The River Knows Her Name

August 2010, Willowbend, Mississippi

Tara’s POV

"These look fresh," I said, poking at the pile of catfish with my finger.

The flesh was firm and the eyes clear, perfect for tonight's crowd.

"Caught 'em this morning," Old Pete grinned, showing off his missing front tooth. "Been sitting in ice since four AM. You want the usual twenty pounds?"

"Make it twenty-five. Friday nights get busy." I pulled out my wallet, counting out the bills. The morning sun was already brutal, and sweat beaded on my forehead despite the early hour. "And throw in some of those crawfish if they're still kicking."

"You got it, Miss Tara. Your fried catfish keeps half this town happy on weekends."

I smiled at that.

Fried catfish and hushpuppies were the perfect pairing for cold beer and river gossip.

June's was the only bar in town, the only place locals had to go when the sun went down.

With my haul in hand, I was ready to head out.

The morning heat was already making the fish smell stronger, that earthy river scent mixing with the diesel fumes from the boats.

Around us, the market was in full swing.

A group of women gossiped about the town, a few sneaking glances my way.

"Excuse me."

I turned toward the voice.

A woman stood beside a gleaming black sedan that looked wildly out of place among the pickup trucks and beat-up cars. Her deep wine-red hair was perfectly styled, and her red dress practically screamed for attention.

"You're Tara, right? The bar owner?"

"Depends who's asking."

"I'm Vivian Cross. My father is the mayor. How is it possible that someone in this town doesn't know who I am?" She stepped closer, and the heavy scent of expensive perfume hit me. "Tyler was at your place last night. He never came home."

Tyler.

The memory of blonde hair and cocky grin flashed through my mind.

He'd been nursing whiskey and trying his best charm on me until closing time, leaning against the bar with that entitled smile rich boys perfected in childhood.

"Last I saw him was around 2 AM when I locked up. Can't say where he went after that."

"Don't play dumb with me." Vivian's voice sharpened. "I know exactly what kind of establishment you're running. You think you can just waltz into this town and start stealing other women's men?"

I felt eyes turning our way as vendors paused their sales pitches and customers craned their necks.

In a place like Willowbend, drama was better than morning coffee for waking people up.

"Look, lady—"

"That's Miss Cross to you." One of Vivian's companions stepped forward.

Compared to Vivian, her outfit was much more modest.

I guessed this was one of Vivian's lackeys. Wealthy women always surrounded themselves with sycophants.

"I saw Tyler with my own eyes yesterday. He had his hand on your shoulder, you two were talking intimately, his tongue was practically in your ear."

The second woman nodded eagerly. "Seriously, that top is practically see-through. And that red lipstick—what are you, working the docks?"

I laughed. "You know what I love about women like you? You're so quick to blame the other woman when your men can't keep it in their pants. Why don't you go have this conversation with your precious Tyler instead of me?"

Vivian's face flushed red. "How dare you—"

"What, speak the truth?" I stepped closer, enjoying the way she flinched. "Your man was the one drinking and flirting every night. Maybe you should ask yourself why he's looking elsewhere instead of coming after me."

"You little—" Vivian's hand flew up toward my face.

I caught her wrist mid-swing, my fingers tight around her delicate bones.

"I wouldn't."

She tried to pull away, but I held on. In her struggle, she stumbled backward, her expensive heels skittering on the wet dock.

The splash was spectacular.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the laughter started.

Loud laughs broke out among the fishermen and vendors.

“Seriously, what’s more entertaining than women throwing punches?”

"Well, I'll be damned," an old fisherman called out. "Princess got herself a bath!"

Vivian surfaced, sputtering and gasping, her perfect hair plastered to her head like wet seaweed. Mascara ran down her cheeks in black streaks, and her expensive dress clung to her body in the most unflattering way possible.

"You're in trouble now," Old Pete muttered beside me, shaking his head but trying to hide a smile. "Shouldn't have messed with the mayor's daughter."

The blonde friend's screaming cut through the amusement. "Oh my God! Get her out! She can't swim!"

That broke the spell.

Three fishermen dropped their gear and dove in while others rushed to the dock's edge.

I stayed where I was, watching the chaos unfold.

"Got her!" one of the men called out, wrapping his arm around Vivian's waist.

But as they pulled her toward the dock, something went wrong. She was fighting them, panic in her voice.

"Something's got my leg! It's wrapped around—"

The fishermen cursed, diving under to free whatever had tangled around her ankle. When they finally hauled her up onto the dock, she wasn't alone.

A length of long, dark hair had wound itself around her leg like water grass. But it wasn't water grass at all.

"Jesus Christ," someone whispered.

The hair was still attached to its owner. What bobbed in the water was barely recognizable as human anymore. Bloated and decomposed, the face was a grotesque mask that made several people turn away in disgust.

The crowd pressed closer to the dock's edge, some people crossing themselves while others pulled out their phones.

Vivian screamed, kicking her legs frantically against the dock planks, trying desperately to shake off the strands of hair wrapped around her ankle.

"Get it off me! Get it off! Oh God, it's touching me!"

One of her companions rushed forward to help, but at the sight of the decomposed corpse, she retched violently, vomiting all over Vivian.