Fortune Funhouse (Miss Fortune Mysteries Book 19)

by Jana DeLeon

  “I didn’t go boating,” Ida Belle said. “I just burned the stuff in my fireplace and spread the ashes in my neighbor’s hedge. I hate that hedge. I’m kinda hoping the ashes will poison it.”

  “Hey, you told me I couldn’t burn the clothes,” Gertie said.

  “That’s right,” Ida Belle said. “You couldn’t burn them. I’m trying to keep your house from going the way of your shed.”

  “I told you that was lightning,” Gertie groused.

  Ida Belle nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  She pulled into the parking lot of the diner and backed into a space close to the door. “In case we need to make a quick getaway,” she said.

  “If we have to run from the state police, we are in trouble that I’m not sure we can get out of,” I said.

  “Not run, necessarily,” Ida Belle said. “But at some point, we’ll be done with him, and I want to put him in my rearview mirror as soon as possible.”

  “Well, he’s already here,” Gertie said, pointing at his car and sighing.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said and climbed out.

  As we headed for the diner, the door flew open and Whiplash stepped out. He scowled at us and stomped past toward an old pickup truck, grumbling as he went. We headed into the diner and spotted Palmer sitting at a corner table, typing on his laptop.

  “I wonder if Palmer was questioning Whiplash,” Gertie said.

  “Given Whiplash’s expression, I would go with yes,” Ida Belle said, “except he was wearing the same face when we talked to him.”

  Palmer glanced up as we approached, and he looked as aggravated as I felt. Mentally, I sighed. This was going to be the longest minute and a half of my life, because ninety seconds was about as long as I saw this lasting.

  “Sit,” he ordered as we stepped up to the table.

  “Gee, thanks,” Gertie said. “I was hoping you weren’t going to make us stand for questioning.”

  “What can we do for you, Palmer?” I asked. “We’re kinda busy today.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yeah, you guys are busy little bees, spending your time interfering with my investigation.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “You questioned that ticket taker, and you had some guy asking questions at the apartments where he used to live,” Palmer said.

  I nodded. “But that has nothing to do with your case.”

  “Then what’s it about?” he asked.

  “A personal issue,” I said. “One that my client has not given me permission to discuss.”

  “Well, your client can stop harassing that guy,” Palmer said. “I already cleared him.”

  “Great,” I said. “But your case is not why my guy was checking up on him.”

  “So you were investigating that guy before the murder?” Palmer asked.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “So I’m just supposed to believe that you have unrelated business with a suspect in my murder investigation?” Palmer asked.

  I shrugged. “I thought you just said you cleared him.”

  Palmer flushed. “I did clear him.”

  “Then we’re all on the same page,” I said. “My client’s interest has nothing to do with the murder.”

  “And who’s your client?” Palmer asked.

  I stared at him. “Really? Did you actually think I was going to answer that? The worst PI in Louisiana wouldn’t answer that. I was a field operative for the CIA. You could torture me and not get it out of me. Do you need anything else? Because I’ve got laundry to do. You know, important stuff.”

  “Me too,” Gertie said. “Instead of wasting time harassing us, why aren’t you out looking for the person who killed Rupert St. Ives?”

  Palmer stared and his lower jaw dropped slightly. “I…I haven’t released the victim’s identity.”

  I laughed. I supposed it was hard to release what you didn’t know.

  “Give me a break, Palmer,” Gertie said.

  “That’s Detective Reed to you,” he said.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Gertie said. “Rupert St. Ives lived in Sinful for a month and complained so often and so loudly that even dead people knew who he was. We found the body, remember? We saw his face.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “What’s wrong, Palmer? Based on your expression, one would think you’ve had some trouble identifying your victim. Maybe you should have taken our statements that night like a real cop instead of hitting on me.”

  His jaw flexed and he slammed his laptop closed and jumped up from the table. “Stay out of my way. I don’t care who you worked for or what you did. Steer clear of everyone related to my case.”

  “That’s a tough one,” I said. “You see, that guy that talked to the apartment manager…he sorta gets things in his head to do and there’s really no calling him off.”

  “Then he’ll answer to me,” Palmer said.

  “He already answers to Big Hebert,” I said. “And I don’t think he’s interested in a demotion.”

  His jaw twitched. “You’re lying.”

  “No one lies about Big Hebert,” I said. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  He stared, not even blinking, probably trying to figure out if I was telling the truth.

  I rose from my chair. “Next time you call us for questioning, it better be official and that means at your office. Otherwise, we’re not even giving you the time. Understood?”

  I turned and walked off, Ida Belle and Gertie right behind me. When we exited the café, I realized Palmer’s car looked odd. I gave it a closer look and saw that two of the tires had been slashed. Palmer threw the door open and stomped out behind us, clearly about to start spouting some more nonsense.

  I pointed to his car. “Looks like you’ve got more fans around here.”

  Palmer stared at his car, his face turning beet red. “You’ll pay for that.”

  “Please,” I said. “We don’t resort to childish pranks. Your tires were fine when we walked in. But maybe one of the businesses has cameras and you can see who did it.”

  We jumped in Ida Belle’s SUV and she pulled away, leaving him standing there, still staring at his car. As Ida Belle was about to exit the parking lot, I glanced over and saw Whiplash in a battered old truck. As we pulled away, he lifted a hand to wave at Palmer before he started his vehicle.

  Palmer stared at him for several seconds then stomped back into the diner.

  Interesting.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Looks like Palmer hacked off our friend Whiplash,” I said and told them what I’d seen.

  Ida Belle shook her head. “Pulling a stunt like that on a state cop makes you really brave or really stupid.”

  “I’m voting for stupid,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. “It doesn’t seem like the smart move. Even if Palmer doesn’t have anything to pin on Whiplash, I wouldn’t put it past him to manufacture something.”

  But instead of heading over to the truck and arresting Whiplash, Palmer went back into the café. Given how many lines he’d tried to cross interviewing us, I wondered what he’d said to Whiplash to get him so riled up. Most likely threatened him with something that he couldn’t actually make happen, but Whiplash was still taking a big risk messing with Palmer. Incompetent people who didn’t like to lose were known to ignore the rules. And I was going to bet that Whiplash didn’t have an attorney on speed dial the way I did. Or a past that would support leniency.

  “That idiot still didn’t know who his victim was,” Gertie said.

  “The look on his face when you said a name was priceless,” Ida Belle said.

  “Well, I wish him luck in finding out more than that fake name,” I said.

  Gertie laughed. “I can’t wait until he runs it and comes up with nothing.”

  “Where to now?” Ida Belle asked.

  I looked out the window and frowned. “I have a question and I want both of you to think really hard about this.�
��

  They both nodded.

  “If I asked you last week if it was possible that Cam cheated on Emmaline, what would you have said?” I asked.

  “No way.”

  “Not possible.”

  They both answered at once.

  “That’s what I figured,” I said. “But yet…”

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” Ida Belle said. “I know what science says and I’m not one of those people who ignores science or reason. But it goes against everything I think, saw, and felt to believe that Cam not only cheated on Emmaline but had a child he never claimed. It just wasn’t in his character.”

  Gertie nodded. “He was so loyal—just like Carter—and anyone could see how taken he was with Emmaline. Even if he’d made a drunken mistake, he would never have abandoned a child. I mean, I guess we have to accept that he did, or maybe he never knew and Brandon’s mom was lying. But it doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Me either,” Ida Belle said.

  I blew out a breath. It definitely didn’t sit right with me. Ida Belle and Gertie were excellent judges of character. Well, Ida Belle was shrewder, but Gertie could spot a hypocrite at a hundred yards. Nothing about this situation gelled with everything I’d been told about Cam.

  “Is Walter at the hospital?” I asked.

  Ida Belle nodded. “He said he was going to stay until Carter went back.”

  “Then head to the hospital,” I said. “We need to pull Walter into a family conference.”

  “Are you inviting Carter?” Gertie said.

  “No,” I said. “He’s got enough to process. And we can’t afford for him to get in the middle of this, especially since Palmer knows we’re looking into Brandon. Which reminds me—”

  I pulled out my cell phone and called Mannie.

  “I have another person I want you to check on,” I said.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “A guy called Whiplash. Has a Marine tattoo. Supposed to be second-in-command at the fair. Lied to us about Brandon quitting and just slashed Palmer’s tires, then sat in the parking lot and waved at him when he found the damage.”

  Mannie whistled.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Palmer hacked him off good somehow—most likely with some bogus threat—but I’d like to know why.”

  “Palmer must think this Whiplash knows something,” Mannie said.

  “That’s what I figure. Anyway, if you can find anything out, let me know,” I said.

  “Sounds good. I’m running down a lead on St. Ives. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Great.”

  I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

  “You think Whiplash is our guy?” Gertie asked.

  “Who knows,” I said. “But Brandon said the manager had keys to the back door and when he was gone, Whiplash was in charge. That gives him opportunity.”

  “But no motive,” Gertie said and sighed.

  “I think when we have motive, all of this will unravel,” Ida Belle said.

  I agreed.

  Walter trudged into the waiting room, looking as if he hadn’t slept in a week. But then given how much had gone down in the last few days, it was probably the equivalent. I asked him if he’d talked to Carter this morning and didn’t know how to feel when he said Carter had only sent a text saying he’d be at the hospital later today. No word about the test results, which meant he didn’t know. Emmaline had just been taken off for more tests and would be gone for at least an hour, so we convinced Walter to go to the cafeteria with us and get a bite to eat.

  “How’s she doing?” I asked as we walked.

  “Better,” he said. “Her memory is mostly back except for that night. She doesn’t even remember going to the fair. But everything else seems fairly solid.”

  “She doesn’t know about the break-in, right?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “We saw no reason to tell her until she’s going home. Didn’t want to stress her out and maybe set her back.”

  I nodded as we walked into the cafeteria. We went to the counter and convinced Walter to order some lunch while Ida Belle, Gertie, and I stuck to a slice of pie. We’d eaten our fill at the diner that morning and none of us seemed interested in another meal.

  When we sat, Walter looked at me. “You might as well tell me,” he said. “I know you didn’t come here just to ask about Emmaline or buy me lunch.”

  “I’d come to the hospital just to buy you lunch,” I said. “You’re still my number one guy.”

  His lip twitched. “What about Carter?”

  “It will be our secret,” I said.

  He smiled but then sobered. “I assume you’ve got some bad news for me.”

  I told him about the test results, and he shook his head, looking so incredibly sad.

  “I just can’t believe it,” he said when I’d finished. “I’ve never seen two people more suited for each other and more in love than Cam and Emmaline. If you were within ten feet of them, you could practically feel the joy coming off of them.”

  Gertie nodded. “I agree.”

  “And that’s where I’m having so much trouble with this,” I said. “I trust you guys’ opinion of people and even though I know you have a personal interest in this, I can’t accept that you’re that far off the mark about Cam’s moral code.”

  “Are you sure there’s no way the test can be wrong?” Walter asked.

  “I’m sure,” I said, “but the reason I wanted all three of you together is because I wanted you to think hard about another possibility.”

  Ida Belle perked up. “What possibility?”

  “Is it possible that Cam had a sibling?” I asked. “First cousins and half brothers would fall into the same testing range. I know you said he was an only child, but they didn’t move here until Cam was in elementary school, and his parents were much older than the norm. They could have had a grown child by the time you met them. Look at the age difference between Walter and Emmaline.”

  Ida Belle looked at Gertie then slowly shook her head. “I can’t think of anything that would have indicated…”

  “Me either,” Gertie said and sighed.

  Walter stared at the wall and frowned.

  “Walter?” I prompted. “Did you think of something?”

  He nodded, looking confused. “There was this one time, Cam’s dad had pulled his shoulder, so I was taking care of some lawn stuff for them. I was trimming a big hedge at the end of the front porch when I heard arguing inside. Cam’s dad said, ‘You aren’t welcome here. Today or any other day.’ Then I heard a man laugh, and he said, ‘I wonder if this fine community of Christians knows what a hypocrite you are.’”

  “Did you recognize the voice?” I asked.

  Walter shook his head. “Then Cam’s dad said, ‘This fine community would applaud us for doing the right thing for our son.’ And the other man said ‘Our son. That’s rich.’ Then Cam’s dad told him to get out and to never return or he’d call the police. I heard stomping and a couple seconds later, a man threw open the front door and got into an old pickup truck and peeled out.”

  He shook his head. “Cam’s dad came out after that and spotted me in the bushes. I asked if everything was okay and he told me not to worry about that man because he wouldn’t be back. But he looked worried.”

  “And did you ever see the man again?” I asked.

  “No,” Walter said. “And that’s why I’d forgotten about it. It’s been so long and it was just that one time.”

  Walter leaned toward me and stared me straight in the eyes. “But that man resembled Cam. I guess I dismissed it as a relative that they had fallen out with and things stayed that way.”

  I felt my pulse tick up. This was it. The missing thread.

  “Do you realize what this means?” I asked.

  “Cam might have had a brother,” Gertie said, looking excited. “And it sounds like he was trouble if his dad threatened calling the cops.”

  “They might have moved to get aw
ay from that guy,” Ida Belle said. “That was why Cam’s dad was upset at being found.”

  “But they must have had something good on him,” Gertie said. “Or they couldn’t have gotten rid of him that easily.”

  “I’m going to guess it was something criminal,” Ida Belle said. “Which would explain why his parents never talked about having another child. Assuming all of this conjecture is true.”

  “It would be a blessing if it was,” Walter said.

  “Which is why we have to find out,” I said. “This could be the answer to our problem.”

  “Except the part where Brandon might be claiming the wrong man as his father,” Ida Belle said. “Either his mother lied about which brother fathered him or there’s something about being Cam’s son that represents a gain for Brandon. He didn’t crop up here for no reason.”

  “I agree,” I said. “But first up is figuring out if we’re right about the secret brother. Then we find out where he is and what kids he fathered.”

  Gertie clenched her hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Please Lord, let this be the answer.”

  “Amen,” I said, thinking it would be the answer to a prayer.

  One prayer, anyway.

  It still didn’t tell us who killed St. Ives and why.

  We were just leaving the hospital when I got a call from Mannie.

  “I found a guy in New Orleans that knew St. Ives,” he said. “He said he’ll talk but he’s not doing it twice, so if you want to know what he’s got, you have to get over here.”

  “Absolutely!” I said. “When?”

  “Now if you can swing it,” Mannie said. “This guy is surly as heck, so I’d like to get it done before he changes his mind. He’s also a PI sort—not the official kind, if you get my drift. So getting him to agree to talk at all is a minor miracle.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, we pulled up in front of an apartment complex. It was old but not run-down and scary-looking like many we’d come across. Mannie was waiting for us in the parking lot.

  “The guy’s called Shadow,” Mannie said. “I don’t have a real name but honestly, I don’t think it matters at this point. I’ve already given him your background. His type usually doesn’t run to talking to former spooks or women, but I get the impression he’s hacked off about St. Ives being killed.”