Fortune Funhouse (Miss Fortune Mysteries Book 19)

by Jana DeLeon

  “No way!” he said. “I don’t want you or your friends anywhere near this place. Every time you’re here things explode, the cops show up, and last time I saw a dude naked. You can’t unsee that.”

  “Trust me, I understand,” I said. “I just want some information. I promise not to blow anything up.”

  “What kind of information?” he asked.

  “There was a guy who was killed at the fair,” I said. “Did you hear about it?”

  “Yeah, killed in the funhouse. Seems wrong.”

  “Well, the lady who was hurt in that attack is my boyfriend’s mother—he’s a deputy in Sinful.”

  “Ah, crap. This all sounds like trouble I don’t need. Can’t people get murdered in Mudbug?”

  “I’ll see if I can work on that. Anyway, I was wondering if maybe he stayed here.” I gave the clerk a description and I could tell as I talked that he’d seen St. Ives. The longer I talked, the more depressed and nervous he became. “He might have been going by Rupert St. Ives.”

  When I was done, he stomped around in a circle for a bit, cursing up a storm. Finally, he ran one hand through his hair, uttered one last expletive, and sat down at his computer.

  “I hope he paid in advance,” I said.

  “Everyone pays in advance. If they didn’t this place would never make a dime. But that was only through last night.”

  “Cash?”

  “Everyone pays cash.” He shook his head. “Man, I don’t want to clear out a dead man’s room, but that’s the policy. And watch, as soon as I do, the cops will show up and I’ll be on the hook for touching everything. This job sucks. Maybe they’ll show up before my shift ends and take everything as evidence, and I’ll be in the clear.”

  “I don’t know that the cops have identified him yet,” I said.

  “Then how do you know who he is?”

  “I found the body and my assistants knew him from a previous stay in Sinful.”

  “But you haven’t told the cops?”

  “They didn’t ask. And trust me, the lead detective is a douche of monumental proportion. I’m not offering him anything.”

  He sighed. “This just keeps getting better. I guess I have to call them now that I know the dude is dead. And how did you know to check here?”

  I shrugged. “Seems like this is where all the sketchy people stay.”

  “God, isn’t that the truth.”

  I nodded. “To cover yourself, you could always change the name he gave you in the system. That way if the cops release his name, you’re not on the hook. Don’t most people go by an alias here?”

  He brightened. “Yeah. That’s good. And I can change the booking to a week so there’s no reason for me to check the room. Hell, the owner is stoned most of the time. He can’t even count to ten, much less make sure the till balances. If I pretend I never talked to you, then I’m golden.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “To hell with it,” he said. “I gave my notice yesterday anyway, so I don’t even care. Room 110. You can even have the spare key as long as I don’t have to see anyone naked.”

  I took the key from him. “Where’s your new job?”

  “An office building in New Orleans. Night security so no people. It’s perfect. And I’m not telling you where because you are a walking cloud of doom. I don’t even want you to drive around the block.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll bring this back.”

  “And you never came here, right? I want to make sure our stories are straight.”

  “I never came here. And trust me, that detective will never even ask. Why do you think I’m out here doing his job?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, stupid cops are a great thing…said no law-abiding citizen ever. Okay, so you go look all you want but if the cops show up here and catch you in the room, I’m going to swear you pulled a gun on me and demanded the key.”

  “And then you went back to playing your video game but didn’t leave or call 911.”

  “You said he was a moron.”

  “I didn’t say he was dead.”

  “Fine, then, you stole it. Can you just get out of here before someone loses their clothes?”

  I headed back out, unable to keep from smiling.

  “That smile looks promising,” Ida Belle said.

  “St. Ives was staying here, and dude gave me the key as long as he doesn’t have to see anyone naked and we don’t blow anything up.”

  “Normally, I would say that should be easy,” Ida Belle said, “but I don’t want to oversell it.”

  “Let’s just go check out the room, and since the cops might show up here, maybe drop me off in front and head to the rear of the building,” I said. “At least it’s the first floor. I can go out that little bathroom window if I have to.”

  “Assuming it’s not painted into place,” Gertie said.

  “Okay, well, if that happens, then you’ll have to create a diversion,” I said.

  Ida Belle groaned. “You just told the guy we wouldn’t blow anything up.”

  “Would it be better if I ran through the parking lot naked?” Gertie asked.

  “Blow something up.”

  Ida Belle and I both spoke at once.

  I hopped out and hurried to the room, then slipped inside, letting out a breath of relief when I saw the room was empty. Empty and suspiciously neat. In fact, it was so empty, it looked like no one was staying there. I frowned and walked into the bathroom. Nothing. Not even a toothbrush or deodorant, and the soap was still intact. I headed back into the bedroom and checked the closet and the dresser. Empty.

  It gave me more than a moment’s pause, but before I left, I got down on my hands and knees and checked under the bed. A single piece of white paper lay near the headboard next to the nightstand. I pulled it out and stared.

  It was a photo of Emmaline in her backyard. She was weeding in her garden and had just looked up. Given the location of the shed behind her, she would have been facing the fence on the property St. Ives had rented, but the photo was taken from an angle, like from the far corner of the yard. And at a downward angle, so maybe from a tree.

  What the hell?

  None of this was a coincidence. St. Ives had been stalking Emmaline.

  I shoved the picture in my jeans. There was no point in leaving it for that idiot Palmer, assuming he ever found out St. Ives was staying here, and it felt creepy for such a personal picture of Emmaline to be ‘out there.’ It was clear she wasn’t aware it was being taken and it felt wrong to leave it in the room. Besides, if Palmer started poking at Carter, suggesting things like maybe Emmaline was involved in something sordid with St. Ives and that’s why they were attacked, then I’d be posting bail.

  I closed the door behind me and locked it.

  At least I’d found out one thing—I was right. This was definitely all connected.

  I just had no idea how.

  Ida Belle and Gertie looked a bit surprised when I exited the motel room and headed back to the office. I heard the SUV fire up and pull in behind me when I opened the office door and handed the key back to the clerk.

  “You don’t have to clean up,” I said. “There’s nothing in the room.”

  “Nothing?” he said. “Hmmm. Maybe he cleared out before someone whacked him, but that doesn’t make sense. He just checked in that evening.”

  “Trust me, nothing about the guy makes sense, but either way, looks like you’re off the hook.”

  He took the key and put it back in the drawer. “And I didn’t even have to see anyone naked.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not going to blow something up on your way out, are you?”

  “Not this time,” I said.

  I headed out and jumped into the SUV and Ida Belle took off for the highway. No point in lingering in the area in case Palmer had managed a shower or his captain decided to send someone else.

  “The room was clean,” I said

  “That’s not surprising given how picky St.
Ives was,” Gertie said.

  “No, I mean it’s empty,” I said. “No suitcase, no clothes, no toothbrush, nothing. It looks like he’d already checked out, but he’d just checked in the evening he was murdered.”

  “You think the cops found the room key and were already here?” Gertie asked. “Wouldn’t they have taken everything with them as evidence?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But the clerk would have known, and it would have been in the police report.”

  “Then it must have been the killer who cleaned it out,” Ida Belle said. “Did the clerk see anyone?”

  “Unless they go into the office and announce themselves, the clerk doesn’t see anyone,” I said. “He’s too buried in his video game.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “Probably went straight to St. Ives’s car, drove it here, cleaned everything out, then ditched the car and the goods somewhere.”

  “That’s what I’m guessing,” I said as I pulled the photo from my jeans. “But he missed something. This had fallen under the bed.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie stared at the photo, then glanced at each other, and I could tell they were as creeped out by it as I was.

  “That’s Emmaline’s backyard,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. “And from the angle, it looks like he was taking the picture from the corner of the yard and up in a tree or standing on a ladder or something.”

  Ida Belle gave me a grim look. “He was stalking her,” she said.

  “It sure looks like it, but why?” I asked. “If he had some fixation on her, why did he leave after a month?”

  “Found another target?” Gertie said. “Realized she wasn’t his dream girl?”

  “Maybe, but he made comments that indicated he knew ahead of time that he wasn’t going to be there very long,” I said. “And what about the job comments?”

  “This changes everything,” Ida Belle said. “I know you’ve felt from the beginning that all of this was connected…”

  “But it’s different when I have proof,” I said and sighed. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell Carter this without him losing his mind.”

  “Well, you better figure it out, because you don’t have a choice,” Ida Belle said. “We have to make doubly sure Emmaline has 24-7 security.”

  “I know but I still don’t get it,” I said. “If St. Ives was stalking Emmaline and went into the funhouse after her, then who followed him? And why?”

  “Logic would say it was someone protecting Emmaline,” Ida Belle said. “But who could that be and why would they know she needed protection?”

  “Maybe she has two stalkers,” Gertie said.

  “I can’t imagine that would be the case,” I said. “Think about it—St. Ives, the man who used to stalk Emmaline but quit, decided to revisit stalking her. So he shows up at the fair and follows her into the funhouse where the guy who is currently stalking her decides to follow him in and kill her? Unless the second stalker knew St. Ives was the first stalker, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it.”

  “My head hurts,” Gertie said.

  “Mine too,” I said. “I think I need food and some thinking time.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Gertie said. “Besides, I have my big date to get ready for.”

  I nodded and stared out the window as Ida Belle drove. I was going to have to show Carter the picture and tell him that St. Ives was a ghost. Then he was going to have to stay put while Ida Belle and I went out to try to find the person who’d killed a man and hurt his mother. I was already exhausted just thinking about the argument that was coming, but I didn’t have a choice. Carter needed to make sure Emmaline was protected better than the POTUS, and he had to steer clear of our investigation. While the stunt Gertie had pulled today—kicking Palmer into the porta-john—had been hilarious and much enjoyed by everyone who’d spent more than thirty seconds around the man, it would also only serve to make Palmer attempt to throw his weight around even more.

  I blew out a breath and prayed that no one showed him that YouTube video.

  It would only rile him up more and we didn’t need added aggravation.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gertie had leftover casserole, so we stopped at her house for a quick bite but it turned into a fashion show. Of the scary kind. Ida Belle and I were on helping number two when Gertie sneaked off and then jumped into the room with a huge ‘Tada!’ that woke up Francis from his nap. He took one look at Gertie and started saying Hail Marys.

  “What in the name of all that is holy do you have on?” Ida Belle asked.

  “It’s my new dress,” Gertie said and whirled around. “Isn’t it great?”

  “That is not a dress,” Ida Belle said. “I saw butt cheek when you whirled. My underwear covers more.”

  “Your underwear are boring,” Gertie said.

  “Walter’s never complained,” Ida Belle said.

  I raised one hand. “All of this—the underwear and the butt cheek—is too much information.”

  “Too much is definitely the right description,” Ida Belle said.

  “I think maybe you should go easier on Jeb for a first date,” I said. “He’s already seen you help me take down a murderer. If you break out the really hot stuff right off the bat, you might give him a heart attack.”

  “Or he could stumble backward and break a hip,” Ida Belle said. “You already know his back’s not good. I don’t think startling him is a good idea.”

  Gertie frowned. “Hmmm. I hadn’t thought about overwhelming him with my sexy. Maybe I should go a little more conservative.”

  Ida Belle and I nodded and she headed off down the hallway.

  “Ten bucks says the next outfit will show midriff,” I said.

  “You’re on,” Ida Belle said. “I’m taking cleavage but let’s make it twenty.”

  “Confidence,” I said. “I like it.”

  “More like a century of knowing her,” Ida Belle said.

  “How long has it been since she’s had a date?” I asked. “Not counting that scammer in Florida.”

  Ida Belle shrugged. “I don’t know. A long time.”

  “Who was president?”

  “Washington?”

  I laughed. “I hope when I get old, there’s someone around to call me on my crap.”

  “Carter will do it.”

  “It’s not the same coming from a guy. I can ignore a guy.”

  “So very true. Do you want a beer before she comes out with the next one? I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

  “You need Jesus,” Francis said.

  “I think Jesus is afraid to come to Gertie’s house,” Ida Belle said as she snagged the beers.

  Francis began singing “Jesus Loves Me” and Ida Belle and I both laughed.

  “That bird is something else,” I said.

  “I keep reminding myself he’s better than a pet alligator,” Ida Belle said.

  “Help!” Gertie came hurrying back into the room. Well, as much as one can hurry when their dress is tighter than their own skin.

  “I can’t get it off,” she said.

  “How did you get it on?” Ida Belle asked, then she sniffed the air. “And why do you smell like coconut?”

  “I used tanning oil to get it on,” Gertie said.

  “Well, then slide it back off,” Ida Belle said.

  “I think the oil dried on the pertinent parts,” Gertie said.

  “Well, good Lord, why did you put it there?” Ida Belle asked.

  “I think she’s talking about her rear,” I said.

  “So spray some more on your rear,” Ida Belle said.

  “I can’t,” Gertie said. “If I spray it on the outside of the skirt, it will stain the fabric. And I can’t bend over to get it up the inside.”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “I am not leaning over to spray something up your butt.”

  “Truer words,” I said.

  “Then how am I supposed to get out of this?” Gertie asked.

  “How were you
planning on getting out of it if Jeb’s back was good to go?” I asked.

  She frowned.

  “I’ll get the scissors,” Ida Belle said.

  “This dress cost eighty dollars!” Gertie protested.

  “Then you got ripped off,” Ida Belle said. “Because that’s about $1.50 worth of fabric.”

  “Either you cut it off or wear it forever,” I said. “Because no one’s going to take you up on the oil-up-the-tush option…unless you want to try it on Jeb.”

  “I can’t do that,” Gertie said. “I forgot to cut the tag out.”

  “You left the price tag on the dress?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Not the price,” Gertie said. “The size. If Jeb has to help me get the dress off, he’ll see the size.”

  “If you have sexy time with him, he’ll be looking directly at the source,” Ida Belle said.

  “It will be dark,” Gertie said.

  “He’s got hands, doesn’t he?” Ida Belle said. “You know what, never mind. Either let Fortune cut that dress off of you or we’re leaving. Then you can figure out how to breathe and drive your car standing because no way can you bend like that.”

  Gertie sighed. “Fine. Cut it off.”

  I grabbed the scissors and leaned over at her back. “Let me snip just a little and see if I can rip the rest up. I don’t want to cut your skin and this is way too tight on your body.”

  “Got that right,” Ida Belle grumbled.

  “Okay, are you ready?” I asked.

  “Here goes eighty bucks,” Gertie said.

  I positioned the tip of the scissors at the bottom of the dress in line with the center of her rear and cut a tiny snip. I had intended to then pull the dress, hoping it would split up the middle, but the dress took care of that part for me. As soon as the hem was separated, the straining spandex pulled the dress apart, even tearing through the neckline. Gertie threw her arms up in surprise, which only accomplished facilitating the dress’s ability to shoot straight off her body and across the room. Ida Belle pulled a Matrix move and manage to dodge the flying garment.