by Sam Cheever
“What’s Walter doing here so late?” Ida Belle asked no one in particular.
“I didn’t even know he had a PO box,” Gertie said.
Fortune threw open the door. “Let’s go find out.”
Walter’s eyes widened when we walked in, his handsome face slack with surprise. “What are you ladies doing here at this hour?”
“We were going to ask you the same thing.” Ida Bell walked over and eyed the bank of metal boxes on the wall.
Walter shook his head. “I’m picking up mail. What else would I be doing?”
Ida Belle eyed him skeptically. “You get mail delivery at the store. Why do you have a PO box?”
Her obvious suspicion seemed to trigger his temper. “Not that it’s any of your business, woman, but I’m picking this mail up for a client who’s housebound.”
Ida Belle’s face flushed. “Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Who is it?” Gertie asked.
Walter shook his head. “I don’t think I should be discussing my client’s business.” He scanned a look my way. “Felicity, did your father find you?”
I frowned, thoroughly confused. “My father? When did you see him?”
“Yesterday, around three I guess. He wanted to rent a boat.”
My eyes went wide. “Did you rent him one?”
“No. With the Blue Gator bounty contest going on all my boats are out. I told him Fortune might let him use hers though.”
We all shared a look. “That explains that,” Ida Belle said, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” Walter asked, looking worried.
“He kind of helped himself to my boat,” Fortune said. She took care not to look at me when she said it, but I could tell she was still annoyed.
I chewed my fingernail and felt miserable.
“Did he say where he was going with it,” Gertie asked.
“No. But if I had to guess he was heading back to Number 2.” Walter grinned. “He bought some Mentholatum.”
“What in the world would he be doing there,” I murmured. Then I remembered Cal and his radio silence. What if he’d followed my father out to the island and gotten stranded somehow. I looked at Walter. “You didn’t by any chance rent Cal a boat tonight did you?”
“Nothing to rent him.” Walter frowned. “Well, nothing safe anyway.”
Ida Belle’s eyes lit up and Walter saw it. He started shaking his head before she even got the words out. “Not a chance.”
“We need a boat, Walter. Fortune’s is probably on Number 2. My boat is minus a working motor and Gertie’s boat has a hole in it.”
“You aren’t going out there tonight.”
She saw him wavering and pounced. “It will be fine. I have that big lantern you gave me.”
Walter was still shaking his head. “I won’t rent it to you.”
Ida Belle followed him out of the post office, giving him the verbal once over as he headed toward his car. I looked at the other two. “Do you think she’ll talk him into it?”
Gertie nodded. “Absolutely. Walter can’t deny Ida Belle anything. Even when he’s pretty sure she’s headed for trouble.”
“Good. Because it just occurred to me that, if Felonius was headed toward Number 2 tonight and Cal was following him, Cal’s silence might mean he stepped in it on the island.”
Fortune’s lips twitched. “Stepped in number two?”
“Ha, ha,” I said frowning. “I’m really worried about him.”
“I’ve never met a man who could take better care of himself than Cal.” Fortune paused. “Well, except Carter. I’m sure Cal’s fine.”
“Still, I’ll feel better when I clap eyes on him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Fortune said.
“Me too, but what about the post office?” Gertie asked. “We still need to find that artist guy.”
“If Cal’s successful we’ll know who he is tonight. I think it’s a better play to go after Cal.”
“I agree,” Fortune said. “Let’s go get that boat Walter doesn’t want to give us. I have a feeling it might take us a bit longer to get to Number 2 in his float-a-wreck than it would have in my boat.”
Shoving back a spike of guilt, I fell into step behind the other two women. If my father wrecked Fortune’s boat he and I were gonna have a Come to Jesus meeting of our own. The outcome of which would entail much more than scrubbing toilets for a few weeks.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The island, which was named after a bodily function, hadn’t changed a whit since I’d last been there. It still smelled like the bad end of a boar and was jungle-like in its rabid vegetation. The moon washed silver and full over our heads, lighting our way as we shoved through grass and weeds. The overgrown green stuff adorned the edges of the small island like the fringe of hair on a monks’ head. It became less rampant as we moved away from the water but, for my comfort, it still sported way too many opportunities for creatures from the reptile family to hide.
I scrubbed the back of my hand over my forehead, feeling a deep muscle pain from gripping the side of the boat for the last hour.
Walter hadn’t been kidding when he’d proclaimed the boat less than satisfactory. I’d go so far as to say it was a boat fit only for my worst enemies. Shallow, square nosed and heavy, the thing rode the ripples in the Bayou like a tank, slamming against the black, murky water at the back end of every ripple. We’d be lucky if our teeth weren’t loose from the impact. I was pretty sure my backside was bruised.
I glanced around at my companions. With the exception of Fortune, who seemed strong enough to overcome nearly anything life slapped her upside the head with, my companions looked pretty much like me. Tired, disheveled and miserable.
The constant drone of mosquitoes lining our path didn’t help. Judging by the flinching and wild slapping motions of my friends, I wasn’t the only one who suffered from vampire bug PTSD.
“It would help if we knew what we were looking for,” Ida Belle said.
Fortune frowned. “I’d hoped we’d find my boat tied up along the shoreline.”
“It could be on the backside, where we left it the last time we were here,” I offered.
Apparently the jungle of cypress knees surrounding the small island limited the number of places to beach a boat on Number 2. I would add the eye-watering stench of the place, which, if it were up to me, would limit the potential docking areas to zero.
Fortune nodded. “We’ll cut straight across the island and see if my boat’s there. Then we’ll split up and cover the whole island looking for Cal.”
I tripped over a half buried root and stumbled several steps. My hands splayed to catch my fall, I barely managed to regain my feet before doing a face plant. “It will be a miracle if we see anything in this dark.”
Gertie looked up. “Felly’s right. Even with a full moon this place is dark.”
“Too many trees,” Fortune agreed.
Gertie pulled her purse off her shoulder and, resting it on her knee, started digging. “I’m pretty sure I have a couple of those little flashlights in here.”
A moment later she made a happy sound of discovery and handed a small, dark cylinder to Fortune. She produced a second flashlight within seconds. Though tiny, the lights were surprisingly bright.
“Much better,” I said.
Twenty minutes later the arc of light from our flashlights painted a long, knobby form in the grass. The gator flipped around and disappeared, displacing a soft plop of water which told us we’d reached the other shore.
A quick scan of the inlet was disappointing.
“It’s not here,” I said unnecessarily.
Fortune frowned. “I was sure.”
“Ladies.”
We all turned to Ida Belle. “I just saw something out there.”
We fell silent, staring out over the black water. Just when I thought she’d been seeing things, a blaze of light flashed through the darkness. Then another. The twin beams of light danced across the glea
ming water and disappeared. A moment later an engine roared to life and headlights flared. We ducked as the headlights swung past.
“What’s out there?” Fortune asked.
Ida Belle shrugged. “There are a series of small islands along here. Number 2 is the biggest but the next one, Number 3 is about two thirds the size of 2.”
Fortune spun around and took off running back the way we’d come. Ida Belle jogged after her. I looked at Gertie and she groaned. I knew how she felt. I’d mowed through my dinner hours earlier and was currently working solely on body fat. While that was okay in theory…in practice it just plain sucked.
Hanging out with Swamp Team 3 was exhausting.
###
I decided as we approached the second island that Number 3 should be renamed Number 2 With a Bullet. The stench that was merely gut wrenching on Number 2 was almost deadly on its sister island. I was pretty sure my lungs were clenching up under the smell.
Even my stalwart companions were gasping and grimacing as we stepped off the boat from Hell and our feet were sucked down into sewer-scented mud. The lung-killing smell wafted up as we fought to get free.
“I pray we’re wrong. If poor Cal’s been here for any length of time he’s probably wishing for death.”
Fortune lifted a muck-covered shoe. “Well, if the guys in that boat were hoping to find a spot to hide him where nobody would look, they did a good job. I’m starting to wonder if Cal’s worth what we’re about to do.”
I didn’t say anything. Despite a deep fondness for my intrepid PI, my traitorous mind was starting to craft excuses for not setting…erm…sinking another foot on the foul island. After all, Cal was smart and capable. Surely he could free himself?
“There’s a light,” Gertie said. She wrenched her foot from the muck and stretched it forward, testing for firmness before putting her weight behind it. I stomped my feet trying to dislodge the thick layer of muck clinging to my sneakers. The sneakers which I would be flinging into the trash as soon as we got back to Sinful. In fact, judging from the Porta-Potty stench wafting upward, I might need to consign the shoes to a watery grave before we got that far.
“It’s a cabin,” Ida Belle said, excitement threading her voice.
The cabin wasn’t far from the water. We slopped toward it and, within minutes, found ourselves looking through cloudy plexiglass.
It turned out that the “light” Gertie had seen was merely a reflection of the moon against the dented metal walls of the makeshift cabin. The interior was dark.
Fortune pulled a gun from somewhere on her person and moved toward the door. She motioned for us to hang back and then tugged on the door. It was locked. A quick flash of light over the door from a flashlight showed us it was padlocked.
Fortune looked at Gertie. “I need a pen and a hairpin.”
Gertie dug in her bag and came up with the requested items.
“Thanks.” Fortune ripped the silver clip off the side of the pen and opened the Bobby pin, bending one end into a loop. Then she inserted the bent end of the pen clip into the lock mechanism at the bottom of the padlock and created pressure on it with her thumb as she inserted the straight length of the Bobby pin into the mechanism next to it. She jiggled the pin in and out a few times, until the barrel moved on the lock and, a second later it clicked. Unlocked. Fortune removed the padlock and opened the door. She hung back for a moment listening, and then slipped through. A moment later she called out. “He’s here.”
We dove through the door just as light flared in the tiny space. Fortune placed a lantern next to Cal, who was unmoving and hunched in the corner. He had a black cloth sack over his head and his wrists and ankles were bound with tape.
“Oh my God, Cal!” I yanked the bag off his head and gasped at the glossy trail of half-dried blood running from his scalp. “He’s hurt.”
Fortune bent over him, pulling the hair apart to examine his scalp. “He’ll be okay. It’s not deep and already clotting up.” She straightened, looking around the space.
Gertie held up a utility knife. “Looking for one of these?”
Fortune gave her a grin, snatching the knife. “Remind me to take you and your purse with me the next time I go on a mi…” She stopped, her eyes widening, and everybody looked at me.
Shaking my head, I lifted my hands. “Nothing. I heard nothing. I was singing to myself. It soothes me.” I refused to look at Fortune, going with the much disproved notion that if I couldn’t see her she couldn’t see me. That notion had gotten me into more trouble…
Fortune handed me the knife. “Cut him loose.” She looked at Gertie. “You got anything in that bag that will wake him up?”
With a grimace, Gertie pulled out her half-full jar of rose water.
I sucked wind. “He’s gonna kill us.”
###
“I’m gonna kill you.” Cal slapped at another mosquito and glared at us from the opposite end of the boat. Since we’re not stupid, Swamp Team 3 plus 1 was huddled near the motor, trying to keep as much distance between us and the mosquito magnet in the bow as possible.
The boat rose up on a miniscule ripple of water and then slammed down, dislodging me and Gertie from our makeshift seat on top of a bait box and sending us sprawling on the floor. Quick as a snake, Cal reached out and grabbed my ankle, dragging me closer. I screamed as his own personal cloud of airborne vampires descended on me, enclosing me in a buzzing web.
Cal wrapped himself around me and held on tight, whispering into my ear. “Whose idea was it to cover me in mosquito bait?”
I forced my eyes not to swing to Fortune. She didn’t need another reason to extinguish me. “Sorry, we needed to wake you up. You’re too heavy for us to carry.”
Cal let go of me to slap madly at mosquitoes and I escaped, scooting back to my spot on the bait box. He roared as they chewed on him, pounding himself so hard I was afraid he was going to do damage.
“We should knock him back out,” Ida Belle said with a grimace. “It’s the humane thing to do.”
I shook my head but reconsidered as he punched himself in the side of the head, seemingly trying to do just that. I needed to distract him. “So tell us what happened. How’d you end up on Number 2 With a Bullet?”
Gertie snorted at my new name for the island.
Cal pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt and zipped it high on his throat. “I was following your father like I told you. He led me to a remote spot on the shore of the Bayou, about a half mile from Walter’s. When he climbed onto your boat I realized I was going to lose him. So I approached, intending to make him take me with him wherever he was going. I was talking to him when someone came up behind me and hit me over the head.”
“You don’t know who hit you,” Ida Belle asked.
Cal shook his head, tugging the sleeves of the hoodie over his hands to protect them from bites. “I swam close to consciousness a couple of times but everything’s blurry. I thought I heard Mannie yelling at somebody, your father’s voice and somebody else.” He shrugged. “It could have been a dream.”
“Mannie?” Gertie frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
My long-suffering nail found its way into my mouth. “Actuwy it might,” I said around my nail. All eyes turned to me, filled with confusion. I tugged the finger from my mouth and addressed Cal. “I saw Mannie at the Backwater as I was leaving. He broke one of the windows in the Jeep.”
Cal frowned. “What was he looking for?”
“I didn’t stick around to find out,” I told him. “But he might have hit you over the head and then come back for me. The timing would have been about right.”
“If that’s true,” Fortune said. “He thinks you know something that he either wants to stop you from knowing or wants you to share with him.”
“Not him,” Ida Belle said, skimming Fortune a look. “Big. Mannie doesn’t do anything unless Big tells him to. If they’re looking for information, the Heberts are behind it.”
Cal thought about t
his for a moment and then lowered his head, shaking it. “Of course.”
“Care to share?” Gertie asked.
Cal’s head came up. His sexy blue gaze burned from beneath the hoodie. “The messenger was just to throw us off. Big’s involved in this Spift mess and he’s trying to keep us from finding out how.”
Fortune nodded. “He’s got to either be looking for Spift, which seems unlikely since he trades communications with him every week, or he’s trying to find the forger. That seems more likely.”
We all nodded in agreement. Behind me, the roar of the elderly motor softened and the boat slowed. I realized we were pulling up to Walter’s dock.
“Looks like Walter’s still here,” Ida Belle said.
“Good,” Cal responded, reaching for the half-tire nailed to the dock as a bumper. “I need to get something for all these bites.” He skimmed a glower over the four of us. “I don’t want to end up polka-dotted like you four.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Walter opened the back door for us and flipped on the overhead light. Like a beacon from the fiery pits, the illumination drew hordes of ravenous flying things toward it in a buzzing cloud.
“No!” Cal shouted. “Turn off the light.”
Walter blinked and flipped the switch again, stepping back as we filed past.
Cal jerked and twitched as he walked, his hands scraping mercilessly over his spotted flesh. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t get malaria or something,” he groused, sending us a scathing glance.
His comments drew my long-suffering fingernail to my mouth. I hadn’t even thought of that. Damn Gertie’s rose water!
Walter eyed Cal and jerked his head toward the stool behind the counter. It was the place we generally found him reading his newspaper when we came into the store. “Sit. I’ve got some stuff that will take the sting out of those bites.”
Cal did as directed. Pulling off his hoodie and then his t-shirt, Cal took the tube of anti-itch cream Walter handed him.
