1 Target of Death Read Free

ankles. As we trudged through it, snow tightly packed into every
crevice of my athletic shoes that it could. We continued to make our way along
the rundown brick building. As we rounded the corner at the front of the
restaurant, there was a large plate glass window with booths alongside it on
the other side. I had to ignore the strange looks of the patrons inside as we entered,
stomping off the snow from our shoes. A bright-eyed woman greeted us and
escorted us to the front counter where we took a seat, as a young man pushing a
mop bucket rushed past us to clean up the snow we had tracked in.
    I inhaled deeply of the coffee that was
trickling into a pot on the other side of the counter. An older lady brought a
coffee pot with her, but before she could flip over my cup, I stopped her. “I
could really use a hot chocolate.”
    “You sure can fill my cup,” Dixie offered. With
a nod, the waitress filled Dixie’s cup, then whirled away, coming back with a
hot chocolate with whipped cream on the top, just like I loved it.
    The woman set a one-sided menu down for
each of us and left, presumably to give us time to make our selections. I
glanced about the cafe. Besides the counter where we sat, tables were scattered
intermittently throughout, with a jukebox along one wall. The walls were
covered with pictures of men and woman who were proudly posing next to wild
game that they had obviously acquired during hunting season. There were also
trophies atop shelves, all of them archery related. My mouth must have slacked
open because when the waitress returned, she remarked, “Yes, those are all
archery trophies. Our own Daniel Adams won them all. He’s a national champ, you
know.”
    “Is that right? So he’s never been beat?”
    “Gosh, no.”
    “Well, there is always a first time.”
    She hitched back on one leg. “You can’t
mean that—are you here to compete?”
    I tucked my auburn hair behind my ears.
“Yes, haven’t you ever heard of a woman competing in archery tournaments?”
    “Not really, but I hear there is this woman
from Louisiana who is making her way here. Word has it she’s tall as a tree and
twice as big.” Her eyes twinkled when she continued. “They call her Louisiana
Sassy, if you can believe that.”
    Dixie burst out into a fit of the giggles
and even though I gave her a dirty look, she couldn’t stop. “That’s rich. Tall
as a tree.” She slapped the counter. “You folks sure know how to tell a tall
tale.”
    I gave myself a once over. I was neither
tall as a tree nor twice as big! Instead of getting mad, though, I had to smile
myself. “That’s really a stretch.” I held out my hand. “I’m Tammy Lynn
Rodrigue, more notably known as Louisiana Sassy.”
    “Wherever did you get such a name, dear? I
bet with a little makeup you wouldn’t look half bad. You might even find
yourself a husband.”
    Dixie introduced herself while I was biting
my lip hard, suppressing a not-so-nice retort, but my grandmother would come
back from the grave is she heard me disrespecting my elders. That’s one of the
things they pound into your head when you’re raised in the south. Well, that
and to go to church every Sunday. Most Sundays, my momma had to search in the
Bayou just to find me. She didn’t tolerate my behavior by a long shot and willow
switches were something that I was accustomed to feeling along my backside as a
child. Could I help it if I loved to fish and hunt? My dad and I were quite
close until he passed a few years back.
    The waitress took a notepad from her blue
uniform and waved it in front of my face. “I meant no disrespect, Miss Sassy. I
guess stories have a way of embellishing themselves over time. I’m Margarita Hickey.”
    I straightened up on the stool and said, “So,
you’re the owner of this restaurant, then?”
    Margarita smoothed her gray hair with a
careful pat. “Who’s telling stories about me now?”
    “Sheriff Simon Price.”
    He cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh,