Swamp Team 3 (A Miss Fortune Mystery)

by DeLeon, Jana

“Jeez,” I said as the café door swung shut. “I’m running them off in record numbers this morning.”

  “I cannot believe you!” Ally glared down at me, hands on her hips. “Suggesting I move in with that guy.”

  “I didn’t suggest you move in with him. I was only pointing out that you had another option besides me and Celia.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were playing matchmaker. You, the woman who finds every excuse in the world to avoid the hottest guy in town.”

  I glanced around, then whispered. “That whole shooting thing isn’t an excuse. It’s more of an explanation.”

  “What else did you say to him?”

  “To Carter? Nothing that would incriminate me.”

  Ally threw her hands in the air. “Not Carter. David.”

  Some of the patrons looked over at her and she smiled at them. “Sorry.”

  “I didn’t say much—just how I was fairly new in town myself and didn’t like fishing.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “That’s it?”

  “I might have told him you were single.”

  Her hand flew up and covered her mouth. “You didn’t.”

  “Was I supposed to lie? Because I could tell the next guy you’re married or took a vow of celibacy or something.”

  “You’re not supposed to give him any information at all.”

  “Wouldn’t that be considered rude? I mean, up north, no one would think much of it, but seems like not participating in casual conversation over coffee would get you a reputation in a place like Sinful.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. I was fairly certain she was praying—whether it was for strength or a vial of untraceable poison, I wasn’t certain.

  “He looked interested,” I said.

  She opened one eye. “Really?”

  “Definitely.”

  She opened the other eye. “Then maybe I’ll let you off the hook.”

  I grinned. “So you do like him.”

  She blushed. “I don’t know him, but yeah, he seems nice.”

  “And he’s not hard on the eyes—all that fireman muscle and stuff.”

  Ally waved a hand at my plate. “Eat your breakfast before you get both of us into trouble.” She gave me a grin before heading back to the kitchen.

  I choked down my omelet—eggs without the yolk are gross—then tossed some money on the table and headed across the street to the General Store. It was ten minutes past opening time, and with any luck, I’d get to explain my slight mishap from the night before to Walter before word got to him another way.

  Then I saw the look of dismay on his face when I walked inside the store.

  Darn it! Someone had beaten me to the punch.

  Chapter Nine

  I trudged across the store and plopped onto the stool. “I take it you heard?”

  Walter shook his head. “Hard not to. I had Carter here when I opened the door, asking me if I’d sold any rock salt bullets lately.”

  Crap!

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth. I didn’t sell you the bullets, remember?”

  I stared at Walter for a moment, the light slowly dawning. “You didn’t charge me on purpose. You thought something would go wrong and you’d have an out.”

  “If one considers your track record, it was a fairly safe assumption.”

  “Then why didn’t you try to talk me out of it?”

  “What would have been the fun in that? I mean, granted, I didn’t think you were going to shoot my nephew, but it makes one helluva story.”

  “How do you even know it was me?”

  He stared.

  “Okay, fine, it was me. But I’m not sure the story is all that interesting.”

  “Uh-huh. Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He poured me a cup of coffee and pushed it across the counter. “Get to talking.”

  I took a sip of the coffee, then launched into my story, which was heavily edited to eliminate scaling trees and running rooflines and instead incorporated hiding in Ronald’s bushes. I had to pause a few times for Walter to finish laughing, but finally, the entire sordid mess was laid bare on the counter at the Sinful General Store. A version of it, anyway.

  Walter reached for a tissue and wiped his eyes. “Oh my God. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard since…well, since the last time you had a run-in with my nephew. You’re like his own personal Pandora’s box.”

  “That doesn’t sound so nice.”

  Walter waved a hand in dismissal. “He deserves it. That boy’s been strutting around this town, ignoring all of the good advice I give him, thinking he knows what’s best. See, the real problem is that he wasn’t challenged. Not by his job and certainly not by any of the local single women trying to get his attention.”

  “And then I showed up and the entire town went to hell in a handbasket.”

  “Ah, don’t be thinking you’re to blame for things going on in this town. You showing up the same time as this town melting down is just a coincidence. But it’s all the perfect storm for Carter. He’s needed some shaking up for a while.”

  I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m not trying to shake anything up.”

  Walter nodded. “And that’s the beauty of it. Things in this town were collecting behind a dam that just burst, but you’re riding on top of that first wave.” He leaned forward. “Don’t you see? Your being here is a good thing. If you weren’t, I don’t know that things would have gotten sorted out on some of those crimes as quickly as they did. And if they hadn’t been sorted out quickly, then more people might have gotten hurt.”

  “I’m sure Carter would have figured everything out without my help.”

  “I’m sure he would have, too, but at what cost? Seems to me that as much grousing as that boy does about you, Ida Belle, and Gertie nosing into his business, you’re helping protect the people in this town.” He pointed his finger at me. “But if you repeat that to Ida Belle and Gertie, I’ll swear you’re a bald-faced liar.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” I sighed. “You really think I’m helping and not hurting?”

  Walter nodded. “It’s a lot harder to look at people you’ve known your entire life and imagine them as criminals. You don’t have the same bias as Carter because you’re not from here. Without emotional attachments, it’s easier to see everyone as a suspect.”

  I nodded, but I wondered how much longer Walter’s assessment would apply. Despite my lifelong ability to avoid emotional entanglements, I’d acquired friends and people I cared about in Sinful in a matter of weeks. I still wasn’t sure what was more disturbing—that I’d made friends so easily here or that I’d gone three decades without doing so in DC.

  “Thanks for everything,” I said as I hopped off my stool, “but I’m afraid this time Sinful crime has me stumped. I have no idea what the arsonist and the creeper are up to, or if they’re even different people.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  Walter delivered that sentence in a tone that implied he was completely convinced of the truth in it. I wished I had as much confidence in my abilities as he did.

  As I exited the store, I saw the real estate guy from the café crossing the street. I adjusted my stride to quite literally bump into him as he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of me.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I was too busy looking at the display and not watching where I was going.”

  His expression remained completely bland. “Not a problem.”

  I frowned. “You’re not from here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your accent. It’s not thick but definitely not Southern. New York?”

  His left cheek twitched. “Originally, but not for a while now.”

  I put on my biggest smile. “What a relief to finally find another Yankee in this town.” I extended my hand. “I’m Sandy-Sue, but everyone calls me Fortune. I’m from back East myself.”

  His expression said he could
n’t care less, but he managed a reply. “Do you live here now?”

  My interest ticked up a notch when he didn’t volunteer his name. “No. I’m just here for the summer, settling up my aunt’s estate. She’s got a big house full of lots of stuff, and it’s all on me to get organized. I’m a school librarian, so I have three months to tackle it all.”

  “I’m sorry about your aunt.”

  “Thanks. Hey, someone at the café told me you were in the real estate business. I’m going to be selling my aunt’s house. Would you be interested in taking a look at it?”

  His eyes flickered with a tiny bit of interest. “My client has a very specific set of desires in a home. Where is your aunt’s house located?”

  I gave him the address.

  “Is that along the bayou?”

  I nodded. “It’s got a huge backyard. The bayou runs horizontally across it. It’s very serene.”

  I glanced up, hoping storm clouds weren’t brewing for fear of a lightning strike. Calling that property serene was one of the bigger lies I’d told since arriving in Sinful. Since I’d been in residence, the location had seemed to attract nothing but trouble.

  “Is the property located in a residential area?”

  “Yes, but the lots are huge and everyone keeps things so nicely. It’s really amazing the foliage you can grow with all the rain.” I hoped to God that sounded reasonable, as my knowledge of landscaping was mostly limited to the trees and bushes I’m tumbled into and out of since I’d been in Sinful.

  He frowned. “I’m sure it’s lovely, but I don’t think it will work. My client is looking for something with fewer neighbors.”

  “Oh well, if you want remote, there’s plenty of that around here. Just pick a direction and wander into the swamp.”

  “He’s looking for something a little more civilized with city services. It’s been nice talking to you…er, Fortune, but I’ve got an appointment to make.”

  “Sure. It was nice meeting you, uh…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  He barely managed to disguise his displeasure. “Robert. Have a good day.”

  He strode off down the sidewalk at a speedy clip and got into a shiny new Lexus. I watched as he backed up and drove down Main Street in the direction of the highway.

  All of my senses were on high alert. I’d used a real estate agent to find my place in DC. I’d thought hiring a man would mean less talking and business only, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. My agent and the real estate agents representing every property we looked at could win Olympic events in talking about absolutely nothing. If the moment ever came that they ran out of things to say, I was convinced they would recite the alphabet simply to hear their own voices.

  Either this guy wasn’t a real estate agent, or he was lying about what he was in Sinful for. Why offer on Ally’s house and not mine? What was he trying to buy? And for whom?

  ###

  “I look like a hooker,” I said.

  “Good,” Gertie replied. “That means we’ve gotten it right.”

  I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered how in the world I’d let Gertie talk me into this outfit. The jeans were a size too small and I’d had to lie down on the bed to zip them. The bottom half of the white lacy top was missing, and the part that surrounded my boobs had padded wire underneath, pushing my already decent-size chest up so high I could probably perch a plate of food on it. At least the boob-covering part was double-lined. With its thin straps, a bra was out of the question.

  But the shoes were the worst part—six-inch spike heels with straps of studded leather wrapped around my feet. I’d need ski poles if I intended to walk very far. And my ankles may never be the same again. I found myself wondering why ballerinas intentionally adopted this position. It was excruciating.

  Gertie was busy doing something to my hair she’d called “ratting.” The side she’d finished stuck out into a different zip code and I had no doubt when I went to comb it later on, the “ratting” part of the equation would be readily apparent.

  She finished up the second side of my now-enormous hair and stepped back to give it a critical look. “If you had a heavier bang, it would be sexier. Maybe we could just cut a little.”

  “No! Remember, this is not my own hair. I can’t exactly grow more of it. I’m already worried those knots you just put in it will never come out and I’ll be stuck this way forever. Who in the world finds this attractive?”

  I turned around to face Gertie just as Ally stepped into my bedroom. She took one look at me and raised an eyebrow. “Since you look like a hooker,” she said, “my guess is most men who aren’t dead will find it attractive.”

  I sighed. Men really needed to get higher standards.

  Ally gave me an apprehensive look. “Please tell me you’re not going on a date with Carter. He may be one of the few men in this town who won’t go for that look.”

  I waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve put that whole dinner thing way on the back burner. Maybe even off the stove.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, then,” Ally said.

  I glanced at Gertie, who barely shook her head. Crap. Ally had an appointment with her insurance adjuster this evening, and I’d hoped I’d be gone before she got back. She was already worried about my safety and I knew if she found out about our plan, she’d try to talk me out of it. If I’d known about the outfit and the hair ratting, I might have let her.

  I knew Gertie wanted me to lie so that Ally wouldn’t worry, and normally, I’d have no problem with that. But for the first time in my life, I couldn’t think of a single plausible explanation for this horror.

  “I’m thinking of auditioning for American Idol?” I said.

  Ally stared. “Try again.”

  “I thought jogging in the heels would pump up my calves?”

  “The truth. What are you up to?”

  I sighed. “I’m going to the Swamp Bar to see if I can get the lowdown on your friendly neighbor.”

  Ally’s eyes widened. “You can’t go to the Swamp Bar looking like that. You’ll cause a riot.”

  Gertie perked up. “But if men are hot for her, they might talk.”

  Ally shook her head. “The only sounds that will come from them is the cussing they’ll be doing while fighting. The Swamp Bar crowd is not an overly civilized bunch.”

  Gertie frowned. “Maybe we should try a bigger pair of jeans…in case you need to run or something. You can’t really bend well in those.”

  “If I have to run, I’d need to strip naked first. These shoes are a broken ankle waiting to happen. And if I ran with my boobs pushed up like this, they’d probably give me black eyes, not to mention that the straps wouldn’t hold very long.”

  Ally gave me a critical up-and-down. “Where did you even get those clothes? I know you didn’t pick them out.”

  “They were in the donation boxes at church for a charity drive we’re doing,” Gertie said. “We didn’t have time for a trek to New Orleans, and Walter doesn’t carry anything suitable, so I picked through some new arrivals.”

  Ally nodded. “I thought I recognized those shoes and that top. They used to belong to Pansy, back in junior high. Aunt Celia must be cleaning out some of her old stuff. She probably didn’t want anyone at the Catholic church to see them, so she donated them at the Baptist church.”

  No wonder. I glanced back at the mirror and cringed. Ally’s late cousin could have charitably been referred to as “easy.” Her run on married men had caused herself and others a ton of trouble, ultimately ending in her death.

  “Maybe this is too much,” I said. It didn’t really bother me to wear a dead woman’s old clothes, but the limits on my physical ability did. “The last time we went to the Swamp Bar, we had to leave in a hurry. I’m at a serious disadvantage dressed like this. There’s not even a place to carry my pistol.”

  Ally cocked her head to one side. “Well, there’s one place.”

  “I’m not carrying my pistol in between my boo
bs.”

  She shrugged. “Then there’s no other place. Look, I don’t want you to go at all, but I know you’re too stubborn to be talked out of it. If you insist on going and want to carry a weapon, which I’m all in favor of, then maybe you should switch to a skirt. It probably wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least you could strap it to the inside of your thigh.”

  “Hmmm.” I looked at Gertie. “Did you happen to find a skirt when you were confiscating charitable donations?”

  Gertie reached for the trash bag she’d hauled upstairs and dumped the entire thing onto my bed. “I think I grabbed a black one with that stretchy fabric. It might work.” She pawed through the pile of sleazy-wear and finally pulled something small and black out of it.

  “Here it is,” Gertie said, looking triumphant.

  I stared at the object in dismay. “That’s a headband.”

  “Stop exaggerating,” Gertie said. “It’s a perfectly good skirt. Go put it on.”

  I took one wobbly step in the heels and plopped down on the bed. The tight jeans sent me careening backward and two attempts to bend into a sitting position were met with failure. “I’m going to need some help here.”

  Ally and Gertie each unbuckled a shoe and pulled them off. I unfastened the jeans and pushed at the waistband. After a minute or two, I’d gotten it worked down around my hips. I looked up at Ally and Gertie, who looked rather amused at my discomfort.

  “Either start pulling or cut these off of me,” I said.

  They both grabbed a pants leg and tugged, moving the jeans down maybe an inch.

  “You’re going to have to work harder than that,” I said.

  They both got a grip and pulled again, this time so hard they almost pulled me off the bed.

  “Hold up,” I said. “This isn’t working.” I inched back onto the center of the bed and rolled over. “I’ll hold on to the other side of the bed so that I don’t move when you pull.”

  “I think the scissors would be easier,” Gertie said.

  “Or dynamite,” Ally agreed.

  I reached over the side of the mattress and clutched the bed rails. “Just pull.”

  I felt them grab the jeans again and this time they counted.