But Not Fortuitous

  BUT NOT

  FORTUITOUS

  A Clint Wolf Novel

  (Book 16)

  ___________________

  BY

  BJ BOURG

  www.bjbourg.com

  BUT NOT FORTUITOUS

  A Clint Wolf Novel by BJ Bourg

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2020 by BJ Bourg

  Cover design by Christine Savoie of Bayou Cover Designs

  PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Acknowledgments:

  I would like to extend my sincerest thanks to Shelby Latino, a morning Meteorologist in New Orleans, for helping to make my job easier. Her daily forecasts—delivered with such passion and expert knowledge—have helped to shape the weather in my novels for the past several years. Time is extremely important to a writer, and her work has saved me countless hours of research and plotting. For this, I am eternally grateful.

  Additionally, her forecasts often include local Louisiana flavor, which is also important to a writer whose novels are set in the area. With her permission, one such nugget from a recent forecast has been included in the pages of this novel. (I’ll leave it to the reader to find and identify it.)

  The job of a Meteorologist is extremely important. Not only do they keep us informed, but they also keep us safe—and Shelby Latino is the very best at what she does.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 1

  Monday, July 13th

  Mechant Loup, Louisiana

  “Dad said we’d better be home by midnight,” Paulie McKenzie warned from where he sat in the darkness behind Zeke. The pirogue only made a whisper of a sound as it glided through the water.

  The older brother guided the narrow wooden watercraft through a canal that spilled out of Bayou Tail to the north.

  “We’ve got plenty of time,” Zeke called over his shoulder. “Like I told you, my buddy said there’s catfish the size of sharks where we’re going. Dad won’t care how late we are if we bring one of those home. Besides, he had to go to bed early, so he’ll never know if we’re a few hours late.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I’ve got a weird feeling.”

  Zeke sighed and pulled his paddle from the water. He twisted around and looked at his brother. The pirogue rocked gently from the movement. “Don’t worry. Everything’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Even in the dim glow from the moonlight, Zeke could see that Paulie was scared—unreasonably so. This worried Zeke. Ever since they’d gone through their incident six years ago, Paulie had been different. He’d left a part of himself in that strange attic long ago, and Zeke didn’t think he’d ever get it back.

  “It’s okay,” Zeke said in a soothing voice. “We’ll set some lines, pass them once, and then head home. We’ll be back before midnight.”

  Paulie seemed to relax a little. He nodded and dipped his own paddle in the water. The two brothers continued down the canal, where both sides were lined with short trees and thick underbrush. It was darker along the narrow waterway, and Zeke had to squint to penetrate the darkness. There was no shine on the water in this area.

  The boys paddled for about a mile before reaching a cut in the trees to the right. Zeke told Paulie they had made it and steered the pirogue through the opening. A thick tree branch smacked him in the face. It stung. He issued a warning to Paulie and felt the pirogue dip to the left as Paulie dodged the branch.

  The Louisiana air was warm and Zeke had broken out in a sweat, so he stopped paddling to peel off his shirt.

  “Where are we?” Paulie asked, his voice betraying his nervousness.

  “We’re somewhere behind North Project Road.”

  “Is this private property?”

  “My buddy says it’s abandoned and that’s why the catfish are so big in here—there’s no one to catch them.” The lake was narrow and Zeke headed for the opposite bank, where the ground was reportedly solid and wooded. “My buddy’s grandpa said the man who used to own this land died and his family don’t live around here, so it’s just wasting away.”

  “Maybe we should go back and get the flatboat,” Paulie said nervously. “That way we could get away in a hurry if somebody sees us.”

  “That pass is too shallow for a motor.” Zeke tried not to sound impatient. “I already told you that a thousand times.”

  Paulie didn’t say anything more as they paddled across the calm water, and Zeke was just as happy. When they were young, Paulie had been the daredevil while he had been the more cautious one. Those days were long gone. He didn’t know if he’d ever get his brother back, and that saddened him deeply.

  Once the front of the pirogue brushed against the bank, he placed his paddle beside him and reached for the catfish line. He took one end and secured it to a low-hanging branch. He worked swiftly and silently and was about to push off from the bank when he heard voices through the trees. Paulie gasped and Zeke saw him drop low in the pirogue.

  Zeke reached for his brother—whose shoulder was trembling—and whispered a warning for him to stay quiet. He then moved toward the front of the pirogue where he could be closer to the bank. He opened his mouth and cocked his head in an attempt to hear what was being said, but it was no use. There were at least two people out there, but they were too far away to hear what they were saying. Leaning back toward Paulie, Zeke whispered, “Stay here. I’m going check it out.”

  Paulie’s right hand shot up and latched onto Zeke’s bare shoulder. “No!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Please don’t go!”

  Zeke gently removed his brother’s hand. “I won’t be long. I just want to see what’s going on and if it’s safe to run our lines.”

  “Don’t be long. Please…please hurry.”

  “I will.” After making the promise, Zeke stood and walked deftly to the front of the pirogue and jumped to the shore. After tying the pirogue in place and glancing once at Paulie, he began making his way through the thick underbrush. He took about a dozen steps and suddenly broke through the underbrush and found himself in a patch of thin woodlands. He squatted and surveyed the a
rea. The moon cast a ghostly hue around the area and he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  Should I go back? He couldn’t hear the voices anymore, so he figured they must’ve gone. He hesitated, but then decided to push forward just to be sure they were alone. He didn’t want to be caught illegally fishing on private property, because his dad would kill them for sure. His dad had warned Zeke more than once not to get in trouble again or he wouldn’t make it to his fifteenth birthday—and he planned to live forever.

  Zeke continued picking his way forward, using his bare feet to feel for twigs and dried leaves. He walked through pickers from time to time, but it didn’t faze him. The bottoms of his feet were calloused and hard. He could walk across hot concrete in the middle of a Louisiana summer day or through an oyster shell driveway without flinching. It wasn’t like he’d set out to develop tough feet—it just happened naturally after years and years of running around with no shoes. This superpower came in handy often in the swamps.

  After traveling about a hundred yards through the forest, he paused and listened. Nothing. He sighed in relief. It appeared they were now alone to fish for some giant catfish. He was just turning to head back toward the pirogue when a glint of light caught his eye. He froze in place and blinked. There it was again—just a twinkle of light, but evidence that they were not alone in these woods.

  He hesitated, fear wrapping its icy hands around his chest and squeezing tightly. He considered turning and running back to the pirogue and high-tailing it out of there, but curiosity got the best of him. His heart beating like a war drum in his chest, he dropped to his knees and began crawling along the forest floor. He rose to his knees intermittently to make sure he was heading in the right direction. Each time he did so, the glow from the light grew stronger.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, Zeke came upon a tiny clearing in the woods. He peeked around a tree and frowned at the scene before him. A shovel was stabbed upright into a mound of dirt at the far edge of the clearing. It was a few feet from a giant oak tree. A lantern hung from one of the branches. He didn’t see anyone and he didn’t hear a sound. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he stepped out from behind the tree and paused. Nothing happened. He took a step forward and still nothing happened.

  Emboldened now, he walked directly to the mound of dirt. The earth had been recently turned—as best he could tell in the dim glow from the lantern—and the hole was empty. Something caught his eye at the innermost edge of the surrounding shadows. As he moved in that direction, he realized it was a leather satchel.

  Buried treasure!

  Zeke’s excitement mounted as he rushed forward. Like everyone else in town, he had heard the rumors about an ancient treasure being buried near one of the lakes in Mechant Loup. Could this be the lake? Had someone found the treasure? If so, why would they leave it behind? He considered the possibility that there had been several bags in the hole and that maybe the treasure hunters had been forced to make multiple trips to their getaway vehicle. If so, they would be back for this one—but when? How much time did he have?

  Zeke dropped to his knees beside the satchel and tore frantically at the straps, desperate to get it open and see what was inside. He groaned inwardly when he realized there were locks on the straps. He had a knife in his pocket, but the straps were made of thick leather. Realizing he had only one choice, he slung the satchel over his shoulder and turned to hurry back to the pirogue. As he stepped back into the glow from the lantern, he realized something was wrong, but he couldn’t immediately put a finger on it.

  He stood there frozen, inspecting every inch of the clearing. He hadn’t heard as much as a whisper of a sound. For a brief moment, he wondered if he could have stumbled upon sacred ground and if the spirits of dead Native Americans had been awakened and angered. After all, this had once been the land of the Chitimacha Indians, and he had heard stories of their ghosts roaming the swamps seeking to reclaim their territory. He quickly dismissed the thought as ludicrous.

  It was at that very moment he realized what was different about the clearing—the shovel was gone.

  Realizing he had made a huge mistake, he whirled around to run in the opposite direction. He hadn’t taken a single step when a bright light exploded violently inside his brain. His last cognizant thought was wondering if he had run into a tree. The bright light then shut off and everything cut to black.

  CHAPTER 2

  “What day is it?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glanced around the room.

  Susan sat up in bed and stretched, her breasts testing the fabric of her T-shirt. After a soulful yawn, she turned her brown eyes in my direction and shrugged. “Tuesday, I think.”

  We had gone to bed early last night and the night before that, but we hadn’t done much sleeping. My mom and dad had taken Grace to Disney World for two weeks and they’d left on Sunday. We loved our two-year-old daughter more than we loved each other and we hadn’t wanted her to leave, but we’d finally relented when we realized it might be good for her to spend some time with her grandparents. After all, they weren’t getting any younger and my dad was always away for work, so they needed some quality time with their granddaughter—and I wasn’t keen on kiddy theme parks anyway. I knew I’d eventually have to go to Disney World with Grace, but, for now, I’d been granted a reprieve.

  Grace had only been gone an hour when Susan and I realized we were alone—totally alone—and could do whatever we wanted. We’d only put two things on the calendar for the week, and that was work and sex, but not necessarily in that order.

  Like a man who’d been drugged, I reached for my cell phone and checked the display screen. “Do we have time for another conversation before work?”

  We had begun referring to sex as a “conversation” about a month ago when we walked out of our bedroom to find Grace sitting on the floor just outside the door. In her broken English, she had asked what we were doing and Susan—whose face was burning with embarrassment at the time—had blurted, “Mommy and Daddy were having a conversation.”

  Susan was already in the bathroom and I could hear the motor from her toothbrush buzzing. She walked to the bathroom door and mumbled something I couldn’t understand, but from the tone of her voice, I knew the odds weren’t good for a conversation.

  Sighing heavily, I pushed myself to my feet and joined her in the bathroom.

  “What’re your plans for the day?” I asked.

  She rinsed her mouth and wiped it with a towel that hung from the rack. “Amy’s friend from Tellico Plains will be here today. We’ll be going down to the mayor’s office to get her sworn in and then I’ll show her around town.”

  Amy Cooke had been a patrol officer for the Mechant Loup Police Department until a few months ago, when Susan had agreed to let her go to work for me as a detective for the town. Amy had promised to help find her replacement and, true to her word, she had come through for us.

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  “Her name’s Regan Steed. She’s a ten-year veteran of law enforcement. She worked for the Tellico Plains Police Department before coming here.”

  I stepped into the shower and called out, “Amy told me her husband was transferred to this area for work.”

  “Yeah, he’s some kind of supervisor at one of the big oil companies. I didn’t get the name, but it’s out of Lafayette.”

  “That’s a long drive.”

  “They wanted to live close to the swamps and Amy spoke highly of our little town, so this is where they’re deciding to call home.”

  “From one small town to the next,” I mumbled, and finished my shower. Once I was dressed, I met Susan downstairs for breakfast. Achilles had slipped through the doggy door earlier—it was a big one, because he was a 100-pound German shepherd—and he now stuck his head through from the outside to see what was going on. I figured he must’ve smelled the sizzling bacon.

  “You know you can’t have table scraps,” I said, glaring playfully at him. He cocke
d his head to the side, as though deciding if he should challenge me, but he quickly pulled away and ran off when Coco started barking at something in the back yard. While Achilles was solid black except for a little tan, Coco was a saddleback German shepherd and was a female. I’d rescued her from a bad situation a while back. She and Achilles had instantly fallen in love.

  After watching the morning news while eating breakfast, I grabbed my holster and kissed Susan goodbye.

  “I’m right behind you,” she called.

  I checked on the dogs. They had a large raccoon treed in the back yard. I chuckled and then headed for work in my unmarked Tahoe. We lived south of town, but the drive to the office was not a very long one, unless something happened to prolong the trip—and that’s exactly what happened on this morning.

  I had been traveling along Main Street and was approaching Mechant Groceries when an old beat-up truck came barreling down on me. As though they didn’t know my black Tahoe was a police vehicle—or they didn’t care—the vehicle swerved into the left lane and whisked past me. We were in a no-passing zone and I was going the speed limit.

  I tried to see who was driving as it sped by, but the windows were tinted. I never did like enforcing traffic laws, but I figured the truck might end up killing someone, so I flipped the switch on my lights and activated my siren.

  Snatching up my radio, I called dispatch and reported that I was attempting to pull over a red pickup truck traveling at a high rate of speed through the south side of town. Lindsey Savoie, our daytime dispatcher, came on and asked Officer Baylor Rice if he was available to respond.

  “Ten-four,” he said. “Where are you, Clint?”

  “Approaching the old police department,” I radioed. “It’s not slowing down and we’ll be out of town in a minute.”

  I backed off of the accelerator when I saw a car approaching Main Street from Washington Avenue. I just knew the car’s driver wouldn’t see the old truck and would pull right out in front of it, but, thankfully, I was wrong. Before reaching the Mechant Loup Bridge, which crossed over Bayou Tail and was our only connection to the rest of the world to the north, the taillights brightened and the truck swerved right onto Grace Street. Through the back windshield, I saw the man shift violently to his left. Somehow, he managed to maintain control of his vehicle and shot down Grace before turning left onto a side street.