Hurricane Force (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  “And boy is this going to be a mess,” I said. “Walter said Celia went into the store and bought shotgun shells right after her run-in with Max at the café.”

  Ida Belle whistled. “I hope there was a church full of people with eyes on Celia the entire night.”

  We slipped out the front door and headed down the sidewalk. “Surely,” I said, “Celia wouldn’t have sneaked away and killed Max. How would she even know he’d be here? And why was he here?”

  “No. She wouldn’t have. If he’d broken in and threatened her, maybe, but despite all the things Celia is capable of, I don’t think murder is one of them.”

  “But that won’t stop other people from thinking so,” I said.

  “Especially everyone who heard or heard about the exchange at the café.”

  Gertie looked up at us as we approached. Sirens sounded close by, which was good. Norman hadn’t improved one bit since we’d left. In fact, his breathing had started to increase and I was afraid he’d have a panic attack before the paramedics could get him oxygen. Ida Belle shook her head at Gertie and she looked over at Marie, who bit her lower lip. We couldn’t say anything with Norman there, but they both knew that whatever was inside that house was bad.

  An ambulance pulled up to the curb and two men jumped out and rushed over to Norman. Right behind them, an SUV screeched to a stop and Celia burst out of the passenger side door, waving her hands. “What the heck is going on? What did you do to Norman?” She glared at me.

  “She didn’t do anything to him,” Ida Belle said. “Marie found him this way.”

  Celia smirked. “Like I believe that. Anytime she’s around, there’s trouble.”

  “Oh, there’s trouble,” I said, “but it has nothing to do with me. You might want to save being belligerent for after the cops get here.”

  Celia cast a worried glance at her house, then back at us. “What happened to my house?”

  The paramedics helped Norman up and headed for the ambulance. Ida Belle waited until they were out of earshot before replying. “Your house is a crime scene.”

  Celia threw her hands in the air. “What the hell are you talking about, you old fool? Hurricane damage is not a crime.”

  “Murder is,” Ida Belle said.

  Chapter Five

  Gertie sucked in a breath and Marie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, and it took me a second to remember that they didn’t know what Ida Belle and I had found inside any more than Celia did.

  Celia put her hands on her hips and glared. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull this time, but I won’t fall for it.” She whirled around and stomped off toward her house.

  “Don’t go in there!” Ida Belle yelled. “For once, will you trust me?”

  Celia glanced back at Ida Belle with a hold-your-breath-and-wait look but never slowed her pace.

  “Stubborn, foolish bitch,” Ida Belle said.

  “Should I stop her?” I asked.

  “No. Let her go in and take a look. Serves her right. Not like she’s going to disturb the crime scene. Her prints are all over the house anyway.”

  “Who’s dead?” Gertie asked.

  “Max,” Ida Belle said.

  Gertie’s eyes widened and Marie gasped as the blood rushed from her face.

  “You’re sure it was murder?” Gertie asked.

  I nodded. “Shotgun blasts to the chest at close range. Probably two. Maybe more. He fell forward so it’s hard to tell without turning him over.”

  Gertie understood exactly what I described and her face wrinkled up for a moment. Marie simply sank onto the lawn, her hands clutched together.

  A loud shriek rang from inside the house and a couple seconds later, Celia came running out the front door, tripped on the doormat, and face-planted on her porch. Gertie hurried over and leaned over to check on her. “She’s breathing. Just passed out, I think.” She headed back down the walkway. “The paramedics can see to her when they’re done with Norman. We told her not to go in there.”

  “Yeah, well, the situation is even worse than it looks,” I said and repeated what Walter had told me the day before at the store.

  “Celia couldn’t have shot him,” Marie said immediately.

  Gertie nodded. “She doesn’t have the chops. Look at her now—passed out like a drunk at New Year’s. She wouldn’t have made it out of the house after shooting him.”

  “What we think is not going to matter,” Ida Belle said. “Unless eyes were on Celia at the time Max was shot, she’s suspect number one. The front door is broken, but with the hurricane, there’s no way to prove it was forced versus the damage is because of the storm.”

  “I tried to get her to replace that old door when I did mine,” Marie said. “But of course, she wasn’t about to do it since it wasn’t her idea.”

  “Of course,” Ida Belle said.

  One of the paramedics walked up. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  I gave the young man a brief description of the scene in the kitchen. His eyes widened and I saw his throat move as he swallowed. “Thanks, ma’am.” He hurried away, casting a worried glance back at the house. He was probably terrified that they’d be asked to go in and get the body.

  “Here come the police,” Gertie said. “Such as they are.”

  Carter’s truck pulled up and he and Deputy Breaux climbed out and headed our way.

  “What happened?” Carter asked.

  Ida Belle gave him a rundown. Carter’s expression darkened. Deputy Breaux, who I thought would be upset, seemed to take the news the way he did any other report of a crime, like drunk and disorderly. Then I remember that he probably heard and saw a lot worse during hunting season and it put things back into perspective.

  “Why is Celia passed out on the porch?” Deputy Breaux asked, glancing over at Celia’s heaving chest. “Was she attacked as well?”

  “Only by her own stupidity,” Ida Belle said. “We told her not to look.”

  “Ah.” Deputy Breaux nodded. “The paramedics can handle that one then. We’re not required to handle stupid.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. “That’s all you handle in this town.”

  “Touché,” Gertie said

  “We have to document the scene,” Carter said.

  “You’re still on medical leave,” I reminded him.

  “It’s an emergency situation. I’m reinstating myself. Deputy Breaux can’t walk the scene alone, and I don’t have the authority to deputize any of you.”

  Gertie’s eyes widened. “Oh, that would be great. Who has the authority?”

  “The sheriff,” Carter said.

  “But we don’t have a sheriff,” Gertie said. “Not technically.”

  “Then no one,” Carter said. “So don’t bother getting ideas.”

  I smiled. The last thing Sinful needed was Gertie with a badge. She did enough damage with her handbag of tricks without a license to arrest people. And Sheriff Lee was probably just irritated enough that at this point, if he had the authority, he would hand her over a shiny piece of metal. I glanced at Ida Belle, who was looking at Gertie and frowning. Probably the same thoughts were running through her mind.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Carter said and headed for the porch, Deputy Breaux trailing behind him.

  As they stepped onto the porch, Celia bolted upright and grabbed Carter’s leg. “I want that woman arrested,” she said and pointed to me.

  “For what?” Carter asked.

  “For that,” Celia said and pointed inside her house.

  Carter’s jaw set in a hard line and I could tell he’d finally reached his politeness breaking point with Celia.

  “Here we go,” Ida Belle gleefully whispered.

  “Here’s the way the law works,” Carter said, “since it’s clear you aren’t smart enough to know. First, there’s an investigation where we gather evidence. Once we have evidence, we arrest people. I don’t care if you’re mayor of the universe. You still can’t
direct me to arrest someone without evidence. So either shut up and let me do my job correctly or get in there and clean your own damned kitchen.”

  “Ooooohhhhh, bull’s-eye,” Gertie said and clapped as Carter stepped over Celia and entered the house. Deputy Breaux hesitated a moment before skirting Celia’s legs and hurrying inside.

  Celia glared at their retreating backs for a couple of seconds, then turned her hateful look on us. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this.”

  “With standing on your front lawn?” I asked. “Last time I checked, it wasn’t illegal. I’m sure you can get that changed but until then, I’ll just wait here and enjoy the show.”

  Celia rose to her feet and stomped down the porch. “You think this is entertaining? A man is dead and you don’t even care.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you do,” I said. “I heard you threaten him yesterday in the café, and I know that you went across the street and bought shotgun shells right after that little encounter. One of us is in a heap of shit over Max’s murder, but I guarantee you that it’s not me.”

  Celia gasped and the color drained from her face. “I didn’t…I never,” she sputtered.

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” I smiled. “After all, no one in Sinful would ever railroad an innocent person for their own personal pleasure.”

  “Another bull’s-eye,” Gertie said.

  Celia shot a nasty look at Gertie, then shoved her to the side and stalked across the lawn and climbed back in the SUV. The vehicle squealed away from the curb and I watched as it turned the corner.

  “Hey,” I asked, “who was driving the SUV?”

  “Freda Williams, one of Celia’s lackeys,” Ida Belle said.

  “She never got out of the vehicle,” I said. “Not even when Celia passed out on the porch.”

  “She’s an idiot, and a coward,” Ida Belle said, “and she’s afraid of Gertie.”

  “Why is she afraid of Gertie?” I asked, glancing over at Gertie, who chose that moment to study her shoes.

  After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, Gertie finally threw her arms in the air. “You shoot someone accidentally one time and they hold a grudge forever,” she said.

  I stared. “You shot her?”

  “My knitting got wrapped around my pistol,” Gertie said. “It was an accident.”

  “The pistol she forgot to put the safety on,” Ida Belle said.

  “That bullet barely touched her,” Gertie argued. “It hit her butt and there’s a lot of acreage there. She didn’t even need a bandage, but the biddy wailed so much they gave her a little one.”

  “Ma’am,” one of the paramedics interrupted. “We’re going to take this gentleman to the hospital. Would one of you like to come along, or is there someone you can call for him?”

  “I’ll come,” Marie said. “I can call his daughter on the way. She’s in New Orleans, so it would take her a while to get here, assuming she can get away after the storm.”

  “Great,” the paramedic said and headed back to the ambulance.

  “I’ll call you when I’m back home,” Marie said. “Find out everything you can. This was next door to my house. That doesn’t sit well with me.” She gave us a nod and headed toward the ambulance.

  “You don’t think Marie’s in any danger, do you?” Gertie asked.

  “No,” Ida Belle said. “Timing worked out for her. She wasn’t home to see the shooter. If she’d been home at the time of the murder, she would have heard the shots and would have looked outside. But since she was at the church with us, then no.”

  “Do you think the killer knew that?” Gertie asked.

  “My guess is yes,” I said. “If Max came here for something, he did it when he knew the house would be empty. It would have been easy enough for someone to check the two churches and see who was there.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “I don’t think anyone on this street stayed put. Several have relatives in north Louisiana and head that direction when a storm moves in. Others were at the churches.”

  “That’s good,” Gertie said, looking relieved. “Marie doesn’t need any more trouble.”

  “Agreed,” Ida Belle said, “but until they establish time of death, I’m afraid she might have some. Celia is angry and afraid right now, but once she calms down, my guess is she’ll shift her attention from Fortune and accuse Marie of the murder.”

  “Why in the world would she do that?” Gertie asked.

  “To claim that Marie did it to implicate Celia in a crime in order to get the mayor position.”

  I whistled. “She would do it, too. Let’s hope the time of death is narrow enough and far enough back that Marie was still perched in the church in front of a bunch of witnesses.”

  “Your lips to God’s ears,” Gertie said.

  We stood in silence, waiting on Carter and Deputy Breaux to emerge. They were probably only inside fifteen minutes or so, but it felt like forever, especially once the mosquitoes moved in. I slapped another on my arm and almost wept with relief when they came out the front door.

  “Can you please take our statements now,” I asked, “before we’re carried away by the mosquitoes?”

  Carter nodded, then looked over at Deputy Breaux. “Take their statements at the sheriff’s department. The generator should give you enough power for some lights and a computer. I’ll wait for the coroner and seal the house.” He glanced around. “Where did Celia go?”

  “She hightailed it out of here,” Ida Belle said, “after telling Fortune she wasn’t going to get away with it.”

  Carter rolled his eyes.

  “Then Fortune reminded her that she’d threatened Max in the café and went directly to the General Store to buy shotgun shells, and that shut her up and sent her packing.”

  “She did what?” Carter looked at me.

  I nodded. “That’s what Walter told me.”

  “Damn it.” He looked at Deputy Breaux again. “Find my uncle and take his statement as well, and then find Celia and instruct her that she can’t enter her house without a police escort and she needs to remain in town.”

  Deputy Breaux’s eyes widened and I knew he was thinking of all the horrible things that might happen when he confronted Celia with that set of instructions. I felt sorry for him. Gertie patted his arm. “I’ll make you a nice Bundt cake,” she said. “That and some Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup should help take the edge off.”

  Deputy Breaux looked at Gertie. “Do I get the cough syrup and cake before I talk to her or after?”

  Gertie dug a bottle of cough syrup out of her purse and handed it to Deputy Breaux. “I can handle that part now. The cake will have to wait until I have electricity. But I promise it will be worth the wait.”

  Deputy Breaux didn’t look convinced that the cake was an equal trade for having to talk to Celia, but he seemed happy with the cough syrup part of the deal. “Then I guess we better get going,” he said.

  We headed for my Jeep and followed Deputy Breaux back into town.

  “Celia is going to have kittens when Deputy Breaux gets a hold of her,” I said.

  Gertie nodded. “I started praying as soon as I got in the Jeep.”

  “Praying for what exactly?” I asked, curious as to how she pitched such a thing to God.

  “Well,” Gertie said, “I started off with praying for strength for Deputy Breaux so that he doesn’t run away like a chicken. Then I prayed that Celia doesn’t have a weapon on her besides her mouth.”

  “That’s a good enough one,” Ida Belle threw in.

  “Then,” Gertie continued, “I asked him to make Celia do something stupid so that Deputy Breaux would have to arrest her.”

  “Why in the world would you want her arrested?” Ida Belle asked. “That’s just punishing Deputy Breaux.”

  “I know,” Gertie said, “but the thought of Celia spending a night in the slammer, with no electricity, makes me all gleeful.”

  I grinned. It sorta made me
gleeful too.

  ###

  I could tell Deputy Breaux would have liked our statements to take longer, but as we didn’t really know anything, there wasn’t much to state. Forty-five minutes of reprieve was all the young deputy got before he had to approach the task that he did not want to mention. Gertie gave him a hug, which probably frightened him even more, and then we left.

  “Let’s try this again, shall we?” I said.

  We had just pulled up in front of Ida Belle’s house when my phone rang. “It’s Ally.”

  “What the heck is wrong with Aunt Celia?” Ally asked. “She called me all ranting about you and the café and Max. She sounded absolutely crazy. And I mean in the real way, not in the usual Aunt Celia way.”

  Crap. There was no love lost between Ally and Celia, but given that Celia was her aunt, Ally needed to know what was going on.

  I covered my cell phone and looked over at Ida Belle. “She says Celia’s gone crazy. I can’t tell her all this on the phone.”

  “Go pick Ally up,” Ida Belle said. “Gertie and I will check on my house and then head over to hers. If your place isn’t habitable, give me a call and we’ll put you two up at whichever one of our places fared the best.”

  “I’ll pick you up in a minute,” I said to Ally, and disconnected the call. Ida Belle and Gertie climbed out and I gave them a wave as I drove away.

  Ally was standing on the curb in front of her house when I pulled up. “How is everything with your house?” I asked.

  “Good,” Ally said, looking enthusiastic. “There was no visible damage. The bayou crept up in the backyard a good ways, so I imagine some things in the storage shed are ruined. I put my lawn equipment in the garage when I heard the storm was headed this way, so nothing major lost.”

  “That’s good. Fingers crossed that my house did as well. If not, we can bunk with Ida Belle or Gertie.”

  Other than some random debris in the lawn, my house looked good from the front. No storm shutters missing. No bald spots on the roof. No random swamp creatures wandering about. As long as no one could drive a boat into my kitchen, we might be in good shape. I pushed open the front door and headed straight down the hallway for the kitchen. So far, so good. The tile was dry and showed no signs of having served as temporary bayou real estate.