Deceptive silence hailey.., p.1
Deceptive Silence (Hailey Arquette Murder Files Book 2), page 1
Deceptive Silence
Hailey Arquette Murder Files
Book Two
REILY GARRETT
Acknowledgments
To Rosie Amber for an in-depth assessment of character and plot, thank you for all your help. You can find her blog and services at rosieamber.wordpress.com/beta-reading-service.
To my editor RE Hargrave, tireless and always patient. Thank you for keeping me on the straight and narrow. You can find her services as www.rehargrave(dot)com.
To my readers, each one of you who selects and reads one of my books, thank you for the opportunity to share my work. If you’ve enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review. They are the best way to help your author share her work.
Copyright
Copyright© 2023 Reily Garrett
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Unlikely Justice
Reily’s Books
About Reily
Chapter One
Hailey
Before the sun peeked over the horizon’s rim to separate the lush greens, golds, and browns that would comprise the best picture in Hailey’s portfolio, misty gray held the bayou’s secrets tight within its obscure and deadly grasp.
The occasional pew, pew of a baby gator replicated the sound of a science fiction gun blasting over open water. No doubt the growl heard thereafter came from the mother warning off other ambush predators.
In self-preservation mode, her fingers tightened on her bang stick. Only one shot, the .44 magnum proved an effective weapon while the long handle ensured she maintained a little distance from creatures intent on catching their next meal.
Dusk and dawn proved the most dangerous times for exploring the bayou and the best hunting times for apex predators. This morning, she was one of them. Natural light would help obtaining her best shot—with a camera.
On a recent excursion, she’d witnessed a black panther—reported to inhabit China, Southern India, and Malaysia, but nowhere in the US—prowling in search of prey. Without her camera, she could not prove its presence.
Her current position deep in the thinly treed forest allowed her to keep a decent 360 visual while viewing the narrow passage where her trail cam had caught her current target.
After checking for snakes and other meat eaters who enjoyed human flesh, she and Gunther settled behind the broad base of a cypress tree, a sentinel of the swamps. If not for the early start to their dry season, she would’ve had to hunker down in a boat.
Any amount of discomfort was worth the picture that would put her photo on the front page of Wildlife Ezine. Private investigative work earned her paychecks. This picture would establish her place as a photographer.
Beside her, Gunther perked his ears with the grumble of low voices in the distance. She wasn’t the only bipedal creature around; though, running into others this far along the inlet was rare.
She couldn’t hear the gist of the exchange.
Two men argued as they walked parallel to her position. They stopped and faced the water with one using his hands to emphasize a point. Their exchange heated and rose in volume until both startled as branches snapped to their left.
Using her hooded telephoto lens, she scanned the acreage bordered by three intersecting canals. Estimated distance put them at the edge of the largest waterway, a dangerous place to stand and not pay attention to surroundings.
Because she was generally curious and considered nosy, she snapped a few bursts to capture the moment on digital media. Both men stood canted toward the water, their profiles silhouetted by the rising sun. Shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail swung to the side when the stockier of the two pivoted to face the woods.
His companion also wore jeans, but a hoodie covered his head. Shorter and wiry, his accent pegged him for a local.
Ponytail spoke with a stiff northern accent. He also wore a long-sleeved tee, common for maintaining a barrier between skin and biting insects. An eagle’s head on the back of his ball cap proclaimed him a Philadelphia baseball fan.
From his back waist, Hoodie pulled a gun and took a step back, gaining distance between himself and his opponent, shaking his head.
Beside her, Gunther growled when a sharp crack filled the morning air, not the type issued from an alligator or the horrendous pop from a pistol. It was louder and lingered longer.
Rifle shot.
Ponytail, so animated a moment prior, fell back on his butt, his hands clutching his chest. Maybe she imagined the raspy breath before he slumped down in the marsh grass without further moving.
Hoodie was behind him and couldn’t nail Ponytail in the chest. A third person shot him.
Gunther’s presence during weapon’s training assured he wouldn’t react without conscious thought. Still, he didn’t like guns and voiced his displeasure with zealous appeal.
Her hand on his collar kept him from bolting forward but also proved a distraction. In the split-second it took to quiet him, he’d given away their position, to both Hoodie and whomever shot his companion.
Hoodie’s gaze swung in Hailey’s direction.
“Duck!”
The harsh command in her ear startled her into hunching her shoulders. She dropped down and behind the tree trunk in the next second.
Someone had snuck up from behind her. Her gaze swiveled to either side in her half-pivot.
No one was there.
To prevent light from glinting off her lens barrel, she kept it low and tucked under her tee. The bang stick wouldn’t aide her now. In order to fire, it required pressure, as in slamming it against an adversary.
Hoodie’s gaze searched for a target. If he thought she’d shot his companion, he wasn’t considering the angle of origin.
If he realized he’d left a witness after hearing Gunther bark, he’d face a murder charge if identified. His gaze swung between the direction of the shot and Gunther’s warning, confirming her status as a witness.
“Hailey, move it.” Something touched her shoulder, like a prankster who struck and disappeared. She ducked and swiveled her head, again finding no one.
A heartbeat later, another crack punched through the morning haze, the type of sound that accompanied lead boring through skulls at high velocity. The bullet tore bark from the tree she used as cover. Splinters cut her cheek.
The bastard is either lucky or an excellent shot. On the heels of that realization came, Who saved my life?
Who was the word coming to mind, not what. The directive had been unmistakable and precise, spoken inches from her ear.
Her four-footed companion strained against his collar. No doubt, he’d bring down the shooter if not stopped with a bullet. Neither scenario was acceptable out in the swamp when facing two guns.
“No, Gunther. We run. We’re outmatched.” She wasted no time grabbing her bang stick and urging him away. “Truck, boy. Load up. Go.”
Running wasn’t her first inclination, but it was the safest.
Gunther understood the objective and kept pace with her sprint through the maze of trees. Fear and another two shots fired motivated her to increase speed. She couldn’t shoot the bastard, but she could damn sure outrun him.
In quick succession, return fire suggested Hoodie found a target. He’d obviously figured out the scenario. Staccato pops from his pistol was more distinctive than the rifle’s discharge. Both were deadly.
She didn’t imagine the perspiration melding her t-shirt to her skin or the wild thump of her stampeding heart. Each precious breath came with an increasing pain in her side. Twice she stumbled over weed clumps and struggled to remain vertical.
A boat’s engine roared to life as she ran. With the amount of scrub brush along the waterline, cover was abundant. At least one of them got away.
In the distance, water sloshed. Maybe Hoodie ran along the waterline, or a feeding frenzy started with Ponytail for breakfast. The last scenario was rare but did happen.
She’d parked her truck a hundred yards east, which now put the rising sun in the shoote
Another engine roared to life. From her angle, she couldn’t see whether Hoodie fled or gave chase.
At the moment, neither mattered. She paused behind the base of a broad trunk at the edge of the forest to listen for the dwindling sound of the motorboat.
Unlike Gunther, who sat by her side, her breaths came in short pants and blocked out the normal sounds of waking wildlife. Exhaustion had bent her into a hands-on-knees position with adrenaline washout forcing to seek support in leaning against the oak.
“Looks like they’re gone, boy. I wonder if the murder was planned or spur of the moment?” Either way, carrion predators would dispose of the remains in short order.
Gunther nudged her thigh until she tunneled her fingers through his long fur. In her mind’s eye, she ran over the scenario again. It all happened too fast to get a look at either man’s face.
When able to take her breaths in slow drags, she gathered her thoughts and determination.
“Okay, fella. They’re gone. Let’s go back and see what we can figure out before the evidence disappears.”
It made sense for Hoodie and Ponytail to have come in different vehicles, both approaching from the water. Were they arguing about who they were supposed to meet?
A quick swipe of her phone revealed no cell service.
Go figure.
The satellite phone she’d wanted for months just became top priority. That and maybe a long talk with either her mom or a psychiatrist. Hearing a voice that sounded so real worried her as much as someone using her for target practice. One was a quick death, the other, a slow decline into madness.
In counterpoint, the verbal warning had saved her life. How was she supposed to reconcile that?
Town gossip long declared the Arquette family rife with Vodou practices and anything occult. Little did they know how close yet how far off they were.
Her grandmother had heard voices, the psychic ability manifesting as a teenager. She’d refused to offer details until Hailey reached adulthood. Unfortunately, cancer removed her from the living years ago. Hailey had celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday, well past the age expected to develop new abilities.
Her mother refused to discuss the matter until the time was right.
Once back in her original scouting spot, she checked her camera for specific landmarks while listening to nature. Crickets, frogs, and morning birds returned to their vocal routines after their rude awakening. Business as usual, except for the dead body in their midst.
Using the familiar misshapen tree as a reference point, she hiked to where Ponytail fell. Lack of water splashing dictated natural predators hadn’t discovered him, yet.
There was little hope of getting cell reception and making an emergency call before they did. Since the victim hadn’t landed in the water, maybe he still drew breath. Stranger things could happen, and usually did.
“Help me.”
Low, almost inaudible, the gravelly base echoed behind her. The male’s voice wasn’t what she heard earlier.
She pivoted in a 360 but saw nothing.
“Where are you?” Jeez, she was talking to, what, a tree five feet away?
“I’m right in front of you.”
“No, you’re not.” Hailey swept her hand out as a blind person might when treading in unfamiliar territory. Nothing.
Her hearing wasn’t defective. Her mind—maybe.
“Ouch! Stop that.”
“Stop what? I can’t see you.” Three steps back and almost tripping reminded her to turn and keep an eye on the waterline. Gators were incredibly fast for short distances.
Each step closer to her objective tripled the bile in her stomach until the wave of nausea threatened to eject her rushed breakfast of coffee and beignets.
“You can hear me. So, you can help.”
Ahead, she saw a face among the tall grasses. A man lay supine, face up with the end of his ponytail draped over one shoulder, a pool of blood collecting beside his body. She knew in that moment he was dead. She also knew he’d spoken to her.
Directly to her.
Her fingers went slack, the bang stick dropping to the ground. Gunther edged forward and sniffed at bloody jeans, then up toward a mouth slackened in death.
Lifeless. Yet the man spoke to her. Yep, she was ready for a padded room and white jacket and hoped the long sleeves that wrapped around her torso were comfortable.
Why didn’t Grandma talk about this?
“Mister?” Hailey prodded his lower leg with her booted foot. If she touched his skin, she might learn a lot, but that emerging ability was new and sometimes backfired due to misinterpretation.
The visions she received with contact were always jumbled, stronger when touching flesh, but chaotic just the same.
With no response, she grew bolder, kneeling to shake his shoulder, careful to protect herself by only touching his clothes.
Still, no response. Either from him or a vision.
Black cotton wicked up the crimson expanded to encompass a softball size stain on his chest. Rivulets down his flank led to a pool of bloody grass. Death had arrived and taken his soul, leaving wide-staring eyes accusing her for not returning sooner.
It wasn’t morbid curiosity that made her take a picture of his face. No, the likelihood of this body remaining intact until the police arrived was nil. He was too heavy for her to move far enough from nearby carnivores.
Every murder victim deserved justice.
“Some son of a bitch killed me.”
Hailey shoved back with her legs and dropped her bang stick. Gravity and the angle with which she pushed off dictated she thudded on her butt. Her right hand landed in a hill of mud and leafy debris before her mind registered what her fingers invaded.
Oh, shit… Eggs? In September?
Not impossible but very dangerous. She looked to the waterline less than twenty feet away and wasn’t sure which spooked her more. Landing on top of an alligator’s nest or hearing voices.
“Who are you?” If she could verify anything from the victim, she could prove her sanity was intact.
“Nobody now. If I tell you, it will bring you nothing but death. Go to the local police. Show them my picture. Tell them I was here. They’ll do what they can and notify my family.” There existed a sadness in the tone that transcended the otherworldly realm.
Shit.
In her scramble to stand, her hand brushed against something hard, something metal. Her fingers tightened around it. In a pinch, anything could be a weapon.
Not long ago, a female alligator had treed her for the worst night of her life. Now, she’d come full circle in finding a gator’s nest.
I didn’t just find it. I disrupted it.
Smaller predators such as raccoons destroyed a third of gator nests for the succulent eggs within. Hailey had no such ambition.
In standing, she saw what her fingers had inadvertently clutched. A gun. It could’ve belonged to Hoodie or dropped when Ponytail fell.
Her mind flashed image after image of it firing in slow motion, but shock blurred the horrific aftermath. She couldn’t tell if he’d hit his target or even see a face.
The familiar warning hiss and growl of an approaching threat energized her into action. In her haste to get clear, she flung the gun, which landed on top of the dead man’s chest.
Sorry, fella.
“Gunther, run.” At least this encounter didn’t include a sprained ankle. There wasn’t time to retrieve the weapon and see if it was loaded. She didn’t care to face off with a pissed-off momma gator either way.
Holding her camera lens in one hand and her bang stick in the other, she didn’t stop running until reaching her truck.
Once she and Gunther were inside, she settled her equipment and rested her head against the steering wheel.
Neither of her best friends would believe the voices were real. They’d chalk her timely duck to subconscious warnings. They did however, know of her gift for psychometry, to learn about an object or person through touch. That would inspire questions.
As members of the local sheriff’s department and FBI respectively, Trenton and Leigh would seek justice for the victim when shown proof of death, her photograph.
