Free Champagne for Buzzards by Phyllis Smallman Page A

the moment it was the dark face in the palmettos that was scariest for me. I couldn’t quantify it, didn’t know what he threatened or why that guy was out there, unless he was a criminal or a crazy person. Any man hiding out in all that wilderness had to be one or the other. It wasn’t an easy place to get to. There was only a narrow track, through deep jungle of vines and underbrush, running into the back two hundred acres of Riverwood. There were about a hundred acres of cleared land up near the house but the other two hundred acres had gone back to slash pines and palmettos and was home for gators, wild pigs, panthers and bugs — not a place that most people would find hospitable.
    To get there he would have gone in from the lane behind the barn or have followed one of the waterways into the jungle from the surrounding farms. Those waters teemed with gators.
    This much I knew: he definitely didn’t want to be seen. He was hiding, and there was a murderer about. Had I just looked into the eyes of the man who killed Lucan Percell? It couldn’t be a coincidence that this man had shown up the same time Lucan’s body had. What had the sheriff said about looking for a stranger? That guy definitely qualified as a stranger.
    I tried to think it through. Had the man in the woods been at the Gator Hole, killed Lucan and hid the body and himself in the truck?
    I tried to imagine climbing into the bed of a truck with a dead body, snuggling up real close, and not screaming the place down. Then, while I was hiding there under the tarp, someone gets in the truck and drives me and the body to God knows where. It took a lot of imagination. I couldn’t really come up with another scenario that put the murderer at Riverwood. It didn’t make sense, but then nothing made sense.
    Maybe Howie surprised the murderer when he was bashing in Lucan’s head. That’s why the man got in the back of the truck, to hide, and that’s why he was now out in the underbrush. It was the only situation I could come up with to put both Lucan’s body and a man in the truck.
    It seemed sensible that when Howie brought Big Red back to Riverwood, the killer had come with him, trapped under the tarp with the body. After Howie parked the truck and went home, the murderer had taken off for the jungle out behind the farmhouse. But why hadn’t he headed back to town? It wasn’t that far to walk.
    I didn’t want to get involved with the guy in the woods or the police and I didn’t want any of it to end up in the papers with my name attached. I was hoping it would all just disappear with no help from me. Self-interest is a wonderful motivator and leads to all kinds of sins.
    I’d invited seventy-five people to a party, and the number one thing on my dance card was creating a fantastic evening for Clay and his friends on his birthday. Nothing else mattered.
    When I got back to the barn Marley was walking Wildflower up and down outside the barn, worrying and waiting.
    â€œSorry,” she said with an embarrassed lift of her left shoulder.
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œFor running out on you. Those guys scared the shit out of me.”
    â€œMe too, thanks for getting help.”
    She frowned.
    â€œYeah, well…”
    I was more concerned about Joey than Marley. I slid to the ground and checked him for damage. There were raised ridges of scratches along both of his sides and when I wiped my hand across his flank it came away with blood on it.
    Tully pulled his old truck up in the shade of the barn and creaked his door open.
    â€œHe doesn’t look too bad,” I said when Tully ambled over. Tully took Joey’s bridle and said, “We’ll rub the horses down and put them out to pasture. You two look like you could do with a coffee.”
    â€œDo you think he’s all right? Think maybe I should get a vet?”
    â€œThis horse is tougher than he looks.” He ran his hand