by Sam Cheever
As we approached, Brother Todd smiled wearily, his wide face glistening with sweat. He swiped a sleeve of his robe over his brow and stood panting as we came near. His round cheeks were bright red from his efforts. For a moment I thought he was wearing a white skull cap. Then I realized he had a kind of reverse bowl cut thing going on. The top of his head was bald in a perfect circle, leaving a dark fringe of hair that covered his ears and curled wetly against his fat neck. A prodigious amount of dandruff speckled the shoulders of his robes. My hand twitched upward in anticipation of a handshake, but Brother Todd didn’t take his hands from his pockets so I lowered it again.
“Hello, hello.” He grinned widely at me. “My, you’ve certainly grown into a lovely young woman, Felicity.”
I glanced at my father, alarmed that the other man seemed to know me.
Brother Lance, a.k.a. my father smiled. “Felly, you remember Todd Stevens? We used to work together in Indy. He sponsored me when I came to the order.”
Ah, the guy who hated my father for sleeping with his wife. According to my father, the man had forgiven him due to his new religiosity and had offered to provide him a false identity and a place at The Order of Saint Francis Assisi on the Bayou. It probably never crossed his mind that all new brothers to the order had toilet scrubbing duty for a month.
Who ever said revenge wasn’t sweet?
“Of course. How are you Mr…erm…Brother Stevens?”
“Nestled safely in God’s palm, Felicity. No better place to be.”
“I guess Brother Mike fell out of God’s palm?” Cal asked.
Brother Todd skimmed my sexy PI a glance. “Yes. Well. About that.” He pointed toward a winding double row of cypress trees leading from the pink brick monastery building. “I wanted to show you something. It might have to do with Brother Mike’s disappearance.”
We followed him across the grass, hands outstretched from an instinctual response to his constant tripping and stumbling across the lawn. When we hit the flagstone path leading through the cypress trees, everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over.
Brother Todd turned to us, swiping perspiration off his wide forehead with a sleeve of his robe. “It’s just over h―” And he went down, landing on his round belly and skidding across several flat stones before grinding to a halt against the legs of a concrete bench with his thick, hairy legs exposed.
I threw Cal a look and found him rolling his eyes. He mouthed the word “disaster” and hurried over to help the clumsy monk to his feet.
Groaning softly, Brother Todd eschewed Cal’s offer of help and pushed himself to his knees. “Right there.” He pointed a thick digit with a ragged fingernail toward a wide hole beneath the bench. Cal crouched down and peered beneath the bench, his midnight brows arching. Reaching into the hole, he came up with a small piece of wood, examining it carefully. “It’s a religious figurine of some kind.” He handed it to me and I used a finger to brush black dirt off the tiny object’s surface. The figurine tugged a memory somewhere in my brain but I couldn’t quite capture it.
“Mary Magdalene,” Brother Todd said. He shook his head. “A strange thing for Mike to put into the hole don’t you think?”
My father frowned. “You believe he intentionally left this figurine behind?”
Cal stood up, brushing his hands over his jeans. “Why do you think Brother Mike put it in the hole?”
Brother Todd pointed to the figurine I held. “That’s his work.”
When Cal continued to stare, my father clarified. “He whittles things out of cypress.” Pointing to the bench he added, “This is…was…his favorite spot to whittle.”
“Do you have any idea why he hid it under here?”
“Not a clue,” my father admitted.
“Actually it might be just that,” Brother Todd said, frowning. “I think he was trying to tell us something.”
“Well, whatever it was,” Cal said, “I’m guessing it was the cause of his disappearance.” He took the figurine from me. “He must have known he was going to disappear and wanted somebody to know where he was.”
“Makes sense,” I agreed.
“Now all we have to do is determine what this means.” Cal held up the piece of wood.
Unbidden, the memory I’d been trying to grasp slid into my mind. I blinked and looked up into the intrepid Cal’s handsome face. “I think I might know.”
“What?” All three men asked in unison.
I shook my head. “We need to go back to Sinful. It looks like my friends might be able to help us after all.”
Cal’s jaw tightened but he refrained from comment. I knew he believed Swamp Team 3 was dangerous for my health and safety and of course he was right. But what he couldn’t know, because I’d never admit it to him, was that I’d never had more fun than when I was solving mysteries with the three Sinful sleuths.
And even Cal had to admit, Fortune, Ida Belle and Gertie got things done!
CHAPTER THREE
Cal dropped me off at the diner with the promise to catch back up with me in a couple of hours. He claimed he needed to check in at his office, return some emails, and talk to the local PD, a.k.a. Deputy Carter LeBlanc about the blood sample he’d collected. He also wanted to see if Carter had heard anything that might correspond to the case of the missing monk. I, however, knew that he was just putting off the reunion with Swamp Team 3. It wasn’t that Cal disliked my friends. He just had a healthy discomfort with what amounted to a group of unapologetic vigilantes.
And I was pretty sure if he was honest, Ida Belle’s steely stare, Fortune’s cool assessment, and Gertie’s bumbling but strangely effective methods made his palms itch.
I couldn’t really blame him. I mean…he was already dealing with me.
A howl of welcome erupted from the back corner of Francine’s Diner when I opened the door. I couldn’t help it, my lips stretched into a happy grin as Gertie jumped up and hurried toward me, arms outstretched for a hug. Ida Belle smiled and waved and even Fortune looked pleased to see me.
“Felicity!” Gertie pulled me into a surprisingly strong embrace and pecked me on the cheek. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We could have planned an outing or something.”
Ida Belle showed up at Gertie’s shoulder, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Yeah, maybe a nice soothing airboat ride out to Number 2 for a picnic.”
I laughed, reaching to hug the ringleader of Sinful’s infamous Swamp Team as well as the Sinful Ladies Society, known locally as the Geritol Mafia. “I’m so glad I didn’t warn you then.”
She chuckled good-naturedly.
Fortune extended a hand and gave me a welcoming smile. “Nice to see you again, Felly.”
I shook her hand, taking care not to squeeze it…just in case she might take that as a challenge. Fortune, a.k.a. Sandy Sue, looked like a beauty queen but I knew her to be tough as nails and sharp as a gator hunter’s favorite knife. “It’s nice to see you too.”
“Come. Sit down. We just ordered breakfast.” Gertie motioned toward their favorite table, where I’d been reasonably certain I’d find them at that time of day. Gertie’s elderly Cadillac with the bumper still, unbelievably, tied up with rope, had confirmed it.
Francine came over as I slid into a seat. “Mornin’ Felicity. What can I get ya?”
Dear, unflappable, Francine. It was as if I’d never left Sinful. “I’ll take a bagel with cream cheese and jelly please. And a fresh fruit cup.”
Fortune grimaced. “You’re putting me to shame. I knew I should have ordered an egg white omelet instead of the chicken fried steak with gravy.”
Felly sighed. “I’m so jealous. But my metabolism has apparently moved without a forwarding address.”
Gertie, who already had food in front of her, sighed. “I know the feeling. I try so hard but I just can’t seem to lose these last two pounds.” Shaking her head, she shoved a dense and chewy cinnamon bun into her mouth.
Ida Belle arched a silve
r eyebrow in her direction. “Poor thing. I can see you’re starving yourself. Maybe if you looked under the other thirty pounds you need to lose you’ll find the two you’re looking for.”
As Gertie cast a mutinous look in Ida Belle’s direction, I decided it might be a good time to tell them why I was there. “So, I got a call from my father yesterday.”
Three gazes spun in my direction. I had their complete interest.
“Have the Russians found him?” Fortune asked sotto voce.
“No. Well, I don’t think they have anything to do with this. But one of the monks has disappeared.” I dug in my pocket and pulled out the figurine we’d found. “He seems to have left this behind.”
Ida Belle took the carved piece of cypress and examined it carefully. “This looks familiar.”
I nodded. “I thought so too. The question is, why is he trying to direct us to Sinful Catholic Church?”
Gertie’s eyes went wide. “Oh no.” She lifted her frosting coated fingers, shaking her head. “I’m not going into the lion’s den again unless you let me bring a weapon.”
Fortune’s gaze turned intense. “Does Cal have any idea what we’re dealing with?”
I tried not to take offense at the fact that she immediately bypassed the idea I might have an idea in favor of Cal’s opinion. But I’m pretty sure a frown briefly took up residence on my face before I squashed it. “No. He’s going to visit with Carter to see if there’s anything amiss that might be connected.” I had a thought. “Has Carter mentioned anything to you?” I waggled my brows. “You know, pillow talk.”
To my vast surprise, Fortune grimaced. “Not likely.”
“They kind of broke up,” Gertie supplied helpfully.
Fortune suddenly found a small chip on the edge of the table fascinating.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
She lifted an almost angry gaze to me. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. We just realized our goals were different.”
Nodding, I looked up as Francine delivered our food. I had a pretty good idea which goals Fortune was referring to. She had the goal of finding bad guys and opening up a can of whoop ass on them and Carter had the silly idea that was his job. Not hers. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then.” My words were dire but I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of going undercover with the wild and wily crew again. “I just hope we can get in and out without summoning up demon Celia this time.”
Ida Belle and Fortune shared a look.
“What?”
Gertie sighed. “We’re kind of under house arrest right now.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot skyward. “House arrest? But you’re in the diner.”
“We’re allowed to go from our homes to the diner and to the General Store and that’s it.”
I frowned. “Or what?”
“Or Carter will throw us in jail.”
“What in the world did you do?”
Gertie shrugged. “Let’s just say we celebrated a combination Coyote Ugly and Happy Birthday Mr. President evening.” Her lips twisted on a smile. “Celia was not amused.”
Despite their dire circumstances, the three friends chuckled.
Having seen the event they were talking about, I chuckled too. “How long are you under house arrest?”
Fortune cut a bite of her chicken fried steak. “For a week. But I’m already tired of it. We didn’t do anything illegal. I’m pretty sure our rights are being stomped on.”
“Well, there is that law about indecorous and obscene displays,” Ida Belle offered.
“We didn’t display anything,” Fortune argued. “Celia did.”
“With a little help,” Ida Belle said with a grin.
I ate my breakfast while they worked their way around to deciding to help. I knew they would. A simple proclamation from Sinful’s erstwhile mayor or even Carter for that matter, wouldn’t so much as put a hitch in Swamp Team 3’s giddyup.
###
“Why do I feel like we’ve succumbed to Sharia Law?” Gertie asked. She shoved up on the coif that was riding her eyebrows and tugged the veil off her neck. “It’s too hot to be a nun. Can we wait until it gets down below eighty to do this?”
Fortune fixed her with a look that would have been deadly if Gertie weren’t protected by the full body armor of indifference. “At least you aren’t wearing an upside down white butterfly on your head.” Fortune extracted one hand from her apron and held onto the stiff white contraption as a steamy breeze wafted past. The air was filled with the briny stench of fish and reptiles.
Ida Belle grimaced. “Sorry about the Cornett. Maxwell ran out of regular nun costumes.”
Maxwell Greer was Ida Belle’s friend and the owner of Sinful’s only costume shop. Personally I’d been surprised he had so many nuns’ costumes as it was. But from the breakaway aspect of my tunic, I suspected they weren’t used for religious purposes.
I tightened my lips against a grin as a bird tried to land on Fortune’s headgear and she jumped, reaching for a sidearm I prayed she didn’t have under her tunic. As she flailed at the poor bird, I thought it might be a good idea to distract her. “Do nuns even wear those things anymore?”
Ida Belle shrugged. “We’re going to pretend we’re visiting from Italy on our way to New Orleans. I’m guessing Celia and her crew have no idea what nuns in Italy wear.”
“Ally’s telling Celia now,” Fortune informed me.
“What if Celia wants to come down to meet us? She’ll recognize us in a heartbeat,” Gertie tugged the tunic away from her throat and blew into it. Her cheeks were pink and moist and she kept swiping the voluminous sleeve of her habit over her sweaty forehead. There were some bug parts stuck to her moist neck. It looked like what was left of a mosquito, mostly just its legs. I pointed to her wet throat. “You have something, just there.”
Gertie grabbed the skirt of her apron and scoured her throat with it. When she was done the mosquito was man-spreading under one ear. “Better?”
“Um. Yeah. Looks great.”
“Ally’s telling Celia that we’re a cloistered sect and we’re under a vow of privacy. And that we’d consider it a great favor if we were left to private worship.”
I frowned. “A vow of privacy? Will she buy that?”
Fortune grinned. “Only half. But I told Ally to tell her we know the pope personally and to imply the Vatican will be extremely grateful for her sensitivity. So much so that he’d consider stopping in Sinful next month when he visits New Orleans.”
Still not entirely convinced, I asked, “Do any of you know Italian?”
Fortune nodded. “A few words. Enough to get us past the guards at the door.”
I frowned. “You don’t think Celia’s henchwomen will recognize us?”
“Hopefully, once Ally’s done spinning her yarn, Celia will tell them to give us our space. But just in case, Fortune and Felly will wear these.” Ida Belle pulled two pairs of glasses with coke bottle lenses from under her apron, handing a pair to Fortune and one to me. I held mine up and the world turned wavy and distorted. “I’m going to kill myself wearing these.”
“Gertie and I will walk in close behind you two, our heads low so they can’t see our faces.”
An engine roared behind us and we all turned to see Carter pulling his enormous truck up to the curb. I was glad to see he was in shorts and a t-shirt, apparently off duty.
I glanced at Fortune and she shoved the glasses onto her face, ducking her head and hightailing it toward the Catholic church.
Gertie and Ida Belle gave me a little shove, tucking in behind me like a couple of baby ducks. I put the glasses on but kept them low on my nose so I could see over them.
“Try to look snotty,” Ida Belle said in a low voice.
“Snotty? Why?”
“You’re pretending you’re Catholic, remember?”
A deep throated growl throbbed on the air and I turned to discover that Carter had pulled Tiny out of the truck. The
massive Rottweiler was staring straight at us, the hair on his broad shoulders standing at attention. Huge white teeth showed beneath his curled black lip and drool hung in shiny strings from both sides of his mouth. “I think Tiny recognizes us,” I murmured.
Fortune reached over and grabbed my wrist, compressing it in a grip that seemed more appropriate for a weight lifter than a librarian. “Pick it up, Felicity. Carter’s coming this way.”
I risked a quick look in his direction and made a soft sound of alarm. Tiny was at the end of his leash, his thick body straining to pull Carter closer. The Deputy was looking at us as if he might be on the cusp of recognition. I panicked and shoved the glasses higher on my nose, almost running to keep up with Fortune.
The world beyond the wavery lenses dipped and whirled, making me feel like I was on a small boat, tossing and roiling on storm-drenched seas. I stepped into a low spot in the grass and stumbled forward, my hands caught in the sleeves of my habit. Two hands grabbed the back of my apron and hauled me upright. I turned and pressed my hands together in prayerful thanks to Gertie and Ida Belle.
Meanwhile, Tiny snorted and grunted, trying to pull Carter closer. For his part, Carter had graduated from mild to professional curiosity. I knew we were a few seconds away from getting busted.
I turned to Fortune, shrieking in a loud falsetto, “Abetta fleurice pizza ravioli.”
Tiny whined, my dolphin-like tones no doubt splintering his sensitive canine hearing.
Fortune blinked, looking like a bug behind her enormous glasses. “Um, certamente, sorella.”
Another kind of shrieking sounded in the distance and I snuck a look under my coif. Celia was waddling quickly down the street, her arms waving in an attempt to catch Carter’s attention.
“Saved by the shrew,” Ida Belle mumbled. “Let’s get off the street before anybody else spots us or that dog manages to escape Carter.”
Like a waddle of penguins, we hurried up the stairs to the dark, wood doors of Sinful Catholic. Fortune pulled the heavy door open and we ducked inside, the cool darkness a welcome relief from the broiling Louisiana sun outside.
