Free Swamp Sniper by Jana DeLeon

think Ida Belle should leave her house. In fact, we should probably call Marie to come over here and sit with her just in case she needs an alibi.”
    I sighed. “You’re probably right. So I assume your boat has been repaired since the highly suspect boat-house accident.”
    “Uh, pretty much,” Gertie said.
    I narrowed my eyes at her. “What does ‘pretty much’ mean?”
    “It was only a small hole. It will be fine.”
    I looked over at Ida Belle, who shrugged, clearly not up to speed on Gertie’s boat repair status.
    “Oh for goodness’ sakes,” Gertie said, “stop being such a chicken. It’s just a five-minute boat ride and we’ve got a limited amount of time to work with.”
    I felt my back tighten and I fought the urge to stand and fight. Gertie had hit on my biggest weakness, and I’d bet anything she knew it. Nothing lit a fire under me as much as an accusation of being a coward. And it didn’t help that Gertie was right about the ticking clock. The sooner we got all this settled, the more likely that Ida Belle would be in the clear and Morrow would leave me in Sinful.
    “Fine, then let’s get going,” I said, leaving off the “before I wise up and change my mind” part.
    Gertie jumped up from her chair. “Great! We can drop Ida Belle off at her house on the way to the boat dock. I just need to put on tennis shoes.”
    She hurried out of the kitchen and I looked over at Ida Belle. “Please tell me that boat is structurally sound.”
    Ida Belle shook her head. “I lent her my welder, but I have no idea if she did the patch correctly.”
    “Great.”
    “Hey, look at the bright side—at least you know how to swim.”
     

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    The boat dock was a patch of dirt littered with random weeds that led to a makeshift slope of gravel used as a launch. A handful of trailered boats sat on each side of the launch path, all of them looking worse for the wear. No wonder Ted had gotten cheers when he’d promised to pave this place.
    “That one’s mine,” Gertie said, pointing to an old green flat-bottom boat with yellow daisy slipcovers over the seats.  
    I held in a smile as I backed my Jeep up to the boat. In a sea of camouflage, who would have guessed?
    Gertie jumped out and directed me right under the hitch, then lowered the trailer and latched it to the Jeep. I swung the Jeep around and backed the boat down the makeshift launch, Gertie unhooked it, and we were ready to roll. Or drift. Whatever.
    “Hurry up,” Gertie called from the boat as I parked the Jeep and headed to the launch. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to sit still for all that long.”
    I gave the boat a once-over before pushing it back and hopping inside, unable to squelch the feeling that this was not going to turn out well. I took a seat on the front bench and gave Gertie a thumbs-up.  
    “This isn’t a race,” I reminded her, “so there’s no reason to go fast.”
    “Unless someone starts shooting at us.”
    “Is that really a possibility?”
    Gertie shrugged. “Usually.”
    I wasn’t about to ask. “Fine then. We’ll go at a moderate pace unless someone starts shooting. Agreed?”
    “Sounds like a plan.” She pulled on a pair of aviator sunglasses and twisted the throttle on the outboard motor.  
    The boat leaped out of the water and I clutched the sides to keep from pitching off into the bottom. So much for moderate. Gertie set off down the bayou at a pace twice the speed I would have recommended, especially for someone with questionable vision who refused to wear glasses.  
    I turned to face the front and said a silent prayer as the boat swept just inches from a pier, casting a huge wave over a couple fishing. I called out an apology, but we were probably gone too fast for them to hear it. The bank blurred by so quickly, I couldn’t tell where we were, but I thought I saw us speed past my house before making a hard turn that almost pitched me out of the boat.  
    I was just about to