hear you.”
“Since I haven’t mastered the art of self-levitation, no problem.”
Because nothing in the bayou could possibly be as creaky as Mad Mama’s floors. Maybe nothing on the planet.
She made her way through a labyrinth of cast-off treasures. Some might qualify as antiques in better light, but most of what she saw was junk. Dented metal pitchers, nicked tables, chairs half stuffed, a pole lamp held together with red duct tape. There were jars of pickled no-idea-what, beads everywhere she turned, a damaged Victrola, a mannequin minus its head and later the head sporting someone’s old dentures.
Okay, that was just sick.
The ticking clock grew louder the farther she ventured into the space. Strings of black pearls hung in shadowed entryways that undoubtedly led to anterooms filled with even more stuff. Outside one of those anterooms, a doll that looked like a miniature wooden puppet sat cockeyed in a rocking chair and regarded her half-lidded.
She thought about straightening him, but angled her head instead. “You’re not really staring at me, are you? Because if you are, I might have to turn your face to the wall. Dolls, clowns and weapons of ancient torture spook me for some weird reason. Weirder still,” she laughed, “it seems I’m willing to tell them—or tell you, anyway—that they spook me.”
A shiver skated along her spine as she passed the chair. When it spread to her skin, she picked the doll up and studied it.
“Don’t you be messing with Billy, young miss, unless you got a strong wish to find yourself floating face down in Snake Scream Swamp.”
The voice, a woman’s, came from so close behind her that Mia knocked the now-empty rocker onto its side when she spun.
“Who…?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you Mad Mama?”
The woman, a buxom Creole, stabbed a finger at the lopsided seat. “You put Billy back. Then we’ll talk.”
Mia kept her eyes on the rather imposing female as she righted the chair and sat the doll in it.
“Fold his hands in his lap,” the woman said. “Tip his head just so, and tell him you’re sorry for disturbing his sleep.”
Mia’s smile came and went, but being the intruder, she complied.
“I’m sorry to you, as well,” she said. “Ryder and I were just…” What, she wondered. Driving by and decided to break into your shop? She sighed in frustration. “I’ll let him explain. Because, honestly? I haven’t got a clue why we’re here.”
The woman’s gaze slid from Mia to Billy and back again. Mia put her age at about seventy-five. Her hips and breasts were wide and her feet bare. She wore a jumbled collection of bracelets, pendants and rings, all of which jangled when she moved. She swept her arm into an arc. “The door to the shop is open to anyone who bears no malice toward it or me. Billy, he accepts your apology because he knows you’re kin.”
“Kin to who?” Then comprehension dawned. “Ah. You mean Billy recognizes that I’m bayou born and that my apology was sincere.”
Two cracked front teeth appeared when the woman smiled. “Billy, he’s sharp as a pistol. There’s none can fool him. You got trouble, he saw that straight away. Got it in another place and brought it with you to this one.”
Did Billy’s eyelids lower a fraction? Did his mouth alter its rather jarring shape?
Mia dragged her gaze away. “I do have trouble,” she admitted. “And, yes, I might have brought it here. I hope not.”
The woman’s features closed down unexpectedly. Her eyes slid sideways, and her voice rose. “That seed got itself planted in your head is starting to look a suspicious lot like poison, Ricky.” Metal and crystal jangled as she turned to address a shadow. “You bring a stranger here, but you don’t tell her why.”
“She knows why.” Ryder emerged from the darkness far enough for Mia to make him out in silhouette, but she couldn’t see his face. “This isn’t your war, Desdemona.”
“This is whatever I want it to be. I’ve known your auntie and you too long for you to take that tone with me. You play dangerous games these days, Ricky, and you play them by rules only you know.”
“In homicide, we call that gaining the upper hand. “
“Homicide?” With a last glance at Billy, Mia raised her head. “Crucible said your assignment was to keep me alive.”
“It is.” His eyes were fixed on the older woman. “Desdemona thinks she can read minds, but the truth is, she spent half her adult life making jewelry in Florida. She moved to Nightshade seven years ago to help an old friend run this shop.”
“Where and how a body earns her living makes no difference, and I’ve never claimed to have the sight. My friend, she was gifted from birth. It doesn’t hold that her death turned what lived inside her to dust.”
This was a very strange conversation, Mia decided. And it didn’t improve her jittery state of mind to see that Billy’s wooden hands were no longer folded in his lap.
“Okay, look.” She placed herself between Ryder and Desdemona. “You two are obviously at odds over something.” She faced Ryder. “We shouldn’t have come here, Ryder, and I think we should leave. This isn’t Desdemona’s problem. It’s not fair that her life should be in danger because of me.”
“Girl’s got sense.” Desdemona nodded. “Doesn’t make her right, but I like folks with sense. Now Ricky here, sometimes he shows sense, but other times he walks a dark path to nowhere. To no win.”
And now it was riddles. Mia fought back rising doubt and told herself to get a grip. Ryder had bayou ties. Desdemona was one of them. As for Billy, the doll…
A headlight swept through the shop, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Swamp folks pass by here sometimes on their way to the Fox. That’s my son’s bar,” Desdemona explained to Mia. “But maybe you want to move that truck of yours into the old storehouse out back, Ricky, just to be sure. Stock’s low. There should be plenty of room. I’ll take…” She raised inquiring brows at her guest.
“Mia.”
“There’s a pretty name. Mia and me will go on upstairs.” She winked. “I’ll show her what’s what and what’s got a mind of its own. Like when you pull the toilet chain and nothing happens how you gotta fiddle with the connection. It’ll flush by and by. My friend, she never worried about things like did the toilet flush right.” She tapped a ringed finger between her eyes. “You got the sight, you got bigger worries.” She wagged a finger behind her. “Billy, you keep a sharp look out for intruders, you hear?”
Mia caught the jingle of Ryder’s keys. “I’ll bring our stuff.”
“Her stuff, not yours,” Desdemona corrected. “Only one guest room up here. You sleep in the back. Billy, he’ll point the way.”
“I know the damn way,” Ryder said through his teeth.
Grinning now, Mia regarded her hostess. “I think he’s regretting his decision to bring me here. And seeing as there’s a killer after me, I wish he hadn’t.”
“Nonsense.” Desdemona flicked a hand. “Maybe I think the games Ricky plays are dangerous, but his brain works just fine when it wants to.”
Mia considered asking her how she knew Ryder and his aunt, but they’d creaked their way to the top of an extremely narrow staircase and the minute the overhead light flared, Desdemona shrieked.
She grabbed a broom from the corner. “You get gone.” The straw end thumped the worn floorboards. “No rats allowed up here, you know that.”
Perfect, Mia thought. Rats, on top of a toilet that might or might not flush, and the spine tingling sensation that Billy could still see her. She kept a safe distance from her broom-wielding hostess and her mouth shut.
“Here, take this.” Desdemona thrust the handle at her. “You see whiskers and a skinny tail, you bring it down hard and show no mercy. That rat, he killed my budgie, Feathers. Tried to blame the cat, but Billy, he said, no; it was the rat who did the deed.”
“I…don’t know what to say.” Mia confessed. “I’ll keep the broom in my room. Which is…?”
“Bedroom’s left, bathroom’s right. I’m in the attic.”
Of course she was. Mia smiled. “This is very kind of you.”
Desdemona chuckled. “You think so, and Billy thinks so, but Ricky, he thinks I’m a witch.” The woman’s cracked teeth gleamed in the barely there light. “Sleep well, young Mia. You need me, you know where I am. No need to worry yourself about being safe.” Pressing three fingers to Mia’s forehead, she whispered, “Last bad man who came to this antique shop got himself shot in the head.”
Mia stared in surprise. “You shot someone in the head?”
“Course not.” Desdemona sniffed. “Ain’t no need for me to resort to such violence. No need at all. Not with Billy sitting downstairs in his little chair. He rocks away all night long with a scowl on his face, watching and waiting for someone to come along and give him a reason to smile.”