Hurricane Force (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  “There were two men in the alley,” Gertie said. “They were watching Max’s place, so Fortune couldn’t get out the back window. I pulled a drive-by and she did a circus leap onto the top of the car.”

  Ida Belle shook her head, staring at me in admiration. “I figured as much, but hearing it’s true just makes it that much more impressive. Did you recognize the men?”

  “No,” I said, “and I got a good look at them.”

  “How did you get away?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Carter’s toilet took them out,” Gertie said and started giggling.

  Ida Belle stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, so I explained the situation with the sorta-repaired trunk and the now-destroyed toilet.

  “You are a menace to society,” Ida Belle said, smiling.

  “And it’s a darn good thing,” Gertie said. “No way I could have outrun those guys. If that toilet hadn’t taken them out, then Fortune would have had to use the grenade.”

  “You have a grenade?” Ida Belle looked a tiny bit scared.

  “Of course,” Gertie said. “I keep one in my glove box.”

  “Okay,” Ida Belle said. “We’ll shelve that one for discussion later on.” She looked at me. “Did you find anything?”

  “Oh yeah.” I told them about the money and the dies.

  Their eyes widened. “You think Max was the counterfeiter?” Ida Belle asked.

  I nodded. “It would explain a lot of things—why he had the counterfeit bills on him when he was killed, what he’s done to support himself all these years—”

  “Why someone wanted to kill him,” Gertie said.

  “Yeah, that too,” I agreed.

  “So the guys could have been from either camp,” Ida Belle said. “Were they Middle Eastern?”

  “I didn’t recognize them, but they both had dark hair and tanned skin,” I said. “They could be Middle Eastern, Creole, Italian, or regular white boys with dark hair and a really good tan. I couldn’t hear their voices well enough to tell if they had an accent. It was all muddled.”

  “You didn’t get a feel for one or the other?” Ida Belle asked.

  “The only feeling I had was an ‘oh shit’ one,” I said.

  “Well,” Ida Belle said, “I guess that answers some questions about Max.”

  “But leaves the biggest one unanswered,” I said. “We still don’t know why he came back to Sinful.”

  “Maybe he left something in Celia’s house,” Gertie said. “Maybe he was working on counterfeiting stuff way back then and left something behind.”

  “Even so,” I said, “why come back for it now? He’s had a long time to retrieve anything he might have left here. And even if that was the case, why stroll into town announcing his presence? If he was there to lift something, why get everyone looking at him? He could have sneaked back when Celia was off on vacation and accomplished retrieving something he left with no witnesses and no drama.”

  “And no death,” Ida Belle said. “I still think he came back to see someone.”

  “But who?” Gertie asked. “And is that person the one who shot him or did someone follow him to Sinful?”

  “On that same train of thought,” I threw in, “if someone followed him to Sinful and killed him, who are they working for?”

  Ida Belle blew out a breath. “There’s too many missing pieces.”

  I nodded. “We have to figure out who Max saw while he was in Sinful. He couldn’t have been anywhere public without people watching. If we knew everyone he talked to, then maybe we could figure out more of the story.”

  “I’ll put word out to the Sinful Ladies as soon as we get back and see what they know.”

  “Good,” I said. “Did you find out anything from Piercing Boy?”

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “What a piece of work he was. Complained the entire time about how he worked like a slave for the gallery but they wouldn’t feature his own work. I was just about to tell him to stuff it when I figured I could use it to my advantage. I told him that was outrageous and if he’d give me the name of the gallery owner, I’d be happy to call and let them know that I’d seen Piercing’s work and thought it would be a great addition to the gallery.”

  “Did he buy it?”

  “Of course. Egotistical people are unable to comprehend anyone who doesn’t see their greatness. He said the gallery was owned by an investment group but a man named Owen Randal was in charge of it.”

  “Do either of you know the name?” I asked.

  They both shook their heads.

  “Well, it’s a place to start,” I said. “We can look deeper into this Randal and into Max’s fake identity. Maybe we’ll come up with more connections.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the Sinful connection,” Ida Belle said. “If Max was involved with someone in Sinful, I want that person exposed as soon as possible.”

  I frowned. Not because I disagreed with Ida Belle. I was in total agreement on that one. If Max had a business contact in Sinful, I wanted them outed as quickly as possible. What worried me now was something completely different.

  “What’s wrong?” Ida Belle said. “You have that look again.”

  “I’m just wondering if the guys in the alley got a good enough look at Gertie’s license plate to trace it.”

  Gertie sucked in a breath and Ida Belle shot a worried look in her direction.

  “They were close enough to see it,” Gertie said.

  “But were they paying attention?” Ida Belle said. “With everything else that was going on, maybe not.”

  “But maybe they were,” I said. “I think we need to proceed with the assumption that they got the license plate. That’s the only safe way to play this.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “Gertie needs to park the car in her driveway and stay with me.”

  “When they realize she’s not staying at her house,” I said, “the first place they’ll look is your place. All they’d have to do is ask anyone in town where they might find her and the answer will be with you.”

  “Well, we can’t stay with you,” Ida Belle said, “or we’ll lead them straight to you and Ally. Besides which, what possible excuse could we have for both bunking at your place? Power is back on. Our houses weren’t damaged. What would you tell Ally or Carter, for that matter? He’s bound to wonder why you suddenly look like a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “I suppose a bunch of grown women don’t have slumber parties,” I said.

  “Oh!” Gertie perked up. “I love slumber parties.”

  “Most grown women don’t have slumber parties,” Ida Belle said.

  She was right, of course. It would look odd and at the moment, I didn’t have a single good explanation for becoming a hotel.

  “How about this,” I said. “In the daytime, it doesn’t matter where we are as long as we’re in sight of other people and stick together, right?”

  “Yes,” Ida Belle agreed.

  “So during the day, we help clean up debris, which gives us a chance to gossip with different people about Max. At night, we go to my house because I’ve still got enough ground meat to feed an army, then we get drunk and everyone stays over.”

  “I especially like the part where we all get drunk,” Gertie said.

  “After that car chase,” I said, “a shot of whiskey sounds good about now.”

  “A shot of whiskey always sounds good when you live in Sinful,” Ida Belle said. She pointed her finger at Gertie. “You need to set your house alarm. No excuses this time.”

  I stared at Gertie. “You have a house alarm?”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “One of those scaredy-cat women at church insisted. Her husband was an installer and all I paid for was the equipment.”

  “Where’s the keypad?” I asked as I mentally scanned the walls of Gertie’s house.

  “It’s in the coat closet,” Gertie said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “That crazy woman insisted that if it was on an open wall someone could lo
ok through the window and see me put in my code.”

  “She sounds a little paranoid,” I said.

  “She’s a lot paranoid,” Gertie said. “Unfortunately, she owed me a favor and that was the only way I could get her to leave me alone.”

  “You’re still paying for the monitoring service, right?”

  “Yeah,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle sighed. “Something you never use. I realize that most of the time it’s not necessary, but this is one of those times when I think you should turn it on. If nothing else, it will scare them away.”

  I nodded. “I agree. And if it scares them away before they get inside, then it still leaves them thinking you’re in the house.”

  “Which means they won’t go looking for you somewhere else,” Ida Belle said.

  “Fine,” Gertie said. “I’ll turn the darn thing on, but I take no responsibility if it goes off at stupid hours. I never could get it to work right before, which is why I stopped using it at all.”

  “If it goes off in the middle of the night,” I said, “you can always blame it on storm damage. That should help your neighbors get over any interruption.”

  “Okay,” Ida Belle said. “This whole drunken slumber party plan might work for a day or two, but after that, we’ll have to figure out something else.”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said.

  What I really hoped was that in a couple of days, this entire thing would be over and we’d never come to that bridge at all.

  ###

  Ally was still at the café when we got back to Sinful, so we broke out my laptop and started researching Thomas Johnson and Owen Randal. It took only a couple of minutes to give up on Max’s fake identity. The first and last name were both common. Put them together and the number of hits was astronomical. It would have taken a thousand people a thousand years to comb them all, and there was still no guarantee anything would pertain to Max.

  Owen Randal yielded more results.

  “Mr. Randal is a very busy man,” I said as we ran through the list of businesses we found him associated with. “Two art galleries, three restaurants, two bars, and a funeral home.”

  “The funeral home thing is creepy,” Gertie said.

  “Someone has to own them,” Ida Belle said.

  “Yeah, but it’s creepy when it’s someone who might also be creating customers,” Gertie said.

  “Definitely an unfair advantage,” I agreed, “but also a good way to transport illegal goods. No one wants to open a coffin and look inside without a really good reason.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “And stuff is smuggled in paintings all the time. They don’t x-ray everything at customs.”

  “The restaurants and bars are good for laundering small amounts of cash at a time,” I said. “But all of this is speculation. For all we know, this Randal could be an upstanding citizen with eclectic investment taste.”

  Ida Belle tapped my screen. “Except for the part where he’s a criminal.”

  I looked at the bottom of the screen at the link she was pointing to.

  Local Businessman Arrested

  That sounded promising. I clicked on the link.

  Local businessman Owen Randal was arrested a week ago and questioned on racketeering charges. Insiders say Randal was held overnight and released the next morning. Despite rumors of Randal’s illegal activities, the DA appears unwilling to bring charges against the man who, because of his flamboyant personality, has been referred to by some as the Louisiana John Gotti.

  “Racketeering,” Ida Belle said and looked at me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That Randal might be one of Jamison’s point men, specifically the one who handles the counterfeit money and laundering portion of the business.”

  “If Randal is the real deal, then the Heberts will have the scoop on him,” Gertie said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I worry though about forming too much of a dependence on the Heberts for information. Despite the fact that they’ve helped us a lot, they’re still not the good guys.”

  “True,” Ida Belle said, “but this is a simple question. We’re not asking for background checks or airboats.”

  “I know, but it still makes me nervous,” I said. “The Heberts have seen me in action enough times to question my background story. If they get too curious, they could blow my cover without even meaning to.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “You’re probably right. If you’re constantly poking your nose into every crime connected with Sinful, then they might start to wonder why. When it’s personal, you have an excuse, but Max wasn’t anyone to you. He wasn’t much of anyone to anyone, to be quite honest.”

  “So we put the Heberts as plan B,” I said, “but the first thing we need to do is see if we can connect Randal to anyone in Sinful.”

  “I can help with that,” Gertie said and pulled my laptop over in front of her.

  “You can help?” Ida Belle said. “Just like that?”

  Gertie nodded and started typing. “If the connection is related to Randal, then yes. If it’s strictly a business thing, then no.”

  I leaned over to check the screen. “Ancestry.com?”

  “I started researching my family tree,” Gertie said, looking excited. “I’m convinced I’m related to ancient warriors. I just have to track them down.”

  I looked over at Ida Belle, who shook her head. Apparently, it was a conversation that didn’t need to happen. At least not right now. “So,” I said, “this will tell you who Randal is related to?”

  “If people have linked him to family tree work. It’s like one big giant blackboard of families that anyone with a membership can access.”

  “So people all over the world can contribute to one tree?” I asked. “That’s a great concept.” I wondered briefly if anyone had ever connected my mom and dad to a branch of their family tree. My parents had always contended we had no living family, but that couldn’t possibly be true, right? Everyone had a fourth cousin or crazy great-aunt somewhere. Maybe when all this was over, I’d have Gertie show me how to use the site and see if I had any living relatives. If any of them were like my mom, it might be nice to know them.

  “Here we go,” Gertie said and pointed to the screen. “Someone linked an Owen Randal, born 1975, to the Piedmont family.”

  “Are there any Piedmonts in Sinful?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Ida Belle said.

  “Wait!” Gertie pointed to the screen and clapped. “Gracie Piedmont married Brody Sampson in 1985.”

  “I take it you know the Sampsons?” I asked.

  “Gracie and Brody live a couple blocks from here,” Ida Belle said.

  “That’s not the best part,” Gertie said. “Brody and Max were best buddies.”

  “Until he married Celia,” Ida Belle said. “Gracie hated Celia with a passion and forbade Brody to hang out with him when she married Max.”

  “He didn’t listen, though,” Gertie said. “We used to see them fishing together near Number Two.”

  “Is this Brody a shady sort?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Ida Belle said. “He’s the local postman. She teaches piano lessons. I’ve never heard of either of them being involved in anything questionable, but then that seems to be the theme around here lately.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing,” I said, “but we should check them out. Are you guys on the outs with either of them?”

  “Gracie is a member of the Baptist church,” Gertie said. “She helps out with charity events and such. She’s always been pleasant to me.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “I’m not sure she’s capable of anything else. She’s one of those woman that you can only take a small dose of—too nice, if you know what I mean.”

  Gertie rolled her eyes. “Only you would consider ‘nice’ a character flaw.”

  “Too nice,” Ida Belle said. “There’s a difference.”

  “Well, then I suggest we start on that
block checking on people to help out,” I said. “Maybe this Gracie isn’t as nice as Ida Belle thinks she is.”

  “Or maybe Brody took advantage of her connection to Randal,” Gertie said, “and is looking for a better retirement than the post office provides.”

  “Only one way to find out,” I said and hopped up from the dining table. “First, we’ll get whatever you guys need from your houses, and drop off Gertie’s car. I don’t want you guys going back to your homes until we know the coast is clear.”

  I hoped it was soon.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gracie and Brody were removing bushes from their front yard when we parked my Jeep at the curb. Gracie looked up and waved at us, wearing a big smile. Brody looked less enthusiastic. Or depending on your view, he looked appropriately enthusiastic given the job he was currently performing in the heat and humidity of July after a tropical storm.

  I sized him up first.

  Fiftyish. Six feet tall. Two hundred twenty pounds. Decent forearm strength. Weak legs.

  I gave her a glance, which was all I needed.

  Fiftyish. Smiles way too big. Harmless.

  “We’re making the rounds,” Ida Belle said as we walked up. “Seeing who needs help clearing debris.”

  “That’s so nice of you,” Gracie said. “Isn’t it, Brody?”

  Brody grunted, barely looking up from his stack of tree limbs.

  Gracie locked her gaze on me and stepped forward, a gloved hand outstretched. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Gracie Sampson. You must be Fortune. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I shook her hand. “Only good stuff, I hope.”

  Gracie smiled. “I don’t listen to anything bad. Negativity hurts my ears.”

  “Then you must be in pain a lot,” I said.

  She laughed. “I heard you had a great sense of humor. All that beauty and a personality, too. The local girls better hide their husbands.”

  I glanced over at Ida Belle, who rolled her eyes.