Swamp Santa

by Jana DeLeon

  I looked at the smoking remnants of soggy hay and shook my head. “I hope there’s a big store of feed in this town for livestock, because Christmas has been hell on the cows’ dinner.”

  “Forget the cows,” Gertie said. “What about caroling?”

  “I was rather hoping you’d call it a night,” Carter said.

  “No can do,” Ida Belle said, and slipped her phone into her jeans. “Walter is on his way. Everyone who wants to continue caroling can pile in the bed of his truck. It won’t be comfortable, but at least we won’t disappoint the people who signed up.”

  Carter sighed. “You’re all wearing fire extinguisher foam.”

  “So it looks like we were standing in a snowstorm,” Ida Belle said. “It wouldn’t work for Halloween but it’s perfect for Christmas.”

  “I give up,” Carter said. “But you’re on your own. I’ve got to get to the sheriff’s department and help Deputy Breaux, and the extinguisher is empty.”

  “We’ve got firepower and baked goods,” Gertie said. “What else do we need?”

  I looked at Carter, feeling about as optimistic as he looked.

  “Maybe we could borrow that first aid kit?”

  Compared to the Godzilla and Ronald fiasco, the rest of the caroling was uneventful. Thank goodness. What made me even happier was that this had been the last official event of the year. I didn’t have to worry about hungry gators, runaway horses, flaming hay, or naked butts again until New Year’s. I took the longest shower in recorded history, then headed downstairs to fix myself a bite to eat. I’d just pulled the ham out of the refrigerator when I heard a knock at my front door and Carter call out as he let himself in. I smiled, knowing that the dual warning of knocking and yelling was so that I didn’t shoot him thinking he was an intruder. It was nice when your boyfriend acknowledged your lethal side.

  “You look to be in good spirits for a man who just finished damage control on yet another Christmas fiasco,” I said as he walked into the kitchen.

  “At least this one isn’t trending on social media.”

  “Sure it is. Godzilla is a big hit. Ronald’s bare butt, not so much.”

  He sighed. “I’m going to start arresting people for posting that stuff. It makes the town look bad.”

  I grinned. “Well, you’re going to have to start with your mother then.”

  He gave me a pained look.

  “I’m having a ham sandwich and homemade blackberry pie,” I said. “You interested?”

  “You couldn’t get me out of here, even at gunpoint.”

  “I don’t know. I might be able to.”

  He considered it as he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and sat. “Gertie’s purse would probably clear me out faster.”

  I fixed up the sandwiches and slid them on the table.

  He took a big bite and smiled. “If the pie is half as good as the ham, I’ll be the happiest man in the world.”

  “What are you in such a good mood for?” I asked as I plopped down in my chair. “Did Celia list her house for sale?”

  “I wish. You know that will never happen. She’s going to stay right here, aggravating the general population, until she dies.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “On her staying?”

  “No. On her dying.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. You might be right.”

  I studied him as I ate. He really was far more relaxed than the last time I’d seen him. His jaw wasn’t clenched, and his shoulders were loose, not hunched up like they were when he was tense. His forehead was relaxed and even his posture was less rigid than before.

  “So what gives?” I asked. “Something cheered you up and I don’t think it was locking Celia up, although I’m sure there is some level of satisfaction to it. I would say it was because you were coming to see me, but I’m not that vain.”

  “I love seeing you. Most of the time.”

  “Ha. Not lately.”

  “Lately has been…rough. I agree.”

  “So spill. To what do I owe the pleasure of this new and improved Carter LeBlanc?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I knew I was going to as soon as everything was confirmed. I’ve been waiting all evening for official word.”

  I perked up. “Something about the case? Did you catch the killer?”

  “Even better.”

  “The killer turned themselves in and it’s Celia? Or Ronald?”

  “Not that much better. But I know how Cooke ingested the poison and it wasn’t someone from Sinful that gave it to him.”

  “Seriously! That’s huge. How can you be sure?”

  I felt my hopes leap over the moon. If the killer wasn’t a Sinful resident, then that changed everything. I mean, Cooke was still dead, but as long as it didn’t have anything to do with our town, that made all the difference in the world.

  “There was an unopened bottled water in his car,” Carter said. “It had cyanide in it. There was a tiny injection hole near the lid.”

  I frowned. “But if it was unopened…”

  “Forensics collected all the trash from the cafeteria. There was the same brand water bottle with traces of cyanide in it and Cooke’s DNA on the mouth.”

  “Wow!” My excitement built until a huge grin broke through that I thought might be permanent. “That’s incredible. Talk about Christmas come early.”

  “I know. I mean, the guy was still murdered, but given this new evidence, the New Orleans police have decided it’s their problem.”

  “Given his reputation, they’ve got their work cut out for them.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’ll be starting with Abshire.”

  “I guess you made it around to him during your inquiries.”

  He nodded. “I followed the woman-with-a-baby trail, same as you.”

  “I can’t say I’m sorry he’s on police radar, but why? The man’s in the hospital and based on what I heard, it didn’t sound like he was leaving anytime soon.”

  “Men like Abshire have all kinds of people on the down-low payroll. There’s rumblings that a task force was already looking at him for the adoption thing.”

  “But Abshire told the police he didn’t know who attacked him.”

  “Yep. That’s what he said, but I don’t think anyone is buying his robbery story.”

  “I didn’t. So the cops think Abshire recognized Cooke and passed his name to one of his shady connections?”

  “They didn’t come right out and say it, but it was implied. My buddy in New Orleans said they’ve had Cooke on their radar for a while as well. Apparently, he’s a suspect in two homicides but they couldn’t get enough to pin the murders on him. They weren’t exactly sad to hear he was dead.”

  “You think Cooke was a hired gun masquerading as a PI?”

  Carter shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he started out legit but couldn’t make enough money and diversified.”

  “That’s a heck of a diversification.”

  “For some people, it’s not that big of a stretch.”

  “True.” I held up my beer can. “A toast. To no one in Sinful killing Santa.”

  Carter clinked his can against mine.

  “I guess this means we’re both off the case,” he said.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said.

  But I didn’t think that at all.

  Carter was only tasked with finding the killer, and now that the task had shifted hands, he could close his file and happily move on. But part of my investigation was figuring out who Cooke was after. Just because Cooke was dead didn’t mean it was over for me. If the baby’s father had hired a man like Cooke to find his son, then he wouldn’t stop at finding another Cooke to take the dead man’s place. That meant Caleb was still at risk. Or Nathan. But my money was on Caleb.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure what I could do about that situation other than identify the man who’d hired Cooke. Unless the police could conjure up evidence that he’d directed Cooke to ass
ault people, he’d just play the innocent father looking for the son who was stolen from him by the biological mother. With no criminal activity to put on him, there was a strong chance he’d get custody.

  And a family would be broken apart.

  “You all right?” Carter asked.

  “Me? Sure. Just mulling it all over. This was a twist I didn’t see coming. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy about it. I’m just trying to put it all in perspective.”

  He frowned. “You’re worried about the babies.”

  “And the families. Whoever hired Cooke will just send someone else. If Abshire was crooked, then the fallout could be devastating.”

  “Yeah. That’s crossed my mind more than once, but unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about it. That will all have to play out in court.”

  “I know you’re right but I still hate it. They’re all nice people.”

  “Maybe Cooke didn’t find his target here,” Carter said. “He might have had other towns lined up to check or it could be that he was off base entirely.”

  “I hope so,” I said. But I didn’t believe it for a minute. Not given what Dorothy had overheard Cooke say on his phone. But as far as I knew, Carter hadn’t gotten around to questioning all of the workers in the cafeteria, so he probably didn’t know about that conversation at all. And now that he knew Cooke had brought the poison with him, he would never conduct those interviews.

  “So anyway,” Carter said. “I stopped by my house and took care of Tiny before I came over…in case you’re interested in making this an overnight celebration.”

  I smiled, pushing all thoughts of Cooke and the babies out of my mind. There was nothing I could do about it tonight. And I had a hot man I loved sitting in my kitchen.

  “Best. Idea. Ever.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  As soon as Carter headed out the next morning, I sent a text to Ida Belle and Gertie telling them I had info from Carter and they needed to get to my house pronto. Ten minutes later, they arrived. Despite the fact that it was only 7:00 a.m. Ida Belle looked like she’d been up and running for hours. Gertie looked like she’d thrown back the covers, put rollers in, and walked through a war zone.

  She marched straight through my front door and into the kitchen without saying a single word. She grabbed a handful of coffee grounds and licked them like salt before a tequila shot, then lifted the coffeepot and poured a stream of the steaming liquid directly into her mouth.

  “What the heck do you do while you sleep?” Ida Belle asked.

  Gertie carried the entire pot of coffee to the table and flopped into a chair. “What sleep?”

  I poured Ida Belle and me a cup before Gertie drank it all, then put the rest into a thermos for Gertie before starting another pot.

  “Francis?” I asked as I sat.

  She nodded and took a gulp out of the thermos.

  “I thought you were going to cover him at night,” Ida Belle said.

  “I did,” Gertie said. “But he was on a roll so it didn’t make a difference. Started quoting Revelations. Gave me nightmares. Every time I’d doze off, he’d start talking about the apocalypse and I’d bolt out of sleep thinking I needed to either grab my gun or pray. I was so confused one time I shot a hole in my dressmaker’s mannequin. And I was working on a new dress for Christmas. Can’t wear it now. Not unless belly button holes become the new rage at church.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Ida Belle said, and looked at me. “So what’s up? You look all perky this morning.”

  “That’s because she had a non-slumber party with Carter,” Gertie said. “Although if I had a hot man in my house all night, I’d look exhausted, not refreshed.”

  “If you had a hot man in your house all night, you’d be arrested for kidnapping,” Ida Belle said.

  “Sounds like she had the four horsemen in her bedroom,” I said.

  “Nice.” Ida Belle gave me an approving nod.

  “But yes, I do have exciting news,” I said, and filled them in on what Carter had told me the night before.

  “That’s great!” Gertie said, perking up more from the news than the coffee. “That means nobody we like is the killer. Heck, that was worth coming over here in my pajamas. That might have been worth coming over here naked.”

  “But we’re all glad you didn’t opt for that,” Ida Belle said, and I could tell she was pleased. “I have to admit, I didn’t sleep all that well last night with this on my mind. That news is really a load off.”

  I nodded. “I feel the same way. But…”

  Ida Belle blew out a breath. “One of those babies is still at risk.”

  Gertie frowned. “Surely a judge wouldn’t give a baby to a man who hired someone like Cooke. Especially if all Cooke’s misdeeds are exposed.”

  “The client isn’t responsible for what the PI does unless they specifically directed them to do it or participated,” Ida Belle said. “If the father kept his nose clean then there’s a better than good chance that he could get custody.”

  “What if Ashley comes back and takes the baby?” Gertie asked. “Assuming that Caleb is the target.”

  “Being the biological mother would weigh in her favor,” Ida Belle said. “But if she put the baby up for adoption without notifying the biological father, that’s going to outweigh anything else.”

  “That stinks,” Gertie said. “Caleb has a great home with parents who love him. He doesn’t belong with some abuser who hires hit men to track people down.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Which is why I figured we should concentrate our efforts on figuring out who the father is and then getting all the dirt we can on him.”

  “Oh, I like that plan!” Gertie said.

  “So do I,” Ida Belle said. “And it just so happens, I can help in that arena. I heard from the Sorcerer early this morning. He traced the email back to an investment firm in New Orleans. He can’t get it narrowed down any more than that, though.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “I figured that email would be routed all over the world.”

  “It was,” Ida Belle said. “But the Sorcerer said he found it amusing that people thought they could hide.”

  “Not from him,” I said. “I’m pretty sure ghosts can’t hide from him.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “To be honest, I’m kinda surprised he’s out among us regular people. I figured the government would lock him up somewhere and force him to do their bidding.”

  “You’ve been watching too many movies,” Gertie said.

  “As a former government employee,” I said, “I’m going to have to go with Ida Belle on this one. Maybe he figured out a way to turn the tables—get enough on them that they had to let him go.”

  “That sounds like something he’d do,” Ida Belle agreed.

  I grabbed my laptop off the kitchen counter and opened it. “What was the name of the investment firm?”

  “Bayou South Investments,” Ida Belle said as she and Gertie pulled their chairs over next to mine.

  I did a search and found a website for the company. So far, so good. I pulled it up and was pleased to see it contained a page for staff. Assuming our guy held a position important enough to be listed, he might be on there. I scrolled down the page and we examined the faces and bios.

  “Five guys total,” I said. “Two of them are silver, so I’m going to eliminate them.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “That leaves three, and all fit the vague description the bartender gave us.”

  “Search social media,” Gertie said. “Find out if any are married.”

  “What difference does that make?” Ida Belle asked.

  Gertie sighed. “Never mind.”

  “She brings up a good point though,” I said. “The logical default for a married man would be wanting to hide a child with his mistress,” I said. “I mean, they don’t usually show up at home and present their wives with another woman’s baby, do they?”

  “Not usually, or my guess is the murder rate woul
d be a lot higher,” Ida Belle said. “Okay, then search on marital status and we can put them in order based on that criteria.”

  I located all three on social media. One was clearly married and had two kids. He went to the bottom of the list. The second listed his status as single and I didn’t find any reference to a girlfriend. The third had a private profile so we couldn’t see anything on him. I did a couple more searches and didn’t come up with any more information.

  “Drew McEntire and Cory Guillory are tied for the top spot,” I said.

  “So what now?” Gertie asked. “We go to New Orleans and follow them around?”

  “We can’t follow both of them,” I said. “Not at the same time.”

  “And he’s hiring a PI to do his dirty work anyway,” Ida Belle said. “So we probably wouldn’t discover much by following him.”

  I downloaded two of the pictures and sent a text to the bartender, asking her if either looked familiar. She texted back a couple seconds later indicating that it could be either one but she’d remembered that the last time the guy had been in the bar, he’d been limping on his right leg.

  “That was months ago though,” Ida Belle said. “If he wasn’t limping every time, it was probably an injury and he’s recovered by now.”

  I accessed Drew McEntire’s social media again and scanned the posts and pictures back to that time frame. “No mention of an injury.”

  “Then he’s probably not our guy,” Gertie said. “When men are injured, they tell everyone who will listen and most people who won’t.”

  “That’s true,” Ida Belle said. “Walter had an ingrown toenail removed last year and sales at the General Store dropped for two weeks. Everyone got tired of hearing about it and went up the highway to the big grocery store.”

  “I think we need to make another trip to New Orleans,” I said.

  “To spy on Cory Guillory?” Gertie asked.

  “That, and I’d like to talk to the attorney, Abshire,” I said. “Assuming we can get in. And assuming he’ll talk to us.”

  “Oh, we can get in,” Gertie said. “One way or another. It’s just a hospital, not a police station or prison.”