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Well, that explained the quiet, and all the vehicles in the lot probably belonged to the swamp-tour people. It didn't solve her need for a bathroom, however, so Maddie turned toward the boat slips in search of theMiss Behavin' II.
The woman she'd come to see lived on a houseboat moored at this marina. It shouldn't be difficult to find. If Terri Winston wasn't aboard, then Maddie would backtrack to the fast food restaurant she'd passed on the interstate. She hoped it didn't come to that. She felt safer here in this out-of-the-way spot than she did in a town or on the highway.
It had occurred to her as she drove through central Texas at three o'clock in the morning that the Brazos Bend police could have issued a BOLO for her van. From that moment on, she'd lived in fear of seeing the red-and-blue flash of a highway patrol car.
Maddie noted two normal-sized houseboats and one huge houseboat that brought theQueen Maryto mind among the twenty or so boats berthed in the slips. Since the mansion-boat didn't seem like something a federal agent would own, she made her way toward the smaller vessels.
The name painted across the stem of the first readPlaytime.Maddie's stomach knotted with tension as she approached the second. It'd be just her luck for Ms. Winston to have up and moved her boat.
"Bayou Queen,"she read aloud, grimacing. She blew out a heavy sigh, then gazed at the floating palace. It had to be eighty feet long, with front and rear decks, outdoor ceiling fans, and a spiral staircase to the roof with its fiberglass flybridge and swim slide. A boat like that would be calledBellagioorShangri-la.NotMiss Behavin'.
Since she was out of other options, she decided to be thorough. To her shock and relief, the sign hanging from the rear deck of the mansion-boat displayed the words she prayed she'd see.
However, theMiss Behavin' IIappeared as deserted as the rest of the marina.
"Hello?" Maddie called. "Ms. Winston? Is anybody home?"
She heard nothing but the squeak of a rubber boat fender against the wooden dock in reply.
Maddie grimaced. Where could the agent be this time of day? At the funeral? A quick check of her watch left Maddie moaning. If Terri Winston was at the funeral and the funeral lasted all morning, it didn't bode well for Maddie's bladder.
Her teeth tugged at her lower lip and she groaned aloud. Had she made one more mistake in a long line of them by putting her life in the hands of a stranger based solely on the advice of that meddler Branch Callahan? So what if Branch insisted that Terri Winston was a stand-up woman who'd listen to Maddie's story without immediately snapping on the handcuffs? Recent events suggested that Brazos Bend's leading citizen wasn't as knowledgeable as he claimed.
Branch hadn't known about the drug ring operating right under his nose, had he?
Maddie let out a long, shaky sigh. She may well have made a serious mistake, but what other choice had she had? Despite her vow of self-sufficiency in the wake of the disaster that had been her love life, she'd needed help. When she'd swallowed her pride and reached out to her father, he'd been off indulging in one of his new hobbies— wildlife photography in the Alaskan wilderness. According to his latest assistant—his latest twenty-year-old, starry-eyed bed partner, no doubt—he'd be beyond cell phone reach for another week—an eternity to someone in Maddie's predicament.
A predicament growing more dire by the second. She needed a bathroomnow.Raising her voice, she tried again. "Hello? Ms. Winston?"
Nothing.
Maddie glanced from the houseboat to her van, then back to the floating manse. It was a long way back to that fast food place. Not a soul was in sight. Even if she tripped an alarm, she'd probably have time to visit the restroom and make herself scarce before anyone showed up to investigate. "Ordinarily I wouldn't think of trespassing," she told Oscar. "But these are no ordinary times."
Besides, Ms. Winston was a woman. She'd understand.
Maddie wiped her sweaty hands on her shorts and then stepped onto the boat and tried the sliding glass door. It slid open easily, and when no alarm sounded, she stuck her head inside, gazing with interest at the luxurious features and furnishings. She hadn't seen a boat this tricked out since she visited her father for a week aboard a Greek tycoon's yacht. "Ms. Winston?" she called. "Terri?"
No response.
Maddie stepped inside. An overstuffed couch and two plump easy chairs faced a plasma TV hanging on a wood-paneled wall finished with crown molding. A wraparound bar separated the main living area from a kitchen complete with granite countertops and a Sub-Zero refrigerator. She spied recessed lighting, brass hardware on the cabinets, and roman shades and padded cornice boards on the windows.
"Wouldn't Daddy love to have one of these," she murmured.
Maddie set Oscar and her purse atop a stylish iron and glass dining table, then made a beeline for the bathroom. With personal business out of the way and fully intending to return to the dock to wait for Terri Winston like a polite uninvited guest, she nevertheless paused when she passed the refrigerator.
Shewasawfully thirsty. Maddie tapped her foot, then sighed. At this point, what was one more sin?
She opened the fridge. Hmm... the agent must have recently visited the grocery store. Lots of meat, cheese, eggs. Looked to be a Paleo dieter except for the three gallons of low-fat milk. She spied a twelve-pack of spring water and a six-pack of imported beer. Maddie reached for the water, but somehow, her hand grabbed the beer.
Boldly, she rummaged through Ms. Winston's galley drawers to find a bottle opener and, after hesitating over a bag of Double Stuf Oreos, grabbed a half-empty package of pretzels from her pantry. She sat at the table, drank her stolen beer, and finished off the bag of pilfered pretzels. When she belched aloud without even trying to smother the sound, Maddie knew she'd lost it.
"Maybe I'm having a heat stroke," she said to Oscar. Or a post-traumatic stress episode. But it couldn't be that. There was nothing at all "post" about this stress.
Something told her that murdering, drug-dealing dirty cops wouldn't give up the hunt for her just because she didn't go home last night.
Grabbing her beer, she tossed the empty pretzel bag into a plastic trash can, then walked past one, two, three bedrooms and another bathroom to the front deck. Maddie gazed out at the bayou, where late-morning sunlight strained through the thick green canopy of trees and vines that stretched across the murky water of the swamp. Long strands of Spanish moss dangled from the branches of the live oaks like gray-green tinsel, adding an eerie atmosphere to an already fantastical morning.
"I can't believe I'm in trouble again," she said softly. This time, she hadn't sought it. This time, she hadn't fallen for a seductive man's line. This time, all she'd done was clean house!
