Fortune Hunter (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 8)

by Jana DeLeon

  Walter smiled. “You hang in there, honey. And if there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”

  He started out of the kitchen and I turned around in my chair. “Walter?”

  He stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”

  “Ida Belle’s crazy not to marry you.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “I know.”

  * * *

  Ida Belle scooted her chair closer to mine and Gertie leaned over my shoulder and looked at my laptop screen. “That’s the same picture,” Gertie said.

  “So are the others,” I said. “See?”

  I starting flipping through the photos Beulah had provided and then back to the Facebook page I’d found for Austin Jennings, a young man from Waco, Texas, who had just finished up his last tour in Iraq and was now back home with his wife, two kids, three cats, and a Labrador retriever.

  “It can’t be him, right?” Ida Belle said.

  “I’m sure it’s not,” I said. “The catfish lifted this guy’s photos because he’s good-looking and several of them are in military dress and clearly in the desert.”

  “Should we check?” Gertie asked.

  “Check how?” Ida Belle said. “We can’t exactly drive to Austin and accuse the poor man of bilking old ladies out of their retirement. He’s got a wife and kids. Imagine all the trouble that would stir up.”

  “It’s not him,” I said. “Everything he’s done has been carefully planned. There’s no way he’d use real photos of himself. The women he’s targeting don’t know what catfishing is, but clearly, he’s well informed.”

  Gertie nodded. “What about the mailing address?”

  “It’s a post office box in New Orleans,” I said.

  Gertie shook her head in disappointment. “Beulah should have known better. She’s sent charity boxes overseas. She knows the military has special addresses for such things.”

  I pulled up the Word document with Beulah’s notes and pointed. “She says here that he claimed the box belonged to a friend who collected stuff for several of the men he served with and got it to them through other channels.”

  “Other channels?” Gertie said.

  “She probably took that to mean the friend had a way of getting them contraband,” Ida Belle said. “Girlie magazines, maybe some drugs.”

  “So Beulah mailed a pair of underwear to this post office box,” Gertie said. “I still can’t wrap my mind around the lengths he went to in order to convince her that their relationship was real.”

  “It’s wicked,” Ida Belle said. “I know it’s an old term—one my mother was fond of—but it fits.”

  Gertie nodded. “We have to find him.”

  “Do you think any of his other victims will talk to us?” I asked.

  “Bessy and Willa won’t,” Ida Belle said. “They’re both friends of Celia. Myrtle was supposed to let us know if there were any more complaints, but I haven’t heard a peep out of her.”

  “I’m afraid most will keep quiet,” Gertie said.

  “Probably true,” Ida Belle agreed.

  “Okay,” I said, “then let’s approach it a different way. The Sinful Ladies are all single and older. Do you think any of them was a victim?”

  “No,” Ida Belle said. “I sent out an email to all members earlier today, and they’ve all responded that none were victims.”

  I frowned. “And you think they’re all telling the truth?”

  “I’m certain of it,” Ida Belle said. “I stressed the importance of information. They all understand what’s at stake. They wouldn’t hold anything back, especially when I’m outright asking.”

  “But isn’t that strange?” I asked.

  “Well,” Ida Belle said, “the Sinful Ladies wouldn’t be the best target. Our members are single because they chose to be, not because of a lack of options, and several were widowed young. It’s not the cat lady group.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed, “but how would anyone know that simply by looking at profiles on Facebook? Why would Beulah look any different, from a potential target standpoint, than one of your members?”

  Ida Belle scrunched her brow. “I don’t suppose anyone could know simply by looking online.”

  “Right,” I said, “which goes right back to my saying that whoever is doing this has a lot of information on the people of Sinful, a lot more than I initially thought.”

  “You think he’s intentionally avoiding the Sinful Ladies?” Gertie asked. “But why? Why not give it a try?”

  “I think he wanted to avoid the two of you finding out what was going on,” I said. “Think about it. If he pulled this scam on one of the Sinful Ladies, she would have reported it to you guys, right?”

  “Almost certainly,” Ida Belle agreed.

  “And you two would have encouraged her to file the appropriate police reports, then you’d have gone on a manhunt, just like we are now.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “So he picked women he thought would keep quiet. But he made a mistake with Beulah.”

  “Yes,” I said, “and I bet that piece of information has made it around to him by now.”

  “Oh no!” Gertie said. “He’ll shut up shop and we’ll never find out who he is.”

  “That would be the smart thing to do,” I agreed.

  “Maybe he’s not that smart,” Ida Belle said. “Or maybe he’s addicted to the rush and won’t be able to quit.”

  “I hope that’s the case,” I said, “because otherwise, he’ll be harder to find.”

  “He’s not going to hit on me, is he?” Gertie looked disappointed. “All that time spent on sexy pictures and the tattoo.”

  “It’s a huge long shot,” I agreed. “But maybe we can figure out who he did move in on. You guys know all the older single women in town. Let’s start a list of everyone who’s not in the Sinful Ladies.”

  “And then what?” Gertie asked. “We can’t go knocking on doors and demanding they tell us if they were swindled.”

  “Why not?” Ida Belle asked. “The worst they can do is shut the door in our face.”

  “The more of them that we can get information from,” I said, “the more likely that we can find some sort of pattern.”

  “There is one other victim we’re aware of,” Gertie said.

  I shook my head. “Celia will never talk to us.”

  “She doesn’t have to,” Gertie said. “I happen to know that the election auditors confiscated her laptop as part of their investigation. They’re using a conference room at the Southern Inn just off the highway on the way to New Orleans.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “If we get caught, it could compromise the audit.”

  “So we won’t get caught,” Gertie said. “One of my cousins works in housekeeping at the hotel. I bet she could get us in.”

  “And why would she do something like that?” I asked.

  “Shirleen has always been a bit of a troublemaker,” Gertie said. “She’d do it just because she’s not supposed to.”

  I looked over at Ida Belle. “Well?”

  She shrugged. “It would give us more to go on, and it’s certainly not the worst thing we’ve done, or the most dangerous.”

  “So now the decision bar comes down to the percentage chance that we’ll be killed?” I asked.

  “Seems reasonable,” Ida Belle said.

  I stared at her for a moment, trying to formulate an argument, then suddenly realized that I didn’t even want to argue. “To hell with it. I haven’t done anything illegal in days. Let’s do it.”

  Gertie clapped her hands. “Nothing says a night with girlfriends like a little B&E.”

  Chapter 6

  At 10:00 p.m., I hopped in the backseat of Gertie’s Cadillac and we set off down the highway toward New Orleans. I’d suggested taking my Jeep—one, because it was the more reliable vehicle, and two, because I was the more reliable driver—but Ida Belle had insisted that Gertie’s car blended while mine was more easily remembered. As every fifth car on the road seemed to be an old Cadil
lac driven by an even older woman, I couldn’t really argue the point.

  “Shirleen is meeting us in the parking lot,” Gertie said. “She’ll slip in the back door and get the key from the housekeeping drawer at the front desk, then bring it to us.”

  “Won’t the person working the front desk notice?” I asked.

  “Apparently, the night clerk works a day job as well and sleeps most of his shift,” Gertie said. “As long as Shirleen hears snoring, she’s in the clear.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said.

  Gertie shot Ida Belle and me a guilty look. “There’s just one little thing.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  Ida Belle narrowed her eyes. “What thing?”

  “Well, Shirleen has been dating the night maintenance guy and she thinks he’s seeing someone else on the side.”

  “And what does that have to do with us?” Ida Belle asked.

  “She thinks he’s doing it during his shift,” Gertie said. “You know, getting a free room and having a little fun on the clock. So I told her we’d see if we could catch him in the act.”

  “Why doesn’t Shirleen catch him herself?” I asked.

  “Everyone at the hotel knows her,” Gertie explained. “She can’t just stroll in during the middle of the night and roam around the hotel without someone asking her why she’s there. And she definitely couldn’t follow Winky around without him noticing.”

  “Winky?” I asked.

  “On account of the eye tic he has,” Gertie said. “Or maybe he’s just a big flirt. I never really figured it out.”

  “So in exchange for the ability to break and enter,” I said, “we also have to follow around Winky the cheating maintenance man. This sounds like a bad sitcom.”

  “I couldn’t tell her no,” Gertie said. “She wouldn’t get the key otherwise.”

  “I don’t see this ending well,” Ida Belle said.

  “It usually doesn’t,” I concurred.

  The drive to the hotel went quickly, and Gertie pulled into the parking lot and spotted Shirleen’s car in the back of the lot behind a row of SUVs. She pulled in beside it and a woman jumped out. I got out of the car, eager to get a look at the troublemaking Shirleen.

  Early fifties but looked older, five foot three and a hundred and twenty pounds of what Ida Belle would call piss and vinegar. I could take her, but she would fight dirty.

  I could see the piss and vinegar part in her stance. And her facial expression. And her tattoos, one of which said “Trouble” and another that said “I did it.” I couldn’t help but appreciate both her honesty and her self-awareness.

  Shirleen eyed Ida Belle and me, and I wondered if I was going to have to arm wrestle to get the key. Gertie pointed to us. “These are my accomplices, Ida Belle and Fortune.”

  Shirleen must have appreciated the word “accomplices” because she nodded and handed Gertie a key. “This is a master key. It will get you into any room in the hotel. Why do you want in that conference room anyway? Just a bunch of men in suits with stacks of paper everywhere. The manager said they was some sort of accountants.”

  “They’re auditors,” Gertie explained. “They’re investigating the mayoral election in Sinful. It’s being contested.”

  “That mean bitch that won did something sneaky, didn’t she?” asked Shirleen. “Momma said she don’t know how that woman steps inside of church without it exploding. You going to fix it where she’s not the mayor anymore?”

  “Not exactly,” Gertie said.

  Shirleen nodded. “Smart. Don’t give me the details, then I can’t testify against you or nothing. All right. You guys do your thing. Drop the key off at Jerry’s Pool Hall when you’re done.”

  “We might be a while,” Gertie warned.

  Shirleen grinned. “So will I.”

  She gave us a wave and jumped in her car. We studied the front of the hotel, trying to decide the best way to enter.

  “All the rooms are accessed through the front lobby,” Gertie said.

  “Which means walking by the front desk,” I said. “Is the conference room on the first floor?”

  Gertie nodded. “Shirleen said it’s at the end of the hall past the elevators.”

  “Not optimum,” Ida Belle said, “but if the night clerk is really a sleeper then we might be able to sneak by without him noticing.”

  “I’m more concerned about security cameras than the clerk,” I said.

  “Why would someone look at the security footage?” Gertie asked.

  “They wouldn’t,” I said, “unless something goes wrong, and something always seems to go wrong.”

  “That’s why I brought disguises,” Gertie said. She went to the trunk of her car. “I ordered some last week. I figured they might come in handy sometime and sure enough…”

  I looked over at Ida Belle, but she looked as nervous as I felt. Clearly, she hadn’t been consulted on the disguise purchase. Gertie pulled three boxes out of the trunk of her car and tossed one each at Ida Belle and me. I took one look at the picture on the box and shook my head.

  “No way,” I said. “I’m not dressing like a hooker. I always have to dress like a hooker.”

  “I wanted the hooker costume for myself,” Gertie said, pouting, “but the spandex put my thighs in a bind.”

  “What the hell is this supposed to be?” Ida Belle asked, holding up a flannel shirt and giant black ball cap.

  “It’s a truck driver costume,” Gertie said. “If you pull the hat down and keep your chin tucked in, no one will be able to see your face.”

  “I could have used my own wardrobe for this,” Ida Belle said. “Am I supposed to be the guy who hired the hooker?”

  Gertie frowned. “Hmmmm. I was concentrating on costumes that would prevent us from being recognized. I guess I hadn’t thought about how they’d look together.”

  “What’s your costume?” I asked.

  She held up her box and Ida Belle sighed.

  “A hooker, a truck driver, and a nun walk into a hotel,” Ida Belle said. “There’s the start of a bad joke.”

  “A nun?” I asked. “Really?”

  “It’s the perfect disguise,” Gertie said. “Who would suspect a nun of doing something illegal?”

  “The police?” I said. “They suspect everyone. Besides, you’re Baptist. Won’t you burst into flames or something if you do this?”

  “I don’t think so,” Gertie said. “We’re doing charity work, after all.”

  I supposed if one used skewed logic, it made sense. As much sense as a trucker, a hooker, and a nun walking into a hotel together, anyway.

  “Maybe one of us should go in first and see if the clerk is asleep,” I said.

  Gertie nodded. “Which one of us would draw the least amount of attention?”

  Ida Belle pointed at me. “Hooker girl, here.”

  “Why am I always first choice?” I asked.

  “This place doesn’t rent by the hour,” Gertie said, “but I agree that a hooker probably wouldn’t stick out as much.”

  I stared at the two of them. “A truck driver would be more glaring than a hooker? Really?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “In a hotel, sure. This isn’t seedy, but it’s not the Ritz, either. Most truck drivers sleep in their cabs.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go check it out.”

  “Let’s suit up,” Gertie said.

  “I’m not changing in the parking lot,” I said. “Especially into that. I’m pretty sure I can’t have undergarments.”

  “Oh, stop whining,” Gertie said and grabbed my costume bag from me. She pulled out the dress and handed it to me. “Take off your T-shirt and slip that over, then take off your jeans. A bra is no different than a bathing suit.”

  “Except that people can’t usually drive by and see a bra in the parking lot of a hotel,” I said.

  “Mardi Gras.” Ida Belle and Gertie both spoke at once.

  I shook my head and shrugged off my T-shirt. Next year, assuming I
wasn’t on assignment, I was coming back to Louisiana to see this Mardi Gras spectacle. I pulled the dress over my head and yanked and tugged until it was at my hips. I shrugged off my jeans and pulled some more until it was down over my previously exposed rear.

  “It would look better with a push-up bra,” Gertie said.

  “I doubt there’s one in the vending machine.” I held out my hand. “Give me those ridiculous shoes and that wig. This dress itches. I don’t want to be in it any longer than I have to be.”

  Gertie passed me the shoes—a ridiculous combination of clear plastic and pink glitter—and I climbed up onto them.

  “Can you walk in those?” Ida Belle asked.

  I pulled the wig comprising wavy, flaming-red locks over my head. “We’re about to find out.”

  I took one step and my ankle wobbled. Gertie grabbed my arm and steadied me. “I’m going to start walking,” I said. “You guys get changed and meet me at the front door. Hide in those potted plants. I’ll signal if it’s safe.”

  “I need to take the license plates off the car, too,” Gertie said. “Just in case.”

  I didn’t want to think about just in case. I set out at a slow clip, concentrating on one footstep at a time. I’d had to wear girlie clothes for some of my undercover work, but I’d never worn anything this high or this pointy. I felt like I was walking on my toes. Thank God for superior balance, because it only took me ten steps or so to get into a rhythm that at least didn’t make it appear as if I was going to fall on my face at any minute. By the time I reached the lobby door, Ida Belle and Gertie stepped up beside me, then slipped behind the fake plants under the entry overhang. One look at Gertie in the nun’s costume, hiding behind a fake ficus, had me struggling not to laugh. The irony was simply too good. Ida Belle, on the other hand, looked perfectly comfortable in a flannel shirt, enormously wide ball cap, and work boots, but then now that I thought about it, Ida Belle almost always got to opt out of the ridiculous dress part of things.

  I took two steps toward the sliding doors and they opened. No other sounds indicated my passage, which made me happy. I stepped inside the lobby and looked over at the front desk, but no one was there. I frowned and stepped closer. That’s when I saw a sign on the desk indicating that the clerk would return at ten fifteen. I checked my watch. Ten forty. Maybe he’d fallen asleep somewhere. There was a button on the counter with a sign that read “Press for Emergency Service.” He was probably taking advantage of that fact and was crashed in one of the nearby offices.