miss fortune mystery (ff) - once upon a murder (hair extensions and homicide 2)

by bow, frankie

  Gertie yelped and struggled out of the pillowy chair.

  “It’s starting! Come on, let’s go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Cover Shots: Pose with Our Hot Cover Models!”

  Galerie 1, 2, 3

  Meet your favorite romance authors and get your picture taken with our hottest cover model hunks! Come early to claim your spot in line, and make this your most memorable A.R.E.A. meeting yet!

  This session was the most crowded one I'd seen so far. Exhibit tables lined the perimeter of the vast space. Attendees pawed through piles of new releases and pocketed free pens and bookmarks. Shirtless “cowboys”, tattooed “bikers”, and handsome men in suits (“billionaires?”) roamed the floor, stopping every so often to sign book covers for hyperventilating fans. Gertie stood on her tippy-toes and craned her neck, looking for Larry. There was no sign of him.

  “Maybe he’s not interested in hanging around with a bunch of half-dressed twenty year old guys,” Ida Belle said. “If you’re worried, just call him on his cell.”

  “I don’t have his number,” Gertie said. “We’ve been spending so much time together, it never occurred to me that I’d need it. Oh, I hope he's okay.”

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes.

  “It’s just NOLA PD, not the Ban An Ninh. Jeez, with you all gaga about Larry, and Fortune here mooning over Carter, seems like I’m the only one who’s still got her head on straight.”

  Gertie looked puzzled. “Fortune mooned Carter?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not ‘mooning’ over anyone. Gertie, they're just going to ask him some questions, like they did with Ida Belle and me. Let's calm down and relax and enjoy whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing here.”

  I had no idea what Detective Augustine had in mind for Larry, but Larry wasn't my problem. Ida Belle was off the hook for now, and that was all I was worried about.

  Gertie sighed. “I don’t like to think that my Larry might’ve murdered someone.”

  “It's possible that no one murdered anyone,” I said. “Gertie, you heard what Felicity’s assistant said. She'd been writing naughty books on the side. Maybe she ended it all when it looked like she was going to be exposed.”

  “There’s nothing at all wrong with naughty books. I wish people would stop implying that there was. Oh dear. Maybe she died by her own hand after all. It’s terrible to think of anyone sinking to that level of despair, even if it was Felicity Vigneau.”

  “Yeah, even I feel a little sorry for her,” Ida Belle grumbled. “Darn it.”

  “Well I still don't see Larry...” Gertie stood on tiptoe again and took one last look around. “As long as we’re here, we may as well stand in line to meet the cover models.”

  We took our places at the end of a very long line. Gertie nudged me. “Who’s up there, Fortune? I can’t see over everyone’s heads.”

  I could easily see over the crowd to the “cover model hunks” posing with fans at the front of the line.

  “Looks like they’re changing shifts,” I said. “A soldier and a, looks like a highway patrolman, I think, hard to tell cause they’re not wearing shirts, are leaving, and a cowboy and a biker are taking their place.”

  “Great,” Ida Belle said. “All we need is a construction worker and we got Village People bingo. Oh, wait, which kind of biker? The Tour de France kind with the spandex shorts, or the kind with the leather and tattoos?”

  “The second kind. Leather and tattoos.”

  “Of course leather and tattoos, Ida Belle. Have you ever seen one of those skinny guys in a bicycle helmet on the cover of a romance novel?”

  “Well, why not? They can have Bigfoot on the cover, but they can’t have a guy in a bicycle helmet? Who invented that rule?”

  “There are cover models all over the place,” Ida Belle said. “Like that guy with the jeans and all the tattoos. What's he supposed to be, anyway?”

  “A stepbrother,” Gertie said, although how the casual observer was supposed to infer this was a mystery to me.

  “Why can't we just go meet him instead of standing in this long line?”

  “If this is too boring for you, Ida Belle, no one's forcing you to wait here with me.”

  “Gertie,” I said, “what are we supposed to do when we get to the front? I didn't bring a book for them to sign or anything.”

  “Just snuggle up and smile for the camera,” Gertie said.

  “Camera? I can’t have my picture taken. You know that.”

  Although snuggling up wasn’t an unappealing idea. Especially where that cowboy was concerned. His face was hidden by the brim of his hat, but the rest of him was visible, and extremely easy on the eyes. The biker was nice looking too, but it was the cowboy I couldn’t stop staring at.

  That was an encouraging sign. If I couldn’t resist drooling over some random “cover model hunk” at a romance conference, maybe that meant I was finally managing to forget about Carter.

  I must have gotten distracted thinking about Carter. Before I knew it, we were at the front of the line.

  A woman in a pashmina shawl took my elbow and pulled me up next to the cowboy. Apparently her job was to keep the line moving,

  “Turn this way and smile for the camera,” she said.

  “Wait, camera? No!”

  I couldn’t risk my picture getting posted online. Ahmad’s people had facial recognition software as good as anything my agency had access to. I pulled my arm free, and the cowboy looked up from under his hat to see what the commotion was.

  I froze.

  “Fortune?” the cowboy mouthed.

  “Carter?”

  Chapter Twenty

  I stared, speechless, at our deputy sheriff.

  “Say threesome,” someone shouted, and then a camera flashed.

  Carter pulled me close for the photo-op kiss, maneuvering me so that the flash caught the back of my head. My tacky half-grown-out hair extensions might end up on the conference website, but my anonymity was intact.

  “Good thinking,” I whispered.

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Shift ends at three. Concierge lounge. See you there.”

  Pashmina Shawl yanked me away to make room for the next person in line, a slender young man with a stylish wool scarf and spiky bleached hair.

  I waited in a daze while Gertie and Ida Belle got their pictures taken with the other cover model, a “biker” with manicured facial hair and a shaved chest.

  “Fortune, I hope you don't mind me bringing this up,” Gertie said as the three of us exited the exhibit hall. “But that cowboy looked an awful lot like Carter LeBlanc.”

  Ida Belle snorted. “Gertie, that was Carter LeBlanc. Still think you don't need glasses?”

  “There's nothing wrong with my eyesight, Ida Belle. I knew it was him. I was just wondering what he's doing all the way out here in New Orleans without his shirt, that's all.”

  “Yeah, me too. Fortune, what'd he tell you? You two were in a huddle for a long time.”

  “No we weren’t.”

  “Yes you were,” Gertie chimed in. “What's he say? He must be here investigating Felicity's death.”

  We were in the middle of the session time, so there wasn't the usual crowd around the bank of elevators. We got an elevator car to ourselves.

  “He told me was a long story,” I said. “That’s all. He didn’t tell me what it was. Why would they need to bring a deputy out from Sinful to investigate a murder in New Orleans?”

  I could think of a reason, but I didn't want to say it out loud. The prime suspect must be from Sinful.

  “So where are you meeting him?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Meeting who?”

  Of course I was planning to meet Carter in the Concierge Lounge, but I hoped to do it without Gertie and Ida Belle there. I wanted to do whatever I could--legally of course--to help Ida Belle. The thoug
ht briefly crossed my mind that Ida Belle might actually be guilty, but I dismissed it. Sure, Ida Belle could be a hothead, but she wouldn't do something like this.

  Gertie placed her hands on her hips. “Fortune, we know you’re not going to run into Carter LeBlanc and just say, oh, fancy meeting you here, and go on your merry way. You are going to see him later, aren't you?

  “I was hoping to have a private conversation with him. I think we have some things to discuss.” I’m not usually claustrophobic, but the elevator was suddenly feeling a little crowded for my taste.

  “Where do you think you’re going to have a private conversation?” Ida Belle asked. “The three of us are sharing a room, and I bet the cover boys are doubling up too.”

  “Fine. I might see him in the concierge lounge.”

  “We don’t have a key to the concierge level,” Gertie said. “That would’ve been fifty dollars a night more for us to stay there.”

  “Oh well.” I shrugged. Getting access to a restricted floor wasn’t going to be the hard part for me. Shaking Gertie and Ida Belle would be the challenge.

  The doors slid open at our floor, revealing an unwelcome sight.

  Detective Jean-Baptiste Augustine stood, blocking our exit. Next to him was a uniformed officer.

  “Ida Belle—” Augustine started. Ida Belle leaped for the button panel and started mashing the “close” button. Augustine barked directions at the officer, a brief scuffle ensued, and within seconds Ida Belle was being cuffed.

  “You can’t do that,” I began, but Augustine gave me a threatening look, and I clammed up. I didn’t want to get hauled in for interfering with arrest.

  “Don’t say anything, Ida Belle,” Gertie called after her as the two policemen led her off in the direction of the service elevator.

  Gertie and I looked at each other.

  “I’m meeting Carter in half an hour,” I said. “Maybe you should come with me.”

  “I thought you said you wanted privacy.”

  “I was going to try to find out whether Ida Belle was in trouble. Now we have to figure out how to get her out of trouble.”

  As soon as Gertie and I were back in our room, I pulled out my phone and called Carter’s number. He was still working the “meet the cover hunks” event, so I knew he wouldn't pick up. I left him a message detailing what had just happened to Ida Belle.

  I snapped my phone shut and watched Gertie talking on her own phone, waving her black-lace-encased arms as she spoke. Both of us knew better than to use the hotel phone. Finally she finished and hung up.

  “Who were you talking to?” I asked.

  “Someone who can get us a good lawyer and a bail bondsman.”

  “Great job, and please don't tell me any more.” For such a sweet old lady, Gertie had some amazingly sketchy acquaintances.

  “Unbelievable.” Gertie plopped down on her bed. “They got a murder every other day in this city, and they go and arrest Ida Belle for something that might not even be a murder.”

  “Well,” I sighed, “I guess it’s up to us to prove that.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Getting access to the concierge level required no elaborate spycraft. Gertie and I simply rode up and down on the elevator until someone came in with the right card key. After that we just followed them out as if we belonged. As useful as technology can be, many of the most effective security breaches rely on the human element.

  Five minutes to three was a little early for cocktail hour. Even in New Orleans.

  “Ooh, this is nice,” Gertie exclaimed as we entered the Concierge Lounge. There were snacks already set out, mixed nuts and chicken wings and raw veggies with ranch sauce. But aside from a server who restocked the wine bar and then disappeared into the back, the lounge was empty. Even in New Orleans, ten minutes to three was a little early for cocktail hour.

  “Ooh, this is nice. I wish Ida Belle were here. She’d love it.”

  Gertie and I took in the wall-length windows with a panoramic view of New Orleans.

  “Let's sit over there,” Gertie said. “No, wait. How about right here?”

  “Anyplace is fine with me.”

  I followed Gertie to a round table next to the window.

  “Gertie, you got her a good lawyer, right? Not some shady character?”

  “I don’t necessarily agree that 'good' and 'shady' are mutually exclusive here. A good defense can require a flexible attitude. “

  “Right. Whatever you did, please don't give me any details. I want to maintain plausible deniability. And I think I'm going to get a beer. Want one?”

  Carter showed up at half past three. He’d put on a checked shirt but still wore the painted-on jeans from earlier. Not that I was paying attention to his body or anything.

  “Where’s your cowboy hat?” Gertie asked.

  “Dropped it off in the room. I’m going to get myself some coffee. Get you ladies anything?”

  Gertie handed him her empty wine glass.

  “You owe me,” were Carter’s first words on sitting down at our table.

  “If it was that much of a bother, I could’ve refilled my wine by myself,” Gertie said.

  “Not that. I had to break cover to talk to Detective Augustine.”

  “You're not working with him?” I asked.

  “No. And they had a good laugh at my… situation.”

  “So what’s your mission?” Gertie asked.

  “Right. My mission. My mission is to pay my bills.”

  “So you're not officially undercover?” I asked.

  “I'm officially broke. Our new Mayor-Elect Celia Arceneaux has made a mess of Sinful’s finances.”

  “I still can’t believe she tried to fire you and hire her idiot cousin Nelson in your place,” Gertie said.

  “So what does Celia’s mismanagement have to do with your current mission?” I asked.

  “Not that we’re complaining,” Gertie added.

  “My last paycheck envelope had an IOU in it.”

  “That’s awful,” I said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Gertie added. “I wouldn’t put anything past that woman.”

  “I couldn’t pay the bills on just my savings. So when I saw the announcement in the New Orleans paper about this acting job, I took some leave and drove out to audition. The pay was good, and I was kind of desperate. So here I am.”

  “We all think you're a natural,” Gertie said.

  “You sure were getting a lot of attention at the event this afternoon.” I felt an unpleasant twinge at the thought of all those romance fans pawing him. Was that jealousy?

  “I wouldn’t want to do this full time, but it pays a lot better than a private security gig. And they’re putting me up here on the concierge floor, so I get free food too.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this. A writers’ conference two hours from Sinful, I kind of assumed there was no way I’d run into anyone I know.”

  “You know what happens when you assume,” Gertie said.

  “Why are you all here anyway?”

  “I’m a romance author now,” Gertie proclaimed.

  “When did that happen?”

  “She took a creative writing class online, got hooked, and started writing romance novels.”

  “I call it seniorotic--”

  “Did you learn anything about Ida Belle?” I interrupted. “Why did they take her in? I thought the current theory was that it was suicide.”

  Carter took a deep breath.

  “They said there was a verbal confrontation between Ida Belle and the vic. In the presence of multiple witnesses. Is that true?”

  Gertie snorted. “That’s absurd. You can’t arrest people just for yelling. Especially not Ida Belle. Why, she’d never walk free again.”

  “Were you there?” Carter asked. “Any idea what it was about?”

  “Gertie and I both were. It had something to do with when they were both
in high school.”

  “Ida Belle murdered someone over something that happened in high school?”

  “Carter, Ida Belle didn’t murder anyone. You’re supposed to be on our side here.”

  “Well I don’t blame Ida Belle for being mad about it,” Gertie said. “Felicity copied Ida Belle’s paper for English class, and—”

  “Gertie,” I interrupted. “I don’t think we need to go into detail. Let’s hear what else Carter found out.”

  “So the altercation already looks bad, but it gets worse. They just finished examining the footage from the working security cameras. They have Ida Belle in the parking garage around the estimated time of death.”

  “Ida Belle was in the parking garage that morning? She told Detective Augustine she—never mind, go on. How do they know it's Ida Belle?”

  “It's a clear shot of a woman in a track suit crossing Level E at 6:01 am. She has white hair.”

  “A lot of women here have white hair.”

  “But they don’t wear it rolled up in big curlers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Gertie, what on earth would Ida Belle be doing in the parking garage?”

  Gertie shrugged.

  “There's more,” Carter said. “At 6:07 am she’s crossing in the other direction holding something. A box or a package. Maybe something taken from the deceased.”

  “But what about the suicide idea?” Gertie asked

  Carter shook his head.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Felicity Vigneau would’ve had to strangle herself with her own necklace. And then jump afterwards.”

  “Oh. Augustine didn’t share that little detail with us.”

  “Fortune, they always keep back some information. That's standard procedure.”

  “Yeah, I know. Okay, who gains from her death, then? Was there a will? Who were the beneficiaries?”

  “Everything was in trust to charities. Animal shelters, literacy promotion.”