by Jana DeLeon
Carter, of course, had a much different view, but then he had to. As a deputy, he had to document everything, and winging it the way I did would buy him a one-way ticket to the unemployment line or even worse, get him brought up on charges. Plus, if Sheriff Lee didn’t outlive us all, I figured Carter would eventually go for that position. He’d been doing the job for years. He might as well have the pay and the title to go along with it.
The Heberts’ office was in an old warehouse about twenty miles up the highway from Sinful. I suppose I could have called first to make sure they were there, but I couldn’t recall a time when they weren’t. Since the warehouse was huge and I rarely saw people there other than Big and Little Hebert and Mannie, I wondered if they lived there as well. It wouldn’t surprise me. Big’s nickname was for good reason. He was beyond enormous and I couldn’t imagine he moved around much. Plus, the security at the facility was excellent.
Which is exactly why Mannie was standing at the front door when we pulled into the parking lot. The smile he wore when he greeted us was genuine and he thrilled Gertie by giving her a kiss on the cheek. Ida Belle just rolled her eyes. On the way back to Sinful, we were sure to hear about all the things Gertie would do if she were “twenty years younger.”
“The Heberts were happy to see you pull in,” Mannie said as we headed for the elevator. “It’s been a while.”
“It has,” I agreed. “How are you guys doing?”
“Great,” Mannie said. “Business is up and defaults are down, which gives me more free time than I’d like, but what’s a hired strongman to do?”
Gertie nodded. “I have the same problem. People talk about all dressed up and nowhere to go. I’m all stocked up and nothing to blow up.”
Mannie laughed. “If I ever get in a situation that requires that kind of firepower, I know who to call.”
“Please don’t encourage her,” Ida Belle said. “She’s probably packing enough in that purse to significantly expand the Gulf of Mexico.”
Mannie knocked on Big’s office door before opening it and then waved us in. Big Hebert was in his usual spot, on a park bench behind his massive desk. His son, Little, was standing to the side, ready to shake hands and offer us chairs and drinks. Gertie opted for a shot of whiskey while Ida Belle and I went for a soda.
Before Mannie could make his exit, Big stopped him.
“You might as well stay,” he said. “These ladies don’t make social calls, so I’m likely to need your services.”
Mannie gave him a nod and stood against the wall near the desk where he could see everyone. Little passed out the drinks, then took a seat in a chair next to Big’s desk.
“It’s good to see you three,” Big said. “I’ve been keeping up with your exploits. You’re making quite a name for yourselves as detectives while putting a dent in the criminal element in these parts. And your foray to Florida was especially impressive, managing to get the job done on foreign turf. Highly commendable.”
Little nodded. “And we’ve especially loved the videos of Gertie on YouTube. You’re quite the social media sensation. The Christmas show was particularly entertaining.”
Mannie grinned. “Far more interesting than the original.”
“Thanks.” Gertie was beaming like she’d just been crowned Queen of England.
“The Christmas show is kind of why we’re here,” I said.
Big perked up. “Really? We heard that Santa died, but as there was no explosion, we assumed Ms. Hebert was not part of that particular occurrence. The general buzz was that the unfortunate gentleman had a heart attack.”
“That’s what we thought,” I said, then I explained what had really happened.
When I was done, all smiles were gone and Big, Little, and Mannie were exchanging concerned looks.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how troubling I find this,” Big said finally. “Especially as it would appear that children could be part of whatever this man had planned.” He looked at Ida Belle. “And I’m particularly distressed that you risked exposure to a deadly chemical over such a person, especially as it turned out to be a completely different man than you thought and one with questionable motives.”
“What would you like for us to do?” Little asked. “I’m sure we’re happy to help in whatever manner possible. If someone in Sinful or their child is at risk, that threat might not have ended with this man’s death.”
“That’s our worry,” I said. “So here’s what we need.” I explained about Fake Santa’s car.
“It was smart to look for the vehicle,” Little said. “I suppose we can’t fault your deputy for coming to the same conclusion.”
“I can pay the guys at the impound lot a visit,” Mannie said. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to give me the information the ladies are looking for.”
I held in a smile. I was pretty sure the guys at the impound lot would give Mannie their firstborn if he asked. The man was imposing to say the least. I wouldn’t want to tangle with him, unless it was with a sniper rifle and from five hundred yards away. I couldn’t imagine what the average human being felt when confronted by the six-four wall of solid muscle.
“Why don’t you just give them a call?” Big said. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to assist when you explain that I’m the one who requires the information, and that will provide the ladies with what they need sooner rather than later.”
Mannie nodded and exited the room.
“May I ask what good this information will do you?” Little inquired.
“Maybe no good,” I said. “If I had to guess, it didn’t do Carter any good. He was rather cagey when I asked him if they’d figured out the guy’s identity once I knew he had the car.”
“So then we have to presume he’s waiting to see if the ME can ascertain identity?” Little asked.
I nodded. “But there’s no chance of us getting the ME report. The car is an angle to work. Even if it doesn’t give us identity, it might provide more information about what area he lived or operated in. Assuming we can get information from the plate.”
Little looked over at Big, who gave him a slight nod.
“It happens,” Little said, “that my father and I might be able to assist you with the er…running of the vehicle.”
“That would be great,” I said, holding in a smile. I was hoping they’d offer.
Big leaned forward and looked at Gertie. “So tell me more about this bird of yours. How did you come about owning it?”
“Well, first some nuns found him and he lived at a convent for years,” Gertie said. “That’s how he got the name Francis, after Saint Francis, who talked to animals. When the convent closed, he was sold and somehow drug dealers or gunrunners or something of the like ended up with him. He was seized in a raid and I bought him from a police auction.”
Big frowned. “Criminals allowed a talking bird around their operations?”
“Oh yeah,” Gertie said. “You should hear the things he says about body dumps and where the money and guns are stashed.”
“What a most unfortunate choice of pets for a criminal,” Little said.
“Given Gertie’s internet dynamite buying habits, it’s not the best choice for her either,” Ida Belle said.
“I have started making all my important calls in the garage,” Gertie said.
Big started to speak again when the door opened and Mannie walked back in. He didn’t look happy. I wondered if maybe he hadn’t been able to get the information. He leaned over and spoke to Big, his voice so low I couldn’t hear him. And since he had his back to me, I couldn’t read his lips. Big’s expression hardened and when Mannie stood back up, he looked at us and frowned.
“Mannie was able to procure the information you wanted,” Big said. “I don’t suppose you have a photo of this man?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “By the time Gertie realized it wasn’t the man it was supposed to be, Carter was right there. If I’d taken a picture, he would have deleted it. But I can des
cribe him.”
I launched into a description of the man, at least of his face, and as I talked Big glanced up at Mannie, then back at me. When I was finished, he nodded.
“We won’t need to run the car,” Big said. “And you were right when you assumed it wouldn’t do you any good. It’s registered to a woman who died years ago. But I know the man who drives it now, and he looks as you described this imposter Santa.”
This was it. Big was about to tell us this guy was a human trafficker or worse. And he’d been sitting right there in a Santa suit, pretending he was a decent human being.
“Who was he?” Gertie asked.
“He was a private detective,” Big said.
“Oh!” I said, and glanced over at Ida Belle and Gertie, who appeared to be as surprised as I was. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“It wasn’t what I was expecting either,” Big said. “His name is Peter Cooke. He’s not what people would consider a principled man. I know this because I hired him to do a couple jobs for me and he had no problem in letting his methods fall well below the legal lines to accomplish what I asked. He also had no personal interest in the cases themselves. It was never about the work. Everything was simply dollar signs to him.”
“Assaulting someone and leaving them tied up in a closet so you can steal their Santa role is definitely well below the legal lines,” I said. “So given this information, I guess we have to assume he was on a job.”
Ida Belle frowned. “Which means the threat to someone in Sinful is still viable.”
Big nodded. “The question you need to answer is, who hired Cooke and who were they trying to find?”
“I don’t suppose he had an assistant or a business partner who would give you that information, did he?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Big said. “Mr. Cooke was not the type of individual that inspired one to want to partner with him or be employed by him. And given his unique choices while on the job, I’d say most didn’t want to go to jail with him.”
“Or the grave, as it turns out,” Gertie said.
Little nodded. “And that’s the most interesting part about all of this. I think we have to assume that Mr. Cooke arrived at the event in full costume. Which means that someone knew what he was up to without ever seeing his true face.”
I stared at Little. “You’re right. That is interesting. And confusing.”
“Yes, very,” Little agreed. “Because in order to poison him, someone had to be expecting him. Assuming, of course, that people don’t wander around everywhere with cyanide in their pockets.”
“Maybe someone warned them?” Ida Belle said.
“It’s possible,” Little said. “Or there were other events that tipped them off beforehand.”
“There was a situation in Mudbug,” I said, and explained about the fill-in Santa and the break-in at the photographer’s studio.
Ida Belle nodded. “That kind of gossip travels quickly between towns. If whoever Cooke was after heard it, then they’d be checking out Santa closely. Any sign that he wasn’t who he was supposed to be could have set them off.”
“We need to find out who hired Cooke,” I said. “Killing him only delayed the inevitable. The kind of person that would hire Cooke wouldn’t hesitate to hire someone else to keep on the trail.”
“But how are we supposed to do that?” Ida Belle asked. “Even if Cooke kept records—and given the way he does business that’s questionable—they would be in his office or house or whatever.”
“We’ve been known to invite ourselves into locked places,” Gertie said.
Big chuckled. Given that his storage facility was one of the locked places we’d invited ourselves into, he was well aware of our stance on trespassing and breaking-and-entering. The only reason he’d given us a pass was because we were trying to spy on the ATF and he’d found that amusing. I was pretty sure the Heberts had tolerated all of our earlier questionable behavior because we entertained them while offering up no threat to their business. Now that they knew exactly who I was, they were even more on board with our shenanigans. One of my “questionable behaviors” during my stint with the CIA had saved a young girl from their village back in Italy. I was officially “in” with the Heberts on a lifetime basis.
“Given that the man was just murdered,” I said, “it might not be a good idea to go poking around his house.”
“Especially since Carter will probably be there,” Ida Belle said. “Or in keeping with our luck, show up when we’re there.”
“Carter didn’t have a problem with us on the last case,” Gertie said.
“We had a client facing a murder charge on the last case,” I said. “And Carter didn’t think he did it, so there was a lot more leeway on that one.”
“So things are better between you and the good deputy if you are official, so to speak?” Little asked.
“Seems like it,” I said. “Of course, we’ve only had the one case so far.”
“And did an excellent job,” Big pointed out. “Little and I don’t know Whiskey well, but he’s a respected businessman in his line of work. And we’re aware of the situation with his father. You did a good thing for a good man.”
Little looked at Big and smiled. “Then perhaps we can assist the ladies on the client end of things.”
Big nodded. “An excellent idea. Mr. Cooke was a business partner of ours from time to time, so we could argue having legitimate concerns with his untimely death. I would hate for our names to get dragged into whatever unfortunate business Mr. Cooke has taken on simply because of our prior association.”
Gertie clapped. “We’re official! Carter can’t complain about us poking our nose in now.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “I have a feeling Carter will be less than impressed with Fortune’s choice of clients. No offense to the Heberts, of course. But I’m afraid we’re not out of the woods on this one.”
Big smiled. “The deputy cares about his lady and prefers she not do business with such nefarious characters as Little and me. One can hardly fault him for his feelings. If I had a lady like Ms. Redding on my arm, I would do the same. But Little and I would never do anything that put Ms. Redding in a situation she couldn’t walk away from. She’s too valuable an asset to Sinful and we want her to remain here for the rest of her very long life.”
“Absolutely,” Little said, and looked at Mannie. “So perhaps we could assist with the perusal of Mr. Cooke’s records. I believe some of our staff has complained of underutilization as of late. This assistance probably wouldn’t involve the more…spectacular of your abilities, but you might enjoy the change of pace.”
Mannie grinned. “You know I would.”
“I can’t let Mannie do my job,” I said. “If you hire me then I’m on the clock and we’ll need to do a contract and everything to make it official. I can’t document Mannie breaking the law in my records.”
Big raised one eyebrow. “How were you planning on documenting you breaking the law? Neither the dead man nor the police are likely to invite you into his home or office to look around.”
“Busted,” Gertie said. “I say we take the stork approach to documentation—the information just dropped out of the sky and into our laps.”
“Yeah, because that will work,” I said. “Okay. How about Mannie goes with us to Cooke’s office or house or whatever and after we assess the situation, we make a decision on how to move forward. But ultimately, it has to be my decision.”
Big held his hands up in acquiescence. “I have complete faith in Mannie’s ability to work with you to make the correct judgment once you have reviewed everything.”
I’d expected pushback but had gotten none, which left me at a bit of a loss for what to do next as I’d been prepping an argument. But since I couldn’t find anything wrong with a plan that still left me with a vote and not just sitting on my hands back in Sinful, I supposed there was only one thing left to do.
I rose from my chair and extended my hand
across the desk. “It appears you’ve just hired yourself a PI. I’ll bring a contract by later.”
“No need to waste your time on such trivial matters,” Big said as he shook my hand. “Just email the contract to Little and I’ll sign and get the contract and a retainer delivered to you. Can I assume ten thousand will be enough to get started?”
“That is more than enough,” I said, and motioned to Ida Belle and Gertie.
“I’ll get the information on Cooke’s residence and office, if he had one,” Mannie said. “Then I’ll contact you to set up a time to case it. Give me an hour or so.”
“Great,” I said. “That gives us time to go talk to Rollie and for me to send that contract.”
Little shook everyone’s hand. “It’s always a pleasure to see you ladies. You might be the only people we do business with that we like.”
“Probably true,” Big agreed. “I look forward to an update on this situation.”
We headed out for Rollie’s house, which wasn’t too far from Big and Little’s office. I should have figured that an introvert didn’t live in town. Unfortunately, that had made it easier for Cooke to accost Rollie in his home since no one was around to see. We’d grabbed a casserole from Gertie’s stash before we’d headed out, as Gertie had claimed Rollie would appreciate receiving it frozen. Then he could choose when to heat it up or cut it into smaller portions before heating since there was only the one of him.
Rollie’s house surprised me at first, but I suppose it shouldn’t have. I guess when I think single dude living in the woods, I think rustic and not overly concerned about things like landscaping and potted plants. But I’d forgotten to include ‘engineer’ in my equation. They tended to be more on the precise side, and Rollie’s house reflected that. It was white siding with navy blue shutters and front door. The porch spanned the length of the front of the house and had a swing and a rocking chair on it. Pots with flowers hung between the porch posts and huge azalea bushes lined the front of the structure.
