Free The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller by JC Gatlin

meowed at the man’s feet. The
cats twisted and crossed in front of him, to the point that he almost stumbled.
    Catching
his footing, he moved faster and motioned to Rayanne. “Can I help you with
anything today?”
    Owen
turned to him as he approached. “You rent boats?”
    “I
sure do,” the man said, smiling. He turned toward the Chevy and sized up Owen’s
bass boat behind it. After a moment, he turned to Owen with a puzzled smirk.
“You look’n to rent another boat this afternoon?”
    The
cats had followed him, their tails raised high in the air. They were meowing
loudly and rubbing their bodies against his boots.
    Owen
shook his head, probably in response to the question but also as likely at the
horde of crying cats. He motioned toward the maroon ski boat. “You rent this
one to some teenagers yesterday?”
    The
man eyed Owen, gently pushing a cat away with his boot, only to have it
replaced with two more. He glanced at Rayanne and looked back at Owen. “No,
sir. We don’t generally rent to teenagers without their parents’ consent.”
    “These
were older teenagers, maybe in their early twenties,” Owen said. “Three boys
and a girl.”
    The
salesman shook his head. “No one like that came onto the lot yesterday.”
    Owen
frowned. “Did you rent this boat to the parents of some teenagers, then?”
    “No,
sir. If you must know, it was a war veteran and his son.”
    The
salesman sighed and mopped his brow. It was already hot in the midmorning sun,
and between the heat and the cats congregating at his feet, he seemed to be
getting flustered.
    “The
veteran was in a wheelchair and his son was taking him fishing for the first time
in ten years. Is there a problem?”
    “No.”
Owen looked away from him and seemed to focus on the boat again. “Thank you for
your time.”
    He
headed to the Chevy as Darryl followed, asking him what that was all about.
    Rayanne
paused and bent down to pet a cat. It rubbed against her leg, and she
immediately recognized it, with its chunky body, plush gray coat and broad
face, to be a British shorthair. She playfully shooed it away with her foot and
it rolled onto its back and swatted at her. The man bent down and picked it up
in his arms.
    “I’m
sorry,” he said as he ran a hand along the cat’s back. It looked up at him and
swatted his chin. The man dropped the cat and it landed on its feet. He rubbed
his chin. “I started out feeding one, and then before I knew it—”
    “What
did the veteran’s son look like?” Rayanne was no longer interested in the cats.
    “Excuse
me?”
    “The
son. Did he have tattoos on his arm?”
    “Yeah,
I think so.” He seemed to think about it as he still rubbed his chin. “In fact,
it was spider webs running down his arm.”
    Rayanne
froze. “Spider webs?”
    “Red
and black ink.”
    That
proves it, Rayanne thought. That was Scut. She squinted at the salesman. “And
you said the older man was in a wheelchair?” Rayanne looked at the boat. She
stared at it for several seconds, until Owen honked. Then she thanked the
salesman and ran to the truck.

 
     
    11
     
    Within
the hour, Owen and Darryl were on the lake. Neither spoke. They just fished.
Owen watched his cork jerk under the water. He yanked up on his pole. An empty
lure tangled in lake grass sailed into the air and plopped back into the water.
He said something under his breath, and Darryl looked over his shoulder.
    “Give
them time to take it,” Darryl said, grinning. “Why you so jumpy?”
    Owen
lifted his pole and caught the hook swinging toward him.
    A
few seconds later, he cast again and the lure disappeared into the water. The
cork ran out, away from the side of the boat, tugged twice, then slowly came
back in line with the others.
    “This
is what happens when you take your wife fish’n.” Darryl scratched the dark
stubble on his protruding chin and pushed his ball cap back on his head. He
wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. “Now she’s all