by bow, frankie
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Jana DeLeon. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Miss Fortune Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Jana DeLeon, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Tabasco
Fiasco
Frankie Bow
DEDICATION
To my patient family and long-suffering friends.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to Jana Deleon for writing the Miss Fortune universe and letting us play in it.
Immense gratitude to the patient friends and family members who made it through the earlier drafts
Chapter One
“Nice T-shirt, Gertie.” I helped her into the front seat of the Jeep. “Bound for Love. The daring erotic masterpiece by Lexi Tingle. So how did you like your first romance conference?”
“Oh, I had a blast!” Gertie exclaimed. “And I’m going to wear this shirt to church next Sunday. Under my sweater. Then when we all start over to Francine’s for lunch I’ll whip the sweater off and give the Catholics an eyeful of the shirtless guy on the back.”
“Good thinking, Gertie,” Ida Belle chuckled. Gertie turned around and she and Ida Belle high-fived.
“Right? Celia Arceneaux and her Catholic crew are gonna be so stunned I bet they’ll trip over each other and we’ll get there first. All the banana pudding will be ours!”
I buckled in, started the engine, and shifted into reverse. I don’t like hotel parking garages. Escape routes are limited. There's no phone reception, which means you can't call for help in case of an ambush. But in the middle of New Orleans’ French Quarter, there aren’t a lot of parking options.
“So is your new friend going to come visit Sinful, Gertie?” I asked. “Or was this just a conference fling?”
“Sinful’s awfully far for him to travel,” Gertie said. “And you know I can’t get too serious about anyone. I don’t want to lose my place in the Sinful Ladies’ Society."
"I was worried we were gonna lose you there for a minute," Ida Belle added.
The Sinful Ladies’ Society, of which Ida Belle and Gertie are the only surviving founders, has strict membership requirements. You must be a woman of at least forty years of age. You must be an old maid, or if widowed, at least ten years must have passed since your husband’s demise.
The SLS believes that the close proximity of men clouds logical thinking. I have to admit, if my own experience is any guide, they’re not wrong.
"But I will keep up with the online writing course," Gertie said. "So we'll stay in touch that way. We’ll be pen pals. He's an awfully sweet man."
"And here I thought you’d left your heart in Beaumont," Ida Belle teased.
“Beaumont?” I asked.
"I believe it's possible to love more than one man," Gertie replied. "In fact, that's a major theme of Passion's Promise."
“What’s in Beaumont?” I repeated.
“Beaumont’s across the Texas border,” was Ida Belle’s non-answer.
“Fortune,” Gertie asked, “do you mind getting the large-print version of Passion’s promise? That’s what all the Sinful Ladies Society asked for, so I ordered a box of 24.”
"Anything is fine. I can’t wait to read it, Gertie."
That was me being tactful. To be honest, I’m not much of a romance reader. Nonfiction is more my thing. Give me a nice big book on Celtic weaponry or Roman military disasters, and I'm good for a whole afternoon.
I backed out of the narrow parking space and steered the Jeep around the twists and turns of the parking garage, unconsciously ducking my head to stay clear of the low concrete ceiling. I fought off a twinge of claustrophobia. I’d seen what an improvised explosive device can do to a structure like this.
That life was half a world away, I reminded myself. As far as anyone could tell, I was a law-abiding resident of the tiny bayou town of Sinful, Louisiana, living a normal life. More or less.
We made it to the parking booth without the ceiling crashing down on our heads. I handed over the validated parking ticket and enough cash to cover the expense. The attendant painstakingly counted out the correct change, leaving me to drum my fingers on the steering wheel. As the gate arm swung up I gunned the engine and pulled up to wait for a break in the thick morning traffic on Canal Street.
“It’ll be nice to get home,” I said. “Although I’m not looking forward to a two-hour drive.”
Ida Belle smacked her forehead. “We have to make a stop. I want to get something for Marie. And Justin asked me to pick up some dried tabasco peppers.”
“We don’t need to stop and buy extra gifts," Gertie said. "I’m just going to give people the books we got from the conference.”
“What about Pastor Don?” Ida Belle challenged her. “You can’t give a smutty romance book with a half- naked man on it to Pastor Don. And I’m not sure all of the Sinful Ladies would appreciate it either.”
“Oh dear,” Gertie sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“We’re buying presents now?” I said. “Well, if Ida Belle’s buying something for her roommate then I need to get something for Ally. I can’t be the only one to come back empty-handed.”
“Let's just stop somewhere quick on the way out of town,” Ida Belle said.
“If anyone lets me in.” I gripped the steering wheel impatiently. “Come on, people. We don’t want to spend all day in a parking garage.”
“I have to admit,” Gertie said, “I wasn’t sure about you taking in a lodger, Ida Belle. But Justin seems like a really nice boy. I mean, now that he's adjusted a little.”
“Oh, he’s a perfect housemate. Grad students are the best. He’s either in his room studying, over at Fortune’s place visiting Ally, or out in the field counting swamp rat poops or whatever he does. And five hundred bucks a month is five hundred bucks a month.”
“What's he going to use the peppers for?” I asked.
“He wants to make something called chili pepper water. He says it’s a Hawaiian specialty but it sounds to me like plain old pepper sauce. Peppers in vinegar, a little bit of garlic, some black pepper.”
“You’re making me hungry.” I spotted a break in traffic and peeled out onto Canal Street. It was broad and busy, with several lanes in each direction, lined with glittering high-rise buildings and shops. A row of palms ran down the center divider. It looked more like my idea of Los Angeles than New Orleans.
“So where should we stop?” I asked.
"How about the spice and tea shop?" Gertie tapped on her phone to access her GPS app. "Fortune, go right on Royal Street.”
“I can’t,” I said. “It’s one way.”
“Wait, don’t turn there. It’s a
one-way street.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Keep going, then turn right on Bourbon Street. I’m glad we’re stopping. I could use a break.”
“A break? Gertie, we’ve been driving for four minutes. I can still see the hotel in the rear view mirror.”
“Here it is,” Gertie said. “The famous Bourbon Street. Ah, memories, huh, Ida Belle?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gertie,” Ida Belle said piously.
I drove slowly behind a family in a rented Mustang convertible. The two and three-story Creole townhouses blocked the morning sun and threw the narrow street into twilight.
“I won’t take long,” Ida Belle said. “In and out.”
“No, it’s no problem. I'm fine with spending a little more time here. I can see why people make such a big deal about the French Quarter. This architecture is really beautiful. I’m not in any big hurry to get back. ”
What did I have to get back to? My on-again-off-again love interest Deputy Sheriff Carter Le Blanc was currently off-again. My roommate Ally was good company, but I had to be careful around her. She only knew me by my cover identity, Sandy-Sue “Fortune” Morrow, retired beauty queen and grand-niece of the late Marge Boudreaux.
Ida Belle and Gertie were old enough to be my great-grandmothers, but they were also my two best friends. They’d sniffed out the truth about me practically the minute I’d set foot in Sinful, where I’d gone to hide out from an arms dealer who’d put a price on my head. I could only be myself—literally—around Gertie and Ida Belle.
The spice and tea shop was tucked into the first floor of a two-story building. The walkway in front of the shops was sheltered by a balcony with a wrought-iron railing.
The soft lighting and spicy scent of the shop were soothing. I took a deep breath and mentally scolded myself for being such a stress case. This trip to New Orleans for the romance conference was supposed to be fun. Gertie had discovered a passion for writing late in life, and Ida Belle and I had come along to cheer her on and enjoy a weekend in the big city.
I turned and gazed through the shop window to the brick building across the way. A faded green awning bore the logo of a cooking school. I had nothing but time on my hands this summer, being undercover and unemployed. Maybe I could spend the rest of the summer learning to cook. It's not like I had a whole lot of other demands on my time lately.
"Fortune!" Gertie was tugging on my sleeve, like a kid. "Come help me pick out something for Pastor Don."
I followed Gertie to the back of the store, where shelves upon shelves of fragrant jars, bags, and packets were stacked. She finally chose a little sachet, wrapped in fine netting and tied with lavender ribbon.
“That looks nice,” I peered at the label. “What’s tulsi tea?”
“It’s a soothing blend. No caffeine, very calming. The thing is, every time I walk into church with the Sinful Ladies Society lately, poor Pastor Don looks so nervous. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“It’s a mystery,” I agreed.
“What are you going to get for Ally?”
“I don’t know if she would appreciate fancy tea. Let’s go see what Ida Belle’s doing.”
Ida Belle was at the cash register already, buying a dried pepper blend, pickled garlic cloves, and a glossy black bag of tea labeled “trà sen.”
Gertie gasped. “They have trà sen?”
“Costs a fortune here.” Ida Belle glared at the bespectacled young man behind the cash register as if he were the mastermind behind this appalling price-gouging conspiracy. “But yeah, they have the real thing.”
The cashier finished with Ida Belle and started to ring up Gertie’s purchases. I didn’t want to hold us up, so I hurried to the closest display shelf and grabbed a small jar of honey, a tea cup with an infuser, and, inspired by Ida Belle’s purchase, a jar of pepper flakes. Ally would know what to do with them. They were expensive, so I figured that meant they were probably good.
Chapter Two
Ida Belle insisted on stopping for coffee before we got back into the Jeep. Gertie agreed, but only if we went to Starbucks.
“We’re going to Starbucks?” Ida Belle groused. “You can get Starbucks anywhere.”
“Not in Sinful,” Gertie reminded her.
“Yeah, that's true. Okay. I guess there's a chance we won’t get struck by lightning for going to a Starbucks in the French Quarter. When we should be getting chicory coffee and fresh-baked beignets.”
“Just don’t get those huge cups,” I said. “I don’t want to be stopping for bathroom breaks every fifteen minutes.”
I ordered a “tall” (i.e. small) brewed coffee. Gertie and Ida Belle ignored my plea and got giant frozen mocha caramel concoctions topped with mountains of whipped cream.
Then they both made a show of how they were low on cash and reminded me that they were both elderly ladies on fixed incomes.
I paid for all three of us, trying to conceal my shock at the price of a tricked-out coffee milkshake.
As I turned to leave, something tripped my alarm.
A man sat in a corner, with his back to the wall. Most of him was hidden by the copy of Monocle Magazine he had opened in front of him. That in itself was suspicious. Who reads print magazines anymore?
Male. Gelled dark brown hair. Skinny, pale wrist. Gold Rolex. Strike that, fake gold Rolex. Threat assessment… moderate to high, based on his overall sleaziness.
“Let’s go.” I urged Gertie and Ida Belle out of the door onto the sidewalk, setting the bells a-jingle. I glanced back through the plate glass. The man was slowly setting down his magazine. I took out my phone and snapped a photo through the glass. The image quality would be terrible, but it was better than nothing. I’d send it to Harrison, my handler back at headquarters. Just to be on the safe side. It might be nothing, but with a ten million dollar bounty on my head, I couldn’t afford to get complacent.
I gunned the Jeep and lurched out into traffic before my passengers could get buckled in. I didn’t talk—didn’t even breathe, it seemed—until we were well outside New Orleans and practically halfway to Lafayette.
“You recognize that guy?” Ida Belle asked.
“I’ve never seen him before. Maybe he was just some hipster kicking back and enjoying his pretentious magazine. But Ahmad’s men were just in New Orleans, and Ahmad might’ve left someone behind.”
“You think he’s one of Ahmad’s crew?” Ida Belle asked.
“So every time you see a guy looking at you, you’re going to freak out and run away?” Gertie added.
“Not the worst plan,” Ida Belle said.
It took us four hours to make the two-hour drive. The rural byways were scenic as a postcard, overhung with cypress and Spanish moss. They were also full of ruts and bare spots where floods had washed the asphalt away, and at one point our progress was held up by a twenty-foot-long gator plodding across the road. Not only that, we had to stop at every gas station, diner, and general store on the way, thanks to Gertie and Ida Belle’s immoderate coffee consumption back in New Orleans.
As we were getting back into to the car after stopping at a particularly sketchy gas station, Gertie squealed.
“Forget something back there?” Ida Belle said.
“No, just got a text. Carter’s back in town."
“That’s good. How's he doing?” My tone was measured, hopefully not betraying my increased heart rate. The last time I’d seen Carter, we hadn’t reconciled exactly, but we’d sort of called a truce. Things might develop from there. Who knows?
“Any other news?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie showed her phone to Ida Belle.
"Uh-oh," Ida Belle said.
"Uh-oh, what?" I asked.
Gertie and Ida Belle both buckled in quietly.
"Are you going to tell me the news about Carter?" I asked.
"No news," Gertie said.
"I can tell you're lying."
"She can tell, Gertie,
" Ida Belle confirmed. "Might as well tell her.”
“You do it then.”
“Fine. Fortune, Carter has a woman with him."
Chapter Three
My roommate Ally raced over and hugged me the minute I walked in the front door. I dropped my spice shop bag and Pepto-pink overnight case to return her embrace. (Pink luggage isn’t my taste at all, but the guys who set me up here seemed to think that that’s what a retired beauty queen would choose).
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she murmured into my shoulder. “I really missed you.”
She released me from her embrace and beamed at me.
“I got warm homemade brownies and ice cream. And I made coffee. Hot coffee. That’s what they call comfort food. Who couldn’t use some comfort food, right? Come on, Fortune. I don’t have to start my shift for another hour.”
I picked up my things and walked into my house, looking around warily. Everything seemed in order.
It’s nice to see you too, Ally. What’s up?”
“Merlin, look who’s home!” Ally gushed.
Merlin hadn’t bothered to come out from under the dining table to greet me. At the sound of his name, he glanced up and then resumed licking his paws.
“Here, I brought you some souvenirs from the big city.”
I handed her the spice shop bag.
“Ooh, Ponchatoula honey. That’s nice. What a pretty teacup! Whoa, Carolina Reaper! Thanks so much, Fortune. Okay, ready for those brownies?”
Ally wouldn’t tell me what was going on until we were sitting out back, each of us holding a big bowl of chocolate chip brownies topped with melting vanilla ice cream. We sat quietly and watched the bayou roll by just past the edge of my property line.
“Spit it out,” I said, finally. “Not the brownie.”
Ally sighed and gazed at her bowl.
“Carter came into Francine’s this morning for breakfast.”
“And?”
She glanced up at me and then back down at her half-empty bowl of ice cream and brownie wreckage.
“He was with someone.”
