Louisiana Longshot

by Jana DeLeon

  “No women go to the bars?”

  “No reputable ones.” She slipped her pad into her apron. “The closest I can get you is root beer.”

  “Make it a root beer float.” Root beer was almost perfect when ice cream was in it.

  “You got it. Food’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” she said as she walked back into the kitchen.

  “I’m not in a hurry,” I said and opened the book to where I’d left off the night before. Amazing what horrible weaponry they had to use back then. I couldn’t imagine doing my job without the tools I had now. The farmers that had won this country had some serious balls.

  I was so engrossed in the book that I didn’t even hear him come in.

  “Ms. Morrow.” Deputy LeBlanc’s voice sounded right next to my chair, and I jumped.

  “Jesus. Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

  “That seems an odd question coming from you, but hold that thought.” He looked over at Francine, who was coming our way with my food.

  She set the plate in front of me and looked at Deputy LeBlanc. “You want something to eat?”

  “I’ll take the special.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “I thought you always grilled on your day off.”

  He frowned. “Well, someone decided to send pictures to Junior Baker of his wife skinny-dipping with his cousin. Junior and his cousin got into a fight at the Swamp Bar, and I was halfway there before they called me to say all parties had left and the scuffle was over. In the meantime, Tiny ate my burgers, which I rushed off and left on the grill.”

  Tiny? Was he kidding?

  Francine shook her head. “That woman is going to be the death of one of those men.”

  “You’re probably right. I just can’t decide which one would be the better loss. Oh, Francine, put my dinner on Ms. Morrow’s tab.”

  Francine’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say a word before she hurried off to the kitchen.

  “Why on earth would I buy your dinner?” I asked. “I hope you don’t think I sent those naked pictures. I don’t even know those people.”

  “I have my own ideas about who sent them, but I’ll probably never be able to prove it.”

  “Then I don’t know why you think I owe you anything.”

  He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out three strands of platinum blond hair. “I found these wedged in between my dog’s teeth. Right there along with what was left of my dinner. The hedge you broke will probably survive, but the least you owe me is a meal. If you hadn’t gotten him riled, he would never have gone after my burgers.”

  Holy shit! You’re a trained professional, I told myself as I struggled to maintain a blank expression.

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

  He gave me an amused smile. “Is that the best you can do?”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You know, peeping in people’s houses is against the law, but if you really want to catch a glimpse of me that badly, let me know. I’m always willing to accommodate a pretty woman.”

  He winked and laid the strands of hair across my book before sauntering off to the corner to talk to the old guys. I felt a flush of heat run up my neck and struggled to maintain control. The nerve of him, thinking I hid in his bushes to catch him in his undies or something. What an ego!

  “Do you want a refill?” Francine’s voice sounded beside me.

  Crap, I was losing my touch. That was two people in a row who had sneaked up on me in a public place.

  I looked up and saw her pointing at the empty mug. “Sure,” I said. Maybe another root beer float would sweeten my temperament.

  She returned a couple minutes later with the float, and I was still fuming.

  “Has he always been that cocky?” I asked as she placed the float on the table.

  Francine glanced nervously at Deputy LeBlanc and then nodded. “He was always sorta the best at everything: good grades, football star, best hunter…All the girls in Sinful chased after him something fierce. I sometimes think he went into the Marines just to get away from them.”

  “Figures,” I muttered. “So, where’s his harem now?”

  “Well, quite a few didn’t feel like waiting around, so they married others, some left town for bigger things, but there’s still a few vying for his attention.”

  She cocked her head to the side and studied me for a minute. “’Course, I haven’t seen him pay any woman mind until you.”

  “Oh, no! I have absolutely no interest in the Deputy Charming. In fact, if there was such a thing as negative interest, that’s what I have.”

  “Deputy Charming. I like that.”

  “I’m sorta into sarcasm”

  Francine shrugged. “Well, you could do a lot worse. I realize you’re only here for the summer, but a little summer fling never hurt anyone. Well, except Maureen Thompson, but she was sleeping with her sister’s husband.”

  She turned and walked back to the kitchen, leaving me stewing in my root beer float. Things were worse than ever. Not only had I risked my life to get that hair extension, only to have Tiny—and what an absurd name that was - clinging to evidence; but now Deputy LeBlanc assumed I was in his backyard because I had some amorous intentions concerning him. What a nightmare.

  As soon as I finished dessert, I was going straight home, climbing into bed, and not leaving the house for the rest of the day, unless there was a fire. Today was out of control. I needed time to decompress and regroup.

  I have no idea what compelled me to look over at Deputy LeBlanc, but it was as if I couldn’t help myself. He was still sitting with the old-timers, but as I glanced over, he looked straight at me, then winked.

  I sighed. Maybe I’d just make a quick stop by Gertie’s for some of that cough syrup before heading home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was pouring a shot of cough syrup when the house phone rang. I paused for a second, feeling strange about answering a dead woman’s phone, but then I figured everyone knew she was dead and someone was still calling, which meant the call was probably for me. I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. I answered the phone, expecting Gertie or Ida Belle to be on the other line, but got a proper-sounding male voice instead.

  “Miss Morrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to call so late. This is Albert Worley. I’m an attorney with Worley and Pickard.”

  The summons!

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Worley, but I can’t help you find Marie. I don’t even know the woman.”

  There was dead silence for a moment and I wondered if he’d hung up. Then he cleared his throat.

  “I’m afraid I’m confused, Miss. Morrow. I’m your late aunt’s attorney.”

  “Oh. Oh! I’m sorry, Mr. Worley. There’s been some drama since I’ve arrived at my aunt’s house, and I thought you were calling for a different reason.”

  Mr. Worley cleared his throat. “I hope everything is all right…”

  “Everything’s fine. A bit of a misunderstanding is all. How can I help you, Mr. Worley? I’m afraid I haven’t even begun to catalog my aunt’s belongings.”

  “We’re in no hurry for that. Your aunt did quite well with her stock market investments, and the estate can handle the cost of your stay for as long as is necessary to wrap everything up.”

  “Oh, well, I’m really hoping to get everything settled before summer is over.”

  “That’s fine, Ms. Morrow. I just wanted to make you aware that there’s no pressure on our end of things. I know you live in a big city, but things tend to move at a slower pace in small places.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” I hadn’t actually experienced it, but I was still hoping.

  “The reason for my call is that your aunt left a document to be given to you following her death.”

  “What kind of document?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. It was sealed when she delivered it to us for safekeeping. Our instructions were to deliver it to y
ou after her passing. If you’d like to pick it up at our office in New Orleans, that is fine, or I can arrange to meet you at your aunt’s house. I would send it courier, but I need to get your signature for the estate’s files.”

  Crap. The last thing I needed to do was forge Sandy-Sue’s signature on legal documents. Besides, whatever Marge had written in that document, she intended for her niece to read it, not me.

  “I’m not sure what my schedule is this week, Mr. Worley. My aunt’s Jeep is currently out of commission, but I’m hoping it will be fixed soon. I need to make a trip to New Orleans after that repair is complete. Can I call you and let you know when that’s planned?”

  “Of course. As I said before, there’s no rush. I’ll make arrangements for whenever you’re in town. Thank you, Ms. Morrow, and have a good evening.”

  I hung up the phone and headed upstairs with my bottle of cough syrup and shot glass in tow. I’d already had one shot, but I figured two would be better, especially if I intended to go to bed this early. I wasn’t exactly the early-to-bed type. As the first shot had almost burned off my vocal cords, I didn’t even want to imagine what it was doing to my bloodstream. I planned on being in pajamas and in bed before I went for round two. I was going to get some sleep around here if it killed me.

  ***

  I was halfway up the stairs when my cell phone rang. I groaned, not even remotely in the mood for a midnight jaunt with the two walking senior queens of trouble. I pulled the phone from my pocket, and my heart began to race as I saw the call was from Harrison.

  “What the hell is going on down there?” Harrison’s voice boomed over the cell phone as soon as I answered.

  I froze on the stairwell. “What do you mean?”

  “I have alerts imbedded in any search of the national databases. One popped last night for your dead aunt.”

  “Oh!” Deputy LeBlanc was moving quicker than I’d thought he would.

  “Why is someone looking into a woman that died of natural causes?”

  I explained the situation with the bone, leaving out my involvement with the Senior Citizen Mafia of Sinful, as I was afraid it would give him apoplexy.

  “Jesus, Redding, you're a magnet for dead people. Please tell me you're not involved in this.”

  “How could I be? The guy was killed a long time ago. Not like I could have done it.”

  “Well, apparently a Deputy LeBlanc thinks Aunt Marge knew something about it. Why else would he investigate her?”

  “She was good friends with the dead man's wife, and I understand from the locals that the dead man was an abusive but wealthy asshole. Maybe Deputy LeBlanc thinks one of her friends helped her out of the problem.”

  “You've been talking to locals about this? Stop! You cannot get involved in this mess. Stick to packing boxes and watering plants or whatever else they do down there.”

  “You don't want to know,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Trust me, I'm trying to stay out of everything, but it would be odder if I wasn't curious. I'm not asking questions, but if people start gossiping, I’m not going to ask them to stop.”

  There was silence for a couple of seconds; then I heard Harrison sigh. “I get it. Fine, then listen, but do not offer an opinion on anything.”

  “I promise to keep my opinions to myself.” And Ida Belle and Gertie.

  Which reminded me. “Uh, Harrison,” I said, “there might be some more names that pop. The dead woman was in some sort of old ladies society that seems to run this town.”

  “Okay. If any seniors pop, I'll know it's just the deputy fishing.”

  “Is there any news on my situation?”

  “I'm afraid not. Ahmad's gone underground. Our intel went black, and we haven't locked on since Friday.”

  “But the hit is still out?”

  “Yeah. We've intercepted communication to two known Brazilian assassins. We know they entered the country, but we haven't been able to locate them yet.”

  “Okay,” I said, afraid to say more because I knew my disappointment would sound clearly through my voice.

  “Listen, Redding. I’m really sorry about all this. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but that’s about the work, not personal. I want you to know I’m doing everything I can to get you out of there. So is Morrow.”

  “I know.” And I did know. Harrison and I fought like angry ex-lovers, and Morrow sometimes seemed to channel my late father with his disapproval and ass-chewing, but I knew they both wanted this resolved as much as I did.

  “Okay,” Harrison said. “I don’t want to keep this line open too long. I won’t call again unless the situation has changed, but keep checking your email. I’ll give you updates when I can get a secure connection.”

  “Thanks—Harrison?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  “I know,” he repeated my words back to me.

  I disconnected and trudged up the stairs. So far, Deputy LeBlanc’s research hadn’t extended to me. Granted, there was no logical reason for it to as Sandy-Sue hadn’t been anywhere near Sinful when Harvey disappeared, but I wondered at what point curiosity would get the better of him and he did a background check just because.

  There were so many things for me to consider that my head was beginning to hurt. I was going to change clothes, get into bed with my book, and have some more cough syrup. With any luck, I’d fall into a coma and that would solve all my problems.

  ***

  I was just about to slip on the headphones when I heard a board creak overhead. Immediately, I dropped the headphones onto the bed and slipped out from under the covers. The night air was desperately muggy and still and couldn’t possibly have contributed to the noise.

  Someone was in the attic.

  During my original sweep of the house, I'd discovered the staircase to the attic at the end of the hallway. I'd thought it was a closet at first, but instead, I had found the narrowest set of stairs known to man. Nothing of any size could possibly be stored there as it would never make it up the staircase.

  I pulled on my socks to silence my approach, then crept down the hall to the staircase door. I held my breath as I eased the door open, relieved when it didn't squeak, then slid into the narrow space and tiptoes up the steps until I could peek into the attic.

  There was a single window at the end of the attic, and light from the full moon streamed in through it, creating a glimmering path down the center of the space. I cased the entire area, trying to make out some movement in the shadows, but everything was still.

  Not even a whisper of air passed through, and for an instant, I wondered if I'd been mistaken.

  Then I heard it again at the far end of the attic.

  I inched into the space, praying that the floorboards didn’t creak as I stepped onto them. I paused a moment, but only the silence of the attic echoed back at me. Whatever it was had gone still, which meant that it probably knew I was there—had sensed me, smelled me, or seen me. The element of surprise was out, but I still had the element of a pistol on my side.

  On high alert, I crept across the attic floor, falling back into combat mode, relying on all of my senses to give me any advantage. The sides of the attic were stacked with boxes and small furniture. Some of it was covered with sheets, giving the entire place the appearance of one of those houses you saw in a horror movie.

  And here I was, blond, in my pajamas, and creeping up on whatever was in there with me instead of getting out of the house. It would be a total cliché except that I wasn’t well-endowed or a cheerleader and would have easily dispatched those wimps from Scream.

  At the end of the attic, the stacks of boxes rose higher, almost touching the ceiling. What in the world was Marge storing up here? I had one closet in my tiny apartment back in D.C., and if you removed the weapons, it wouldn’t be a quarter full of anything else.

  I took a couple of steps toward the boxes and that’s when I saw one of
the sheets covering some of them move. The movement was at shoulder level, and I froze, instantly realizing that if those boxes did not extend to the side wall of the house, someone could easily be hiding behind them. Someone with a rifle trained in between those boxes and pointing at my head.

  In a split second, I launched at the boxes and ripped the sheet from the top, then ducked before they could get off a shot at me. But my problem turned out to be of a completely different sort. As I ducked down, something large and furry landed right on my shoulder. All I could see was the flash of white from eyes and teeth.

  I didn’t scream. A trained assassin does not scream, even when attacked by fur with teeth, but I did put a round through the roof of the attic, trying to hit the thing. I was unsuccessful. The furry teeth scurried across the attic floor to the far end, ran up an old bookcase, opened the window and sprang into the tree outside.

  I ran after it, thinking I might be able to pick it off in the tree, tripped over a coatrack and went sprawling into a stack of boxes, bringing them down on top of me. I scrambled out of the mess and ran to the window, but Furry Teeth was long gone. Disgusted, I closed the window, locked it this time, then swung around in a huff and banged my foot on a box. Aggravated, I kicked the offending box for good measure and the old cardboard split, heaving the contents onto the attic floor.

  The glint of a military medal caught my eye and I stooped to see it was attached to a very old army uniform that I recognized as from the Vietnam era. I lifted the jacket up for a closer view and saw Marge’s name stitched on it. So Marge was a Vietnam veteran, and from the looks of the stripes and medals, had not been over there painting her fingernails. This woman had seen some serious action.

  A military career certainly explained the simplicity and organization of her home, not to mention that it shed a ton of light on her reading material. And maybe it somehow explained why I felt so comfortable in her home even though I was completely out of my element everywhere else.