The Banshee Raiders by Terrell Bowers

Author:Terrell Bowers [Bowers, Terrell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hale Books
Published: 2018-02-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Nursing his cup of coffee to pass the time, Clay waited patiently for the last customers to leave the cafe. The Mexican waitress asked him once more if he wanted anything else.

“I'm waiting to have a word with Alvera.”

She frowned. “You want word? Will you get trouble for me?”

“There'll be no trouble, miss. I'll just mosey back to the kitchen myself.”

Mosey?” she asked blankly.

“I'll explain it to Alvera myself.”

The girl looked as if she would object, but resumed cleaning up for the night. With her engrossed in her work, Clay strode across the dining area and entered the back room.

Alvera was about to empty a large pot of water. Clay said, “allow me,” stepped over and took it from her. She glanced at him, then moved to open the back door.

“In the ditch, back of the trash cans,” she instructed.

Clay lugged the kettle over to the drainage ditch and poured the greasy liquid out onto the drainage ditch. He turned to retrace his steps, but found Alvera had followed him outside.

“You're the fella who brought in Nicole,” she said curtly. “What's eating at you – as if I didn't know?”

“I'm looking for a missing piece of a puzzle that seems to fit together perfectly,” he replied. “Have you my suggestions ?”

Alvera wiped her hands on the apron around her middle. She was old and weathered from years of hard work, but there was strength in her disposition. She put bright, intense eyes on Clay.

“I heard my customers talking. They say you caught Nicole with the raiders?”

“Yes, ma'am. She was dressed in a man's garb.”

“Ben Davis was killed during the raid?”

“He was.”

Alvera lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “That's all the court will want to hear, young man.”

“Everything points to her being guilty,” he admitted. “But she claims not to be one of the banshee raiders.”

“And you are inclined to believer her,” Alvera deduced correctly.

“Yes.”

The elderly woman sighed, her eyes no longer on him, but staring blankly off into the night. When she spoke, it was a reverie tone, yet wistful and emotional.

“Nicole was happy and cheerful when she came to work for me – usually Friday and Saturday, when the cafe was busiest. We enjoyed talks about the world, about life and love. She was a truly dear person, and I grew very fond of her.

“Then came the terrible night when the vigi1antes attacked her place. She was working for me or she might have been killed too. Instead, she lost everything she loved in this world and was left with only the clothes on her back. She became somber and brooding, filled with a helpless anger and bent on revenge for a long time.”

“Can't say that I blame her,” Clay put in.

“About three months back, something happened. I don't know what it was, but she withdrew into a shell and became very secretive. I often heard her leave during the night and come back in the wee hours of the morning. She was nervous, tired much of the time and didn't eat well.

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