White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

He mumbled a goodbye then turned and walked back to the others, head bowed.

• • •

I stopped at the registration table on my way out, unsurprised to find that Randy’s team was signed up for the night hunt as well. Didn’t make sense to do so many hunts if they weren’t actually having fun. But it did make sense if they were doing these stupid things as a cover, to act natural and throw off suspicion.

Fine with me. While they were busy hunting fake zombies, this zombie was going to hunt down a few clues.

Chapter 15

I had a few hours to kill before diving in to clue-hunting, since I wanted to be certain the boys would be occupied with the evening hunt while I snooped. That way I could count on at least a solid hour and a half to do my thing. Plus, it would be dark, which was always a bonus when doing a little lawbreaking.

I debated heading straight home to wash the makeup off, but my hunger pangs—both normal and brain-related—were kicking up a fuss. Besides, there were plenty of other people around town with zombie makeup on. I’d blend right in.

Not to mention, Nick was due to begin his mystery dinner meeting fairly soon. He could be secretive if he wanted. Dude was entitled to his privacy. Far from me to pry. Not my style. I never butted in where I wasn’t wanted. Ever. Yup, I was mind-my-own-business girl. It was sheer coincidence that I happened to be on the road to Crawfish Joe’s, and that I had a sudden craving for takeout.

Crawfish Joe’s Cajun Cabin didn’t look like much—a squat, wood frame building with a corrugated metal roof and colorful fish painted on the walls—but it had a reputation for the best seafood in three parishes. Legend had it that Joe’s great granddad spent a week naked and alone in the swamp and came out with the secret recipe for the best seasoning ever.

Nick’s car was in the parking lot—good thing, since I was so hungry I was going to get food here whether I could spy on him or not. Inside, half a dozen people waited for tables. Several gave me startled glances, which was when I realized I still had the skull fragment plastered to my forehead. Oops. The overworked hostess seemed relieved when I told her I wanted takeout, and waved me toward the bar. Several patrons occupied stools, and at the far end was a dude with green and white grease paint smeared on his face and wearing overalls spattered with fake blood. He glanced my way and gave me a thumbs up which I assumed was for my own far more professional and awesome makeup job. That or he could see my bra through the rip in my shirt.

A low wall and potted trees separated the bar from the restaurant. I grabbed a spot by the wall and peered through the branches to covertly scope out the customers. It didn’t take me long to locate Nick. He sat angled away from me, enough that I could barely see the side of his face. But the mystery caller was . . . Bear?!

Yup, no question about it. The burly owner of The Bear’s Den sat across from Nick. Bear had the remnants of a seafood platter in front of him and idly scooped fried shrimp through cocktail sauce. Nick’s plate held a soft shell crab sandwich, though as far as I could tell he’d only taken a few bites.

The bartender handed me a menu. I ordered a Catfish po-boy and onion rings, then peered between the plants as soon as she left. Nick and Bear were too far away for me to hear their conversation, but it appeared pretty darn one-sided. Bear was doing most of the talking while Nick shrugged a few times and seemed to be focused on the sandwich he wasn’t eating. Though I couldn’t see much of his face, Nick’s body language telegraphed I’m not having fun, and I’m ready to go.

Why had Nick agreed to what sure as hell seemed to be a not-very-friendly dinner? Job interview? Business deal? Maybe Bear was a second cousin, once removed, who Nick was forced to tolerate for the sake of family harmony? Whatever the reason, Nick looked miserable. Great, I was reduced to gawking through foliage at two people enduring a dinner together. Unexciting and uninformative.

Nick pushed his plate away then spoke. Bear went quiet and kept his eyes on Nick, but as the seconds ticked by his expression shifted from calm to shock to disbelief and, finally, to stony controlled anger.

The bartender brought my food out all nicely packed up, and I dragged my eyes from Nick and Bear long enough to hand over my debit card. When I resumed my spying, Bear was speaking through clenched teeth with an expression of Pissed to the Max. Not so unexciting anymore. I scooched my chair over a smidge to get a potted ficus between me and their table in case either of them glanced in my direction. Nick held his hands up, palms toward Bear, but whatever he said wasn’t enough to placate Bear, who jabbed a finger toward the door in a clear We’re taking this outside gesture.

What the ever-loving hell?

Shoulders slumped, Nick stood and headed for the door, his expression an awful mix of humiliation and anger and despair. I snatched up the menu and held it up to shield my face, but I had a feeling I could have been dancing naked on the bar and Nick would have been oblivious.

Bear tossed bills onto the table and stalked after Nick. The bartender was busy taking a drink order, my debit card in her hand. So much for following the men outside and maybe finding out what was going on. I clamped down on my impatience as the bartender dealt with a spill before she finally ran my card. She looked frazzled when she brought me the bill, so I added a decent tip then grabbed my food and left. It was only my amazing self-control that kept me from shoving an onion ring into my mouth before I was outside.

I dug in the bag for one as I walked across the parking lot then stopped in surprise at the sight of Nick’s car, still parked in the same place and unoccupied. Weird. I’d expected both Nick and Bear to be long gone by the time I finished paying for my food. Or maybe he left with Bear to—

Muffled shouting issued from a big pickup on the far side of the lot. I stood between two cars, riveted in place by shock as I watched a red-faced Bear rant at Nick in the passenger seat. Snatches of the tirade drifted through the pleasant spring air.

“. . . pea-brained decision . . .”

“. . . how dare you . . .”

“. . . plans don’t include . . . whiny bullshit . . .”

Nick sat with his shoulders hunched, not yelling back. Or even talking back, as far as I could tell. In all the time I’d worked with him, I’d never seen Nick cowed by anyone. He was usually confident to the point of arrogance.

At last Bear wound down and finished with a Get the hell out. White-faced, Nick almost fell out of the big truck as he complied, staggered a step, then pushed the door shut before stumbling off. Bear watched him go then slammed his hands against the steering wheel in either frustration or rage. In the next instant the truck engine revved, and Bear sped out of the lot.

Nick fumbled his keys from his pocket and dropped them. The thud of metal against asphalt shocked me out of my daze. I lurched forward.

“Nick?!”

His entire body tensed as if I’d punched him. Face flooding with color, he snatched the keys up and hurried to his car, acting as if he hadn’t heard me. He yanked his door open and practically dove in, but I poured on the speed and wedged my body between car and door so he couldn’t close it.

“Angel, I gotta go,” he gasped.