Swamp Sniper

by Jana DeLeon

  “You think I’d rip one in a church? For Christ’s sake, my aunt’s a nun.”

  “Well, I’m telling you it wasn’t me.”

  “Forget about it. Just take the picture and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  As the man with the camera leaned over again, the sound of expelled gas repeated, this time louder.

  “Motherfucker!” The second man jumped back from the coffin. “It was him!”

  “Bullshit! A corpse can’t rip one. Stop screwing around.”

  The first man snatched the camera from the second man but as he lifted it up to take the picture, Ted’s hand flew up in the air and seemed to point directly at them.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” the second guy shouted and shoved the first man out of the way as he bolted for the front doors.

  The first man hit the coffin with a thud and I sucked in my breath as I watched it teeter on the stand. Finally, the man stabilized and ran after his buddy, who threw open the front doors of the worship space.

  A second later, alarms went off all over the church.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I jumped up from the choir loft and vaulted over the railing, pausing only long enough to snap a picture of Ted before heading for the back door. I heard Ida Belle and Gertie bumping along behind me as I ran down the hallway, the alarm making my pulse race and my ears ring.

  “Wait!” Ida Belle yelled halfway down the hall. “We can’t go out the back door like this. Old Lady Fontenot will be out there with a camera and a spotlight. I guarantee it.”

  “You got any better ideas?” I asked.

  “We had a backup plan,” Ida Belle explained and motioned to Gertie. “Hurry up!”

  Gertie pulled three Mardi Gras masks out of her purse and tossed us each one.

  “This is your backup plan?” I asked.

  “You got anything better?” Ida Belle shot back.

  I pulled the mask on and took off for the back door, too pissed off that I didn’t have a backup plan and not about to admit it. I only hoped Old Lady Fontenot was slow with her camera aim. I paused long enough to unlock the back door and wave Gertie and Ida Belle out before sprinting down the steps behind them. No use taking the time to lock the door behind us. That cat was sorta out of the bag.

  No sooner had we reached the edge of the alley than a spotlight hit me right in the face. I ducked out of the beam of light and a flash went off, catching me right in the eyes again.

  “I got you dirtbags!”

  Partially blinded by the spotlight and the flash, I stumbled across the alley, blinking to clear my vision, and snatched the camera right out of the woman’s hand. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting a direct attack because she never moved an inch from that spot, either before or after I grabbed the camera from her. She was still standing there, staring after us as we rounded the corner of the alley and ran into the swamp.

  As soon as I hit the tree line, I pulled off the mask and flung it into the brush, but the path through the swamp wasn’t nearly as easy to traverse in the pitch dark and at a run as it had been walking with a penlight. The branches ripped at my arms, and I knew that despite wearing a long-sleeved shirt, I’d have the scratches to show for it in the morning.

  I was pretty sure we were almost at the clearing where we’d left my Jeep when Gertie, who was running in front, tripped and fell flat on the path. Ida Belle, who was running with an odd stride and apparently unable to control her forward momentum, kept running right over her and out into the clearing. I skimmed to the side of Gertie’s prone figure and hesitated for a moment, deliberating between checking her pulse or just hauling her up.

  Figuring I was going to have to haul her up either way, I skipped the pulse part and pulled her up by her shoulders. She wobbled and slumped, only half-conscious as I dragged her into the clearing and tossed her over the side of my Jeep and into the backseat. Ida Belle was already in the passenger’s seat, so I jumped in and we hauled butt out of the clearing and straight toward Ida Belle’s house.

  “She got a picture of us,” Ida Belle said, sounding somewhat frazzled.

  “Not exactly,” I said and tossed the camera in her lap.

  She looked down at it and started laughing. “You stole her camera?”

  “Took it right out of her hands. Those masks weren’t going to fool anyone.”

  “No, but I’m not sure taking her camera will solve the problem either. She knows Gertie and I well enough to know our clothes.”

  “Does your fireplace work?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then we’ll burn them as soon as we get to your house.”

  “What about yours?” she asked.

  “Everyone in the world owns jeans and a black T-shirt. You and Gertie are the only people in existence who would insist on wearing slacks and printed blouses to commit a crime.”

  Ida Belle crossed her arms across her chest. “It was a church. It would have been disrespectful to wear jeans or sweats.”

  I shook my head. As long as I lived, I was certain I would never understand Southern manners.

  Ida Belle was silent for a moment, then finally said, “I don’t blame those guys for freaking out. What the heck is up with Ted’s body?”

  “It’s decomposing,” I said. “Either the embalming job wasn’t very good or Paulette opted to save some money and skip it altogether, which may also explain why she’s rushing the funeral.”

  “Which goes back to the theory of Ted being broke.”

  “It might.”

  I turned off my headlights before turning the corner to Ida Belle’s house, then rolled to a stop in her driveway. With any luck, none of her neighbors were on nosy patrol. Gertie had roused herself a bit and Ida Belle and I hefted her out of the Jeep and towed her inside.

  Ida Belle ran upstairs to get a change of clothes for her and Gertie, and I fired up the fireplace. She came back downstairs a couple of minutes later, wearing a long nightshirt and carrying a nightshirt for Gertie and the slacks and blouse she’d worn for our nightly escapade.

  Ida Belle tossed her clothes on the fire and I poked them around a bit as Ida Belle helped a still-groggy Gertie change into the nightshirt. A minute later, Ida Belle eased Gertie into the recliner and tossed her clothes on the fire. The two of us stood there watching until the last of the cloth melted away.

  Ida Belle sighed. “I really liked that blouse.”

  “What the hell were those guys doing in the church?” I asked.

  “It looks like they were doing the same thing we were,” Ida Belle said.

  “But why? Why would anyone else want a picture of Ted’s corpse?”

  “I have no earthly idea. I’ve been racking my brain all the way home, but I can’t come up with anything that makes sense.”

  “Did you recognize their voices?”

  Ida Belle frowned. “No. They didn’t sound Southern at all.”

  I nodded. “I think they were Yankees.”

  “I agree, but why would Yankees come all the way down here to get a picture of Ted’s corpse?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d bet everything it’s important that we find out.”

  “Maybe Ted’s infighting with his family was something epic,” Ida Belle said. “Maybe some of them came down here to be sure he was dead.”

  I shook my head. “That would be the family feud to end all feuds.”

  Gertie groaned and we looked over to see her holding her head with both hands. “I feel like I got run over by a truck. What happened?”

  “You got run over by a truck,” I said.

  Ida Belle elbowed me and walked over to Gertie, checking out the purple circle already forming around Gertie’s eye. “That’s probably going to turn black,” Ida Belle said.

  I nodded. “These scratches on my arms aren’t going to look so hot either.”

  “Let me see.” Ida Belle.

  I rolled up my sleeves and Ida Belle leaned over to inspect my arms. “None of them were deep enough to break the skin,
but they’re going to welt up some. Why didn’t you run with your arms tucked in front of you?”

  I stared. “Why in the world would you do that?”

  “To keep from getting scratched, of course. Do you see any scratches on Gertie and me?”

  “No, but the balance that arms to the side provide might have prevented Gertie from face-planting.”

  Ida Belle shrugged. “It’s a trade-off.”

  I was just formulating my next argument in this most absurd conversation when I heard a vehicle pull to a stop in front of Ida Belle’s house. We both ran to the window and I felt my pulse spike as I saw Carter exit his truck, the frown on his face perfectly clear.

  “Don’t panic,” Ida Belle said, although it was clear she was on the verge of panicking herself. “We’ll just play it cool like we’re having a pajama party.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “How the hell are we going to explain Gertie’s eye? Or the fact that she’s only half-conscious and can’t stand without assistance?”

  “I canth stan…” Gertie pushed herself up two inches, then fell back into the chair.

  As the doorbell rang, Ida Belle ran for the hall closet and threw boxing gloves at me. “Put those on. You were showing us some moves you learned at a self-defense class.”

  I didn’t believe for a moment that Carter would buy it, but with no proof to the contrary, I supposed he wouldn’t have a choice.

  “Coming!” Ida Belle yelled as the doorbell rang again. She pulled a glove on her left hand and tossed the other on the couch, using her free right hand to unlock the door. I rolled down my sleeves, pulled on the gloves and stood in the middle of the living room, feeling incredibly stupid.

  Ida Belle threw open the door. “What the hell, Carter? It’s the middle of the night.”

  I barely held back a grin. Offense as defense was one of my preferred methods as well.

  Carter looked at Ida Belle, then past her to me and Gertie. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

  “Firth rule of fight club,” Gertie said and held up her hand. It immediately dropped back into her lap.

  “Fortune was teaching us some self-defense moves from a class she takes back home,” Ida Belle explained. “I accidentally clocked Gertie, but she’ll be fine.”

  “Uh-huh.” His brow creased and I could tell he didn’t even know where to start. Two old ladies in nightshirts, one wearing boxing gloves and the other sporting what would become a banner black eye, were probably not anywhere in the sheriff’s department training manual. He glanced over at the fireplace and frowned.

  “It’s hot as hell,” he said. “Why do you have a fire going?”

  “We were going to roast marshmallows when we’re done,” Ida Belle said. “Don’t you know anything about pajama parties?”

  He looked me up and down.

  “I don’t wear pajamas,” I said.

  He sighed. “Yeah, I know. I don’t suppose you three know anything about the break-in at the Catholic church tonight?”

  Ida Belle and I feigned surprise.

  “Heathen,” Gertie mumbled.

  “Why would someone break into the church?” Ida Belle asked. “Everyone knows they don’t keep money there.”

  “Someone opened Ted’s coffin.”

  “Creepy,” Gertie said.

  “I have to agree with Gertie,” I said, getting into the mix. “Was he buried with expensive jewelry?”

  “No,” Carter said, “and corpse-robbing does not happen in Sinful, so don’t even go there.”

  “Some weird cult thing?” I suggested.

  Carter’s face turned red. “There are no cults in Sinful, either.”

  I shrugged. “Well, all of this is interesting and all, but why are you asking us about it?”

  “Because Ms. Fontenot said she saw three people running out of the back of the church wearing Mardi Gras masks.”

  “What’s a Mardi Gras mask?” I asked.

  “Later,” Ida Belle said and waved her hand at me.

  “Ms. Fontenot is positive one of those three was Ida Belle. Said she recognized your ‘hideous’ purple blouse with red stripes.”

  “Like she’s a fashion plate,” Ida Belle said. “Old Lady Fontenot might be able to hear like a bat but she’s also blind as one.”

  “She says she took a picture, but the tall, lanky one grabbed her camera and ran off with it.” Carter looked me up and down. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  I widened my eyes and forced myself not to glance at the camera, which was peeking out from under a decorative pillow on the end of the couch. “Why would I?”

  Carter threw his hands in the air. “You know what, never mind. I don’t even think I want to know the answer to this. I just want that man in the ground, that woman out of town, and someone sitting in my jail on murder charges.”

  “As long as it’s not me,” Ida Belle said, “I’m right there with you.”

  “Fine. Great. Then go back to…whatever.” He whirled around and stalked out of the house.

  Ida Belle looked back at me and raised her eyebrows, then closed and locked the door behind him. “He’s awful testy.”

  “Yeah,” I said and frowned. The man who’d left wasn’t the Carter I’d come to know. That man was frustrated and on edge. He looked ready to chuck the whole thing, and I wondered how close he was to doing just that. I hadn’t helped matters with that cult comment, and I felt a bit guilty, but it had served the purpose of getting his attention off of us.

  Ida Belle pulled the glove off her left hand and tossed it on the couch with the other one. “Get those things off and let’s run that photo through Google before something else goes wrong.”

  Gertie was still woozy, so we helped her into the kitchen. Ida Belle microwaved some of the coffee from earlier and pushed it in front of her. The strong aroma worked like smelling salts, perking Gertie right back up to almost normal…while she was sitting, anyway. The jury was still out on whether she could stand, and I definitely wouldn’t have bet money on walking.

  I pulled out my cell phone and accessed the pictures, then groaned when I got to the one of Ted. That creepy, floating hand of his was blocking half of his face. I showed the phone to Ida Belle who cussed.

  “Now what?” I asked. “We certainly can’t risk going into the church again, and even if you had someone willing to do it, someone snapping a picture during the funeral might stand out a bit.”

  Ida Belle jumped up from her chair. “Yes, they would stand out.” She ran into the living room and I looked over at Gertie, who shrugged.

  A couple of seconds later, she was back with Old Lady Fontenot’s camera. “She’s Catholic,” Ida Belle said as she shoved the camera at me and sat back down, “and just enough of a weirdo that she might have taken a picture at the vigil.”

  “Seriously?” I picked up the camera and accessed the photos.

  “Oh yeah,” Gertie said.

  The first one up was the three of us running out of the church. I took one look and was thankful that I’d stolen the camera. Even with the masks, anyone in Sinful would have pegged Ida Belle and Gertie, which means I’d have been pegged as well.

  But the next picture…the next picture was golden.

  “Unbelievable,” I said as I stared at the perfectly clear photo of a very deceased Ted. “You’re right. She’s weird, but I’m glad. I don’t suppose you have a USB that fits this camera?”

  Ida Belle took the camera from me and studied it for a moment. “I think the cord for my camera will fit this. Hold on.”

  She jumped up and rummaged through a kitchen drawer and finally pulled out a cord. “Try this one,” she said and tossed it to me.

  I let out a breath of relief when the plug slid easily into the camera. After all of this, if we’d had to wait until the next day to make a trip to New Orleans for a camera cord, I might have dived straight into a bottle of Sinful Ladies cough syrup and never come up for air.

  I downloaded the pic to Ida
Belle’s laptop, then uploaded it into the Google picture search thingie and set it to work. A couple of seconds later, the screen filled with links, but not a single one of them referenced the name Ted Williams. I clicked on the first link, expecting to find it had all been a mistake, and gasped.

  The picture was definitely a match but the name attached to the mug shot wasn’t Ted Williams. It was Gino Rossetti.

  “You got a hit?” Ida Belle asked.

  I scanned the article attached to the picture. “I got a hit all right, and I think I know why Ted was in Sinful.” I turned the laptop around and pointed to the headline.

  Maselli Underboss Pinched for Extortion of New Jersey Mayor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ida Belle whistled. “New Jersey mafia. Holy crap!”

  “Let me see,” Gertie said and pulled the laptop over, her eyes widening as she read the headline. “I can’t believe it.”

  “So the Yankees in the church were people Ted…or, er, Gino, knew from his secret past?” Ida Belle asked.

  “That would be my guess,” I said.

  “But why?” Gertie asked.

  “Maybe a rival mob and they wanted proof he was dead. Maybe friends of the mayor. When Paulette said Ted was estranged from his family, she was certainly underselling it.”

  “Do a search on his real name and two years ago,” Ida Belle said. “That’s when he came to Sinful.”

  I pulled the laptop back in front of me and typed in the search info. Seconds later, the page populated with articles again.

  Feds Sweep Maselli Family Warehouses.

  Maselli Mob Bosses Indicted for Drug Smuggling and Murder.

  Gino Rossetti Disappears.

  I clicked on the one about Gino’s disappearance and started reading.

  Maselli family underboss Gino Rossetti didn’t show up in court today to answer charges concerning the alleged extortion of Mayor Rawlings. But according to those who knew him, that’s not unusual. Apparently, Mr. Rossetti isn’t keeping any of his scheduled appointments. His personal physician, tailor, barber, and even his priest claim they haven’t seen him or his wife, Paulette, in weeks and the speculation has already started.