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He kept walking, ignoring the rest of the questions they threw at him, got in the car and drove away.
* * *
Hershel had copped an attitude on the way back to the Red Cross Center. Everyone had been talking about the copycat and not saying a word about him. He needed to make something happen to draw the attention back to him, and he needed to do it fast. He wanted to go downriver and find his next kill site, but he couldn’t do it until he broke the jinx.
A new volunteer named Floyd Tully had gone with him to the church, and it was Hershel’s personal opinion that Floyd was a pain in the butt. He kept talking about football and the New Orleans Saints like they were something next to God. Except for hunting, Hershel had never been much for sports, and he was sick and tired of listening to Floyd talk about the Saints’ current quarterback. When he finally got back to the gym parking lot, the urge to throttle him eased.
“Here we are,” Hershel said. “We better check in with Miss Doyle and see what she needs us to do next.”
“I don’t know,” Floyd said. “I told my wife I’d be home for dinner at noon. Don’t your wife worry about all this killing?”
“My wife is dead,” Hershel said tersely, then got out of the truck and slammed the door behind him, leaving Floyd to get out on his own.
I’m still here, Hershel, and you know it.
“Yeah, but you’re also still dead,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” Floyd asked.
“No.”
“Hey! Y’all tell Miss Doyle I’ll be back later, okay?”
Hershel nodded and kept walking. It was nearing the noon hour, and as he walked in he could see lots of activity back in the kitchen area. He guessed she might be there, and he was right.
“Hey, I’m back,” he said. “Floyd went home to eat. Said to tell you he’ll be back later.”
Laura nodded, and kept spreading mustard on bread then slapping ham and cheese between the slices.
“Is there something else you need me to do?” he asked.
“Not right now,” she said. “Oh, wait. You’re staying out at that trailer park, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We found a bag with some of Nola Landry’s things under the cot that she used.”
Hershel smiled. “She and the Feds are staying in a rental trailer just a few lots up from mine. I see them coming and going. Want me to drop it off?”
“That would be great. It’s on my desk up in the office. Tell her I said hello.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll grab a bite to eat and then be back in time to carry out the garbage, okay?”
Laura smiled wearily. “Yes. You’re a lifesaver. Thank you for staying with us.”
Hershel smiled. “It’s the benefit of being retired. I’m happy to help.”
He strode toward the office at a brisk clip, found the sack in the middle of the desk and headed for his truck. He was smiling broadly by the time he got in, and when he drove out of the parking lot he was humming.
He glared at the news crews parked outside the gates to the trailer park as he drove by. News whores. They acted as if the Stormchaser had ceased to exist. Like him, they’d figured out where the witness was being held because the Feds were no longer coming and going in threes. One always stayed behind at the trailer, which they took to mean he was guarding Nola Landry. Hershel was no long enamored of having a copycat. Damn Leon Mooney for stealing his thunder.
He drove to the big trailer on the corner lot and pulled right up into the yard as if he was going to visit. When he grabbed the sack and got out, he was whistling.
* * *
Nola was frying hamburger patties when someone knocked at the door. She looked around for the men, but neither one was in the room, so she headed down the hall.
“Hey, guys! Someone is at the door.”