miss fortune mystery (ff) - bayou bubba

by Sam Cheever

  Cal met my gaze one last time and I nodded. I held my breath as he folded the sheet back. Though I thought I was man enough to handle it, the sight of the corpse’s half eaten face brought bile into my throat. Covering my mouth with my hand, I clenched my lips tight and forced myself to look at him.

  The man on the table had light brown, almost blond hair like mine, though it was darker around the face from grease and blood. It was much longer than my father’s had been, but that didn’t mean anything. If he really had been living on the streets of Sinful his hair could have grown long.

  There was one area, along the right side of his jaw, where the flesh was mostly intact. A couple of baby pea sized indentations made me whimper softly, tears flooding my eyes.

  “What is it?” Cal asked softly. “Is it him?”

  I shook my head, sniffling. “I can’t tell.” Swallowing hard, I chewed on my lower lip, terrified I was lying to myself. “He has pockmarks,” I pointed to the jawline. “Just there. My dad had…” Sniffling, I turned away. Tears drenched my cheeks and suddenly I found myself enclosed in a hard pair of arms, pressed against a broad chest that smelled of fabric softener and sun-drenched man.

  His kindness overwhelmed me and I gave up trying to control the sobs. I let it go, washing months of doubt and fear out in the copious amount of tears I dumped onto poor Cal’s shirt. Finally I pulled away, dragging a hand over my soggy cheeks.

  Cal handed me a tissue. “Better?”

  I blew my nose, honking loudly.

  When I looked up he was grinning.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Will you be okay while I search the body?”

  I inhaled deeply and nodded.

  Cal moved back to the table and pulled the sheet all the way down, uncovering the man to his shins. I wanted to run out of the room but some perverse curiosity kept me there, watching carefully as Cal searched the dead guy’s pockets. I was surprised, that, despite the fact the clothes didn’t fit Bubba very well, they were in pretty good shape and relatively clean. “Anything in his pockets?”

  Cal shook his head. He was trying to pry the man’s hand open. “He seems to be holding onto something though.” I gasped at a horrible cracking noise and Cal threw me an apologetic look. He reached between the fingers he’d wrenched loose and pulled out something long and white.

  “Is that an alligator tooth?” I asked, moving closer.

  “It sure looks like it. It’s got a hole drilled through the top like it was hanging from something.” Cal handed the tooth to me. “Hold this.”

  My eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re not going to check the other hand.”

  “I’ll try not to break any fingers this time.”

  “Oh god.” My mouth filled with saliva and I thought I might throw up. I swung my gaze away as he moved to the other side. I caught the flash of something in my peripheral vision and turned to get a better look. Frowning, I looked closer. “Cal, I think he’s got something in his mouth.”

  Cal stuck his head down really close, inches from the mangled mess of the face, and stars burst before my eyes. But it wasn’t until he pried the hamburger lips apart that I squealed and ran from the room, barely making it to the ladies room across the hall before I threw up everything I’d eaten that day.

  Cal met me in the hall a few minutes later. “You gonna be all right?”

  “Stop asking me that. I just had to pee.” I glared at him, hoping to distract him from the fact that I was a sissy girl. “Did you find anything?”

  He opened his hand and showed me the gold coin which I knew would be verified to have come from my father’s collection.

  I sighed, my eyes filling again.

  You want to skip the meeting with the intrepid Ida Belle?”

  I scrubbed my long-suffering tissue under my eyes. “Not a chance. I still need to figure out what the hell he was doing here.”

  “Good.” Cal wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go then.”

  ###

  “I won’t ask if it was him.” Ida Belle declared as we moved toward the table she’d saved for us. Two other women were sitting at the table with her. The older one had a kind smile for me, before her gaze caught on Cal and got stuck there. At that point I might as well not have existed.

  The other one was much younger, probably around my age, and pretty. She had long blonde hair which she’d pulled back into a ruthlessly banded ponytail and, though she wore no discernible makeup, her complexion was clear and her features were pretty.

  She also looked familiar.

  “This is Gertie and that’s Fortune.”

  I smiled at Gertie as I shook her hand. “I’m Felicity.

  The younger woman scoured a look over me as she took my hand, her lips twisting a little as if she disapproved.

  “Are you members of SLS too?”

  Cal pulled a chair out for me and waited while I sat down. Then he slid lightly into the chair beside me. All three women at the table watched him like he was the glossy stallion in their pony club. It bothered me. And the fact that it bothered me, bothered me even more.

  “I’m not,” Fortune offered in a deep voice with a sexy husk to it.

  “Guilty as charged.” Gertie reached across the table and patted my hand. “I’m sorry about your daddy, Felicity.”

  To my horror, tears flooded my eyes again. “Thanks.”

  “What can you tell us about Bubba?” Cal asked the ladies. “How long has he been in Sinful?”

  Ida Belle shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly. I think he was here a while before we knew it.

  Gertie nodded. “Pim Gordon down at the pawn shop said Bubba’d been trading stuff for a few weeks before we first saw him. I guess he’d only come into town at night.”

  “Traded stuff?” I asked.

  Ida Belle nodded. “Old coins and bottles of Kentucky Bourbon. I guess it was pricey stuff.”

  I shared a glance with Cal. He broke eye contact almost immediately. “Nobody knew where he was staying?”

  “We thought he was out on Number Two,” Gertie offered.

  “Where’s that?” Cal had opened his notes app on his phone and was typing with his thumbs. I watched him, impressed by his dexterity.

  I filed that away. You know. Just in case.

  “An island not far from here,” Fortune offered in her brusque, husky voice. “They call it that because it smells like a turd.”

  I laughed. “Wonderful.”

  She grinned and I had a sense of déjà vu so strong it made me blink. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  Fortune’s smile slid away, her gaze turning to ice. “No. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You look so familiar.”

  The two older women across the table turned a startled gaze to Fortune and she glared back at them. “I just have one of those faces,” she offered, trying a smile that reminded me of the gator at the motel.

  “He had a shack on Number Two, made of sticks and old boxes,” Gertie offered too quickly. “A few people saw him there when they were fishing. He liked to hang out along the shore, staring out at the water.”

  Her words painted such a lonely picture I found myself tearing up again.

  “The sheriff said Bubba died from several blows to the back of the head.

  “That’s right,” Ida Belle said, nodding. “I checked the body myself when they brought him in.”

  My eyes widened. “Are you the coroner?”

  Gertie blew a raspberry, earning her a glare from Ida Belle. “She does keep Doc Ye busy but she’s more like the supplier than the distributor.”

  Fortune chuckled darkly and she and Gertie bumped fists.

  “Shut up, Gertie!” Ida Belle redirected her hostile gaze toward me. “I told you. The SLS runs Sinful. If somebody dies I make it my business to find out why.”

  “So why did Bubba die, Ida Belle?” Cal asked softly.

  She held his sexy blue gaze for a long moment and then said, “Let’s get some banana puddi
ng, shall we?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What now?” I asked the intrepid Cal as we emerged from Francine’s Café into a fading Louisiana sun. The coming night promised to be only slightly less sultry than the day had been. My pores sprouted copious amounts of sweat as soon as I removed them from the blissfully cool air of the diner.

  After a trauma-filled day, I was ready for a long shower and a short meal.

  “Let’s go talk to the pawn shop owner before we call it a day. If we get lucky he’ll be able to tell us where to look for Bubba.”

  Gordon’s Pawn Shop was two blocks from the diner and three buildings down from the Catholic church, across the street from the Baptist church. “There are sure a lot of churches here for a place called Sinful,” I observed crabbily.

  Cal skimmed the opposing structures a quick look. “Especially since the entire town is only about four blocks square.”

  Dragging an arm over my forehead, I realized I was likely to run out of bodily fluids if I didn’t hydrate soon. “I haven’t seen any bars in town. Have you?”

  Cal opened the door to the pawn shop and ushered me through. “We passed one a couple miles out of town. I’m guessing Sinful might be a dry town.”

  I grimaced. “Of course it would be. A place with a name like Sinful has to be the epicenter of Hell.”

  “Only if you get on the wrong side of the Geritol Mafia,” a disembodied voice offered in response to my statement.

  Looking for the source of the voice, Cal and I glanced toward the back of the long, narrow space that comprised Gordon’s. A wide, rosy-cheeked face blinked at us from just above a cloudy glass counter. As I was trying to figure out if it was one of those carnival machines where you feed a quarter in and something slides out through the lips, said lips moved. “Welcome, folks. How can I help you?”

  Cal touched my elbow and guided me forward. I kept a close eye on the disembodied head, in case it suddenly spewed a long, forked tongue or pea soup in my direction.

  I was pretty sure Voodoo ran rampant in the state of Louisiana. What better place than a town called Sinful to showcase its best stuff?

  But as we got closer I realized the massive head was indeed attached to a monstrously large body, which seemed molded around an armless chair that creaked as the man placed two meaty hands on top of the glass. “We close in fifteen minutes.”

  Cal inclined his dark head. “This won’t take long. Are you by any chance Pim Gordon?”

  “In the flesh. All of it.” He grinned widely, sliding me a look. His eyes were small and dark in the pale abundance of his face. They looked like beads surrounded by bread dough.

  I smiled back, liking him immediately. Anybody who had the confidence to laugh at himself won instant points with me.

  Cal offered him his hand. “I’m Cal Amity and this is Miss Chance.”

  The man’s smile froze and he blinked before laughing good naturedly. His chins and belly wobbled like jello in a paint mixing machine. “That’s very funny. Ever have anyone page you in an airport with those names?”

  Cal frowned slightly but I laughed. “It gets worse. My first name is Felicity.”

  Pim Gordon threw back his big head and roared, the sound breathy and loud in the cluttered space. He swiped tears from his bead eyes and shook his head. “Thanks for that, folks. You capped my day.” He leveled his gaze on Cal and the smile evaporated. “We have twelve minutes to conduct our business.” He leaned forward and the chair he was on rolled closer to the glass. “You have something to pawn?”

  Cal shook his head. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about one of your clients if I could.”

  Pim frowned. “I don’t gossip about my customers Calamity.” He winked in my direction and I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning.

  Cal stiffened, the giant stick up his fine ass unwilling to bend, even a little. “No gossip. Just information. We’re looking for Miss Ch…Felicity’s…”

  Pim snorted and then rubbed a hand over his lips to hide the smile.

  Cal expelled air. “My client’s father is missing and I’ve tracked him to Sinful.” He pulled the picture of my father out of his pocket, sliding it across the glass countertop. “Have you seen him around here?”

  Pim clutched the photo between fingers that looked like bun-length hot dogs and frowned. “I’m not exactly sure. He looks a little like Bubba.”

  Cal and I exchanged a glance.

  “Bubba? The homeless guy?” Cal clarified.

  Pim slid the picture back across the glass. “That’s what folks think but he ain’t no ordinary homeless guy. Pim pressed his hands on the counter and skidded sideways on the chair, reaching into a cabinet against the wall and pulling out a dirty plastic basket. He shoved back to the counter and set it on top. It was filled with Gold Eagle coins. “He brings me one or two of these a week. They’re 1/10th ounce gold, worth around $160 each give or take. I figure he’s pawning just enough to live on each week.”

  “We were told he’s living on Number Two.” Cal reached out and picked up one of the coins. “What would he need that much money for if he’s living in a shack on a fishing island?”

  Pim’s big head met his fleshy shoulders and I realized he was shrugging. “You might want to ask Walter at the General Store about that. I think Bubba gets his supplies from him.”

  I reached for my wallet and pulled out my credit card, handing it to Pim. “I’ll buy all of these back.”

  His bead eyes widened but he didn’t question my purchase. He simply nodded and reached for a paper receipt. As he was filling it out, Cal continued with his questions. “Anything else you can tell us about Bubba?”

  “He’s a pretty rough looking character.” He nodded toward Cal’s pocket. “He doesn’t look like that anymore. He smells like Number Two. His clothes are ratty and filthy, and his skin is red and peeling, like he’s been sunburned one too many times and it’s gone permanent. Especially his face.” Pim handed me the itemized receipt to sign and took my card, running it through a reader.

  I frowned, bothered by his description because I hated to think of the polished, well-groomed man I’d known all my life succumbing to that. “Did he ever talk about his life before Sinful,” I asked.

  Pim handed me my credit card receipt and I signed it, avoiding what I assumed would be his look of pity. “No. He didn’t talk much. He always showed up right before closing time and we did our business fast. I tried asking him once where he was getting the coins and the booze.”

  “Booze?” Cal asked.

  “Yeah, sometimes he’d bring in a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon to sell.” Pim grinned. “I don’t have any of that to show you. Your suspicion was right. Sinful is a dry town. I keep any alcohol I come by under the counter, but word spreads fast around here.”

  I nodded. I didn’t need to see the bottles. My father’s favorite adult beverage was Kentucky Bourbon and he had a favorite blend. “Racer’s Mark?”

  Pim nodded. “That’s the stuff.”

  Felonius Chance had walked out of my life eight months earlier and the only things his current trophy wife and I could figure out he’d taken with him was were a bag of gold he’d kept in the safe in his office and three cases of bourbon. “That’s my father’s favorite.”

  “Quality stuff,” Pim nodded. He glanced past me and nodded. “Closing time.” He shoved the basket of coins toward me. “You want a bag for these?”

  I shook my head, grabbing the basket and dumping it into my purse. I nearly groaned as I hefted the bag back onto my shoulder, the strap digging into my bones from the weight. “Thank you.” I offered the big man my hand and he squeezed it lightly as he shook it. “It was a pleasure Felicity. Come back again.”

  “I will.” When I smiled I meant it. I liked Pim Gordon. Like the other residents of Sinful, Louisiana he was a character.

  But his was a character I could appreciate.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It wasn’t until Cal parked the Jeep ou
tside room number nine that I realized I was looking at an entire night alone in a hotel room with the sexy Cal. When he opened the driver’s side door and climbed out, my limbs seized up and I suddenly didn’t think I could get out of the Jeep.

  Cal stuck his head back inside the car, fixing me with a perplexed look. “Are you all right?”

  I looked at him, my cheeks burning. “I…”

  Something in my expression must have given away my fear because Cal’s expression softened. “Do you need to be alone for a while?”

  I swallowed the thickness in my throat and nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

  Cal nodded. “That’s fine. I can go get us a pizza and some beer?”

  Despite my panic, his offer sounded wonderful. “Thanks, Cal.”

  He returned my smile and my stomach jumped a little. There was heat in his sexy blue eyes and for the first time since he and I had met that morning, Cal Amity looked at me like I was someone he might like to get to know better. Instead of someone he could barely stand to be around.

  Unfortunately, that made my sudden terror worse rather than better. I grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, all but leaping out the door. I was halfway to number nine before Cal called out and I turned to find him holding up the key.

  “Ha. Ha, ha,” I said, impressing him with my searing wit. He threw me the key and it hit my hand, glanced off and pinged against the window of number eight.

  “I’ll be back in about forty-five minutes,” Cal told me.

  I bent down to pick up the key and the door to number eight opened. I turned my head and saw a large pair of slippers, a short pair of black socks, and a long, wide expanse of hairy shin. Cranking my gaze up, I took in a pair of blue cotton boxers and a yellowed wife beater, all topped off by a thin, cotton robe that hung open to just below wide, bony knees.

  He wore a short necklace of some kind of long, ivory-colored beads. A strange accessory for a man his size and temperament.

  Mr. Graying Ponytail glared down at me. “You knock on my window?” He sounded like he’d been eating ashtrays for a decade.