Hook, Line and Blinker (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 10)

by Jana DeLeon

  “Let’s say ten p.m.,” Little said. “It’s too late for sunlight and a tad too early for car thieving, but gives us time to drive around a bit and get noticed.”

  “You know,” Ida Belle said, “all of this makes a big assumption—that the thieves will show up at my house tonight for the car. What if they’ve looked already and moved on?”

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. “It’s also possible that they don’t come tonight because they’re busy somewhere else. I still say we put the SUV in there and leave it until they show up. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. Regardless, this way we get to stay involved. If Carter gets them…”

  “I agree with Ms. Morrow,” Big said. “If not tonight, then another. We are available until this situation has been handled to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  I looked at Big. “You have to make me a promise.”

  “I’m intrigued,” Big said. “What do you require?”

  “When we get what we need out of the thieves, we turn them over to Carter.”

  Big smiled. “Of course. I never considered anything else.”

  I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide what I believed. He’d said in the beginning that he wanted me to tell him who had attacked Hot Rod. Now he was backtracking and saying he’d gladly turn the bad guys over to Carter. I wondered briefly what kind of condition they’d be in when that turnover finally happened. Not that I cared overly much. As long as the car thieves ultimately ended up in a jail cell wearing handcuffs rather than in the bottom of the bayou wearing cement boots.

  Part of me worried that Big was just humoring me and things were going to go very badly for the thieves once he got a hold of them, but at this point, it was wasted energy. My idea was out in the open. Either we got to be involved and maybe I could talk the Heberts out of killing the thieves if it came down to that, or they’d execute the plan without us and I wouldn’t have any say at all.

  I looked at Little and nodded. “Then I believe we have a plan.”

  At 9:45 p.m., Ida Belle, Gertie, and I were up to our wrists in crap. Literally.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” I asked for the hundredth time. I couldn’t help it. This entire Operation Distract Carter plan had Gertie’s name written all over it.

  “It will work,” Ida Belle said. “Do you think I’d be doing it otherwise?”

  She had a point. Gertie was willing to throw caution and sanitation to the wind, but Ida Belle was a little pickier. If it didn’t work out well, then I had only myself to blame for going along with it. And I was perfectly willing to admit that the hope that it did work was why I’d agreed to it in the first place. The very idea of success had me more gleeful than I’d felt in days.

  So we’d commandeered Marie’s house, because it was located next door to Celia’s, and set to work with our diabolical plan. First, we’d hauled buckets of cow poop over the fence. Then a fertilizer sprayer filled with regular water. It was a three-stage process. First, we sprayed an area of grass with water to wet it down, then we put a layer of fresh cow poop onto the wet grass. Finally, we added dried cow poop to the top of the fresh cow poop. We created five of these piles about two feet apart from one another and ten feet away from Celia’s back porch.

  “That’s the last one,” Ida Belle said.

  “We have some leftover,” I said, pointing to a half-full bucket of the fresh stuff.

  “I’ll use it on my flowers,” Gertie said.

  I grimaced at the thought of how her flower beds would smell, but then the upside is it probably kept people from trampling anything. They wouldn’t even get near enough to pick a flower. We all pulled off our latex gloves and dropped them into one of the empty buckets. I stacked the buckets, the one with the fresh poop on top, then headed to the fence Marie and Celia shared with the buckets and the sprayer.

  We’d positioned a ladder in Celia’s yard to help with a quick escape, so I scaled it and leaned across the fence and to the side, placing the buckets and sprayer on the ground in Marie’s yard. I hurried back to the poo piles, ready to get the show on the road.

  “The buckets and sprayer are on the right of the ladder,” I said, “so when you go over the fence, go straight or to the left.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie nodded.

  “Are we ready?” Gertie asked, practically bouncing up and down.

  “Definitely ready,” Ida Belle said, looking happier than I’d seen her in a while.

  “I want to do the lighting,” Gertie said. “You promised.”

  “You can do the first one,” I said, “then I want you to haul it for that ladder. With your crappy knees, you can’t move as fast as us, and I need you out of Ida Belle’s way when she runs for the ladder.”

  “What about you?” Ida Belle said.

  “I don’t need the ladder,” I said.

  “Of course you don’t,” Gertie said. “If I were twenty years younger…”

  “You’d still need the ladder,” Ida Belle said. “Break out the matches.”

  Gertie pulled books of matches out of her pocket and passed one to each of us. She struck a match and lit the first pile of poop on fire. She paused long enough to make sure it was burning, then took off with a sorta jogging limp for the ladder. Ida Belle and I lit the remaining piles, then ran for the fence.

  Gertie was on top of the fence hanging across the middle of it when we reached her.

  “Hurry up,” I said.

  “I’m stuck,” Gertie said. “My shirt is caught on a nail.”

  “Let it tear,” I said. “Just get out of Ida Belle’s way.”

  Ida Belle hurried up the ladder and assessed the situation. “It’s not a nail. You’ve managed to wedge a hunk of your blouse in between the fence slats. Just roll over the edge and buy a new blouse.”

  I glanced back at Celia’s, worried that we were running out of time. A second later, a light clicked on upstairs.

  “Celia’s awake,” I said. “Get the hell out of here!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The backyard was wide, and the rear had no lighting outside of the weak bulb on the back porch. With no moon to speak of, I knew Celia wouldn’t be able to see us from the window, but any second now, she’d be outside.

  I hadn’t even finished my sentence when Ida Belle vaulted over the fence to the side of Gertie. I grabbed the ladder and flipped the whole thing over then leaped up, grabbed the fence, and followed suit. I did a somersault, then bounced back up and whirled around, expecting to see Gertie on the ground, but she was still dangling from the middle of the fence, Ida Belle frantically motioning at her.

  Marie hurried over to us and I pointed at the ladder. “Get that back where it goes.”

  As she grabbed the ladder, I looked up at Gertie.

  “Drop,” I said. “Now!”

  If she’d just rolled over the side the way a sane person would have, things probably would have been okay. But Gertie had to do things her way.

  Her way called for using her right hand to try to pull her blouse out of the fence. One good tug and she lost her balance and pitched over the fence, landing feet first in the bucket. Before she could even attempt to move, I scooped up one arm and Ida Belle grabbed the other and we lifted her off the ground. I grabbed the sprayer with my free hand and we started running for Marie’s house, the bucket of poo stuck to Gertie’s feet as we hauled her to the house.

  Marie had placed the ladder next to the porch and was gesturing at us from the back door.

  “The bucket,” Ida Belle said.

  “Later,” Marie said. “I can hear her yelling.”

  Now that Marie mentioned it, Celia’s loud mouth was beginning to carry across the yard. We hauled Gertie and the bucket up the porch steps and went sideways into the laundry room, where Marie had wisely covered the floor with a tarp. She grabbed the bucket, and Ida Belle and I pulled Gertie out of the stinky poo.

  “Hurry,” Marie said. “We have to get upstairs and see the show.”

 
“Not you,” Ida Belle said to Gertie.

  Ida Belle and I ran upstairs behind Marie and hurried to the window in the back bedroom that had a clear view of Celia’s yard. I yanked open the curtains and we perched in front of the window. The lights were off in the room so Celia wouldn’t be able to see us watching her. A couple seconds later, Gertie elbowed me in the side.

  “Stop hogging the view,” she said.

  I glanced over and realized more of Gertie was currently exposed than covered. Her blouse was torn and dangling from one shoulder, and the bottom half of her clothes were missing entirely except for a pair of traffic-stopping orange underwear.

  “Celia’s coming out!” Ida Belle said.

  All our noses instantly pressed against the window as Celia ran out her back door and onto her porch, her hideous green bathrobe flapping as she went. She paused a second, then took off again down the steps and into the yard, running straight for the steaming piles of poo.

  “Wait for it,” Gertie said as Celia slid to a stop in front of the first pile, then lifted her foot and stomped right in the middle of the flames.

  Ida Belle, Gertie, and Marie all let out a whoop at the same time, and I watched in amazement as Celia yanked off her slipper and tossed it across the yard.

  “I can’t believe she actually stomped on it,” I said.

  “Works every time,” Gertie said.

  “It’s a natural reaction,” Ida Belle said, “when the fire is small.”

  “Now she’s going for the hose,” Marie said. “Party’s over.”

  “Maybe not,” Ida Belle said. “This is Celia we’re talking about.”

  Celia ran for the corner of the porch and yanked a water hose off a reel and then hurried back to the poo and blasted the stacks to her right with the hose. As she turned to the right to aim, the bottom of her robe flew out and grazed one of the stacks to her left. Flames shot up the back of the robe and Celia whirled around like a magician with a cape, trying to get it off of her. A second later, a woman ran into the yard, grabbed the hose, and turned it full blast on Celia, who was still trying to get the robe off.

  Completely drenched, Celia turned around and started yelling at the woman, waving her hands in the air.

  “Wow,” I said. “You’d think if you were on fire and someone put you out, there would be a little gratitude.”

  “It’s Celia,” Ida Belle said.

  The woman dropped the hose and gave Celia the finger before stomping back across the yard and out the gate.

  “No good deeds living next to Celia,” I said.

  Ida Belle’s phone beeped and she checked it. “Myrtle says Carter is on his way to investigate a fire at Celia’s.”

  “Awesome,” I said, and pulled out my phone to send a text to Little.

  Your window is open.

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s wrap this up and get out of here before Carter shows up.”

  We figured given the proximity of the houses and the mayoral race, Marie would be first up on Celia’s blame list. We didn’t want any evidence around when he showed up for his obligatory check.

  We hurried back downstairs and headed to the laundry room. I put on gloves and grabbed the buckets. The sprayer was Marie’s and would go back into the garage. Gertie’s poopy clothes got folded up in the tarp to take with us, and all evidence was ready to ride.

  “Make sure you spray some deodorizer in here,” Ida Belle said as we hurried out. “And thanks again for letting us use your place.”

  Marie grinned. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t have missed being a part of this for anything.”

  “What about Gertie?” I asked. “She can’t go traipsing around half naked.”

  “Gertie won’t fit in anything Marie’s skinny butt goes into,” Ida Belle said.

  “Well, I’m not letting her get into my Jeep wearing half a blouse and neon orange underwear that say ‘Bad Ass’ on the rear.”

  “Pretty sharp, huh?” Gertie grinned.

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “Just grab the tablecloth and wrap up in it. You can launder it and bring it back tomorrow.”

  Marie, whose nose was twitching from the smell, glanced at Gertie’s orange-clad butt and said, “You can keep it. I need a new one anyway.”

  Ida Belle snagged the tablecloth and Gertie wrapped it around her body like a toga, then we headed into the garage, where we’d hidden my Jeep. Since Gertie was wound up like a burrito, Ida Belle climbed into the backseat and secured the bucket of poo on the floorboard next to her. I went over to the passenger side and half lifted, half shoved Gertie into the seat, then hopped into the driver’s seat and hauled it out of the garage and onto the street.

  Our plan was to head the opposite direction of Celia’s house with no headlights so that she couldn’t see my vehicle. Plus, Carter would be approaching Celia’s from the shortest route, which was from the opposite direction. I floored it to the end of the street, checked for cars, then rounded the corner without stopping. A second later, red lights flashed behind me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled. “Now they decide to have traffic patrol?”

  “Is it Deputy Breaux?” Gertie asked.

  “Can’t tell,” Ida Belle said. “The headlights are shining right at us.”

  “Just play it cool,” I said.

  “I’m wearing a tablecloth,” Gertie said. “If you’ve got any ideas on how to make this cool, then lay them on me quickly.”

  I saw a flashlight bobbing in the side mirror and put my hands on the steering wheel, the way you’re supposed to when you’re stopped. I rolled down the window and said a silent prayer as the figure stepped up to the window. Automatic relief coursed through me when Deputy Breaux peered in the vehicle at us.

  “Ladies,” he said. “Are you aware that you’re operating this vehicle without headlights and you ran a stop sign?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but no one was coming and I’m in a hurry to get home.”

  “Why are you in a hurry?” Deputy Breaux asked.

  “Because I have a bathroom emergency,” I said.

  Deputy Breaux looked confused and Gertie leaned over the console.

  “She has to pee,” Gertie said. “And you’re not helping matters any holding us up.”

  “I’m just doing my job,” Deputy Breaux said, looking slightly pained.

  “This Jeep has cloth seats,” Gertie said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  Deputy Breaux leaned forward more and took a harder look at Gertie. “Why are you wearing a sheet?”

  Gertie froze and I still hadn’t come up with anything reasonable. Thank God Ida Belle was thinking for all of us.

  “Toga party,” Ida Belle said.

  He frowned. “Why aren’t the rest of you wearing sheets?”

  “Mine were in the laundry,” I said.

  “And I don’t take part in such nonsense,” Ida Belle said. “I was just there for the free beer.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “I stepped in dog crap,” Ida Belle said. “Happens every time I walk across the lawn. I should know better.”

  Still confused, he looked back at me, and that’s when he noticed my hands on the steering wheel.

  Crap! I was wearing the latex gloves.

  “Ms. Morrow,” he said, “why are you wearing plastic gloves?”

  “Wax treatment,” Gertie said. “Makes your skin really soft but it’s messy. She has to wear the gloves until the wax is hard, then we’ll peel it off.”

  “You dipped your hands in wax?” He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “It’s special wax,” Gertie said. “It doesn’t burn. I’ll be happy to come by the sheriff’s department and do your hands for you next week.”

  The thought of having girlie treatment on his hands at the sheriff’s department must have scared Deputy Breaux more than whatever we were up to, because his eyes widened and he shook his head.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said
. “My hands are just fine. You go ahead and get going and take care of that bathroom thing…and your hands.”

  He was still standing there shaking his head when I pulled away.

  “Nice thinking with the toga explanation,” Gertie said to Ida Belle.

  “It worked on Deputy Breaux,” Ida Belle said, “but the gig’s up as soon as he tells all this to Carter.”

  “So what,” I said. “He won’t have any proof and even if he did, do you really think Carter’s going to arrest us for lighting poo on fire in Celia’s yard after the trouble she caused with the ATF? As long as he thinks this was a juvenile prank and nothing more, we’re in the clear.”

  “Who are you calling juvenile?” Gertie asked.

  I looked over at her, wrapped in a yellow tablecloth, hair askew, and orange underwear lurking below, and grinned.

  “Who indeed?”

  At 10:30 p.m. came the knock on my front door that I’d been expecting. I jumped up from the couch and looked at Ida Belle and Gertie.

  “Time for game face,” I said.

  It was going to be hard. We’d been grinning ever since we’d walked into my house a half hour ago, and I wasn’t completely certain we could stop anytime soon. As I turned the dead bolt, I put on the best bored and sleepy look I could manage and swung the door open. Carter stared at me, eyebrows up.

  “Miss Morrow,” he said, cluing me in that it was official sheriff’s department business. “There’s been a disturbance at Celia Arceneaux’s house tonight and she’s suggested I ask you some questions.”

  “Of course she has,” I said, and waved him in.

  He stepped into the living room and nodded at Ida Belle and Gertie. “Ladies.”

  “So what kind of disturbance did Celia manage this time?” I asked.

  “This time,” Carter said, “she managed to step in flaming cow poop and set her robe on fire.”

  “What in the world would she do that for?” I asked. “Can’t she find something to watch on television like the rest of us?”

  His lips quivered and I could tell he was trying not to smile. “Someone—not Celia—put the cow poop in her backyard and lit it on fire.”