by Shari Hearn
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. While you’re here, do you mind making some coffee? Myrtle’s taking some time off, and I’m no good with those machines where the coffee comes in a little plastic thingie.”
Ivy rolled her eyes, got up and went toward the coffee maker.
Elder Sheriff turned to Marge. “He’s just throwing her off balance.”
She’s not the one who’s off balance, she thought.
The front door opened, and the girls stepped inside.
“Deputy LeBlanc mentioned we should go to the supply room,” Ida Belle said to Sheriff Lee.
He nodded, jabbed his thumb toward the hallway.
While Elder Sheriff Lee was busy admiring his son, Marge joined the Swamp Team 3 in the cramped supply room, which held a table, several chairs and shelves of office, bathroom and cleaning supplies. A stack of three jagged-edge canvases sat on the table, painting side down.
Ida Belle and Gertie sat in the chairs while Fortune stood and scanned the ceiling.
Ida Belle lifted the top canvas and turned it over. “This is Theresa. They already know about this one.” She turned another one over and winced. “Is this the one of Celia you saw?” she asked Fortune.
Fortune looked down and nodded.
Gertie made a face. “This one I’ll be happy to burn.” She reached over and turned Celia’s painting butt side down. “I’ve seen more of that woman’s cheeks today than human eyes were designed to withstand.” She reached for the other canvas. “Okay, let’s see if this one is Jo on a horse.”
“It won’t be,” Marge said.
Gertie continued, “If it is, I see a bottle of black toner that could ‘accidentally’ spill all over it.” Her brows shot up as she turned it over. No horse. But lots of skin. “This is interesting. Is this Ivy Guerin?”
Ida Belle studied the painting. “I’ve never seen Ivy with her clothes off, but that’s her face. Thirty years ago, do you think?”
Gertie nodded. “I wonder what Bruno thought when he saw this one of his wife.”
Fortune pulled a chair from the table and situated it next to one of the shelving units with two empty top shelves.
Gertie looked up. “You going to do a little exploring?”
Fortune nodded. “I’m not interfering.”
“Nooo, wouldn’t want to do that,” Ida Belle said.
“Just want to be an informed citizen.”
“Damn straight,” Gertie and Marge said simultaneously.
Fortune hopped on the chair and pulled herself onto the empty top shelf. After pushing aside one of the acoustic ceiling tiles, she pulled herself up into the crawl space.
Marge’s ghost joined Fortune, who had flattened herself in the crawlspace, making sure to place her hands and feet securely on the load bearing beams. Slowly Fortune shifted along the beams until she was positioned above the interview room. Marge dipped her head below the ceiling tile to get a visual.
As expected, Bruno denied making the call.
“The call to Theresa registered as coming from your phone,” Carter said. “And earlier you made a call to Celia Arceneaux.”
“I did not!” he objected.
“Deputy Breaux just got off the phone with her. She thought the call was a prank and never reported it. She received the call the same time as the one shown on your cell.”
“I don’t know how to explain it, other than it wasn’t me. I was watching the preseason game between Tampa Bay and Cincinnati I recorded from last night. I fell asleep. I usually do after I work around the house.”
“Can anyone corroborate what you were doing?”
He shrugged. “Ivy, but she was gone for a bit, shopping, I think. But she knows I always fall asleep watching TV.”
“You smoke, don’t you, Bruno?” Carter asked.
“If you already know, why are you asking?”
“Would it interest you to know whoever killed Cootie left a cigarette butt at the scene?”
That explained the flame Marge saw in Cootie’s memory. Something bothered her, though, and she wasn’t sure exactly what.
“So? It doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Bruno said.
“It will if Mudbug matches the DNA on the cigarette to your DNA.”
Bruno shook his head. “It won’t happen because I wasn’t there.”
A knock on the door gave Bruno a start. Carter excused himself and dashed into the hall. Fortune aligned herself over the hallway, her ear to the tile. Marge kept her head below the ceiling to maintain her visual. It was Deputy Breaux. He held a rifle in one hand and a small paper evidence bag in the other.
“I didn’t find any Irish Setter boots, but I did find other size fourteen boots. And I found this. Same rifle as the one that killed Cootie.” He held up the bag. “Found this cigarette butt in the ashtray next to the sofa.”
That’s it! It’s a butt! Marge thought. She’d just assumed it was a new cigarette someone had lit up in Cootie’s memory. Why would someone light up a butt and then put it out? That didn’t make sense to her.
A commanding voice gave her a start. “What in Hades are you two doing up here?”
Marge pulled her head up. The ghost of Elder Sheriff Lee hunched next to them in the crawl space. Fortune, blissfully unaware of ghosts, continued listening in on the deputies’ conversation.
“I’m haunting the crawlspace,” Marge said sarcastically. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“You and those Sinful Ladies are incorrigible! Look what your influence has done to this young woman. She should be married and baking cookies, not spying on the Sinful Sheriff’s Department.”
“She’s a CIA assassin! Baking cookies is not in their DNA.”
Elder Sheriff plunged his head down through the ceiling. “Boys, you have lookiloos up here in your ceiling!” Of course, they couldn’t hear him either. He pulled his head back up, clearly frustrated. His aura turned an ugly shade of red as he stared at one of the electrical boxes.
“What the hell?” Marge heard Carter say.
She stuck her head through the ceiling and saw the deputies staring overhead as the lights flickered.
“I’ll go check the circuit breaker box in the supply room,” Carter said to Deputy Breaux. “You might want to let Bruno know what you found. Technically, I’m still off the murder part of this case. But the evidence is starting to look like he might be involved.”
“Sure thing.”
Fortune sprang into action, moving quickly back to the tile she had removed over the supply room. She stuck her head through the opening and called out to Gertie and Ida Belle. “Carter’s coming. Stall him!”
Marge shot down through the ceiling to find Gertie rushing to the door and locking it a moment before Carter turned the doorknob. Fortune lowered herself through the section of the ceiling with the missing tile.
Carter knocked. “It’s me. Unlock the door. I need to check the circuit breakers.”
“Sure thing,” Gertie said, not making a move.
Carter waited a second and tried the knob again. Fortune replaced the missing tile, sliding it back into place.
“Did you unlock it?”
“Yes, I did.”
He tried the knob again as Fortune made her way off the top of the shelving unit, then onto the chair.
“Are you sure it’s unlocked?”
“I said it was, didn’t I?” Gertie said.
He tried the lock again as Fortune slid the chair over to the table next to Ida Belle and sat down. She nodded to Gertie.
“What’s the problem?” Carter asked.
Gertie reached over and unlocked the door and opened it. “I’d say the problem is you need to build up your strength. Maybe Fortune can help you with some hand exercises.”
Fortune scowled at her.
“There’s nothing wrong with my strength. The door was clearly locked. What’s going on in here?” Carter opened the electrical panel and studied the circuits.<
br />
The ghost of Elder Sheriff Lee poked his head through the ceiling. “They was snooping on you, that’s what was going on. Open your eyes, boy. The ladies are running circles around you. Aw, hell, you can’t hear me anyway.” His head disappeared back through the ceiling.
“Just doing what you asked,” Ida Belle said, standing. “The one with the ankle bracelet is Celia.”
Carter pulled his focus away from the electrical panel. “Yep, a call to Celia was on Bruno’s phone. Deputy Breaux called her. Seems she thought you three were pulling a prank on her.”
Gertie shook her head. “She needs to chill out. Maybe we could recommend a good masseuse.”
Ida Belle stifled a laugh. “The one wearing the hat and nothing else is Ivy Guerin.”
Carter’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“Hmmm-Hmmm.”
Carter walked them out of the station. He gave Fortune a quick peck on the cheek. “Call you later tonight.” He started to walk away, then turned back to her. “Oh, my mom called today and said Dotty Sanders is putting her house on the market.”
“She’s finally moving to Florida?” Ida Belle asked.
Carter nodded and looked at Fortune. “I thought you might want to look at it.”
“Why would Fortune want to look at Dotty’s house?” Gertie asked.
“To live in,” Carter said. He looked at Fortune. “You already know the neighborhood.”
“Oh yeah,” Fortune said. “That’d be great. I’ll check it out tomorrow morning.”
And so it begins, Marge thought. Dotty’s house was perfect. Fortune would be a fool not to buy it. She felt as if someone had shoved her soul in a blender.
Fortune waited until Carter was out of earshot and said, “I still don’t think Bruno was the one in the gallery. But they do have some strong evidence against him. Breaux said his rifle was the same kind that killed Cootie. And he wears the same size boot, though they didn’t find any Irish Setter boots.”
“Maybe Bruno had an accomplice who stole the painting and clunked you,” Ida Belle said.
Fortune nodded. “That’s looking like a strong possibility.”
“What’s this about you looking at Dotty’s place to live?” Gertie asked.
Fortune nodded. “Well, I just figured since I’ll be leaving the CIA and starting over in my career, that I should start fresh with a new house. Something that’s mine.”
“But—” Gertie said.
Ida Belle quickly jumped in. “That’s great. We’ll help you look.”
“But—”
Ida Belle plowed ahead. “We know all the houses in Sinful. We know which houses have had work and whether the work was quality or rinky-dink.”
Fortune looked away. “Great. I’d appreciate that.” She turned and walked toward the Jeep.
Gertie and Ida Belle hung back. Gertie sighed. “I don’t think I can bear someone else living in Marge’s place. Besides, we promised Marge.”
“As much as we don’t like it, we can’t force her to stay there,” said Ida Belle.
Marge moved in close to Gertie’s ear. “Yes, you can. Force her.”
Ida Belle smiled. “Though we can make sure everyplace she looks at pales in comparison to Marge’s. Of course, it would mean being dishonest and deceiving her.”
“I’m good with that,” Gertie said.
Fortune turned around and looked at them. “You two coming?”
Ida Belle and Gertie joined her.
“You two work your end and I’ll work mine,” Marge called out to them.
Marge bummed one more ride from Elder Sheriff, returning to the lake to pick up Cootie, who’d had no new info regarding his murder. After dropping him off at his house, Marge decided to give “her end” a visit.
After spotting Barb in her kitchen, Marge gave the living room a walk-through, gathering what intel she could about the crazy puppet lady, taking note of several fencing trophies on the mantel. All the trophies were dated during the time Marge had been away in Vietnam. Marge and Barb had competed before and after Marge’s time of service, but Marge won all those competitions. Not that Barb hadn’t tried to beat Marge. She’d been obsessed with it ever since high school.
A beautiful checkers set caught her eye, sitting on a small wooden table against the wall. The board and pieces were made of stone, perhaps onyx. Barb and Marge had competed in a checkers tournament once, held at the Sinful Senior Center. That trophy was in Marge’s bedroom.
Barb’s voice rang out from her kitchen. “Oh no you don’t! You can’t quit now. I’m about to win.”
That’s odd, Marge thought. She hadn’t seen anyone with Barb in the kitchen. The crazy puppeteer had few friends. Marge crept to the archway leading into the kitchen to find Barb sitting at her breakfast nook staring at her laptop.
“You’re a sore loser!” she screamed at her computer.
“You’re playing checkers on the computer?”
Barb screamed, then turned around, holding her hand to her chest. “Didn’t I tell you not to sneak up on me?”
“I’d knock, but my hand goes through the door.”
Barb shut down the game.
“Are you playing someone on the Internet?”
“I WAS until the sore loser quit when it was obvious I was going to win.”
“Why are you playing on the computer? I see you have a nice checkerboard set in your living room.”
“A nice set?” Barb got up and walked to her living room. She gestured to the board. “It’s the best set you’ll ever set your dead eyes on. My daddy carved the whole thing. He taught me everything I know about checkers. And I’m good.”
“Why don’t you get someone over here to play with you?”
“People are overrated.”
“You know, if you stopped pushing people away, maybe you’d have a friend who’d play. I used to love to play.”
“Yes, I remember you cheating your way to victory.”
Marge ignored her accusation and sat at the table.
“Tell me again why you can sit your butt on my furniture but are still unable to knock on solid wood before entering?”
Marge dismissed her with a wave. “It’s a ghost thing.” She stared at the board. She’d been practicing moving small objects lately with some success. Surely, she could move one of these pieces. After concentrating on one of the white stones for a good thirty seconds, the checker scooted to square 17.
Marge whooped in triumph, raising her ghostly hand to high-five Barb, who towered above her, scowling.
“Square seventeen? What an amateur move.”
“Think so? Play me. I might be a little slow moving my pieces, so you’ll have to bear with me.”
Barb sat and quickly moved one of her black checkers.
After a few moves in silence, Marge spoke. “Fortune’s going to sell my house and buy another one.”
“Why go to all the bother? You have a fine house. Not as fine as mine, I might add, but it’s okay.”
They played for another hour, both concentrating on their strategy—Marge putting extra concentration on moving her checkers. When her energy waned, Barb moved the checker for her. They were down to six checkers for Marge and eight for Barb before Marge spoke again about Fortune. “I’d like you to relay a message for me. About the house.”
“Not going to do it.”
She stood. “Thanks for the game. I’m done for the day.”
“What?” Barb screamed. “You can’t leave now. I’m going to beat your ghostly butt.”
“You want to beat my ghostly butt? AFTER you relay my message to Fortune.”
Barb was still grousing about what a big loser Marge was as the ghost drifted through the back door. But Marge had read her opponent correctly. Barb craved competition and winning. And to win, she needed an opponent. Even if the opponent wasn’t of the living variety.
Chapter Sixteen
WE MET JO AT FRANCINE’S Café the next morning. She was relieved
to find out her nude painting was nowhere to be found. Not at Cootie’s house, not at the gallery and not with the stolen canvases in Bruno’s car.
“He could have told me he destroyed it,” she said. “Could have saved me some grief.”
“Maybe there was something else he wanted to give you,” Gertie said. “Maybe it wasn’t the nude painting after all.”
“We’ll never know now.” Jo sighed. “At least my family won’t ever find out.” Jo got up and thanked us. “I guess I can finally grieve Cootie the proper way now.”
Before she left, I gently grasped her arm and leaned into her. “This guilt you have about your family finding out you posed naked in college? You might want to trust them and get it off your chest. They might surprise you.”
She didn’t agree, but I could tell she was taking it in.
Our mission completed, we stopped by Dotty’s house after breakfast, for which I had no enthusiasm. I’d grown fond of Marge’s. But Gertie and Ida Belle had promised Marge they would try to convince Sandy-Sue to stay. It was time I made their job easier and make them believe I was ready to move on to something of my own. Who knew? Maybe it was time. Maybe that was the point of the dream I had several nights back. The dream so real it was still affecting me.
Her house was located at the other end of the block from Marge’s. When we walked up, we found Dotty sitting on her porch, reading. She appeared to be in her mideighties and, like her house, looked to be in top shape.
Gertie nodded toward me. “Fortune might want to buy your house.”
Dotty looked taken aback. “What’s wrong with your Aunt Marge’s house?”
I shrugged. “Um... nothing really. Just want to start out fresh.”
Dotty’s eyes widened. She looked at Gertie. “It’s not staying in the family? Marge always told me she hoped her niece would decide to stay and live in it.”
“I think she’d understand,” I said.
“Hmmmm, I suppose so.” However, Dotty’s face betrayed her sudden disdain for me. “You can take a look around, I guess.”
She directed us to the front door and told us to help ourselves. We stepped inside and began our tour.
White walls, new brown carpeting. Upgraded kitchen with light-brown granite countertops. Closets that appeared to have been designed by a professional closet organizer. Bathrooms painted in white with beige tiles. New, vertical-slider windows. Threat Level: Perfectly Boring.
