Destined for Trouble (A Jules Cannon Mystery Book 1)

by Claudia Lefeve

  “Hell, she’s getting tipsy,” Aunt Lula said in response.

  I approached the women with caution, not relying on their aging eyesight. They were actually champion marksmen, but just the same, I didn’t want to risk a stay in the hospital due to an accidental gunshot wound—then again, it would get me out of working at Palmetto Pink.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” I said, approaching my aunt.

  “Jules! To what do we owe this lovely surprise? Care to join us?” Aunt Lula asked.

  I eyed the gallon of premixed bloody marys by her side. Drinking this early in the day with my aunt and her cronies, with shotguns no less, was not how I’d planned to spend my day, but if I wanted the skinny on Sheila, this was the place to be.

  “Actually, I’m here to ask you for a favor this time.”

  Her eyes were full of curiosity. “Speaking of favors, aren’t you supposed to be at the store?” Aunt Lula questioned.

  I’d wondered how long it would take her to notice. “Not till one,” I said. Without her permission, I’d switched schedules with one of the other girls for this particular outing. “Do you have a moment?”

  Aunt Lula gently propped her shotgun against the railing. “Why, of course, dear. Let’s move farther down the deck, I’m afraid Ginny’s had one too many cocktails this morning. No telling where her shots are going to fly.”

  I knew Aunt Lula was teasing, knowing full well the members of the Trouble Island Ladies Trap & Skeet Club held numerous trophies for their marksmanship skills. They even held celebrity status around town. Imagine, a group of little old ladies over the age of sixty being honored for the sole purpose of being good shots—only in Texas.

  “Abby Lee’s in trouble,” I said, getting right to the point. “The police hauled her in for questioning. I suspect they think she killed Harvey.”

  Aunt Lula let the information sink in. When she finally spoke, she was furious. “Why, that’s preposterous! Poor lamb couldn’t hurt a fly. I have half a mind to go over to the station and give them a piece of my mind.”

  I cringed. That was exactly what I’d said to myself the night before.

  “Poor Abby Lee. Those fools wouldn’t know a cow patty from manure.”

  “I don’t think they’d appreciate you telling them how to do their job, but we do need your help.”

  “And what could I possibly do to help?” Aunt Lula asked.

  How could I phrase this delicately without completely offending her? “Um, well, it’s well known you are always the first to know about the comings and goings around town.” It was as nice as I could get without outright accusing my aunt of being the main instigator of all gossip on the island. Truth be told, I was actually surprised she didn’t already know about Abby Lee being questioned last night. Her network of informants must have been sleeping on the job. “I thought maybe you could tell me a little more about Sheila.”

  Her eyes narrowed in on mine. “I see. And you think perhaps Sheila had a hand in killing her husband. Well I wouldn’t be surprised. That woman has been nothing but trouble since she set foot in this town,” she said, not noting the irony in her statement.

  “What are y’all cackling about over there?” Jackie came over, losing interest in the clay pigeons in favor of our conversation. Following her lead, the other women lost interest as well and came over to where Aunt Lula and I were huddled.

  “It’s Abby Lee,” Aunt Lula said. “Seems our town’s finest think she murdered Harvey.”

  Gasps of surprise befell the women all at once. If you thought they loved guns, they loved gossip even more.

  “What?”

  “. . . that poor girl.”

  “How do you know?”

  “. . . couldn’t possibly!”

  “Are you sure?”

  A few of them cast raised eyebrows at Aunt Lula. No one had to tell me what they were thinking. They were wondering, like I had, why they hadn’t already heard about Abby Lee being hauled in for questioning. If my aunt had known about it, it would have been the first item on the agenda.

  “Now, ladies, hush for a second. I gotta think,” Aunt Lula ordered.

  The women simply stood there in silence and nodded. No one dared interrupt my aunt while she was in deep thought.

  Upon further reflection, maybe asking Aunt Lula for advice wasn’t one of my better ideas. I could have just as easily gone to Mom for information. No, scratch that . . . if I had gone to my mom, any information she gave would have accompanied an earful from her about not getting involved in a police investigation, blah, blah, blah.

  After a moment of contemplation, Aunt Lula finally addressed the group. “Well, we all know that Abby Lee isn’t capable of murder. So the solution is simple—we try to find Harvey’s killer ourselves.”

  It was exactly the conclusion I had come up with the previous night, but it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I’d asked Aunt Lula for help. All I wanted was some information that could help cast suspicion on someone other than my friend. The justice system called it “reasonable doubt.” I called it saving my friend.

  “I don’t think—” I started to say before the old women started talking all at once again.

  “Brilliant!” Ginny remarked.

  “Where do we start?” Jackie wanted to know.

  Carol didn’t seem so sure. “Oh my . . .” Of the group, she was always the last on board when it came to my aunt’s schemes. She only went along with Aunt Lula for fear of losing her social standing in the town. Although I suspected most of them went along with whatever my aunt said for the same reason.

  “Ladies, quiet down. Really. How can anyone get a word in with all your cackling?” Aunt Lula said. “I suggest we all take a rain check for the day and go home and try to think of any suspicious activity that’s occurred over the last few weeks. If you remember anything, call me immediately.”

  I was in shell shock—no pun intended—as I watched the women gather their shotguns and coolers, speaking eagerly among themselves, clearly excited about the prospect of solving a murder, as they made their way to their cars.

  “Aunt Lula, do you think that was wise?” I asked. “Now they’re just going to go around town letting everyone know what we’re up to.” I didn’t have to mention that they weren’t as discreet as my aunt when it came to idle gossip. I had hoped we could keep this on the down low. Especially from Justin.

  “Nonsense,” she assured me. “We’ll keep it among ourselves. The gals know how to keep a secret.”

  Right. For them, not spreading rumors was like asking someone not to breathe. Somehow I knew this was going to bite me in the rump, but I kept my mouth shut, realizing I had just made the biggest mistake ever.

  I finally arrived at Palmetto Pink for the afternoon shift. Aunt Lula wasn’t supposed to be in today—Saturday mornings were reserved for shooting skeet with the gals and the afternoons for recovering from all the booze—but since I’d disrupted their shooting practice earlier that morning, she was still sober and too wound up to stay home.

  “So? Where do we start?” Aunt Lula asked as soon as she walked in. I could tell she was trying to appear casual, but it had only been a couple hours since I last saw her. She could hardly contain her excitement about possibly solving a murder case. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a long shot. We weren’t police detectives. Hell, we weren’t even private investigators.

  I’d kept myself occupied by replenishing the floor with merchandise we’d sold out of during the last couple of days. While clearing Abby Lee’s name was constantly on my mind, I had momentarily put it on hold to finish the task at hand. Now here was Aunt Lula ready to play Nancy Drew.

  “On what?” I played dumb, knowing exactly what she was getting at. After I left Aunt Lula and her cronies, I’d decided right then and there not to get them involved. Maybe if I didn’t bring it up agai
n, they’d forget about my stupid idea of trying to outwit the police.

  “What have you come up with so far? Any potential suspects?” It seemed my aunt had about as much patience as a kid in need of Ritalin. Though, I can’t say I blamed her for her enthusiasm. This was the most excitement Trouble Island had seen in a while.

  I didn’t remind my aunt I came straight to the store after seeing her this morning. “It’s too soon to tell.”

  Then I thought of something. Damn. It looked like I was going to need her help after all.

  “Hey, did you know Harvey had a nephew?” I rehashed the conversation I had with Justin about the estranged nephew from Lufkin. Even though I had my sights on Sheila as suspect numero uno, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at Harvey’s nephew. I thought any family member would be just as likely to kill someone over an inheritance.

  She nodded. At least this time I wasn’t giving her new information. Her reputation was secure. “Surprised me for a spell when I found out,” she said. “In all the years I’d known Harvey, he never mentioned any sort of family. Then one day a few months back, his nephew strolls into town. I guess we all have our secrets.”

  “I wonder why he never mentioned him.”

  “Maybe the nephew’s a convicted felon,” she pondered out loud. “If that’s the case and he were my kin, I wouldn’t be bragging about him either,” she said.

  Here we go. “We don’t know he’s a convicted felon.” Boy, how my aunt loved to speculate about people.

  “No, I don’t think that’s it,” I went on. There had to be another reason Harvey never mentioned having family. Maybe they just didn’t get along. Lots of families didn’t. Why should the Boyette clan be any different?

  “You’d be surprised what people are capable of once they take their masks off. Why just the other day, at the diner, I heard Stanley Irsik bragging to Carol that he only bathed once a week. As if he were proud of it! Said taking a morning dip in the Gulf made him clean enough. Imagine!”

  I ignored her commentary on personal hygiene. “Still, it seems odd that Harvey never spoke of his family before. I heard his nephew was going to stick around a few days and sort out some of his affairs. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit and find out what his story is.”

  Aunt Lula’s face broke out into a smile. “You see? You’re already thinking like a real private eye.”

  I didn’t want to burst her bubble of excitement by reminding her I wasn’t a private investigator. Far from it. Sure, I had a graduate degree in criminology, but that didn’t equate to a license. I was simply a friend helping out another friend.

  Her eyes gleamed. “In fact, why don’t you take the afternoon off so you can go talk to him?”

  It was only two hours into my shift, but I wasn’t going to refuse her offer. I’d do anything to be able to cut off work early. Even if it meant locating the estranged nephew of a murder victim so I could ask him questions. But first, I had to lay down some ground rules.

  “Before I go off to do anything, I want you to promise me you aren’t going to get your friends involved in all this,” I said.

  Aunt Lula eyed me before answering. “Fine. I’ll keep them out of it, but you’ll at least let me help, right?”

  I couldn’t see any way around it. “OK. But no snooping on your own, got it?”

  She smiled, satisfied by our compromise. “Deal.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There were only two places to stay on Trouble Island, aside from condo and beach-house rentals. Somehow I doubted Harvey’s nephew was staying at Sheila’s, so finding him wouldn’t be too difficult in a town this size.

  Just as I left the store, I realized I didn’t know his name. What if he had a different family name, not Boyette? I couldn’t very well call around asking for a guest without a name.

  I quickly pulled out my cell phone. Aunt Lula was only too pleased to be able to offer the information. His name was Donald Walker. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to keep her on call after all.

  I called the Trouble Inn, and fortunately for me, Teresa Brown was working reception at the inn. She’d had a major crush on my brother back in high school and had always been nice to me as a result. Teresa was all too happy to tell me what I wanted to know.

  “Oh, sorry, Jules. We don’t have a Walker listed on the registry. Why don’t you try the Trouble Island Hotel? If he’s not staying here, he probably checked in there,” she said. “And how’s Scott doing?”

  “He’s good. Still in Dallas. Thanks, Teresa.” I quickly hung up before she asked what his relationship status was.

  I didn’t bother to call the hotel. Like Teresa said, if he wasn’t staying at the Trouble Inn, he was staying there. With the hotel being on the other end of the island, I opted to take my truck—it had only taken a few hours to get my windshield replaced.

  I found Donald seated at the bar, just where the hotel receptionist said he’d be. This was easier than I’d thought. It was a bit early in the day for happy hour, but who was I to judge? Earlier that morning, I’d left five gracefully aging widows drinking bloody marys out of a Tupperware thermos while in the possession of firearms.

  Finding him was easy, but at this point I didn’t know where to start. I’d never questioned anyone in connection to a murder. Sure, I worked for the FBI, but it was kind of like being a car salesman and not having a clue how to fix what’s under the hood. I knew the particulars, but I had no experience in actually investigating crimes.

  I hovered near the entrance to the bar and watched as he sipped his drink. I decided he seemed harmless enough, so I put on my big-girl pants and mustered up the courage to approach him at the bar before I got cold feet. My plan was to wing it, hoping I’d find my stride. The guys back at the bureau made it seem so easy.

  Here goes nothing, I said to myself as I slid onto the bar stool next to his. “Hey, I recognize you from Harvey’s funeral,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Donald must have been deep in thought, staring into his half-empty glass. He jumped at the sound of my voice. “Oh, um, thanks.”

  “Were y’all close?” I already knew they weren’t, but I was interested in his take on the relationship he had with his uncle.

  He seemed more interested in getting a refill for his drink than the conversation. “Not really. I just came down to pay my respects,” he said.

  “You drove all the way down to say good-bye to an uncle you hardly knew? That’s awfully good of you,” I said.

  “Not really,” he said absently as he signaled to the bartender for another round. “Been down here before, actually.”

  A fact already confirmed by Aunt Lula. “Really?”

  He finally turned his attention to me and gave me the full once-over treatment. I must have passed muster, because he went on to elaborate. “Up until a couple months ago, I had no idea I had an uncle, until my mother told me about him, so I finally came by for a visit.”

  “When was that exactly?”

  Donald narrowed his eyes. He was getting suspicious. “You’re awfully curious. Is there something you want?” he asked, not answering my question.

  Looked like I’d have to brush up on my investigative techniques in the future. I waved off his suspicions. “You know how it is in small towns, we’re always poking our noses in other people’s business.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said and downed the rest of his drink. “It was nice talking to you, but I’d better head out. I’m supposed to help Harvey’s wife, and I’m already running late. What was your name again?”

  “Jules.”

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Jules, but I gotta run.” Donald signaled for the check. “Just charge it to my room,” he said to the bartender as he left the bar.

  The man behind the bar looked expectantly at me. As much as I wanted to down a glass of wine to calm my nerves, I passed. “Oh, nothing f
or me. I was just leaving.”

  I learned absolutely zilch from talking to Harvey’s nephew, but at least he confirmed he had visited Trouble Island before. Perhaps it was nothing, but it was still odd that a nephew Harvey never mentioned would randomly come for a visit.

  I wondered what exactly he was helping Sheila with.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thank God it was my day off at the store. Even after only a few days, I wasn’t sure how much more working at Palmetto Pink I could take. If the sole purpose of my being there wasn’t to help my aunt out, I would have quit already. Then again, I wouldn’t have taken the job in the first place.

  Since we were all free for the day, Aunt Lula invited me and Abby Lee over to her house for her famous ceviche. It was famous only because it was the only thing she knew how to make, and fortunately, for everyone involved, it was delicious.

  Aunt Lula lived on the opposite end of the island from my folks, so I had to drive to her place. Going over to my aunt’s brought back fond memories. I always loved going over to Aunt Lula’s as a kid. The house that she and my uncle Jep built together was right on the water, her enclosed sleeping porch overlooking the Gulf. Every weekend I was allowed to stay over, much to my mom’s annoyance. It was during those times Aunt Lula let me play dress up, taught me how to set a formal dinner table, and taught me how to play poker with a straight face.

  When Aunt Lula realized both Abby Lee and I had a day off, it was her idea to meet at her house. She thought it wise to conduct what she considered business in private. She of all people knew that talking in public would only ignite the already-fueled gossip surrounding Harvey’s murder.

  We decided to hold off discussing the case until Abby Lee arrived, which wasn’t long as we finally heard Abby Lee pull up onto the drive. My aunt and I each greeted her with a hug the moment she entered the house. She didn’t have to say it, but I could tell the investigation was taking its toll on her. The dark circles under her eyes were a dead giveaway. I wondered how many sleepless hours she’d clocked in.