The Miss Fortune Series: Summer in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Miss Prim & Proper Mystery Book 1)

by Caroline Mickelson

  "Neither," Carter snapped. "There was a body here." He pointed to the spot on the floor where Misha had recently lain. "He was a big guy, at least six foot and well over two hundred fifty pounds would be my guess."

  "You're sure he was dead?" Gertie asked.

  I spun around to look at her, ready to call her out on her ridiculous question, but I caught my great-aunt's subtle head shake. She wanted me to hold my tongue. I glanced at Fortune, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.

  Why was Gertie asking such a ludicrous question? Why wouldn't Fortune immediately confirm that Misha had just been lying here dead not twelve minutes ago? Why did Aunt Ida Belle want me to keep silent? The only reason that made any sense, even remotely, was that they were going to let Carter think that Misha hadn't really been dead.

  But hadn't Carter checked Misha's pulse? Wouldn't Buddy confirm that the body he'd found had shown no signs of life? I looked at each of the three women in turn. They were some kind of crazy.

  "Of course, I'm sure." Carter's face was growing redder by the moment. "Don't even, do not even, think you're going to get away with telling me you didn't see the body that was right here."

  "Of course we saw it. We're old, not blind." Aunt Ida Belle's face was impressively impassive. "But I've also been around long enough to tell you this much, stiffs just don't get up and walk away."

  "Word," Gertie chimed in. "Did you take a picture of it?"

  Carter narrowed his eyes. "No, did you?"

  In answer, Gertie shivered. "What kind of a pervert would do something like that?"

  I closed my eyes and issued a silent prayer that Gertie would shut up while she was still ahead of the game. Carter looked mad enough to arrest us all.

  "Fortune, look at me," Carter ordered.

  She turned slowly to face him. Like my great-aunt, Fortune had a face that was readable only when she wanted it to be, so it was near on impossible to know exactly what she was thinking. But I knew she had a thing for Carter, and he for her, which made this a miserable situation for them both.

  Leave it to the Sidorov family to mess up the lives of people they didn't even know. Unbelievable.

  "Fortune, tell me that you saw the body."

  She nodded. "I did."

  "You saw that he was dead?"

  She hesitated. "I saw him lying there, not moving. But I didn't take his pulse."

  "Damn it, Fortune," Carter turned away in disgust.

  An uncomfortable silence settled over us. Carter's anger and Fortune's despair were both painfully palpable.

  "Um, Carter, don't you think we should do something?"

  The deputy's words were the jumpstart Carter needed to snap back into professional mode. He nodded. "Right. Here's what's going to happen. I'm declaring this house a crime scene because a murder occurred here." He paused long enough for one of us to refute that claim, but no one spoke. Apparently satisfied, he continued, "Buddy, you stay here and get these windows replaced. Deputy Breaux will stay with you until the job is done, and then you're going to follow him down to the department and give your statement. If I hear that you've so much as spoken one word to any of these women," he motioned to the four of us, "then I'm throwing your butt in jail and leaving it there. Understand?"

  Buddy nodded. "Got it."

  "Fortune, gather up Merlin and your things and go stay with Gertie or Ida Belle until I give you the okay to return."

  Color returned to Fortune's cheeks in one swift flush. "You're kicking me out of my own house?"

  "Damn straight." He stood with his feet planted a good twelve inches apart and his hands on his hips. "If it helps you any, don't think of this as your house. Think of it as a crime scene. If you come back here for any reason, any of you, I swear to God I'll arrest you. If you think I'm kidding, just try me."

  I don't know what the ladies were thinking, but I for one was going to take his threat seriously. I had no desire to see the inside of a Sinful, Louisiana jail cell.

  ***

  "We need to go back to the house after dark." Aunt Ida Belle handed me a mason jar of sweet tea and sat in the seat beside me. "I want to find out where that body went off to."

  We were holed up at Gertie's house, having been banished from Fortune's. I stared down at my sweetened tea. I knew it was a southern tradition, but I would have far preferred a china tea cup filled with unsweetened black tea and a lemon wedge. Never mind the beverage at hand, I just flat out wished I were back in Boston. I'd come to Sinful to hide out while Misha forgot about me. Obviously, things weren't going according to plan.

  Poor Misha.

  Poor me.

  "Snap out of it, Stephanie." Aunt Ida Belle clapped her hands together. "This isn't a pity party. We've got to figure out a game plan."

  I turned to look her square in the eye. "What's the game?"

  She returned my gaze without so much as blinking. "It's called 'Keep Stephanie St. James Out of Jail.'"

  Gertie placed a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the table. She sat opposite me. "I'll play. I'm feeling lucky."

  That made one of us.

  "What about you, Fortune?" my great-aunt asked.

  Fortune turned to us, her blue eyes as serious as I'd seen them since I'd arrived in Sinful. "Carter wasn't kidding when he said he'd arrest us if he caught us near the house."

  "Then we won't get caught." Gertie took a bite out of a cookie. "Easy peasy."

  "I still don't understand what we hope to find at the house," I said.

  "Misha," Gertie and Aunt Ida Belle answered in unison.

  "He was dead, wasn't he?" I had to ask. I mean, I knew he was dead. I saw his body. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't blinking. But he also wasn't there when we went back into the kitchen. I'll admit that was starting to really creep me out.

  "Yes, he was dead. Is dead." Fortune got up and started to pace. Her nervous energy was ricocheting off the walls. "I think he was poisoned."

  "What points to poison?" Aunt Ida Belle asked.

  "Gut instinct." Fortune shrugged. "I could be wrong, but I don't think I am. The way his features were arrested, almost frozen, could only be caused by a fast-acting poison. That and the fact there were no signs of a struggle or any visible wounds."

  There was an intensity to the way that Fortune spoke and moved that seemed at odds with what Aunt Ida Belle had told me about her background. She was a former beauty queen turned librarian, but she reminded me of someone who had a military background. Perhaps her parents had been military. Either way, I wasn't in any position to challenge her hypothesis.

  Misha had been my first. Corpse, that is.

  "Who'd want his dead body?" Gertie asked. "That's what I can't figure out. With mob connections, I get that there might have been a waiting list of people who wanted him dead. But why whisk away the body?"

  "I think the real question is, why kill him in Fortune's kitchen?" Aunt Ida Belle got up to pace, too.

  Maybe this was the way of southern women when they were puzzling something out. If so, it would only be polite to join in the to and fro, but my knees were still shaky. I glanced at Gertie for a social cue. She grabbed another cookie and proceeded to eat it, apparently not caring that Aunt Ida Belle and Fortune were pacing like two caged lions.

  "Misha, or whoever shot out my windows last night, could have easily broken in and killed Stephanie. So it stands to reason that they only wanted to give her a warning."

  "I understand why they would want me dead," I said, although the words sounded all wrong once they were out. "If I were out of the picture, I couldn't testify that I heard Misha say he executed someone. But who would want Misha dead?"

  Aunt Ida Belle's glance was downright pitying. "You don't know much about the mob, do you, Stephanie, honey?"

  "More than I want to, actually." But I took her point. We could work on the assumption that all mobsters had someone who wanted them six feet under. "But why kill him here?"

  All three women fixed a knowing look on me
while they waited for me to add two plus two. I did and got four. "They wanted to kill him here because someone would eventually make the connection between us." I put my hand to my throat as if doing so could ward off the noose I felt tightening around my neck. "They want to pin it on me."

  "Bingo!" Gertie shouted, her fist pumping the air. "There's hope for Miss Prim and Proper yet."

  "Can it, Gertie," my great-aunt scolded her. "The kid's a novice. Go easy on her."

  "Sorry." Gertie smiled apologetically. "I got carried away."

  I tried to keep the shock off of my face. These women gave a whole new meaning to the definition of steel magnolias.

  "There's nothing to be gained by going back to the house," Fortune said. "Think about it. No one would bother to move Misha from one room to another, right? They wanted to clear him out of there. If they did, he's long gone. But if they didn't succeed for some reason, the body would have been found by now. It's not like we're going to find Misha under a bush in the backyard. Carter's going to tear my place apart looking for that body."

  "Well, we sure as heck aren't going to sit here and wait for someone to come after my great-niece."

  "I wasn't suggesting that," Fortune said. "Let's think this through. We were all standing on the porch and we know the body didn't come out that way."

  "I could see the inside stairway from where I stood, but no one went up or down," Gertie said. "So they must have used the back door."

  "Which would lead straight to the water, which meant someone must have had a boat ready. Someone with the resources to have a boat quiet enough and fast enough to get that body out of there in a matter of minutes, not to mention the manpower to get the job done." Her smile was downright triumphant. "Sound like anyone we know?"

  "Whoo hoo!" Gertie stood up and did what I assume was supposed to look like a happy dance, although it actually looked like she was shaking the ants out of her polyester pants. "Good work, girl."

  My eyes went to Aunt Ida Belle. Just as I thought, she looked as delighted as her two friends.

  "Well, don't stand there, get on the phone and make the call. Tell them we need to see them tonight," she demanded.

  "Who?" I asked, not really surprised when no one answered me. I tried again. "Where are we going?"

  But it didn't really matter. Wherever they were going, I was going too. There was no way I was going to stay behind and serve as target practice for the Russian mob.

  Chapter Nine

  We tumbled out of Gertie's house and into her Cadillac about ten minutes after Fortune made a mysterious phone call. I didn't know whom she called but it didn't really matter. Aunt Ida Belle, Gertie, and Fortune seemed almost jubilant, which gave me hope that we were now officially on our way to proving my innocence.

  I glanced across the street at Carter's house as we piled into the car. Only one small yellow light shone from his front porch. I'd have felt reassured if interior lights had blazed from the inside of his house because that would mean he was off duty. But the darkness unnerved me. Was he sitting at his desk down at the police station putting together a rock solid case against me?

  At the very thought of incarceration, my stomach did a funny little flip flop. Well, not so funny, actually. The prospect of jail time terrified me. Of course, I wasn't the one who killed Misha, so I shouldn't technically be worried. Except that I was. What if the Sidorovs decided that framing me for their precious son's murder was the perfect way to punish me? For some very twisted reason, they seemed to be shocked that I didn't want to marry Misha and join their family.

  The squeal of the tires as Gertie's Cadillac peeled around a corner shook me from my reverie. I glanced out the window. Not a wise move. The speed at which we were traveling, coupled with the erratic lane changes, left me downright nauseated. I closed my eyes.

  "Are you okay, Stephanie?"

  I opened one eye and snuck a quick look at Fortune. She was holding on to the back of Gertie's seat as if it were a bucking bronco. Except that this ride wouldn't be over in eight seconds.

  "I'm fine," I lied. "I just want to survive the ride."

  Fortune smiled. "Gertie always manages to get us where we need to go in one piece. At least so far. That's not a bad record considering how blind she is."

  "I heard that." Gertie frowned at us over her shoulder. "Whatever happened to respecting your elders?"

  A horn blasted and Aunt Ida Belle leaned across the front seat to jerk the wheel to the right. "Keep looking straight, you old fool. The highway on-ramp is coming up soon."

  I closed my eyes again, wishing that I could block the memory of Misha's lifeless body as easily as I blocked out my vision. The Cadillac accelerated at an alarming rate, and my heart-rate did the same. I blew out a deep breath. Eventually this would all be over, both the car ride and the whole Misha mess. One way or the other.

  "Fortune?" I still had my eyes closed. Watching Gertie zigzag between semi-trucks was more than I could handle. "Was Misha really dead?"

  "Yes," she said without hesitation. "He was as dead as a man could be."

  "You're sure?"

  "It's the only thing in this whole situation I am sure about," she said. "Misha was stone cold dead. We know that. The rest of the puzzle we're going to have to piece together."

  I felt a rush of gratitude toward Fortune, Gertie, and my great-aunt Ida Belle. I was a virtual stranger to all three of them, only loosely connected by bloodline to my great-aunt, and yet they were acting as if my problems were theirs. Yes, they were wild, they were crazy, and their manners were not what I expected from southern ladies, but they were loyal and resourceful. And I was grateful.

  A very long fifteen minutes later, the Cadillac slowed from autobahn speed to normal speed and then finally to a bumpy crawl over what felt like a dirt road. I opened my eyes and looked around, but all I saw was blackness. "Where are we?"

  "Almost there," my great-aunt said.

  Well, that was as clear as bayou mud. But to push for more answers when it was obvious she didn't want to fill me in would be downright rude. I might well be close to losing my mind, but that didn't mean I had to abandon my manners.

  Gertie pulled the car to a stop in front of a warehouse. It wasn't exactly rundown, but neither was it particularly inviting. Still, I followed Fortune out of the car without hesitating. We stood in huddle formation in the parking lot.

  "I'll do the talking," Aunt Ida Belle said. "Fortune, jump in when you feel you need to. Stephanie, you'd best stay as quiet as possible unless you're asked a question. Answer it as succinctly as possible and don't add any details unless I prompt you to. Don't confess to anything, either. The less you say, the better."

  I nodded, although the use of the word "confess" didn't sit comfortably with me. However, this didn't seem the right time to quibble over semantics.

  "What about me?" Gertie demanded.

  "You keep silent," aunt Ida Belle said. "I don't want to hear a word out of you. Last time we were here you really pushed it with those Bibles and all that crazy 'have you been saved' gibberish."

  My eyebrows rose. Now there was a story.

  But it wasn't one I was destined to hear right now. Bright floodlights lit up the driveway and a voice called out through the night. "What do youse want?"

  I heard Gertie suck in her breath.

  "Don't do it, Gertie," Aunt Ida Belle hissed. "Let it go. It's just a word."

  "Like hell I will." Gertie's face scrunched into a scowl as she turned to face the building. The lights were too bright for any of us to see anything, but that didn't stop Gertie from shaking her finger in the general direction of the building. "Watch your language, young man. There are southern ladies out here and we don't appreciate your wise guy slang." She took a step toward the warehouse. "'Youse' is not a word. Do not let me hear you use it again."

  Fortune shook her head. "Wait for it," she whispered to me. "She just won't leave well enough alone."

  Gertie hitched her handbag up onto her shoulder. "Or
else," she called out to the grammar offender.

  A door creaked open and light from inside the building framed the silhouette of a hulking figure. I'd seen men built in this bulky shape before, and they all worked for the Sidorov family.

  "Oh yeah?" the voice shot back. "And I bet you think that 'y'all' is a word? 'Cause it's not."

  Gertie lunged forward but Aunt Ida Belle caught her by the arms before she could charge the voice. Fortune took several steps toward the glaring light.

  "We're here to see Mr. Hebert," she said. "Please tell him that the ladies he's expecting from Sinful have arrived."

  A low guttural growl was our only indication that the hulk was done taunting Gertie. "Which Mr. Hebert?"

  "I believe they're both expecting us."

  "Wait here." He stepped back into the warehouse and slammed the door shut. He must have flipped off a power switch as well because we were soon back to seeing by moonlight.

  "So much for keeping your flap trap shut." Aunt Ida Belle released her hold on Gertie. "What are you trying to do? Encourage the Heberts to put us on their 'shoot on sight' list?"

  Gertie shook out her arms like a prizefighter. "I will not sanction the Jersey-fication of our language."

  I sympathized with her concerns because I'm also an advocate of proper diction. But an image of myself on trial for murder prompted me to reprioritize. We had a body to find. "Gertie, we can buy this gentleman a dictionary at a later date. Right now I think we should focus on the matter at hand."

  She stared at me for a moment before she nodded. "You're right." She reached out and patted my shoulder. "We'll get your boyfriend's body back."

  "Boyfriend?" I sucked in a lungful of humid nighttime air. "No, you have it all wrong. Misha's not my boyfriend. I mean, he wasn't my boyfriend. It wasn't like that."

  "What was it like?" Fortune asked, her voice gentle. "There must have been something going on if he followed you all the way down here."

  I shook my head emphatically. "Believe me, our relationship was strictly professional, at least on my side. Misha had a crush on me, and he was so spoiled that he couldn't fathom not getting what he wanted."