miss fortune mystery (ff) - bayou bubba

by Sam Cheever

  Text copyright ©2015 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 of 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

  CHAPTER ONE

  I looked at the name on my cell phone and cringed. In the months since I’d decided to hire a private investigator to find my long lost skunk of a dad, it had been an up and down roller coaster ride of emotions.

  Did I really want to find out what had happened to Felonius Chance III? Or was I better off living out my life not knowing?

  Up until that moment I’d let the decision float around on the winds of chance—no pun intended. But since PI Calford Amity was calling on a Thursday morning, rather than our usual Monday afternoon weekly meeting…I could only assume he’d found something.

  Or he’d finally succumbed to the voodoo I’d been practicing to make him fall in love with me. I wasn’t holding out much hope of that since I was a spoiled little rich girl from Indianapolis, Indiana and therefore sucked at voodoo.

  “Hey, Cal. What’s up?” I mentally braced for the husky magic of his deep voice, knowing it would roll over me like warm butter and turn me all gooey like a cinnamon bun.

  “Miss Chance. I’ve found him.”

  And there they were. The three words (okay five) that I’d been both praying for and dreading. I swallowed hard. “Are you sure?” Was that hope in my voice? Or dread? Or hopeful dread?

  “I’m sure. One of the coins turned up.”

  My gaze slid toward the closet, where the bag I’d packed in the first fever of parental loss sat ready and waiting beside my floor-to-ceiling purse rack.

  I grimaced. Nobody should have that many purses. “Where is he?”

  “A place called Sinful, Louisiana. I’m booked on a flight out this morning. It leaves at eleven.”

  I laughed. “Funny. Where is he really?” A stark silence met my question and I frowned, realizing he wasn’t kidding. “Well, a place called Sinful would be fitting.”

  My always circumspect, a.k.a tight assed, PI didn’t respond. That was probably just as well. If anybody knew the extent of my father’s debauchery at that point it was uber sexy Cal Amity. He’d been buried up to his perfect Greek nose in it for weeks.

  “Get me a ticket too. I’m going with you.” And I was. I didn’t know why I’d decided to face my father’s perfidy up close and personal. But apparently I had. I was already reaching for my suitcase.

  I was heading to the Bayou.

  Grimacing, I realized the dresses and heels I’d packed for the trip weren’t going to go with the hip waders and gator repellent I’d need.

  Unzipping the bag, I disconnected and stood staring down at the three inch heels I’d laid over the top of my favorite pink suit. Was there such a thing as gator repellent? If there was I’d definitely need it.

  My phone rang again and I answered without looking at caller ID. “I know, I’m bringing bug spray and sensible shoes.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Felicity?”

  My smile dripped from my face like pancake makeup in the Louisiana sun. “Oh. Hi, Breze.”

  My evil stepmother sighed at the tone in my voice. “Why must you always say my name like it’s something on the bottom of your shoe?”

  Because I believe everyone should get the respect they deserve.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s up?” Grabbing the frou frou I’d packed, I threw most of it on my bed and went to gather up more suitable clothing for the trip.

  “I was wondering if you’d heard anything about your father.”

  The hopeful tone in her voice almost made me feel guilty for hating her. Then I remembered seeing her schtupping the pool boy the week before my father disappeared and I pushed the nub of guilt away. I’d had to bleach my brain for a week just so I could get through a day without throwing up.

  For the record, gin and tonic is a highly effective brain bleach. And if you add a spritz of lime you get a portion of your day’s vitamin C too. Win win. “Funny you should ask. My PI just called. He thinks he’s located dad. We’re getting on a plane in a couple of hours.”

  Silence. “Oh. That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes. It is. I have to go, Breze.”

  “Wait…”

  I hung up. “Sorry to get in between you and my dad’s money, Evil.” I glanced at the clock.

  I had to hurry. My flight was a mere two hours away and I still had to navigate the heavy traffic on 465 on the way to the airport.

  Excitement warred with fear, spinning like a whirlwind in my belly. I was excited by the idea of finally putting all my questions about my father’s disappearance to rest. I was more than excited about the chance to spend time with the sexy Cal. And I was terrified to face my negligent parental unit at long last.

  What if he’d left because he didn’t love me? What if he’d left because he was dying and didn’t want me to know?

  I swallowed hard. What if he was already dead?

  I zipped my suitcase and headed for the door, grabbing up purse number one hundred and five on the way out. It was the one I already had filled with my wallet and stuff and fortunately it came from my conservative and practical collection of bags.

  I’d have hated to face the Bayou with nothing but a sparkly clutch in my hands.

  ###

  By the time we drove into Sinful, Louisiana, I’d reconsidered the wonderfulness of spending time with the once sexy Cal Amity. A more judgmental, stick-up-the-ass person I’d never met. I realized as he scoured me with a look that said “you’re an idiot aren’t you?” for about the hundredth time since we’d met at the airport in Indy, that the gulf between him and me just might be too wide to leap…or cross with a 747.

  “I made us reservations at the Backwater Inn,” he told me as he turned left off Sinful’s wide, main street and headed for the dirty brown strip of water in the distance.

  “Of course you did,” I murmured.

  “I heard that.”

  “Of course you did,” I murmured more softly.

  “I heard that too.”

  I glared over at him. “What’s the deal with the muddy puddle up ahead? Has there been a flood?”

  “That would be the Bayou and I might need to use a boat for part of my investigation.”

  I didn’t miss the “I” in his declaration. I would have argued, telling him there was no “I” in “me too” but the other part of his statement iced my bowels. My eyes widened as we turned into a pockmarked gravel parking lot, adjacent to a long building with fake logs for walls. “We’re going out there?” I jabbed a finger toward the muddy ribbon cutting a swath along the edge of Sinful. “Why ever would we do that?”

  “Because that’s where I believe your father is.” Cal cut the engine and climbed out of the black Jeep he’d rented for us. He unfolded his long, lean length and stood, stretching enthusiastically before closing the door.

  Yes, god help me, I did stare at his fine, round behind as he stretched. He might be a pain in my ass, but his was finer than hundred-year-old Scotch in front of a roaring fire.

  Or as the people of Sinful would probably say…finer than frog hair. If frogs had hair.

  Shaking my head on the question I climbed out too, groaning and clasping my back as pain zig-zagged down my leg. “I don’t want to sit down for a week.”

  Cal focused his Caribbean blue
gaze fringed with thick black lashes on me and, despite the “you’re an idiot aren’t you?” look on his chiseled features, my knee ligaments melted a little. “It was a long trip,” he offered in only a slightly disgusted tone.

  I blinked, nearly toppling to the muddy gravel with surprise. “Um. Yeah. It was.”

  I followed the intrepid Cal toward a door marked “Office” at the center of the long building.

  A ten foot long concrete alligator adorned the narrow strip of grass alongside the door, his painted surface chipped and the flower hat on his head faded from the sun.

  Cal’s assessing gaze slid right over the gator, seeing no entertainment value in it at all. But I just couldn’t resist a quick selfie. Crouching down next to the silly critter, I made my eyes go wide and my lips form a terrorized “O” and clicked a picture to send to my BFFs back in Indy. I chuckled as I hit Send and turned, squeaking a little as I almost ran into a man with a thin, graying ponytail and a tattoo of a gator running up his enormous biceps. “Oh, sorry.”

  The man fixed me with a glacial gray gaze. He didn’t speak, his too-small mouth pursing a little inside the boundaries of a mustache and scraggly beard.

  “Well.” I felt like a complete fool for my selfie antics so I laughed self-consciously and stepped around him, imagining I could feel the sting of his gaze on my back as I hurried inside.

  Cal was talking to a man I assumed to be the manager.

  “Yeah, I know him,” the manager said. “That’s Bayou Bubba. Sinful’s most interesting homeless guy. He don’t look like that no more though.” The manager grinned, showing jagged teeth the color of the Bayou.

  Cal slipped the picture he carried of my father back into his shirt pocket. “Can you tell me where we can find him?”

  The man’s mud-colored smile slipped away. He glanced at me…probably noting, too late, the shell-shocked aspect of my face. He inclined his head in my direction. “Ma’am.”

  “Hello.”

  The man I assumed was the manager of the Backwater Inn reached beneath the counter and pulled out a key, handing it to Cal.

  One key. Oh oh. I opened my mouth to object when Cal handed it to me. “Do you know where Bayou Bubba is living?” he asked the motel manager.

  The man skimmed me another look.

  Cal glanced my way. “Miss Chance, will you go to the room, please? I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.” Remembering my close call with the frigid-eyed guy outside, I considered digging in my heels and insisting that I stay, but something on Cal’s handsome face made me nod and exit the stifling office. Despite the thick, overheated air outside, I was thankful to leave the stale ashtray scent of the office behind me. I looked at the key, which had a grinning alligator key chain, and noted the number nine on the gator’s yellow belly.

  Room number nine wasn’t far from the Jeep. Recoiling at the sour, coolish air that met me at the door, I shielded my nose with one hand. “Ugh!” The room was dark and noisy, with a portable air conditioner toiling loudly from its hole in the wall.

  There were two beds, both covered in dark green cotton spreads, and one small table between them.

  The carpet was also dark green, making the whole room depressingly dark. I went over and yanked the heavy drapes back, sneezing as dust bloomed on the air. Sunlight speared the room with light and heat.

  The door snapped open and the delectable Cal was suddenly backlit by the blazing sun. He stared at me for a moment and I held my breath. My gaze followed him as he closed the door and crossed the room. He scanned a look over the bathroom before coming back.

  “Do we have enough towels?”

  He didn’t even crack a smile.

  “Soap?” Okay, there was a slightly desperate sounding squeak in my voice. I twined my fingers together and swallowed. “Just hit me with it. Rip it right off like a Band-Aid.”

  Cal’s dark eyebrows peaked. “Rip what off?”

  Good god! “What did the manager tell you that he didn’t want to say in front of me?”

  “Oh.” Scrubbing a big, square hand over his chin, Cal looked me right in the eye. “He told me your father’s in the morgue.”

  My knees buckled and, to his credit, Cal proved he had excellent reflexes as well as a truly fine ass. Thank god he caught me. I’d have hated to land on the filthy carpet.

  The sun streaming across it had illuminated something that looked a lot like dried blood.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “It can’t be true.”

  Cal sat next to me on the lumpy bed, looking distinctly uncomfortable. It was probably the tears. Maybe the sobbing. Or it could have just been that he was worried I’d almost faint again.

  Whatever. His large, warm presence next to me was reassuring.

  “We don’t even know if this Bayou Bubba is your dad. The manager told me he was found face down in the Bayou and the fish had…”

  “Good god!” My stomach heaved at the visual he created. But I grabbed hold of the tiny spark of hope and rode it for all it was worth. “If he’s unrecognizable maybe they’re wrong. Maybe it isn’t him.”

  Unfortunately, sexy Cal’s dark brows were lowered in a not comforting way. “I’m going to the morgue.”

  I stood up. “I’m going with you.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “I’m not paying you to think.” I frowned. “Well, actually I am, but I’m going with you anyway.”

  Cal’s brows lowered even farther and his wide, perfect mouth tightened. “As I was saying. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come. I don’t know what kind of shape…Bubba’s in. You might be traumatizing yourself for no reason.”

  “Even more reason for me to come with. I know him, Cal. I lived with him for twenty years. You only know him from a picture. If the…” I swallowed bile. “—face is mangled, I’m more likely to recognize him.”

  I could tell I’d convinced him but he didn’t look pleased.

  Either way, I wasn’t interested in his opinion. Grabbing my purse, I headed for the door. “Come on, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can start looking for my father.”

  I thought I heard a sigh. But I’d already breezed through the door, my wobbly-assed optimism pasted over the tidal wave of niggling doubt surging through me.

  After all, there was always brain bleach if what I saw threatened to scar me for life.

  ###

  Nothing’s ever easy. We discovered the nearest hospital was about thirty miles outside of Sinful and, before they would let us look at the body of the man they’d dubbed Bayou Bubba, they insisted we talk to the local sheriff. Luckily I had Cal to do the talking, because, after seeing the sheriff ride up on a horse and strap it to a bicycle rack outside, I wasn’t sure I could keep a straight face.

  What kind of Southern Hick Hell had my father brought me to? And more importantly, what was he thinking coming there himself?

  “You Bubba’s daughter?”

  I turned to find a tiny, gray haired woman with poodle curls all over her small head staring at me like she was considering gnawing on one of my legs.

  I pressed my lips together as my pulse spiked. Barely overcoming the urge to tell her to mind her own business, I decided to satisfy my curiosity instead. “Who are you?”

  She narrowed her borderline hostile gaze and pursed her lips. “I’m with the Sinful Ladies Society. We run Sinful.”

  And that, apparently was that. “Ookay.” I extended my hand. “My name’s Felicity Chance. I came to Sinful because I think my father’s here. I really don’t think the body in there—Bubba—is my father.”

  The woman’s hard gaze slipped over me, clearly judging my worth. I doubted it was a monetary thing. “Uh-huh.” She shook my hand. “I’m Ida Belle. I run the SLS.”

  “SLS?”

  The frown that had never really left her face since she arrived deepened. “Pay attention. I don’t have time to keep repeating myself.”

  “Oh. Right, the Sinful Ladies Society. Got it.” />
  The smell of sexy man suddenly filled the air I breathed. “The sheriff said the coroner’s out sick today, but he’s okay with us identifying the body.” Sexy Cal slid his knee-melting gaze over Ida Belle and smiled.

  I almost fainted. I hadn’t been aware his lips could do that.

  He offered her his hand. “I’m Cal Amity.”

  A subtle pink suffused Ida Belle’s cheeks and she actually sucked air as her hand touched his. “Ida Belle.”

  “She runs the Sinful Ladies Society. They run Sinful,” I told him helpfully.

  Cal nodded, his smile widening. Ida Belle’s hand was still enclosed in his and, as god is my witness, the crabby geriatric was actually batting her eyelashes. “How lucky for us! I need someone to fill me in about…um…Bubba. I’ve just been talking to the sheriff…” Cal lifted an eyebrow by way of finishing the thought.

  Ida Bella rolled her eyes. “And you realized you needed to talk to someone who had a clue.” She nodded. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know about poor Bubba.” Her gaze skimmed the door leading to the morgue. For just a moment I saw a spark of sadness, before she ruthlessly squashed it. “Why don’t you come over to Francine’s Café when you’re done here? Francine serves up some of the best banana pudding in Louisiana.”

  Cal patted her hand and released it. “We’ll do that. Thanks for your help, Ida. We’re very grateful.”

  She pshawed dismissively and, after sliding a final, assessing look over me, walked away from the hospital at a brisk pace.

  “That’s a woman who is constantly on a mission,” I told Cal.

  “She’s exactly the type of person we need to talk to.” He glanced at me, his blue gaze soft. “Are you sure you want to do this, Miss Chance?”

  I sighed. “Look, Cal. We’re going to be together for several days. Don’t you think you could call me Felicity?”

  He thought about it for a minute and then shook his head. “No. Ready?”

  Ready or not, my stomach was jumping all over the place as I approached the body on the table. He was covered with a white sheet, but I couldn’t help thinking, as Cal reached to pull the top of the sheet down, that the size of the dead guy was about right.