by Sam Cheever
“Felly!”
My nerves shot, I jumped again, hitting myself in the face with my makeshift weapon. “Ow!”
“Felly, Fortune’s not here and there’s blood on the desk.”
My gaze slid back to the crate, which had begun to rock back and forth. I pictured Fortune bunched up inside, her pretty face hard with rage. “I think I know where she is.”
Ida Belle moved quickly in my direction.
Dropping my deadly weapon, I grabbed the top of the crate, only to find that it had been sealed shut. “It’s nailed,” I told Ida Belle.
She plucked a curved piece of metal with a notch on one end off the table and brought it over, pushing past me as she shoved the device into the crack between the lid and the crate. It squealed as she wrenched the lid upward. A few minutes later she levered the last nail free and we tossed the lid back.
Fortune’s gaze over the packing tape was positively murderous. She murmured unintelligibly, waving her bound hands.
I grabbed a box cutter from the mess on the table and sliced through the tape binding her wrists, giving her the cutter so she could do the same with the tape around her ankles. Ida Belle grabbed one of her hands and I grabbed the other, helping her unfold herself from the tight confines of the crate.
She ripped the tape off her mouth as soon as her feet hit the floor, growling. “I’ll kill him.”
I blinked. “Kill who?”
“Who did this to you?” Ida Belle asked.
She glared at me. “Lance P Fenus.”
My eyes went wide. “My father was here?”
She wadded up the tape and threw it. “With another guy, yes. I didn’t see the other guy’s face.”
“I caught them going through the files in the office. Unfortunately I made the mistake of assuming your father wouldn’t bash me over the head, tape me up and shove me into a crate.”
“Seems a reasonable assumption,” I murmured. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to make her feel better or myself. “I don’t get it.”
“That makes three of us,” Ida Belle said, frowning. “It appears your father has some ’splainin’ to do, Felicity.”
A door slammed shut down the hallway and a herd of elephants stomped toward us. A moment later a pale face with wide eyes and a frizzy halo of hair popped into sight. Gertie’s arms were waving. “Hurry up, we need to get out of here. Cal’s holding them back as best he can.”
Nobody moved. Ida Belle glared at her friend. “What did you do?”
Gertie looked insulted. “Nothing.”
Fortune put her hands on her hips. “Gertie?”
The other woman sighed. “I might have spilled cocktail sauce on a few paintings.”
I gasped. That seemed ambitious even for Gertie. “A few? How did you manage that?”
Her eyebrows lowered. “It wasn’t my fault. That woman shoved me into the fan and my cup of cocktail sauce kind of flew into the thing. It sprayed everywhere.” She ran her hands down the front of her flowered blouse. That was when I realized the stuff I’d thought were poppies on her shirt were actually globs of cocktail sauce. “Sounds like a mistake to me,” I offered weakly. “Surely they won’t make too much of a stink about it.”
A thud sounded from the hallway, followed by a shout.
Gertie crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s what I thought too. I even tried to wipe the stuff off.”
One of Fortune’s slim blonde brows peaked. “You tried to wipe cocktail sauce off a thousand dollar work of art?”
“I thought it was working at first and then the paint started coming off on the sweater.”
The other eyebrow lifted. “Sweater? Whose sweater?”
“That woman wasn’t wearing it. Besides, it was her gin that made the paint come off. It was the least she could do.”
“Oh good heavens,” Ida Belle murmured. “Whose sweater was it, Gertie?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know her name. But somebody said she was related to the Mayor.”
Another thump was followed by a screech and the sound of something crashing on the other side of the wall. The door opened and slammed shut and heavy footsteps pounded toward us. Cal ran into the room, the pocket of his pretty tux ripped almost all the way off and his bow tie riding the side of his throat. There was a suspicious shadow on his jaw that I didn’t think had been there when we got to the gallery. He caught my gaze, his expression grim. “They’re out for blood. I think somebody called the cops. We need to go.”
Sighing, I started for the Exit sign on the back wall. It was going to be a long sprint down three blocks to Cal’s car. And me without my shoes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What about my buttocks?” I asked Cal on the ride back to Sinful.
He waggled his brows. “What about them? They look mighty fine to me.”
Snickering emerged from the backseat. I glared at my intrepid PI. “You know what I meant.”
Cal shrugged. “No money changed hands. The case of the flying cocktail sauce interrupted our negotiations.”
I sat back in my seat, sighing my relief. “Thank God for that, at least.”
“Opportunity lost, if you ask me,” Ida Belle said.
I turned around and found her working way too hard not to smile. “Ha, ha. I suppose you’d put that nightmare in your house?”
She snorted. “Not a chance. But I know a spot in the Catholic church where it would look mighty fine.”
We all snickered at that. But the sentiment reminded me of the smoldering turd we were returning to in Sinful. “Do you suppose Celia’s calmed down?”
Fortune shook her head. “I’m more worried about Carter. He knows that was us in the nun costumes.”
“And if he didn’t already know,” Ida Belle agreed, “he’d figure it out soon enough when he talked to Maxwell.”
“You think Max will rat us out?” Gertie looked shocked.
“With two hundred pounds of Carter bearing down on him, he’d rat out his own mother.”
We all fell silent for a moment, while I sat chewing my fingernail. Finally I had to ask. “Do you think Carter will arrest us?”
Fortune frowned. “I doubt it, but you never know with Carter.”
“He’s covered for us a few times,” Ida Belle told her.
“Yeah. On some pretty big stuff,” Gertie added.
I was dying to ask what big stuff. Unfortunately, Cal spoke before I could ask.
“Carter won’t arrest you. I already told him we’d pay for the statue.”
Three sets of gazes swung his way, filled with varying degrees of shock.
“When did you do that,” I asked.
“While you three were shopping for art show clothes.” He shrugged. “I had time to kill.”
Fortune sat forward. “You admitted it was us in the church?” She was clearly irritated. I didn’t blame her. Cal had seriously shtepped on their shtick. I knew something about the dance Swamp Team 3 engaged in with Carter and Celia. They did the crime. The law knew they did the crime. Celia knew they did the crime. But they simply denied everything until they found a way to fix it all. Carter turned a blind eye as long as he could and Celia screamed bloody murder…quivering like a jelly fish with righteous anger…but unable to prove a thing.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I told Cal.
“I didn’t admit you did it. I just told him you have an inheritance you might consider using to replace the sculpture. But only if he didn’t arrest your friends.”
“But Cal’s not stupid,” Fortune argued. “He’ll know Felly wouldn’t pay for something she didn’t do.”
“Hey! I wasn’t the only woman in a breakaway nun’s costume in that church.”
Fortune flipped a hand in my direction. “You know what I mean.”
“We need to go into hiding,” Gertie said. She plunged her hand into her suitcase-sized purse and started rummaging around. “I have enough food for two days in here if you don’t mind hairy shrimp. A blanket, two fla
shlights, matches, a bottle of water, and of course a full arsenal.”
“I get the blanket,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie frowned. “It’s my blanket, why should I give it to you?”
“Because I’m the oldest.” She glowered in Gertie’s direction.
Gertie wrapped her arms around the purse as if she would protect it with her life. “Only by about five minutes. That doesn’t get you my blanket.”
“I’m frail.” Ida Belle tried. We all blew raspberries at that one. Including Ida Belle.
“What’s wrong with staying in a hotel?” Fortune asked reasonably.
I nodded enthusiastically. “I second that.”
Cal slowed as we reached the outskirts of Sinful. “You’re not going on the lam, ladies. Carter’s not happy but he’s not too broken up about Celia getting her granny panties in a twist either. He promised he’d cover for you if a new statue showed up in the next few days.” Lifting a sexy dark eyebrow in my direction he added, “By an anonymous donor.”
I sighed. “I guess that would be me.”
“You’re always whining about your inheritance. Here’s your chance to do something good with it.”
“Well I guess it would be better than a dimpled metal buttocks with a flower in its crack.” Though I scowled, deep down I was secretly pleased. I’d felt guilty about breaking Celia’s Madonna. Even though it technically wasn’t me who broke it. “Okay. I’ll have to send my solicitor in though. I doubt Gregor Pleece would sell to me after tonight’s fiasco.”
“I’ll kick in, Felly.” Ida Belle said, flinging a stern look toward Gertie.
Gertie lifted a hand. “Me too.”
Fortune was silent. When I looked at her I found her staring out the window, looking sad. I thought I knew why. She’d clearly been in love with Carter. It was just a shame they hadn’t found a way to make it work.
Ida Belle nudged her friend and Fortune blinked, turning to me. “I’m in. Of course.”
Though I had no intention of taking their money, the fact that they offered made me feel all warm inside. I gave them a smile. “Thanks.”
Cal pulled up in front of Ida Belle’s house and stopped. Fortune’s Jeep and Gertie’s Caddy were parked in the drive.
“The monastery tomorrow?” Fortune asked before climbing out.
I nodded. “My father has some ’splainin’ to do.”
Ida Belle scooted out behind Fortune, turning back at the door. “We can meet at Francine’s for breakfast and then go together.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cal agreed.
###
Swamp Team 3 was already situated at their favorite table when Cal and I rolled up the next morning. Francine lifted a pot of coffee in our direction and we nodded.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Gertie said to me as we approached the table. Her smile was warm and it made me happy. I was really starting to feel like the three women were friends and I was glad they seemed to feel that way about me. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie nodded as she sipped her coffee.
“Good,” Fortune added. But I took note of the shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept as well as she was pretending.
We ordered breakfast and then I turned to Cal. “Tell them what you told me.”
He poured a packet of sweetener into his coffee, stirring it with a spoon. “I think I have an idea on the middle man mystery.” He sipped and a look of sheer pleasure suffused his handsome face.
“What’s that?” Ida Belle asked.
“I saw somebody at the gallery last night who didn’t fit in. Unless you figure they have something to do with the business end of it.”
Fortune frowned. “Who?”
“Little Hebert.”
Our three breakfast companions stilled, their faces going slack with shock.
“Seriously?” Gertie asked.
“Are you sure?” Ida Belle added.
Cal nodded. “I’m sure it was him. He had that big guy with him. The muscle.”
“Mannie,” they all said at once.
Big and Little Hebert were Sinful’s version of mafia and, though they’d helped us out the last time I’d been in town, nobody at that table was foolish enough to forget how dangerous and corrupt they were.
Mannie wasn’t all that bright and his neutral opinion of us had taken a decided turn for the worse over a slight misunderstanding involving a bikini wax and a slavering Rottweiler.
You probably shouldn’t ask.
“I’m having trouble seeing the Heberts as art connoisseurs,” Fortune said.
“Exactly. So if they weren’t there to buy art, then what does that leave?” Cal asked.
“They’re watching out for their interests,” Ida Belle said, nodding.
Cal scratched his perpetually stubbled square chin. “I think we should take a little drive out to Heberts’ after the monastery.”
“Agreed,” Ida Belle said.
###
We parked in front of The Order of Saint Francis Assisi on the Bayou and went inside. The entryway walls were painted with bright, joyful depictions of Saint Francis with all of his animal friends and in its center a fountain sent happy splashing sounds into the room. We rang the bell and a man in a rough brown robe opened the door, giving us a Lurch type smile. “Can I help you?”
I stepped forward. “We’re here to see Lance P. Fenus.”
Snickering erupted behind me. I turned to glare at my friends, who all sported suspiciously neutral expressions.
“I believe Brother Fenus is in the garden. Shall I take you?”
I shook my head. “We know the way. Thanks.”
Inclining his head, the robed man stepped aside, indicating the hallway which I knew led to the expanse of grass, trees and water behind the monastery.
We emerged into the sizzling heat and I blinked at the sight before me. A cluster of brown robed men stood wringing their hands, an enormous gator lying peacefully in the sun several yards away.
But it wasn’t the sight of the monks that caused me to suck back and grab Cal’s arm. It was the big man standing a little distance away from them, an enormous, jagged-toothed knife in one big hand. He was easily seven feet tall with a thin brown ponytail and a patch over one eye. Beneath long nylon shorts, his left calf was misshapen, the muscle knotted and uneven from a gator bite.
Fortune came up beside me. “What’s Lyle Borne doing here?”
Cal had fixated on the enormous blade in Lyle’s hand and he was moving forward, no doubt intending to take Lyle down to save the monks.
“No. Wait.” I grabbed his hand. “Lyle’s a gator hunter.”
Cal’s Caribbean blue gaze widened in understanding.
Ida Belle looked at Gertie. “The bounty.”
“Of course.”
“Explain, please,” Cal said.
“The Blue Gator down the road holds a contest every year, offering $10,000 to the hunter who brings in the biggest gator.”
Gertie nodded. “Lyle’s come really close a couple of times but he never wins.” She jerked her head toward what I assumed was Aristotle. “That’s the biggest gator I’ve seen in years. If Lyle could bring him back he’d win for sure.”
I scanned the crowd of monks but didn’t see my father. “He’s not here.” I looked at Cal.
He did a quick scan of the robed men. “Okay, we’ll search the grounds.”
Before we could spread out and search, Lyle looked over and spotted us, his small eyes narrowing. Even from where I stood twenty yards away I could see his jaw tighten with rage. He probably still blamed me for his sister being arrested. And why wouldn’t he. I blamed myself every day.
I lifted a hand in what I hoped was a harmless but friendly greeting.
Unfortunately, Lyle’s hands formed into fists. He started toward us.
“Oh, oh,” Gertie murmured.
Cal stepped in front of me. Panic twisted my belly. Lyle had a big knife and Ca
l was only armed with good looks, brains and strength. I would never underestimate my intrepid PI in a fight but I was not going to be the cause of his getting hurt. I glanced at Gertie, nodding toward her oversized bag. “What have you got in there?”
She was already digging, her arm disappearing up to the shoulder in its vast depths. She pulled out a jar of water with a rag rubber-banded around it. “Water boarding, nah. Not helpful here.” She dropped that to the ground and dug in again, coming up with a can of hairspray.
My weapon of choice. “I’ll take that.”
Gertie tossed me the can.
I stepped around Cal, holding up the spray can. “Stay back, Lyle.”
Lyle dragged to a stop a few feet away. His beady gaze narrowed on the can. I had my hand wrapped around the small container so he couldn’t tell what it was.
The group of monks broke up and two of them moved toward us. One of them was Brother Todd, stumbling in our direction. I didn’t know the other man walking with him.
I heard clanking and turned to find Fortune clutching a small whip with metal balls on the end. I grimaced. The whip brought back bad memories of falling off fences and running from slavering Rottweilers.
Mannie wasn’t the only one who had trouble letting that one go.
Cal glanced my way and nearly rolled his eyes. I glared at him. I knew my weapon wasn’t very scary. But at least I had one. Besides, it had worked with Lyle the last time we’d faced off with him.
“Ah ha!” Gertie came up with a piece of metal with several holes in it. She slipped the brass knuckles over her fingers and lifted her fist toward Lyle.
We were a hodge podge. Barely even scary. But Lyle had experienced our combined attack before, when we were armed with little more than hairspray and a big rock. He seemed reluctant to experience it again.
“Nobody wants any trouble, Mr. Borne,” Cal said very reasonably.
Lyle scanned us a look before responding in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “What makes you think I want trouble?”
“You always want trouble,” Gertie said.
Lyle shrugged. “It’s not that I want it. But you four always seem to drop it on my doorstep.”
Silence met his statement. Technically he wasn’t wrong.
