by Jana DeLeon
I’d already known it was serious, but hearing them spell out all the details made it sound all that more bleak. “So what do we do? Harrison told me to stay in public as much as possible—that way if anyone else turned up dead, I’d have an alibi.”
“That’s fine if we assume another murder victim is forthcoming, and in the same manner Pansy was murdered,” Gertie said. “But what if it was an isolated incident?”
Ida Belle shook her head. “And it probably was. Let’s face it, Pansy was the type of person who created long-term grudges. You heard that argument between Mark and Joanie last night at the church.”
“That’s true,” Gertie said. “It’s entirely possible someone has been waiting all these years for her to return to Sinful so that they could exact their revenge over something from high school.”
I frowned. “You really think someone could have waited all these years to kill Pansy over some high school slight? That seems a bit far-fetched to me, even by Sinful standards.”
Gertie’s brow creased with the effort of her thoughts. “Maybe thinking about getting revenge all these years drove them steadily over the precipice of sanity. What started as a simple revenge plot morphed into murder.”
I stared. “Really, Dr. Phil?”
“Did you spend all night watching television?” Ida Belle asked.
“No. Well, half, but it was a very informative half.”
Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah. The Red Hat Society, those fools on Jersey Shore, and Dr. Phil have all the answers.”
“Probably more answers than you got waxing your car.”
“For your information, I had a season marathon of Justified when I got home.”
“Oh!” Gertie’s eyes widened. “That Raylan Givens is so hot he almost makes my television melt. You would like him, Fortune. He’s always killing people.”
“But it’s all justified,” Ida Belle said. “Get it?”
I stared at them, as confused as ever. “There’s a show on killing people? I thought only the federal government could sanction that sort of thing, and they usually don’t want anyone knowing about it. I’m not sure I could work with a film crew following me around.”
Ida Belle looked upward with her prayer face. “It’s not a reality show. It’s fiction. Like a novel but on television.”
“And he is a federal marshal,” Gertie pointed out.
“That explains everything,” I said. “Those marshals are loose cannons.”
“Ha!” Ida Belle laughed. “Said the spook.”
“This hot, gun-slinging marshal sounds really interesting,” I said, “but it doesn’t help with our current situation. As long as Pansy’s murderer is unidentified, I’m going to be a suspect. I’m sure you’re right that Carter is no fool, but he doesn’t have as much at stake as me.”
Gertie nodded. “And he has to follow the law and all sorts of other rules in order to investigate.”
“But we don’t,” Ida Belle said.
“Exactly.” Gertie smiled.
A small trickle of excitement went through me, followed by a larger trickle of fear. “I don’t know. Look what happened last time we got in the middle of a murder investigation.”
“Yes, let’s look at that,” Ida Belle agreed. “Our friend was exonerated, two bad guys died, and we all found out just how much our friends cared about us and us for them. Horrible, awful things.”
“And we got to see Fortune in action,” Gertie added. “That was better than Justified, even though she’s not my type.”
“You forgot about the trip to the island of stink,” I said, “my having an extension ripped out of my head and retrieved by Rambo Rottweiler, almost getting shot at the Swamp Bar, and Deputy LeBlanc catching me in far too many states of partial to pretty-much-full undress. You two might have been entertained, but I was mostly horrified.”
Ida Belle frowned. “There is that. But you have to weigh it against the other risk—that Carter will conduct a very careful and deliberate investigation, but it won’t move as quickly as we would. I don’t have to tell you that the faster this whole nightmare is put to rest, the better your chances of maintaining cover.”
I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. But the mere thought of launching into Nancy Drew mode with the two seniors of doom was definitely not what I’d had in mind, especially only days after I’d barely escaped with my life and cover. My dignity was long gone and not even worth mentioning at this point, which I guess could be seen as a positive. Depending on how you looked at the situation, I had one less thing to lose.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look into a few things.” I pointed my finger at them. “But…no islands of stink, no redneck bars, no trespassing at Deputy LeBlanc’s house, and no riding naked in cars.”
Ida Belle grinned. “Well, if you’re going to take all the fun out of it…”
“That’s exactly what I want to do. You two can find some other form of entertainment. My humiliation level is maxed out, and I thought it had reached its peak before I arrived here. Besides, Deputy LeBlanc already told me straight-out to leave this alone. He’ll be watching me for more reasons than one.”
“Well, he can’t spend all day and night watching you and conduct an investigation,” Ida Belle pointed out. “We’ll have to make sure we know where he is at all times so we can choose the best opportunities to do our own investigating.”
“Sinful doesn’t have any more law enforcement?”
“Just Sheriff Lee.”
I waved a hand in dismissal. Sheriff Robert E. Lee was a hundred if he was a day, and still rode a horse everywhere. The horse was also a hundred.
“Where do we start?” I asked.
Gertie perked up. “I think we should make a list of everyone in Sinful, then eliminate them one at a time as we determine they couldn’t have done it.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said, “except for the part where according to Deputy LeBlanc’s questions, I gather Pansy was murdered around midnight. That means most people would be at home. We can hardly go asking every household to alibi themselves. Not only will it get back to Carter, but no one can be certain that another person was in bed sleeping if they were in bed sleeping.”
“Then we should eliminate them based on method,” Gertie said.
I nodded. “Definitely a better way as it takes into account ability, but there’s one big problem—I don’t know how she was killed. Deputy LeBlanc didn’t say and I’m sure that’s deliberate. All he said was Celia found her dead on the kitchen floor.”
“How she died must have been obvious,” Ida Belle pointed out, “for Carter to leap straight to murder.”
“Gunshot seems the most likely,” I said, “but Celia—and most of her neighbors—would have heard it. Unless they used a silencer.”
Ida Belle frowned. “There’s no need for a silencer unless you’re killing a person. I doubt many people in Sinful have them.”
“We don’t need many people,” I pointed out. “We just need one who hated Pansy.”
Gertie shook her head. “Fortune’s right. The first thing we’ve got to do is find out how she was killed. That information alone could eliminate a third of the town.”
“If someone in Sinful killed her, that would help,” I said, “but I still think we need to find out what Pansy has been up to all these years in California.”
“I agree,” Ida Belle said, “but we’re going to have to be careful. Carter will be following that angle as well. People are sure to mention it to him if they’re questioned twice.”
I nodded. “So we’ll be careful. We won’t ask questions that seem like they’re because of her death. I bet we can still find out quite a bit. At least give us an idea of what kind of person Pansy is as an adult. I know how she was before she left, but she could have developed dangerous habits in LA.”
“True,” Ida Belle agreed.
“But first things first,” I said. “I assume the Sinful grapevine has been hobbled as
far as information goes, and I’m going to guess that Carter already told Celia to stay quiet about everything. Will she?”
Gertie and Ida Belle looked at each other, in their silent communication mode, then both looked back at me and nodded.
“If it were about anyone else,” Gertie said, “she’d have gone door-to-door like a Jehovah’s Witness, flapping more than clotheslined sheets in a hurricane, but she was always tight-lipped when it came to Pansy’s escapades.”
Ida Belle snorted. “That’s because most of Pansy’s escapades included being naked with someone else’s boyfriend. Not exactly the reputation Celia wants reflecting on her parenting skills, or lack thereof.”
“Maybe we should make a list of everyone Pansy slept with,” I suggested. “Then track back to angry girlfriends.”
“That’s easy,” Gertie said. “It’s the same list as the Sinful residents—just remove the women and the men past a certain age range. At least, I think we should remove the women.”
I waved a hand in dismissal, certain Gertie was exaggerating Pansy’s alley cat ways on some level, but not certain I wanted to know the true extent of her sexual reach on one cup of coffee. “Back to the task at hand. How do we find out how Pansy was killed?”
Ida Belle and Gertie looked at each other and I could tell before Ida Belle opened her mouth that I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“The only way is to see Carter’s files on the case.”
“Doesn’t one of your partners in crime work at the sheriff’s department?”
Ida Belle nodded. “That’s how we found out so quickly. Myrtle used to work night dispatch, but there wasn’t much call for the position except drunk and disorderlies, so they made her the admin last Friday. Carter called her in to work early today.”
“She learned how to text without looking at her phone, so she sent us a message as soon as she knew what was up,” Gertie added.
“So have her hack Carter’s computer like she did before.”
“He’s changed the password,” Gertie said. “We think maybe he caught on that we were siphoning off police information during the whole Marie debacle.”
I blew out a breath. Carter was right, of course, that Myrtle had hacked his computer and given us confidential information, but it was frustrating that he’d caught on so quickly and moved to act.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about computers?” Gertie asked.
“Only what normal people know. The agency has an entire department dedicated to working with computer stuff. I’ve worked with them on most of my missions. Those people are on a whole different plane of existence.”
Ida Belle cocked her head to the side. “There might be someone—”
“Oh no!” Gertie shook her head so hard her headband slipped over her eyes.
“What?” I looked back and forth between Ida Belle and Gertie, who were locked in a stare-down.
“Give me another option then,” Ida Belle challenged.
“I…we can…crap.” Gertie sighed. “But I want to go on record saying that even though I can’t think of a better idea, I think this is a really bad one.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I said. “Should I ask?”
“She wants us to see the sorcerer,” Gertie said.
I looked back and forth between them, waiting for the punch line, but none was forthcoming. “Wow. I thought I had heard some ridiculous crap since I’ve been here—most of it from you two—but this takes it all. You want to have some voodoo person tell us how Pansy was killed? Why don’t we sacrifice a chicken while we’re there?”
“The Sorcerer is not a voodoo priest. He’s a techno-anarchist,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie nodded. “He’s rumored to be a member of Anonymous.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny bit of recall flickered. “Those people who hack major computer networks? We had a meeting about them at the agency.”
“Exactly my point,” Gertie said. “If the CIA held a meeting about them, then they’re dangerous. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved with those people.”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “Those are only rumors. No one knows for sure that he’s in that silly group.”
“No one knows for sure he’s not, either,” Gertie insisted. “In fact, all we know about him is rumor. Some say he makes his money in the stock market, but others say he’s laundering money for Colombian drug dealers. Some say he’s got a set of mercenaries complete with assault weapons and man-eating dogs guarding his residence.”
“We’re customers,” Ida Belle argued. “You don’t kill your customers.”
“I don’t know,” I said, getting a bad feeling about the entire thing. “If he can afford mercenaries, why would he help us? We can’t pay him a lot of money.”
“No, we can’t,” Ida Belle agreed, “but if he’s truly an anarchist that means the chance to best a law enforcement agency should get his attention, especially in the interest of justice to the common man. And I think you have something he’d be interested in for trade.”
“Me? I came here with a suitcase of clothes that I’d never even worn and a laptop. I seriously doubt he’s interested in my substandard computer equipment or girlie clothes. Heck, I’m not even interested in the girlie clothes.”
“Not you, directly, but Marge. According to the grapevine, The Sorcerer has a collection of historical military weaponry. Before her death, Marge accumulated quite a collection herself.”
I blew out a breath. I knew all about Marge’s collection. I’d accidentally tripped the sliding wall in the back of her closet and had practically drooled at the wall of beautiful weaponry hidden behind the panel. And Ida Belle was right: Some of it was old, but in excellent condition—the kind of items historical collectors would pay top dollar for.
But there was only one problem.
“Nothing in this house belongs to me,” I said. “It belongs to the real Sandy-Sue.”
“Based on what I know about Sandy-Sue,” Ida Belle said, “she wouldn’t have anything to do with weapons. And no one is aware of Marge’s collection except the three of us.”
“It’s still stealing,” I said.
Gertie shook her head. “Normally, I would agree, but if Marge were here, she’d give you a gun. I have no doubt about that.”
Ida Belle nodded. “And you are doing all Sandy-Sue’s work, cataloging the estate for sale—for no pay. Surely, that’s a fair trade.”
“Well, I haven’t exactly done anything about cataloging.”
“You have all summer for that,” Ida Belle said, “and Gertie and I will help.”
“It’s a fair trade,” Gertie said.
I stared out the window at the muddy bayou that cut across the backyard and weighed all the options. I didn’t like appropriating Sandy-Sue’s property, but I could probably get the agency to pay her back for the cost of the gun when this whole thing was over. The thing that bothered me the most was the many unknowns surrounding this Sorcerer. For all we knew, he could be part of the intelligence community himself, or even worse, someone who made his living trading information to the wrong people. If he was dialed into the arms community, there was a chance he knew about the price on my head.
“We need this information,” I said finally, “and if we move forward with this Sorcerer thing, I want to be there to get a read on him. But I have a concern.” I told them about my fear of an arms community connection.
“Which would be a completely valid concern if you remotely resembled the way you described your appearance before coming to Sinful, but unless he has facial recognition software, I doubt he’d recognize you all ‘girled’ up.”
“Actually, I was ‘girled’ up during the failed mission, so any pictures would be of me then. I had a handler for the girl end of things,” I explained.
“What did you look like for the mission?” Gertie asked.
“I had waist-length brown hair and brown contacts. I also had these fake teeth thing
s that gave me a slight gap in the front and this horrid bra that shoved my boobs under my chin. I had a cleavage cleft the size of most people’s butt crack.”
“What kind of clothes did you wear?” Ida Belle asked.
“Tight and clingy. Would have shown every ounce of extra fat if I’d had any. And the most ridiculous shoes—like balancing on stilts—but they make a good weapon in a pinch.”
Gertie raised her eyebrows. “Were you supposed to be a prostitute? No, don’t answer that. The less we know about your real life, the better.”
“Probably true,” Ida Belle said, “although the shoes-as-a-weapon thing is intriguing. Anyway, it sounds like you looked completely different than now. Throw on one of those Ellie May sundresses and a pair of sandals and pull your hair into a ponytail like you always do and you’ll look like any other hometown girl.”
I mulled it over for a moment, but couldn’t find a flaw in Ida Belle’s assessment. “Okay, so it’s a plan. Do you know where this Sorcerer lives?”
Ida Belle nodded. “According to my intel, he lives in Mudbug. It’s about an hour from here.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Your intel?”
Gertie shook her head. “A kid she plays Call of Duty with says one of their regular group is The Sorcerer.”
Finally, a pop culture item I was familiar with. I’d played Call of Duty at Harrison’s place on many occasions. “And you think this kid knows what he’s talking about?”
Ida Belle shrugged. “I’ll put an online call for a meet with this regular. If he doesn’t turn out to be capable of what we want, the only thing we’ve lost is time and a tank of gas.”
“All right,” I said and rose from the table. “Then I guess we’re going to see if The Sorcerer can work some magic. I’ll go upstairs and become a girl. You two figure out how we’re going to get to Mudbug, since Gertie wrecked her car and I refuse to ride in the Corvette with all Ida Belle’s rules.”
Gertie jumped up, looking perky. “I got an idea about that while we were jogging over.”
Ida Belle rose from her seat, looking as skeptical as I felt, but it was their job to work it out. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. How long will it take for you to fix the car?”
