Page 85 of Girl Between

She was already glancing over her shoulder for predators. She didn’t need to jump out of her skin every time something brushed against her, which was often considering the number of mosquitoes and other flying insects she was constantly swatting.

Continuing along the silent waterway, they passed half-submerged shipping containers, cannibalized tug decks and the ghostly remains of old shrimpers. The whole landscape seemed like aforgotten time capsule of discarded industry. The eerie part was that she knew they weren’t alone. Each of the timeworn vessels they passed showed signs of life if you knew where to look.

Fishing lines in the water, the hum of a radio, laundry fluttering on lines. People lived out here. Off the land. Off the grid.Possibly off their rockers …

Dana fought the urge to pass judgement. She would never choose to call a place like this home, but to each their own.

She kept her eyes open, absorbing every bend of the seemingly endless water. Each time she thought the land was closing in on the narrow reed-lined channels, they would open up again, showing the vast power of the bayou.

Eventually, George directed them down a remote canal lined with dense cypress. Between the moss and the overgrown canopy, the majority of the scorching Louisiana sun was blotted out. George’s leather-gloved hands pulled them further into the darkness. Their silent vessel cut slowly through the shallow layer of fog that hovered atop the still water.

Dana told herself the chill creeping up her spine was only the sudden absence of sunlight. The humidity still clung heavily in the air, making her shiver under the damp sheen of sweat her clothing absorbed.

She wished she’d dressed for the occasion. Her t-shirt and khaki shorts didn’t offer much protection from the assault of bloodsucking insects who seemed immune to the bug repellent she’d donned before boarding this ferry of nightmares.

Dana couldn’t begin to imagine how the lone Harvest Girl had found her way out of such a treacherous maze.

“Here we are,” George announced as a rudimentary cabin came into view. It rested on rickety stilts a few feet above the water, with a small, yet tidy front porch. Compared to the other dwellings they’d passed, it might as well have been a high-rise condo.

“Looks like we’re in luck,” George said, letting the ferry coast the rest of the way to the cabin. “Abigale’s home.”

“How can you tell?” Dana asked.

George pointed to the canoe tethered beneath the house, just as the willowy silhouette of a woman appeared on the porch.

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“Sorry for the inconvenience,”George was saying, but Abigale didn’t seem bothered as she nimbly climbed down the ladder to her canoe.

“I know the drill,” she said on a sigh. “Take as long as ya need. Gotta catch dinner anyways,” she added, patting her tackle box at her feet.

“Good luck,” George offered.

“Luck’s got nuthin to do with it,” she replied, kissing the crucifix she wore around her neck and pointing skyward. “Good Lord willing, I’ll be back in an hour. Just leave things as ya found ‘em.”

“Will do,” George promised.

She gave a little salute as she shoved off.

Dana stood on the front porch, watching the formidable woman row herself further and further toward the darkness. She’d been welcoming enough when they arrived, answering the obligatory questions George had for her with the ease of someone well practiced in atoning for the sins of their ancestors.

From what Dana gleaned, Abigale Goode had been ten at the time the Harvest Girls went missing. She’d also lived on the other side of the country, residing in Oregon with her mother, Alice, who’dsince passed after a prolonged battle with breast cancer. Her mother’s death prompted Abigale to move to Louisiana and take up residence at the family property she’d inherited from her great aunt and grandmother, Marta and Tisha Goode. By all estimations, the twin sisters would be in their seventies if still alive.

“Mama never talked much about this place. Made me curious. I know it’s not much, and I know what people think of my family name ‘round here. But this is the only connection to ‘em I got left,” Abigale said, answering Dana’s unspoken question as to why a seemingly capable young woman who’d been raised in modern society would choose this life.

“Wish I could help y’all more, but ya got my statements already. Nuthin’s changed. Never met Marta or Tisha, Mama’s dead, I keep to myself. Ain’t more to it. If ya wanna look around, be my guest, but I prefer not to subject myself to that kind of negativity.”

George had thanked Abigale for her time, promising they wouldn’t be there long. They were just following procedure in light of new evidence.

When they were finally alone, George walked into the house, but Dana remained on the porch. She paused, letting her fingers trace the letters carved into the pecky cypress next to the door.Goode.

“What is it?” George asked, coming back to the entrance.

“Nothing … just … their last name. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have a theory about coincidences. They don’t exist.”