Swamp Spook

by Jana DeLeon

  “Yeah, it is. I’ll figure out a way to get the state police moving on it. If Bullard had the body at his house, we’ll be able to find evidence of it.”

  “Can you get a search warrant?”

  “It might take a phone call to the governor, but I think the state police can probably make it happen. You realize this might be the end of this entire mess.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “You sound disappointed. You shouldn’t be. You uncovered a big secret. I don’t know why you focused on him in the first place, but whatever the reason, it was the right call. And you managed to do it with minimal disruption to the local peace and quiet.”

  I knew I should be happy. Greg Bullard was most likely the guilty party and the state police would gladly arrest him and jet out of Sinful as fast as their car would take them. I would tell Carter where the body had been stored and give him the list of maze workers for evidence and my role would be complete. Carter would be back in charge and everything could get back to normal. But there was still that one niggling doubt that I couldn’t shake.

  “I guess I’m still not convinced Garrett died of natural causes,” I said. “Did you find anything on the butler?”

  “Plenty. Full name is Christopher Abrams. His record is clean but to be sure, I gave a buddy of mine with NOLA PD a call to see if there was something that didn’t make the official record. He said Abrams was a gambling addict and into the local loan sharks for money. There was some grumbling from relatives of his previous employer about missing jewelry but nothing that ever made the file.”

  “You think he’s in Sinful to lift Garrett’s valuables while his wife isn’t looking?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Or he could be lying low here until he figures out a way to get more cash. My friend said the kind of people he owed were the last ones you wanted to borrow from. But even if Garrett was murdered, I don’t see how he could have done it. Garrett died in Sinful, and I don’t think Abrams had access to the house here. Only the one in New Orleans.”

  I sighed. “I know. But I knew something was off about him. I guess now I know what it is.” I paused for a moment, weighing my options, then finally said, “There’s something else.”

  “I’m not sure I can handle anything else.”

  “It’s probably nothing given that Garrett’s death isn’t a murder, but Francesca is having an affair. With Dylan Sims.”

  I heard an intake of breath, then Carter cursed. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Saw it with my own binoculars. It definitely wasn’t the way I greet contractors working on my house.”

  “I don’t like it, but I don’t see that there’s anything to be done about it either.”

  “I know. But I thought I’d better let you know.”

  “Sure. I’m pulling up in front of the sheriff’s department so I have to let you go. You’ve done an excellent job, Fortune. Really great. I almost wish it wasn’t the case because this means you’ll keep doing it, but I give credit where credit is due. You would make a good cop if you ever change your mind about working for the government again.”

  “Not in this lifetime,” I said, a swell of pride washing over me because I could tell by his tone that he really meant it. He wasn’t just saying it to make me happy. “Thanks.”

  Ida Belle studied me as I disconnected. “You’re blushing. I’m afraid to ask what he said. Was it something dirty?”

  I laughed. “No. He told me I’d done an excellent job.”

  Ida Belle nodded her approval. “And so you have. I never expected anything less. Now go take a hot shower and put on some dry clothes before you catch a cold. And make sure Gertie is borrowing something that covers all of her body parts, especially the jiggly ones. I don’t want to see anything else bouncing on that woman today.”

  “I’ll give her one of Marge’s track suits. I still haven’t cleaned out the closet. Please tell me we don’t have to work the festival tonight. Because I really don’t feel like doing anything more than showering, having an awesome dinner at Francine’s, then sitting in my recliner and not thinking or doing a darn thing until tomorrow.”

  “You’re in luck,” Ida Belle said. “Tonight is the costume contest, so you’re off the hook.”

  “I’m surprised Gertie doesn’t enter,” I said.

  “She’s not allowed. It’s for kids only. She keeps threatening to file an age discrimination lawsuit.”

  “What’s stopping her?”

  Ida Belle grinned. “She doesn’t want to give her real age.”

  Banging on my front door sent me hurtling out of bed. I reached for my pistol but got Merlin’s tail instead. He was not amused. Before I let go, he managed to leave tread marks up my arm and across my shoulder.

  “What the hell were you doing sitting on the nightstand?” I yelled as he shot out of the bedroom. I grabbed the pistol he’d been perched on top of and hurried downstairs. A quick glance at my watch told me it was barely 8:30 a.m., which left only three options—Carter, Ida Belle and Gertie, or the state police.

  Regardless, the intensity of the visit was clear in both the energy and strength of the knocking. I hurried to the front door, not even bothering to look, and flung it open. When I saw Gertie and Ida Belle standing there, I relaxed and lowered my firing arm.

  “What the heck?” I said.

  “If you answered your phone, I wouldn’t have to startle you out of bed,” Ida Belle said.

  “She got me, too,” Gertie said as she shuffled inside. “I didn’t even remember to grab a hat. I’m telling you right now, I’m not going anywhere like this.”

  “You’re wearing Batman pajamas and loafers,” Ida Belle said. “I’m not going anywhere with you like that but here, so relax.”

  I headed for the kitchen. Whatever had Ida Belle knocking down doors this early must be good, as we’d all agreed the night before to sleep in and meet for lunch. I put coffee on, then took a seat.

  “Well?” I said. “What happened? Did they get the search warrant for Greg Bullard’s place?”

  Carter had informed the state police of the “local gossip” he’d picked up concerning Bullard and Roth yesterday evening, and they’d immediately set out to get a warrant. But I figured that wouldn’t happen until midmorning or after.

  “Abrams is dead,” Ida Belle said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What?”

  “The hell you say?”

  Gertie and I both spoke at once.

  Ida Belle nodded. “One of the Roth estate housekeepers is the niece of a Sinful Lady. She said the doors were locked when the crew got there this morning, and no one answered. So she went around back to see if Francesca was in the library and found Abrams sitting by the pool, dead in the lounge chair.”

  “That must have freaked her out,” Gertie said.

  “Completely,” Ida Belle said. “She started yelling and the woman who runs the crew came around. She took one look at Abrams and called the sheriff’s department. Carter told them to stay put and not touch anything, and he and the state police showed up fifteen minutes later.”

  “What about Francesca?” I asked.

  “She was still sleeping,” Ida Belle said. “The back door was unlocked, so the state police went in and banged on her bedroom door. They were just about to break it down when she unlocked the door.”

  “She slept through all that yelling?” Gertie asked.

  “She claimed she took a sleeping pill,” Ida Belle said. “At least that’s what one of the state police told Carter before they told the housekeepers to go home.”

  “This is a twist I didn’t see coming,” Gertie said.

  “That’s not even the best part,” Ida Belle said. “The housekeeper said he smelled of almonds.”

  “Cyanide,” I said. “He was murdered.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “The state police sat Francesca in a patio chair and were yelling on their cell phones about crime scene units and search warrants. That’s the last thin
g the housekeepers heard before they left.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Just wow. Can this situation grow any more arms?”

  “So do we think Francesca killed Abrams?” Gertie asked. “Maybe he found out about her and Sims. If there was a cheater clause in the will…”

  “Yes, but if you’re going to kill someone, would you do it in your own house and when the two of you are the only people there?” I asked. “Not to mention using something as obvious as cyanide. It’s too easy to spot.”

  “Maybe one of those disreputable people he owes money to followed him from New Orleans,” Gertie said.

  “Figured they could kill him and the widow would take the fall?” Ida Belle asked. “It’s a good plan, but why would people he owed money to want to kill him? You can’t collect from dead people.”

  “True, but we don’t know what else he was mixed up in,” I said. “The gambling could have been the tip of the iceberg.”

  “I suppose we’re about to find out what else he was up to,” Gertie said. “Unless the state police take the shortcut and just book Francesca and call it a day.”

  “Has Carter told them about Sims?” Ida Belle asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He didn’t think it relevant to the headless-man-in-the-maze investigation, so I think he was going to keep it to himself. At least until they cleared out. Then I figured he’d do some poking into it, especially once he got a hold of the will.”

  “Unless they know about Sims, they don’t have motive,” Ida Belle said.

  “That hasn’t exactly stopped them from jumping to conclusions before,” Gertie pointed out.

  “No,” Ida Belle agreed. “But if Carter holds his tongue on Sims for a bit longer, then maybe they’ll take a closer look at Abrams. I think there was probably a lot more to the man than what we know.”

  “So what do we do now?” Gertie said.

  I blew out a breath. “We wait.”

  The wait took forever. Seriously. I’m pretty sure our clothes went out of style it took so long. I’d sent Carter a text asking him to check in when he could after I’d heard Ida Belle’s story. Then we’d gotten a call from Walter, who was curious about all the activity over at the sheriff’s department. Apparently, he’d witnessed the scrambling of vehicles earlier and had figured something big had happened and we would be the ones to know about it. Since we were going stir-crazy sitting in my kitchen, we decided to move our drama fest to Walter’s back room. At least at the store, we had a view of the comings and goings at the sheriff’s department.

  We filled Walter in on the basics we had gotten via the housekeeping staff but didn’t tell him anything about our own investigation and certainly not that Carter had put us up to it. He was already aware that Celia had sicced the state police on me and was hoping things were about to settle down so I could get back to attempting to blend. I hated to disappoint him, but I’d already decided that my blending had probably hit a wall that it was never going to breach.

  We argued over the crossword puzzle, showed Walter how to use the video feature on his phone, and had eaten our way through at least a case of snacks before I finally got a text from Carter. I was just about to tell Gertie to break out the Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup when my phone went off.

  Arresting Francesca.

  I showed them the text.

  “Carter must have told the state police about Sims,” Gertie said.

  “What about Sims?” Walter asked.

  Ida Belle glanced at me and I nodded. I didn’t see any point in keeping it a secret now. Crap was about to hit the fan all the way around. And having an affair was going to pale in comparison to killing a man. Even in Sinful.

  “Francesca has been having an affair with Dylan Sims,” Ida Belle said.

  Walter’s eyes widened. “You don’t say. Wow. I thought the boy would have been smarter than that. He’s young, talented…why go mix himself up with another man’s wife?”

  “Thinking with the wrong body part, most likely,” Gertie said.

  Walter blushed a little and looked down at the floor for a second. “That’s not a pleasant piece of gossip, but I don’t see what it has to do with this butler guy being murdered.”

  “We figure Abrams found out about the affair. Maybe he threatened Francesca or tried to blackmail her,” I said. “He’s in for a lot of money with the wrong people back in New Orleans and has been suspected of lifting things from his employers. I suppose blackmailing the merry widow was an easier and more lucrative score than pawning stolen jewelry.”

  “What difference would it make now that Garrett’s dead?” Walter asked.

  “I figure there’s probably a cheater’s clause in Garrett’s will,” Ida Belle said. “I know there was in his mother’s. She told me so herself.”

  “Ah. Yeah, that sounds like something she’d do,” Walter said. “And Garrett didn’t fall too far from the tree in a lot of ways.”

  “I’m not convinced she did it,” I said. “It’s possible Abrams could have been here because the heat was too much in New Orleans and he needed to clear out for a bit. He went there yesterday. Maybe someone followed him back here. Someone who was interested in collecting something besides money.”

  “Well, we figured Francesca would be arrested,” Gertie said. “This doesn’t mean they’ll stop investigating. They still have to build a case.”

  “Yeah, but if the case they’re building is why Francesca might want Abrams dead, it’s going to be a slam dunk with Sims in their back pocket,” I said. “Carter has to tell them now, and I’m not convinced they’ll look any further.”

  “Carter will keep looking,” Gertie said. “I know he’s not in charge, but I can’t fathom him staying politely in his corner and letting a woman go down for murder when she might be innocent. He won’t let it go unless he’s satisfied he has the right person.”

  “True,” I said. “But the state police won’t make it easy. He’s already been forbidden to do anything associated with the Roths. If he doesn’t back their play, they’ll make trouble for him.”

  “I can see how the evidence is damning,” Walter said, “but still, it seems kinda foolish for Francesca to kill the man right there in her own house.”

  “Francesca just spent twenty years beholden to Garrett,” Gertie said, “and that couldn’t have been a picnic. The thought of being under another man’s thumb might have been enough to make her snap.”

  Walter frowned. “You know an awful lot about the goings-on at the Roth household.”

  “We might have been looking into some things,” I said. “You know, to make sure the state police didn’t make it look like Carter wasn’t doing his job.”

  He nodded and looked pleased. “I should have known you three weren’t going to let the boy twist in the wind. But I don’t see what this situation with the butler had to do with Garrett’s body being in the maze. Isn’t that what got those fools with the state police down here in the first place?”

  “I think that situation might resolve itself soon,” I said. “Carter has a line on the likely perpetrator. It’s just a matter of getting the warrant and collecting the evidence.”

  “You going to tell me who?” Walter asked. “Or just leave me here wondering?”

  “Greg Bullard,” Ida Belle said. “But no repeating that.”

  “Bullard?” Walter looked surprised. “Why in the world would he do such a thing?”

  Ida Belle filled him in on Bullard’s past business dealings with Garrett, sans my dive into alligator-infested water to retrieve items of absolutely no investigative value at all.

  “Good Lord Almighty,” Walter said. “Just when I think everything that’s buried in this town has come out, I hear something else I had no notion of.”

  “Surprised me too,” Ida Belle said. “And you know that doesn’t happen often.”

  “It has lately,” Gertie said. “I’m beginning to feel like we’re being played. That we really live in a town of strangers we think we know.�
��

  I nodded. Things had definitely been over the top since I’d arrived in Sinful.

  Ida Belle’s phone went off and she answered. She only replied in single words but I could tell by her expression that something was wrong. She disconnected and looked at us, clearly upset.

  “Kevin Broussard has been in an accident,” she said.

  “What happened?” Gertie asked.

  “They’re not sure,” Ida Belle said. “It looks like he slipped on his deck and fell onto his anchor. One of the other shrimpers found him. He wasn’t conscious and there was a lot of blood. They airlifted him to the hospital. It doesn’t sound good.”

  “That’s horrible,” Walter said. “He’s such a nice young man.”

  Gertie shook her head. “The last thing this town needs is more bad news.”

  I nodded. But I had a feeling we hadn’t heard the worst of it.

  Carter finally showed up at Walter’s around 3:00 p.m., looking like he was ready to drop. Ida Belle had started rebuilding an engine block Walter had stored back there, I was painting one of the walls, and Gertie was lying on top of a stack of crates, snoring. Walter hustled to the back as soon as he heard Carter’s voice. Ida Belle poked Gertie with a wrench and we gave Carter our full attention.

  “No pleasantries,” Walter said. “Here’s some coffee. Take a seat and start talking. These women are going to have my whole life arranged if you don’t give them some information and get them out of my store.”

  Carter slumped in the chair and took a sip of the coffee, giving Walter a grateful look. “I don’t even know where to start. You have no idea how convoluted this all got.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Ida Belle suggested. “With Abrams.”

  Carter nodded. “Murder with cyanide. It was in the whiskey he was drinking.”

  “Garrett’s whiskey?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Carter said. “And the cyanide was also in the whiskey bottle.”

  Gertie’s eyes widened. “So Abrams wasn’t the target. Garrett was.”

  “Except Garrett didn’t die from cyanide poisoning,” I said. “The tox screen on his autopsy was clean.”