Swamp Spook

by Jana DeLeon

  “I still can’t believe it,” Gertie said. “Our first official case and our client is Carter. Who would have ever thought?”

  “Certainly not Carter,” Ida Belle said. “Or me. Or Fortune. I’m not sure even Nostradamus could have seen that one coming.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Gertie said. “It’s not like I’m happy about the position Carter is in. That part sucks huge. But I’m definitely happy to have official approval to stick my nose in.”

  “Secret official approval,” I said. “No one can ever know Carter asked us to look into this. He’d be in just as much trouble as if he’d done it himself.”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “The point still is for the first time ever, we won’t have to invent ridiculous stories to hide what we’re doing from Carter.”

  “Sure we will,” Ida Belle said. “The last person who needs to know the details of what we’re doing is Carter. If he doesn’t know anything, he won’t have to lie if he’s questioned. Or admit the truth. Either is bad.”

  “Ida Belle’s right,” I said. “But we do have an advantage in that all we have to do this time is tell him he doesn’t want to know, and he won’t push it.”

  “Works for me,” Gertie said. “Might as well have been given a Get Out of Jail Free card. So to speak, of course. I mean, I’m really hoping no one goes to jail this time.”

  “We have spent an inordinate amount of time there lately,” Ida Belle agreed.

  “Out of curiosity,” I said, “how much time did you spend there before I came to Sinful?”

  “Oh, well,” Gertie said, “there was the occasional still explosion incident and hunting dove off-season, although that was my mistake because I had the date wrong. And there’s been a couple of vehicle mishaps that weren’t my fault, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said and grinned. “What about you?” I asked Ida Belle.

  “I do my best to stay out of jail,” Ida Belle said. “But I did have a visit there this spring over a boating issue.”

  “What kind of boating issue gets you thrown in jail?” I asked. “I mean, besides stealing one.”

  “Shooting one,” Gertie said.

  “You shot a boat?” I asked. “Was your aim off?”

  “My aim is never off,” Ida Belle said. “It was either shoot him or his boat. I opted for the one that would get me less time behind bars.”

  “And the him in this story refers to?” I asked.

  “Pastor Don,” Gertie said, almost gleefully.

  I stared. “Should I even ask why you wanted to shoot Pastor Don or his boat?”

  Ida Belle frowned. “He might have suggested I should be more of a lady and settle down with Walter.”

  “Holy crap!” I said. “I’m surprised you didn’t shoot him. I didn’t realize he was in the business of minding other people’s love life.”

  “He’s a romantic,” Gertie said. “The whole Sinful Ladies creed upsets him. He’s been looking for the perfect mate his whole life and hasn’t found her. He can’t wrap his mind around someone being offered an idyllic match and turning them down for decades.”

  “And Walter gives him a discount on all his purchases,” Ida Belle said.

  “That’s not the only reason he likes Walter,” Gertie said. “Everyone in Sinful likes Walter, even Celia. No one understands why you won’t marry him. Not even me.”

  “Walter understands,” Ida Belle said. “He doesn’t like it. But he understands.”

  Gertie shook her head. “Whatever. Anyway, that’s why Ida Belle spent a night in jail this spring. Pastor Don wasn’t going to press charges anyway, but a fisherman saw her shoot his boat, so Carter didn’t have a choice but to throw her in the clink while he sorted things out.”

  “Out of curiosity,” I said, “what kind of charges does one get for illegally assaulting a boat?”

  “It could be serious if they go with destruction of private property,” Gertie said. “And someone wanting to make an issue of it could have accused her of shooting at Pastor Don. But in this case, Ida Belle claimed it was an accident.”

  “And Carter believed you accidentally discharged your weapon?” I asked.

  “Of course he didn’t believe it,” Ida Belle said. “But he didn’t want to write me up on something more serious and Pastor Don didn’t want me written up at all. So he called it accidental discharge, I paid a fine, and it was over.”

  “And Pastor Don doesn’t make romantic suggestions for Ida Belle anymore,” Gertie said.

  “Best thing to come out of the whole mess,” Ida Belle said. “I might make the rounds shooting holes in some more boats if people don’t stop offering unsolicited advice.”

  She gave Gertie a pointed look in the rearview mirror but I didn’t take her threat seriously. First off, she’d been listening to Gertie’s opinion for a coon’s age. Second, Gertie managed to keep her boat out of commission with her own doings. She didn’t need Ida Belle’s help.

  “Well, the good news is, nothing we’re doing right now should be a cause for anyone to be arrested,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t say that with utter confidence,” Ida Belle said. “This is Sinful. And it’s us. Things have a way of turning out differently than we think they should.”

  “At least we’ll be in the right place,” Gertie said. “Doctor’s office and all.”

  We had all agreed that the first bit of information we needed was the autopsy results. And since the ME’s office wasn’t an option, we decided a different angle aside from our usual breaking-and-entering was in order. Given that Dr. Wilkinson had been leading the autopsy charge, we figured he was privy to the results. Which meant they would be somewhere in his office. So instead of breaking in to steal them, we figured we’d walk right through the front door with an appointment and steal them.

  “So how are we going to play this?” Gertie asked. “Are you going to fake chest pains or something?” She looked at me.

  “Me?” I said. “No. You’re going to fake chest pains.”

  “Why do I have to be the patient?” Gertie asked.

  “Why do I always have to be the floozy?” I asked.

  “Because men are pigs and don’t see the value of a more seasoned woman,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle snorted. “If you call petrified wood ‘seasoning.’”

  Gertie glared at her, then looked back at me. “You play the floozy because you’re more suited for the role given societal standards.”

  “Well, there you go,” I said. “Do you really think Dr. Wilkinson will believe I have heart trouble? I’m sure Celia’s told him about the whole CIA thing. They don’t hand out guns to people who are likely to have a heart attack in the middle of a mission.”

  Gertie frowned. “Okay. I can buy that. But what about Ida Belle? She’s as old as me.”

  “But I’m in better shape,” Ida Belle said. “Besides, I have a high tolerance for pain and I’m a horrible actress when it comes to drama. He’d never believe me.”

  Gertie sighed. “No. He wouldn’t. Fine, but I’m not pretending to be some frail old woman.”

  “All you have to do is say you’ve been having chest pains and shortness of breath,” I said. “That combined with your age will be enough to have Wilkinson do some tests. At first opportunity, we’ll use one of your smoke bombs to set off the fire alarm and when everyone clears out, we’ll have a go at the files in Wilkinson’s office.”

  “Just remember,” Ida Belle said. “Smoke only. Nothing with sound. Wilkinson is a cardiologist. I don’t want to set off a heart attack chain reaction. We just need to set off the alarm so that everyone exits quietly and without panic. We have probably a five- to ten-minute window before the fire department shows up.”

  “That should be plenty of time,” I said. “Gertie will exit with the crowd and make sure they stay put, and Ida Belle and I will make a dash for the office. Whoever finds it first takes pics of the autopsy report with their cell phone.”

  “That sounds sim
ple enough,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. It did sound simple. And that was part of what was worrying me. We tended to turn simple into elaborate chaos. I had tried to think of the ways this could go wrong and come up with plans B, C, D, and E, but there were so many options that I didn’t have time to plan for all of them. I’d just have to play it by ear.

  Dr. Wilkinson’s office was down the highway near the hospital, so a bit of a drive. It was in a fairly new set of buildings that housed different medical professionals—doctors, dentists, optometrists.

  “Hey, maybe while we’re here, we can make you an appointment to get new glasses,” I said.

  “I told you I don’t need new glasses,” Gertie said. “I’m going to have LASIK.”

  “You keep saying that like it’s going to occur,” Ida Belle said. “But yet months have passed and you haven’t even talked to a doctor to see if you’re a candidate.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Gertie asked.

  “Age, for one,” Ida Belle said. “You think the rest of your body deteriorates but your eyes stay young?”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll call next week.”

  I shook my head. We’d heard that one before as well.

  “Here we are,” Ida Belle said. “Now, I had to strong-arm the receptionist a bit to get you in this morning, so make sure you play up how worried you are.”

  “Got it,” Gertie said.

  We climbed out and headed inside. I took a seat in the waiting area beside a man with an oxygen tank, figuring the more distance between him and Gertie’s purse, the better. Ida Belle headed up to the window with Gertie to check in. Ida Belle had her hand on Gertie’s arm, pretending to guide her, and Gertie had one hand over her chest, her shoulders slumped and head slightly drooped. Perfect.

  Ida Belle gave the receptionist Gertie’s name and Ida Belle filled out some forms that Gertie signed, then they took seats near me.

  “I hope this doesn’t take hours,” Gertie said. “You know how these doctors are.”

  “No. I don’t,” Ida Belle said. “And neither do you. I’m too healthy to see them and you’re too stubborn. I’ll bet money the local paramedics and ER employees know you by your first name but not a single general practitioner does.”

  “The kind of injuries I sustain are the on-the-job sort,” Gertie said. “The job is usually at night and they’re the kind of things that can’t wait until the next morning. And if they can, then it’s probably something I can fix myself with peroxide and a little skin tape. I can also stitch in a pinch. I have nice seams. That might come in handy for us during a case.”

  “If we ever find ourselves in a position to need you to give anyone stitches,” I said, “I’m officially changing professions. I’ll check into the whole librarian thing for real.”

  “The CIA didn’t train you to administer stitches?” Gertie asked.

  I shook my head. “They trained us to not get injured. And if we did, to just go ahead and die.”

  “I’d love to see that employee handbook,” Gertie said. “I bet your HR department just loved those kind of job descriptions.”

  I shrugged. “We were all government employees. Just a cog in the machine. One cog fails, you replace it with another.”

  Gertie frowned. “I’m glad you left. You’re not just a moving part here.”

  I smiled. It was different to be seen as a person and not a machine with a list of successes. Different and nice. Not that some people hadn’t appreciated me as a person. My partner, Harrison, was a good dude and had left the agency when I did. We stayed in touch and probably always would. When two people had shared the kind of intense situations we had—literally relying on each other to stay alive—it created bonds that lasted forever.

  And there was my former boss, Director Morrow. He and his wife had taken me in when my dad died. I can’t say that we were ever really close. Morrow didn’t have kids and wasn’t sure how to relate to a teen with no parents and a stellar set of anger issues. I didn’t know how to deal with people attempting to actually raise me and show an interest in my life. It was an uncomfortable situation for all of us, but we managed to muddle through it, mostly by staying in our own lanes. Still, I knew if there was anything I needed, all I had to do was call and Morrow would do what he could to help me.

  “I’m glad I left, too,” I said.

  “Gertie Hebert,” a nurse called from a door at the front of the waiting area.

  “We’re up,” Gertie said, and pushed herself up from the chair. Ida Belle and I jumped up to assist her, really playing up the sick role.

  “My friends brought me to the appointment,” Gertie said to the nurse. “I hope it’s okay to have them with me.”

  “Of course,” the nurse said and gave Gertie a sympathetic look. “It’s never a bad thing to have a friend or family member with you for this sort of thing.”

  “Gonna have to be friends,” Gertie said. “Family’s all gone.”

  “We’re still family,” Ida Belle said. “Blood doesn’t make a difference.”

  The nurse nodded. “I absolutely agree. And you’re fortunate enough to have two good ones. Right in here.” She opened a door and waved us into a room. “I’m just going to check your blood pressure and then the doctor will be in to see you.”

  When the nurse went to the back of the room to retrieve the blood pressure monitor, Ida Belle leaned over and whispered, “I heard Pastor Don is going to let Celia’s group run the Christmas celebration this year.”

  Gertie sat bolt straight and flushed a dark shade of red. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “Marie overheard him when she was there helping with the books.”

  “Okay,” the nurse said, “give me that arm.”

  Gertie extended her arm out, and the nurse attached the cuff and started pumping it with air.

  “You’re a bit flushed,” the nurse said as she placed the stethoscope on Gertie’s wrist. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Not really,” Gertie said.

  The nurse was silent for a bit, then removed the cuff and frowned. “Your blood pressure is sky-high. Has that been a problem lately?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” Gertie said.

  The nurse gave her arm a squeeze. “Don’t you worry, honey. The doctor will get you fixed right up.” She gave us a nod and left the room.

  “Sneaky,” I said. “I like it.”

  “What?” Gertie asked.

  Ida Belle chuckled. “Me telling you that lie to get your blood pressure up.”

  Gertie let out a whoosh of relief. “So it’s not true?”

  “Pastor Don would rather forgo Christmas than turn over the celebration to Celia,” Ida Belle said.

  “Thank God,” Gertie said. “I was about to suggest we leave here and figure out how to have Pastor Don committed. Celia running the Christmas celebration would be an even bigger emergency than a murder.”

  “At least you have your priorities straight,” I said.

  The door opened again and a man with Dr. Wilkinson stitched on his scrubs walked in.

  Sixtyish. Six foot one. One hundred sixty pounds. Decent muscle mass for his age. Low body fat count. Seemed to practice what he preached to patients, but probably wouldn’t last two seconds in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Ms. Hebert,” Dr. Wilkinson said as he looked up from her file. “I hear you’re having some chest pains? How long have you been experiencing them?”

  “About a week or so,” Gertie said. “I thought it was just heartburn, but Ida Belle insisted that I get it checked out.”

  “We’ve had several friends pass over the last couple years,” Ida Belle said. “All of them ignored the signs.”

  Dr. Wilkinson nodded. “A lot of people do, and I don’t mean this as sexist in any way, but women are worse about it than men. I think your tolerance for pain is higher and you’re used to putting your needs second. And let’s face it, none of us likes to admit that our healthiest days are be
hind us.”

  “I’m healthy,” Gertie said. “Well, except for this heart thing.”

  “And your blood pressure,” Dr. Wilkinson said. “When you take the chest pains into account with the blood pressure and your age and weight, I think it would be a good idea to run a few tests.”

  “Weight?” Gertie said and glared. “I’m not overweight.”

  “We could all stand to lose a couple pounds,” Dr. Wilkinson said, his tone one of a man soothing an upset child. It sorta bristled.

  “I don’t need to lose a couple pounds,” I said.

  I wasn’t lying. I needed to lose more like five to eight.

  Dr. Wilkinson looked over at me, as if just focusing in on me for the first time. He scanned me up and down and nodded. “You have excellent muscle tone and appear to be weight-height proportionate. How are you maintaining your physique?”

  “She’s younger than my slacks,” Gertie said. “She burns calories simply by getting out of bed.”

  Dr. Wilkinson smiled. “Things do seem to slow a bit as we get older. Of course, our activities slow down as well, so I suppose it all falls in line.”

  “Not my activities,” Gertie said. “I boat, fish, and even skydive.”

  Dr. Wilkinson raised one eyebrow. “Yes, well, perhaps until we figure out this heart thing, you should leave skydiving off the list. I recall that event didn’t turn out as you expected it to, and I can’t imagine that all the excitement was good for your blood pressure.”

  “Her skydiving isn’t good for anyone’s blood pressure,” Ida Belle said.

  Dr. Wilkinson smiled. “I’ll set you up with Corey for the tests. Since you’re wearing running shoes, I’d like to do them today, if your schedule allows. It’s always best to get a handle on this sort of thing as soon as possible.”

  “That would be great,” Ida Belle said.

  “Why do I need running shoes?” Gertie asked.

  “For the stress test,” Dr. Wilkinson said. “Corey will come get you when he’s ready to start.”