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✷ BODY OF SUMMER DELANEY-BOYD , 34. FOUND NEAR CYPRESS HOLLOW SWAMP. by marlaine kinney , staff writer magnolia bluff , louisiana , 2025

a sense of sorrow has settled over magnolia bluff following the discovery of summer delaney-boyd's body late friday evening near the edge of cypress hollow swamp. she was 34.

authorities say mrs. delaney-boyd , a lifelong resident of magnolia bluff , was reported missing early friday morning after she failed to return home from an evening walk the night before. her body was found shortly before sunset by a pair of local fishermen navigating the shallows near old cypress road.

the magnolia county sheriff’s office has confirmed that the death is being treated as suspicious. sheriff mathis released a brief statement to the press saturday morning , stating , “ there are elements to this case that raise serious concern. we are actively investigating. ” forensic teams were seen at the scene well into the early hours of saturday.

cypress hollow swamp , known for its dense moss covered trees and winding trails , has long held a place in local lore. but friday night , it was quiet — save for the flash of emergency lights and the somber shuffle of boots in the mud.

mrs. delaney-boyd had recently returned home after earning her degree in art education from louisiana state university. she was known in the community for her gentle nature , love of wildflowers , and her artwork , which often depicted southern landscapes and bayou scenes. she worked part time at millie’s diner and helped care for her ailing father , jack delaney , alongside her mother , lorraine.

she is survived by her wife , donna boyd , with whom she shared a quiet , steadfast love built over the course of nearly a decade together. the couple were married last spring in a small ceremony beneath the magnolia trees just outside town. friends close to the pair say theirs was a bond marked by kindness , devotion , and an easy laughter that filled any room they entered.

“ she just … had this unforgettable softness to her , ” said maybelle rushing , owner of the town’s flower shop. “ not fragile … just kind. she always picked violets for her mama. every week , rain or shine. ”

a vigil was held saturday evening near the edge of the swamp , with townsfolk placing lanterns and handwritten letters at the base of the weeping cypress trees. many wept. some prayed. others just stood in silence. her parents issued a short statement through a family friend: “ summer was our heart. our whole world. we ask for privacy , and we ask for justice. ”

no suspects have been named at this time. the sheriff’s office is asking for any tips related to mrs. delaney-boyd's movements on the evening of july 10th. residents with information can contact the magnolia county tip line at ( 318 ) 555 - 0192.

✷ BEFORE THE NEWSTAND. bayou saints compound — three hours ago nolan “ grim ” boyd just got out of county jail on “ good behavior. ”

the compound reeked of old habits. burned out cigars , sweat soaked leather , and the slow syrup of cheap bourbon poured like holy water. cicadas screamed outside like they knew something nobody else did , the swamp bellowed , and the air inside was thick with heat , smoke. the kind of memory you can’t scrub out with bleach.

the table groaned under the weight of bodies , bottles , and stories better left untold. at the head of it all sat nolan “ grim ” boyd , boots planted , denim worn through at the knees , kutte faded and heavy with sins he’d long stopped trying to count.

he wore the years like a weapon. not hidden —�� displayed.

his latest flavor of the month — long legs , glossed lips , and a laugh like folding cash — was curled across his lap like a trophy too new to be trusted. she had ambition in her smile and molasses in her voice , humming something wicked into his ear as her fingers danced along the back of his neck like she’d earned the right.

“ you ever think about leaving this place ? ” she purred.

he took a drag off the end of his cigar , didn’t even look at her.

“ all the time. ”

“ so why don’t you ? ”

grim smirked , slow and sharp. the kind of expression that came with too many bar fights and not enough forgiveness.

“ because i built it. ”

she giggled like that meant something. it didn’t. he knew better. hell , he’d written the damn playbook. she was young. plastic. just sober enough to fake the look of affection if the price was right. but he didn’t mind. he knew it wasn’t love. but a hustle’s a hustle. and grim could always respect a good bluff.

six months in lockup. out early on “ good behavior ” — or maybe just because the judge took one look at his sixty one year old ass and figured mercy made more sense than paperwork. truth was , it had less to do with manners and more to do with stove running his damn mouth.

“ he’s an old man , your honor. prostate’s actin’ up. might keel over in there. ”

grim had nearly knocked his damn teeth in. would’ve , if the kid didn’t make him laugh. fucking asshole.

to most , grim still acted like he was twenty three and carved from asphalt — not because he was stubborn ( though he was ) , but because playing the part kept his kid out of jail and made the serpent’s hand just cocky enough to start slipping.

that was the thing about serpents.

give ’em a little slack and they’d start thinking they wore the crown.

but this morning ?

a body washed up on the south bank. wrapped in a faded checkered picnic blanket , like someone thought murder ought to come with a side of nostalgia. hung around her neck was a twisted , rust bitten cross. not for prayer , but punishment , tied like a noose. mocking everything the saints believed in.

the sheriff stepped through the doorway , hat in hand and eyes tight with whatever apology was coming , and the noise in grim’s head cut out like a blown speaker. the room didn’t go quiet — not exactly — but it felt like it ought to have.

sheriff cole mathis , half drunk and always sweating , looked older than grim remembered. or maybe guilt just aged a man quick.

“ grim , ” cole said.

“ sheriff , ” grim muttered , not bothering to look up.

“ we found a body. ”

now he looked.

cole reached into his coat like he was pulling out something dirty. he was. a weather warped polaroid. grainy. off color. but clear enough.

blonde hair tangled in swamp muck. skin pale as scripture. a picnic blanket wrapped around her like a shroud. and that iron cross — twisted , rusted , tied around her throat like a noose.

grim’s jaw tightened. his fingers twitched , like they missed the weight of something metal.

“ that’s … ” cole swallowed. “ that’s summer , ain’t it ? ”

grim didn’t say a word. not yet.

he hadn’t known her well. a few holidays , a couple awkward cookouts. one christmas where she brought that dry ass green bean casserole and flinched every time someone mentioned jesus or jail. but she’d married his daughter. his firstborn. the only one who never ran when things got ugly.

stove stood just behind him , arms crossed , jaw hard.

“ she ain’t had nothin’ to do with this , ” stove said , low and mean. “ she left , remember ? wanted somethin’ quiet. somethin’ normal. ”

“ she married my baby girl ,” grim replied. “ that made her blood. ”

“ she didn’t want to be blood , ” stove snapped. “ she wanted out. now she’s dead. ”

cole shifted , eyes flicking toward the door.

“ we don’t know who did it , ” he said. “ but that cross … that ain’t just killin’. that’s a goddamn statement. "

grim lit his cigar. dragged in slow. let the smoke sit behind his teeth like he was considering swallowing it.

“ she was a good girl , ” he muttered. “ didn’t know her too well. but my daughter’s gonna bleed for this. and if she bleeds … ”

he flicked ash onto the floor.

“ … someone else is gonna drown. ”

the air turned heavy — not just with smoke , but with the kind of promise that clings to gasoline.

“ i’ll , uh … i’ll look into it , ” cole said quickly.

grim didn’t even glance at him.

“ no , you won’t. ”

he turned to stove.

“ get the boys. ”

“ who we lookin’ for ? ”

grim stared down at the photo again — the iron cross , the wet blonde hair , the silent , swamp soaked cruelty of it all.

“ the first dumb bastard who smiles when they hear the news. ”

and grim — hungover , half-hard , and halfway through a cigar — didn’t say a damn word when the sheriff left. he just stared at his retreating form. eyes flint and fire. and whispered:

“well … fuck me sideways.”

because that ?

that wasn’t a message.

that was a declaration of war.

#BAYOUSAINTS … coming soon.