miss fortune mystery (ff) - once upon a murder (hair extensions and homicide 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SINFUL SCIENCE
THE CASE of the DEFUNCT ADJUNCT
THE MUSUBI MURDER
TRUST FALL
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Jana DeLeon. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Miss Fortune Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Jana DeLeon, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Once Upon a
Murder
Frankie Bow
DEDICATION
To my patient family and long-suffering friends.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SINFUL SCIENCE
THE CASE of the DEFUNCT ADJUNCT
THE MUSUBI MURDER
TRUST FALL
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to Jana Deleon for writing the Miss Fortune universe and letting us play in it.
Much love to the Romance Times Booklovers Convention for inspiring the setting, the event, and the session names and descriptions.
Immense gratitude to the patient friends and family members who made it through the earlier drafts
Chapter One
“You wouldn’t know we were in the middle of the French Quarter,” Ida Belle complained. “Heck, you can barely tell we’re in Louisiana. Why didn’t they get someplace with some local color, like the Ponchartrain?”
“Oh quit fussing,” Gertie scolded. “It’s very unbecoming for a woman your age. Anyway, we’re here for the conference, not ‘local color.’ You can go out and collect beads some other time.”
“I didn’t know you collected beads, Ida Belle. Do you make jewelry?”
Gertie whooped with laughter, Ida Belle glared at me, and they went back to bickering without answering my question. (It was only later that I found out that “collecting beads” during Mardi Gras meant something I couldn't possibly have guessed.)
I estimated how long it would be before we got to the front of the check-in line. Probably ten minutes, at least. No one else seemed to mind the wait. Most of the people in line seemed to be staring, transfixed, at their hands. I wondered whether I was the last person in the country under the age of thirty who didn’t carry a smartphone. I sure wouldn’t mind being able to look up information and check my email, but it would be too much of a risk.
The last conference I'd been to was in D.C. At a session called Intelligence and Technology: Emerging Threats I'd learned how easy it was to track someone using a smartphone or a laptop. Public networks, like the hotel Wi-Fi, made invading peoples' privacy even easier.
I took in my surroundings. No obvious threats, not that I was expecting to find any here. A sign posted next to the check-in desk read,
Welcome American Romance and Erotica Authors’ Convention attendees, and get ready to party with us New Orleans style! Here in the Big Easy we like to say Laissez Le Bon Temps Rouler, and we’re getting things rolling with an A.R.E.A favorite: Mimosas and bloody Marys, compliments of Saucy Minx Press, right around the corner from the registration tables! First-timers, don't miss the Virgin Orientation, designed to help you get the most out of this event. At only thirty minutes, this is a “quickie” seminar experience you'll never forget!
On the other side of the lobby, a line of middle-aged ladies waited to get books signed by a man wearing painted-on jeans, a black cowboy hat, and a red neckerchief.
Late twenties, five foot eleven, good strength and muscle tone. Moderately dehydrated from cutting water weight, a bodybuilder technique to enhance muscle definition.
Gertie jabbed my hipbone, which kind of hurt. She was probably trying to nudge me in the ribs, but I’m five-ten, and Gertie is barely five foot two in heels.
“Caught you staring.”
“I wasn't staring.”
“He’s famous,” she whispered, as if he might hear us talking about him clear across the lobby. “He started out as a personal trainer. Now he’s one of the top cover models in the industry.”
“If he’s such a big shot, how come he can’t afford a shirt?”
“Now there you go again, Ida Belle,” Gertie said. “We’re here to have fun and relax. Not complain about everything in sight. Right, Fortune?”
“Right. My mission is to enjoy myself and forget about my problems.”
Problems. I had a few of those. Here’s the short version. I’d been undercover in Sinful, (population 253, give or take a murder or two), posing as the niece of recently-deceased resident Marge Boudreaux. I was hiding out from an arms dealer who had put a bounty on my head, and my job—my one job, as my handler Harrison liked to remind me—was to maintain my cover and stay out of sight.
Well, I hadn’t been a great success. I wasn’t very convincing as a retired beauty queen, and I was having a lot of trouble laying low. From the moment I’d set foot in Sinful, I’d been caught up in the affairs of the town.
And speaking of affairs—let’s just say that this was a great time to get out of Dodge. This writers’ conference of Gertie's was the perfect opportunity to do that.
“Complimentary Mimosas and Bloody Marys?” Ida Belle placed her hands on her knees and leaned in to peer at the sign. “Heck, I know where I’m going first,”
“It’s kind of early to start drinking, isn’t it?” I asked.
Ida Belle stood up. “Don’t be a wet blanket, Fortune. We’re on vacation. Besides, it’s nine o clock somewhere.”
“It’s nine o clock here,” I said.
“Well there you go then. Oh, it’s our turn. Gertie, you
have the reservation for him?”
I started to size up the hotel clerk—five foot six, early thirties, advanced male pattern baldness, irritable manner characteristic of acute stress or sleep deprivation—then stopped myself. I wasn’t on a mission here. I was supposed to be on vacation.
“Are you with the A.R.E.A. conference?” The clerk watched Gertie fumbling in her enormous bag for our room reservation information. “I don’t need your reservation number if you don’t have it handy. Your name will do.”
“Hebert. Gertie Hebert.”
He started typing on his terminal. “You should know that we're currently finishing up some minor renovations. We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience. If there's anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, we hope you'll let us know right away.”
It was clear that he hoped nothing of the kind. He was obviously fatigued and must have given that little speech about the renovations about a hundred times this morning.
“This is our first A.R.E.A. Conference,” Gertie said. “We’re all so excited. But look at you, you must be exhausted! I could see the whole time we were standing in line you've not had a moment's rest. How are you holding up, dear?”
“Oh,” the clerk exhaled. “It’s been crazy. We just had another big group stay here right before you guys, and they completely trashed the place. Shot out the security cameras with BB guns, pitched a couch off a seventeenth-floor balcony, and one room tried to flush a pillow down the toilet.”
“What kind of group was that?” I asked.
“Doll collectors’ convention. Check-in time isn’t till noon, but…” the clerk tapped on his terminal keyboard, squinted at the screen, and tapped some more. “…as a courtesy we’re going to see if we can’t get you into your room right now. The registration tables are up on the second floor. You can’t miss them, top of the stairs. And make sure to check out the breakfast cocktails, compliments of Saucy Minx Press. And, here are your room keys. Do you need more than one apiece?”
“Maybe,” Gertie giggled.
“Absolutely not.” Ida Belle glared at Gertie.
“Early check-in, huh?” I held the elevator door open for Gertie and Ida Belle and then stepped in after them. “Good job, Gertie.”
“Well, as I always say, it's nice to be important...” Gertie pressed the seventh-floor button and gave Ida Belle a hard look, “but it's more important to be nice.”
Chapter Two
We deposited our luggage in the room and then hurried back down to the main registration area. The woman manning the “M” table smiled sweetly and handed me a burgundy tote bag with “American Romance and Erotica Authors’ Conference, New Orleans” written in white cursive text, over a drawing of a Mardi Gras mask and a quill pen.
“Sandy Sue Morrow? Here you go, Sandy Sue,” she said, calling me by the name I’d used to sign up for the conference. “My, what a lovely name.”
“Thank you.” I hated the name Sandy Sue, but my undercover identity hadn’t exactly been my decision.
The tote bag was surprisingly heavy. I peeked inside and saw that it was full of books.
“I didn’t order these,” I said.
“Compliments of our sponsors.” the woman beamed. “Now you’ll find your badge, badge holder, and lunch tickets in the white envelope. Enjoy the conference.”
“Fortune!” Ida Belle’s voice reverberated through the meeting area. “There you are. All set? Let’s go.”
I slung the bag over my shoulder and followed Ida Belle and Gertie around the corner to yet another long line, this time leading to a bar.
Gertie seemed excited about her first writer’s conference, and I was happy for her. I wished I could feel as happy for myself. I tried not to think about Deputy Sheriff Carter LeBlanc, or wonder whether he was thinking about me. Should I call him? No, I shouldn’t.
“Fortune, quit moping!” Ida Belle was frowning at me.
“I wasn’t moping,” I said. “I was just thinking about, uh, should I get a Mimosa or a Bloody Mary.”
“That lady in front of us, the one in the velvet coat, is getting her third Mimosa,” Gertie whispered. “She just keeps getting back in line.”
The woman in question leaned heavily on the bar, watching the bartender pour the orange juice and sparkling wine.
“I think I’ll go with the Bloody Mary,” I said. “The Mimosa looks dangerous. Anyway I’m not really in the mood for something sweet. Do they have coffee? I don’t see coffee anywhere.”
“You know what I don’t see?” Gertie said. “I don’t see Lexi Tingle. On the forums people were saying she’d be here.”
“Who is that?” Ida Belle asked.
“Who?” Gertie looked shocked. “She’s the one who’s teaching my Self-Promotion for Authors course, the number one independent author marketing course in the country!”
“Number one as measured by what? The number of suckers she can get to pay for her class?”
“Well, Ida Belle, if you knew anything at all about the industry, you’d know that Lexi Tingle is the author of the Bound for Love series, which has been on the New York Times bestseller list for forty weeks out of the last year.”
“Gertie,” I said, “I’ll help you keep an eye out for her. I’m good at recognizing people. Do you have a photo?”
Gertie rummaged in her gigantic carpet bag, which provided a counterweight to the conference swag bag on her other shoulder. “I think her picture’s on the back of her book. Here it is.” She pulled a paperback book out of her bag and held it up. “She’s very recognizable, with her cascading auburn hair and luminous green eyes.”
Ida Belle and I leaned in to examine the book
“I don’t think that’s going to help us find your author.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a drawing,” Ida Belle said. “How do you expect anyone to recognize…”
Ida Belle trailed off. She was staring across the room.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Ida Belle, do you see her?” Gertie stood on her tiptoes and peered across the crowded hall.
Ida Belle shook her head. “I thought I saw someone I recognized. Probably just tired after the long trip.”
“Yeah, napping while someone else does all the driving must be exhausting,” I said, a little ungraciously.
The woman in front of us turned around, clutching a fizzy orange drink in a stemmed glass.
“The mimosas are soooo good,” she announced in our general direction. “I might have to get back in line.” She tottered away, holding her mimosa aloft like a lantern. Ida Belle quickly took her place at the bar.
“Bartender, get me a mimosa and a Bloody Mary.”
“Thanks Ida Belle,” I said. “You didn’t have to order for me.”
Ida Belle took a mimosa in one hand and a Bloody Mary in the other.
“I didn’t,” she said. “Get your own.”
Chapter Three
Our room had two queen size beds. Gertie and Ida Belle conveniently pleaded feeble old age, and neither of them wanted to double up. My youth and robust health doomed me to the foldout couch.
“Let’s see what we got in our goody bags.” Gertie turned her bag upside down and shook the contents out onto her bed. Ida Belle and I followed her example. We each had some postcards and bookmarks, a shiny string of cheap Mardi Gras beads, and an assortment of paperback books.
“Ooh, look at all these!” Gertie was beaming. “And we all got different titles! When we finish reading through our own, we can trade.”
“These romance books sure look different than how they used to,” Ida Belle said.
“Ida Belle, you were a romance reader?” I was surprised.
“No, but they used to sell the paperbacks at the General Store. They were in this round rack right by the checkout counter. I remember the covers were all these sappy paintings of princesses and pirates or whatever. But most of these are just guys without anything on.”
“Isn�
�t it wonderful?” Gertie sighed.
Ida Belle hoisted her huge suitcase onto her bed and unlatched it. “Your sudden interest in literature is making a lot more sense now, Gertie.”
“They’re not all R-rated. How about this one?” I held up a copy of something called Lilydale Love Song, by Larry Lindgren. It had a picture of a quaint old well on the cover. To me, an abandoned well said “body dumping site” and not “romance,” but maybe I wasn’t the typical target customer.
Ida Belle glanced at the book in my hand and turned her attention back to unpacking. “Looks boring.”
“You know New Orleans isn’t dry like Sinful, right?” I watched Ida Belle unload dozens of bottles of Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup out of her bag.
“I came prepared for medical emergencies.”
“How much of that stuff did you bring?”
“Just a few boxes,” Gertie said.
“Just a few boxes? Is that why the Jeep was handling like that on the drive out? You were both asleep so you probably didn’t notice, but I almost fishtailed twice.”
“It’s hard to travel light when you get to our age,” Ida Belle said.
“Well no one would accuse you two of traveling light. It felt like I was driving with a neutron star in the cargo area. How much moonshine do you two need for a four day conference anyway?”
“It’s easy to catch a cold when you travel,” Gertie said.
“Drinking in a bar can get expensive,” Ida Belle added.
“In more ways than one,” Gertie giggled, and then the two of them started reminiscing about some misadventure they had had back in some bar in DaNang. I must have tuned out of the conversation as I was sorting out my new books because the next thing I heard was Ida Belle yelling at me.
“Fortune? Fortune!”