by Sam Cheever
“Who’s Cal,” the kid asked as he took the turn onto the main road on two wheels.
Fortune gave him stink eye. “Don’t worry about it. You need to tell us who you just talked to in that house back there.”
He blinked twice, scanned a quick look over the scratching, welted trio invading his little car, and then licked thick lips nervously. “Mrs. Kane? Why do you ask?” His small eyes went wide. “You aren’t gonna hurt her are you? She’s a really nice lady. She gives me cookies and milk.”
“Oh good lord,” Ida Belle managed while scratching. “Pull a Uey and take us back there, son. We left a soldier behind.”
“Yeah,” Fortune murmured. “A rose scented soldier with no common sense.”
“Word,” Ida Belle agreed. “But she’s one of ours.”
###
Cal grilled the kid for twenty minutes before we finally got the address we were looking for. The skinny messenger had a surprising amount of bravado beneath his shaky, insubstantial frame. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to hold out against a determined, cold eyed Cal Amity for more than five minutes. In the end it was Gertie’s threat to douse him in rose water and tie him to a tree as a mosquito banquet that finally loosened his tongue.
He gave up the PO box where the elusive Charlie Spift picked up and left his documents.
Miserable, sweaty and welted, we dragged home to Sinful having learned nothing. Accompanied by soft scratching noises from the back seat, I scraped my itchy flesh and stared dejectedly out the window, rousing myself only when Cal pulled into Ida Belle’s drive. We said a quick goodbye and beat it to the hotel where I hoped I had a hot shower in my very near future.
Alas it wasn’t to be.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cal tapped me on the end of my nose when we stood in front of our room. “Don’t make that shower too hot, Felly. Those bites will itch even more.”
Fully intending to ignore his probably sage advice, I headed, scratching manically, toward my door. Pulling the quirky little alligator keychain from my pocket, I inserted it into the lock. The door pushed open before I even turned the key.
My door was unlocked.
Maybe the maid was inside, I told myself, fluffing my towels and changing my sheets. Frowning, I shoved the door inward just as the intrepid Cal moved in front of me, pushing me gently to the side. He had his gun out, his handsome face intense.
I really hoped the pretty young maid who’d introduced herself to me as Lolita wasn’t in my room or she was about to have a few months of her life startled out of her.
Cal took a couple of steps into the room and stopped, expelling a frustrated sigh. He lowered his gun. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
I peered around the door frame and saw a familiar figure lounging on top of one of the double beds in the room, leaning against the headboard with my pillows bunched up behind him. He had his feet up and was munching something crunchy, a shotgun lying across his lap.
Seeing the gun was like a punch to my belly. I’d never seen my father so much as touch a gun, let alone carry one around. “What are you doing?” I asked angrily. “You ask us to help and then take us on a merry chase all over Louisiana? Now you just show up in my room with a big…” I gestured toward the canon riding his knees.
He crunched down on another chip and set the bag aside. When Felonius lifted the gun, Cal’s hand tightened on his Glock. My father noticed. He hesitated before sliding the gun aside and standing up. “This thing’s just for show. I have no idea how to use it. But believe me when I tell you I need protection.”
Cal slipped his gun back into its hidden holster in the waistband of his jeans. “What have you gotten yourself mixed up in now, Felonius?”
My father sighed. “I haven’t gotten myself mixed up so much as drafted.”
Frantically scratching, I dropped wearily into the closest chair. “Give it all up, Felonius. Cal and I and my friends have gotten into all kinds of trouble trying to help you. Now it’s time for you to be honest with us.”
My father nodded. “I heard about the Mary Magdalene molestation.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d taught you better than that, Felly.”
I threw up my hands. “Dangit! How does everybody know it was us?”
Felonius lifted a single, dark brow. “Really? How often do you suppose four nuns from the Vatican visit Sinful and molest an expensive sculpture of The Blessed Mother?”
“It could happen.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, which was oily and grimy from sweat. I briefly considered just shooting my father so I could get to the shower I so desperately needed. Of course I dismissed the idea…but not until after a worrying moment of hesitation. “Besides, that’s your fault too. Obviously you knew how to find Brother Mike but you didn’t bother telling us. We thought his carving from the hole in the garden was a clue and we followed it to the sculpture.”
“I didn’t know where he was, Felly. I promise. He found me. Besides, that doesn’t explain why you trashed The Blessed Mother.”
I expelled air. “Because we took Gertie with us. Where Gertie goes trouble is never far away.” I felt immediately guilty for my harsh accusations. I was a pretty decent trouble magnet myself. “That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, really. We just needed to see where the sculpture came from so we could find the artist. Unfortunately things went badly once we pulled the podium over.”
Cal scoured me with a look, his Caribbean blue gaze sparking with questions.
I shook my head, ignoring him.
My father nodded. “It wasn’t a bad strategy actually. You’re closer to the truth than you know.”
“So why don’t you tell us what we don’t know, Felonius,” Cal said very reasonably.
“I wish I could. I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you.”
“What were you doing at the Art Emporium?” Cal asked.
“Mike was trying to get information on some art pieces.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Cal gave him a nudge. “Because?”
Felonius dropped back onto the bed, crossing his legs. “Fake Charlie Spift pieces have been showing up at art galleries between here and New Orleans and Mike is trying to find out where they came from.”
Silence pulsed between us for a long moment while Cal and I tried to decide which of the ten questions resulting from my father’s news we should ask first. At least that was what I assumed Cal was considering. I only had his pained expression to go on.
“Where do I start?” I asked my father. “How about this? Where does Mike fit into this mess and how did he disappear?”
“He was grabbed by someone in a ski mask the night he disappeared. He managed to get away long enough to plant that carving in the hopes we’d know what it meant. But the guy caught up with him and knocked him out. Mike came to in the middle of the Bayou and rolled off the boat into the water.” My father grinned. “He doesn’t look it now but he was a champion swimmer in college.”
Cal nodded. “So that’s why he’s been hiding?”
“Yeah. He doesn’t know who grabbed him so he has no idea who to trust.”
“What’s his interest in this mess?” I asked.
“Mike knows the artist. Apparently, the guy’s scared to death of somebody. He won’t say who, just that he made a deal and the fakes were going to get him killed. So in an effort to help his friend, Mike started nosing around the Emporium, hoping to find a trail to the forger.”
“And did he?” Cal asked.
“We didn’t think so but somebody tried to hit him with a car about a week ago as he was leaving the Mudbug Art Emporium so he believes he was close. That’s why he came to get me. As backup. We went the night of the show because we figured nobody would notice, with all the activity up front.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, frowning. “My friend Fortune wants to gut you like a fish. You really shouldn’t have hit her over the head and stuck her in a box.”
My father paled. “That chick’s scary. It
took both of us to get her in that crate even after we knocked her out. Have you ever seen anybody fight while unconscious? What kind of librarian carries around that much rage?” He shook his head, his gaze haunted from the memory.
“Maybe people abuse their borrowing privileges,” I offered lamely. “That could create rage.”
Thank goodness Cal ignored me. I wasn’t sure where I’d go with that line of thinking if anybody asked me to carry it to the next level. “Did you find information on the forger?” Cal asked my father.
“No. We got interrupted by the psycho librarian before we could get anything.”
I had a thought. “What about the ledger?”
My father frowned, clearly not getting my question.
“Brother Todd told us you took a ledger out of Brother Mike’s cell yesterday. Why’d you come back for that?”
“Mike’s been keeping notes on his search for the forger in there. He’s tracked the guy to somewhere around Sinful or Mudbug but he’s stuck. He wanted me to look over his notes in case I saw something he didn’t.”
“Did you?” Cal asked.
“No. Unfortunately. But we know the Heberts are involved somehow.” My father patted the shotgun. “That’s why I have this.”
I nodded. “We just talked to Big.”
Cal leaned against the wall, crossing muscular arms over his chest and staring down at my father. “So let’s recap. You and Brother Mike are running from thugs while chasing a violent art forger with a gun you don’t know how to use and no plan whatsoever?”
Felonius nodded. “That’s pretty much it.”
In a surprise twist of subject, Cal asked my father, “What do you know about Pleece?”
Felonius’s forehead creased. “The gallery owner? Not much. He’s very weird. Apparently he was an unskilled cartoonist in the sixties and, when he couldn’t make it being an artist he opened the Emporium. Why do you ask?”
“He seems to be at the center of everything. It’s reasonable to take a look at him.”
My father thought about Cal’s observation, nodding. “You’re right. But if you’re thinking he might be the counterfeiter, he doesn’t have the skill. His daughter finished in the bottom quarter of her class at Savannah College of Art of Design and even she’s better than he is. Neither one of them has any talent.”
“What’s her specialty?” I asked just to close the loop.
My father grimaced. “She paints fruit I think. Maybe something else, I can’t remember. Portraits?” He shook his head. “Believe me, both of the Pleeces are better off running a gallery.”
“We need to interview the artist.” Cal said. “Spift probably has some idea who’s doing this. There can’t be that many artists with the level of skill necessary to copy his stuff.”
Felonius started shaking his head before Cal finished speaking. “Mike won’t let you talk to Spift. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Cal pushed away from the wall. “You’re not me.” He bent down and kissed my cheek. “Get your shower and dress in dark clothes.”
“Okay. What do you have in mind?”
“We’re going to stake out the post office.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Fun.”
Cal grinned. “I’ll entertain you.”
My grimace turned to a grin.
“Hey!” my father said. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”
“I’m aware.” Cal walked over and grabbed my dad’s arm, pulling him to his feet and snatching up the gun. He held the shotgun away from Felonius when my father grabbed for it. “You go tell Mike that we’re going to talk to Spift. We can either do it my way or the hard way. I doubt he wants me, psycho librarian and her unpredictable sidekicks stalking him on top of the forger and Sinful’s favorite mob family.”
Felonius frowned but nodded. “I’ll try but I can’t promise anything. He’s really digging his heels in.”
Cal closed the door behind my father and went over to the window, pulling the dusty drapes aside and watching Felonius walk down the sidewalk toward the Bayou. Then he dropped the drape and grabbed a black sweatshirt before heading to the door. “I’ll be back for you in a couple of hours.”
“Wait! Where are you going?”
He stood in the open doorway, the yellow light above my door making him look like a golden Greek statue (okay, I had it bad) and grinned at me. “I’m going to follow your father to Brother Mike.”
“Oh.” I said, nodding. “That makes sense.”
But the door was closed and Cal was already gone. I was talking to myself.
So what else was new?
CHAPTER TWELVE
I sat in my darkened room wearing black skinny jeans and a black tunic. Despite the moist heat of a Louisiana night, the tunic had long sleeves and a hoodie. I refused to expose another inch of my pale, tender flesh to the buzzing vampires that ruled the night beyond my motel door.
I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and frowned. Cal had said a couple of hours. Three hours had passed and the fourth had started ticking down. A desperate kind of fear found me, twisting in nervous jolts in my belly. I’d texted Cal but was afraid to call in case he was in a spot where the noise would cause him problems.
But the silence from his end was making me jittery. I made a sudden decision. I couldn’t just sit there while Cal faced god knew what along the Bayou. It was time to engage Swamp Team 3 plus 1.
I dialed Ida Belle. She answered on the second ring. “Felicity. What’s up?”
Grabbing up my little black shoulder bag—cute, chic and invisible against my black cat-woman burglar outfit—I started out the door as I explained my predicament to Ida Belle. It didn’t take me long to realize my problem. Standing on the sidewalk outside my door, I stared at the Jeep. Cal had the only set of keys.
“Felicity?”
I blinked, realizing she’d been talking to me. “I have a bit of a problem. I don’t suppose Sinful has Uber?”
“Whater?”
“That answers that. I need you guys to pick me up.”
“We’ll be there in ten.”
I disconnected, deciding to walk toward the street. I was too antsy to wait another minute. The sidewalk turned at the end of the building and the weak yellow light of the overhead fixtures barely met the end of it. I stepped off, into the dark, heading toward the street. A bug buzzed near my head and I panicked, assuming the crash position. A moment later I realized the bug had flown on past without accosting me. Feeling foolish, I started to straighten. “Just great,” I murmured. “Now I have bug PTSD.”
The shadows across the parking lot shifted and I stopped, ducking back down as a man-shaped apparition moved across the end of the building opposite the one Cal and I were staying in. He kept close to the wall, obviously trying to stay out of sight.
Cal? I started to stand as the figure slipped around the corner and the yellow light bathed familiar features.
Mannie!
What was Big Hebert’s pet thug doing at the Backwater Inn? I was sure it was nothing good. Mannie’s big head swung from side to side, taking the measure of his surroundings, and then he strode quickly across the gravel parking lot, toward my door. He knew where I was staying?
“What the heck?” I murmured.
The sound of breaking glass made me crouch lower, pulling the hoodie over my face as I watched Mannie reach through the window he’d just broken on the Jeep and open the door. As soon as he ducked inside I took off running. I didn’t know what the big thug was looking for but I was sure it didn’t bode well for Cal or me.
I jolted to a stop. Cal! I couldn’t leave the Backwater and let Cal walk into a trap. Pulling out my cell, I quickly texted him. Gone to the PO. Mannie broke into Jeep. Don’t go into room without precautions.
I sent the text, feeling better, and took off running again. I’d try to make it to Main Street so the ladies didn’t have to turn down Backwater Street. Maybe they could help me figure out why Mannie was stalking us.
A loud ticking sound announced the approach of Gertie’s caddy. The thing was like a giant bomb rolling down the street, its front end held together with rope. The Caddy rolled to a stop in front of me and I jumped into the back seat. “Hurry. Mannie’s at the Backwater. He’s up to no good.”
Fortune turned around in the front seat to frown at me. “Mannie? What’s he doing there?”
I shrugged. “Breaking the car window for one. I doubt he’s there for a friendly visit.”
“Where’s Cal,” Gertie asked. The click, click, click of her turn signal preceded our turn at the corner and we headed out of town, into the relative darkness of a cloudy night.
“He’s stalking my father, hopefully finding Brother Mike.” I filled them in on what we’d learned from Felonius. “Cal thinks Spift will have some ideas about who’s been copying his work. There can’t be more than a couple artists in the state with that kind of talent.”
Sitting beside me in the back seat, Ida Belle nodded. “Makes sense. So why does Cal want us staking out the post office tonight?”
“The only address anybody has for Spift is a PO box at the Sinful post office. He figures the artist will visit the box after hours so nobody will see him.”
Fortune’s frown deepened. “There’s got to be more to this artist than we know. A guy who goes to these kinds of lengths to stay anonymous is hiding something.”
“Like a criminal record, you mean?”
She shrugged. “That’s what my gut is telling me.”
“What if he doesn’t show up?” Gertie asked.
“Then we might have to visit the back office,” Ida Belle said, excitement transforming her face. “Get an address on the box owner.”
Fortune groaned softly. “Carter’s gonna throw me in jail and lose the key.”
“Nah,” Ida Belle said. “If he was going to throw you in jail he would have done it by now. Besides, haven’t you noticed how he’s trying to avoid you? The last thing he wants is your sexy self staring at him from a jail cell.”
Amazingly, Fortune didn’t look soothed by Ida Belle’s observation.
“Here we are.” Gertie pulled into a nearly empty parking lot and parked near the exit. A tall man with graying brown hair was standing inside, under reduced lighting, in front of the bank of PO boxes.
