Fortune Furlough

by Jana DeLeon

  “Where are we going to get some old ladies to help?” Gertie asked.

  Ida Belle stared.

  “I mean,” Gertie continued, “I’m sure a middle-aged woman like myself can handle the gossip as well. This is the South.”

  Ida Belle looked over at me. “Apparently, Gertie is planning on living to two hundred.”

  “I must be a child then,” I said.

  “You’ll just have to settle for having the ‘lady’ part covered,” Gertie said.

  “I’m settling for nothing,” Ida Belle said. “Ladies don’t get accused of murder.”

  “Ladies are boring,” Gertie said. “I’m a woman of the world.”

  “So while you two young ladies of mystery are running around hitting up people who are far more elder for clues, what should I do?” I asked. “Nap in my stroller? Eat dirt?”

  I didn’t know that much about kids, but those were the two things I’d consistently seen the little ones in Sinful do.

  “You’ll hit up the old men, of course,” Gertie said.

  I grimaced. “Yuck. Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because old men are even worse gossips than old women,” Ida Belle said. “They go fishing all day and come back with nothing. What do you think they’re doing out there?”

  I thought about what I was doing when I was supposed to be fishing. “Drinking beer? Reading a book? Sleeping?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “You go alone. Men always go in pairs. When they go alone, they’re up to no good or only have a six-pack of beer and don’t want to share.”

  “They also might owe everyone money and don’t want to pay,” Gertie said.

  “You two should really write a book on requirements for Southern living,” I said. “It would help all us Yankees to integrate.”

  “No one would believe us,” Ida Belle said. “Except old Southern women, and we already know everything.”

  “Probably true,” I said. “So I’m supposed to say what to these men, exactly? Chatting up men is not my forte. You know I only landed Carter because I never killed him.”

  “You came close a time or two,” Ida Belle said, “but I see your point. Maybe you could eat a Popsicle or something. I saw a commercial with a woman doing that last week. All the men seemed to be entranced.”

  Gertie shook her head. “Ida Belle is hopeless when it comes to entertaining men, so don’t listen to her. If you ate a Popsicle like that commercial, you’d give half the men here heart attacks. Dead people don’t give up clues. All you have to do is sit down and talk. Trust me, any man over the age of forty will tell you everything he knows in a matter of minutes.”

  “Just like that?” I asked, still not convinced.

  “I’ve been on the beach,” Gertie said. “I’ve seen your competition and I’m the nearest you’ve got. I’m hot but I’ve got a few years on you.”

  Ida Belle snorted and Gertie shot her a dirty look.

  “She’s probably right,” Ida Belle said. “Most men are fools when it comes to a young, beautiful woman.”

  “Exactly,” Gertie agreed. “Just sit next to them and say how you’re thinking about leaving because there was a murder and you’re worried for your safety. They’ll jump all over themselves trying to reassure you, and if they know any negative thing about Otis, it will come right out.”

  I thought about it for a couple seconds, then it clicked. “Oh, it’s that whole white-knight thing you talk about.”

  Ida Belle grinned. “Hard to wrap your mind around being rescued by a man, right?”

  “It’s hard to wrap my mind around needing to be rescued at all,” I said. “Even though I do owe my life to several people and their well-placed shots. I suppose this means I have to act like a normal girl.”

  Gertie laughed. “I’d love to see you try. First up is a mani-pedi. Your polish is chipped and men like pretty pink.”

  I stared at her in dismay. “I have to paint my nails again for this?”

  “It is a murder rap,” Ida Belle said.

  “Says the woman who doesn’t have to have a mani-pedi,” I said.

  “Touché,” Ida Belle said.

  “You’ll never get an appointment this late,” Gertie said. “I’ll pick up something in the gift shop downstairs and do them myself.”

  I was still mentally squirming over having to sit still long enough to have pink splashed on my toes and hands again when my cell phone rang. It was Carter.

  “I heard from Byron,” Carter said. “You made quite an impression.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He wanted to know if you had a sister. I told him the world could barely handle one of you. If there was another, it would mean the apocalypse.”

  “Probably.”

  “Anyway, he filled me in on Gertie’s situation. Sounds like she’s making friends with the local deputy.”

  “Benton’s a douche.”

  “Byron said that as well. But unfortunately, he’s a douche with a badge and jurisdiction, so try not to agitate him by doing things that could get you tossed into jail.”

  “What kind of things?” I asked innocently.

  “Things like making a man with a water phobia fall in the water.”

  “That totally wasn’t us. Fishy water leaked out of one of the ice chests and he slipped. We never touched him.”

  “You rarely do and yet…”

  “Trust me, we’re doing everything we can to stay away from Benton, which is why we went fishing to begin with. Now that we know he’s afraid of the water, we might just move onto the boat. The boat captain offered to take us on an overnight.”

  “I just bet he did. That boat captain has a bit of a record, so don’t be making friends with him.”

  “What kind of record?”

  “The usual stuff that guys like that get up to—bar fights, illegal gambling, drunk and disorderly—”

  “So he’d fit right in with the Sinful locals.”

  “Pretty much, although he might lean toward the Swamp Bar crowd.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be hanging with Dave any time soon,” I said. “He was a big help today, but my guess is he’d like to put some distance between us, especially once Benton narrows in on him as a suspect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He told us Otis took his mother for money. If that bit of gossip has made the local rounds, then Benton might shift from Gertie to him. They’ve got history and Dave would be an easy target. Easier than Gertie. Benton doesn’t seem concerned with launching a real investigation. Apparently, he’s waiting for the sheriff to retire so he can get the position by appointment. An open murder case would cramp his style.”

  “That’s not good.”

  I frowned.

  “You went silent,” Carter said. “Silent women are rarely a good thing.”

  “Most of my career was spent in silence.”

  “Because you were aiming.”

  “I was just thinking that if Dave had killed Otis, why would he tell us about his mother? Seems like that would be the sort of thing he’d want to keep secret.”

  “It does, but you know the rule—never underestimate the stupidity of a criminal.”

  “Is that the first rule of law enforcement?”

  “No. The first rule of law enforcement is to keep civilians out of the investigation.”

  “Kinda hard to do when one of my best friends is a murder suspect and the deputy in charge of the investigation is looking to railroad her to fulfill his own political ambitions.”

  He sighed. “Look, I harbor no illusions that the three of you will sit quietly and wait for this to resolve itself, but can you please keep your nose-poking to random gossip and other completely benign and legal things?”

  “Probably. I mean, it will be easier since Gertie’s purse isn’t as lethal as usual.”

  “Meaning it’s still partially lethal?”

  “I don’t know. I figure she probably pocketed a dinner knife at some point, but I’m prett
y sure she hasn’t found an explosives connection here yet.”

  “Yet?” His dismay was clear.

  “Blame it on the internet. Makes that kind of thing too easy.”

  “This entire conversation gets more frightening the longer we talk, so I’m going to let you go. Besides, I have deputy business to attend to myself.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Yes. Your crazy neighbor Ronald has accused you of ringing his doorbell all night.”

  “I’m in another state.”

  “Which is why I’m on my way to his house to show him the picture of you, Gertie, and Ida Belle on the beach that you sent me yesterday. If the location and time stamp don’t get him to back off, seeing Gertie in a bikini will do it.”

  “You sure? He might want to borrow it.”

  Carter groaned and I knew I’d put a mental picture in his mind that he really didn’t want. He already had the real image of Gertie in a bikini up there. It was a lot to take in.

  “I’ll call you tonight when we’re back in the condo,” I said. “We’re starving so we’re going to go grab some food now.”

  I set my phone back on the table.

  “We’re eating now?” Gertie said.

  I shook my head. “Should I have told him that we’re going to leave here and start investigating?”

  “So you’re okay with lying to him?” Gertie asked. “I figured once you two were a serious item, you might develop a conscience in that arena.”

  “My conscience is clear,” I said. “He told me to lie.”

  Ida Belle stared. “Carter asked you to lie to him.”

  I nodded. “A while back. He said if we were up to things that he was better off not knowing, then lie.”

  “Huh.” Ida Belle looked impressed. “A man there might be hope for.”

  I nodded. “It’s pretty smart of him. I don’t know how good I’ll be at it. If I want to say something, it has a tendency to come out, but at least I have the option. So what’s the plan for tonight? All the old gossips will abandon the beach soon, if they haven’t already, so no enticing old men to talk with my bathing suit until tomorrow.”

  “Gertie and I will head to the restaurant,” Ida Belle said. “It’s easy enough to find an empty seat with a table of old biddies who are dying to gossip with someone new. We can split up and see what we can find out.”

  “What about me?” I asked. “Do old men not eat dinner?”

  Gertie shook her head. “They do, but you’re not going to like this…”

  I sighed. “You’re going to make me go to the bar, aren’t you?”

  “I’m afraid that’s where the kind of men you’re looking for will be,” Ida Belle said. “Some of the women might move in later on for a drink before retiring, but the men will eat their dinner in the bar, working out their come-on lines for later.”

  “Gross,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re going to make me listen to old men come-on lines. I hate that crap from young men. And since they never learn, it’s not like they get any better with age.”

  “Just hum in your mind until you get a chance to put on your scared woman act,” Ida Belle said.

  “And be smart about your seat selection,” Gertie said. “Your natural inclination will be to find a spot away from everyone and let them come to you, but that only allows for one at a time. If you pick a spot in the middle of the room then you can strike up a conversation with a few at once. Others will gravitate over, trying to get in on the action, and if they have anything to offer, you’ll get it a lot faster that way.”

  “Nice!” I said, appreciating her strategy. “I like the sound of faster.”

  Gertie patted my arm. “Don’t worry. Most of those fools will be asleep in their beer by nine o’clock.”

  “And the women will be ready to take off their bras,” Ida Belle said, “so they won’t be lingering much either. Lunch is for lingering. Dinner is for storing up food for overnight hibernation.”

  “So you’re saying we’ll be back in our room in plenty of time for room service dessert and a movie rental,” I said.

  “Count on it,” Ida Belle said.

  I thought about my immediate future—pretending to need protection and reassurance from a bunch of men old enough to be my grandfather—and started counting.

  Chapter Ten

  “Pull your boobs up more,” Gertie said as she gave me a critical eye. “You want to make sure you get their attention first thing.”

  “Having a pulse will get their attention,” Ida Belle said. “Her boobs are fine. The whole bar will probably be a high-blood-pressure fest as soon as she walks in the door. We don’t need another death on our watch. Even by natural causes.”

  I looked at myself in the living room mirror. Since it was a beach vacation resort, I’d stuck with casual. Shorts, tank top, and sandals. I figured that was risqué enough for the intended audience. After all, my shorts were well above my knees. My boobs were shoved into a bra with the straps too tight—Gertie’s idea—and had created a line of cleavage in the middle of my tank. I would probably have marks on my body for a day and breathing wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but I should be able to manage it for a couple hours.

  “If I pull any more, I’ll have stretch marks,” I said. “I’m not exactly working with oversize equipment here.”

  “It’s a good thing,” Ida Belle said. “A large chest would have been a real hindrance when you worked for the CIA. Hard to crawl with double-Ds.”

  “But now that you’re retired from that line of work, you should look into implants,” Gertie said.

  “Why on earth would she do something like that?” Ida Belle asked. “Her boobs are good enough for Carter. Who else matters?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Gertie said. “But a nice big set would look good during sweater season.”

  “You mean all two days of it,” Ida Belle said. “Sure. They’ll look really good in a sweater under a raincoat. You know how winter in Sinful is.”

  “I’m not getting implants,” I said. “Not even if it cured cancer. I clicked on the wrong link the other day and saw pictures of that surgery. They cut very important parts entirely off and reposition them. If I wanted my parts repositioned, I would have stayed with the CIA. It happens to everyone if they keep the job long enough and at least medical insurance would cover it.”

  Ida Belle cringed. “I think I’ve seen those same pictures. I went around clutching my chest for two days.”

  “Look, I’m sure with Gertie’s hard work my boobs will be the focus of all attention for the next couple hours, so can we get this over with? I think one of these bra hooks is going to break skin.”

  “No bleeding on your shirt until you’ve gotten the goods,” Gertie said as we headed out of the room and down the hall.

  “I’ll let my skin know,” I said.

  When we got to the lobby, Ida Belle and Gertie headed toward the restaurant, with Ida Belle trailing behind Gertie at a much slower pace, giving her room to enter the restaurant alone and look for a group she could blend into. I let out a long-suffering sigh, then walked in the opposite direction for the bar.

  It was a typical hotel bar—low light, tacky cloth-covered chairs around ten tiny tables, and musty-smelling carpet. A bar stood along the back of the room. A couple of men sat at the bar, but most were sitting one or two to a four-top. Right smack in the middle was an empty table. Perfect.

  The sound level dropped to absolutely nothing as soon as I stepped into the bar. It was so quiet, it was as if someone had hit Pause. Every set of eyes turned to me and I forced myself to keep moving into the room rather than turning around and fleeing, which is exactly what I felt like doing.

  This is for Gertie.

  I scanned the patrons as I headed for the center table.

  All old as Christ. Biggest threat is being grossed out when they hit on me. No need for individual ratings.

  I slipped into the chair and looked up at the server who’d stepp
ed up to the table almost as soon as I’d sat. He was younger and smiling, and I could only assume he figured that my presence meant everyone would stay longer, drink more, and tip better. I didn’t hold out much hope for any of them, but I didn’t want to rain on his parade. At least he’d get a good tip from me.

  “My name is Chance and I’ll be your server,” he said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Beer, please,” I said. “Whatever light beer you have on tap.”

  I know I probably could have played the helpless damsel better with a fruity drink or a glass of wine in front of me, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

  “Of course,” he said. “Are you interested in seeing a menu?”

  “That would be great,” I said.

  He perked up a bit more and practically bounced back to the bar to retrieve a menu. The patrons surrounding me were shifting in their seats, and I could tell they were just waiting for Chance to finish up so they could pounce. Chance returned with the menu and my beer, and I ordered a burger and fries. He flashed me a hundred-watt smile and headed for the computer to put in my order.

  He hadn’t made it two steps before the first guy made his move.

  “Are you vacationing here?” he asked.

  I turned to my right and saw a man wearing a blue shorts, a white short-sleeve dress shirt, and a pink bow tie.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m really enjoying the beach.”

  “The weather’s been nice,” a man to my left said.

  I looked over and found a giant set of eyes staring at me through glasses so thick I wondered how he managed to walk without running into things.

  “It has been,” I said. “I was a little worried that it might be rainy this time of year.”

  A bald man sitting at the table in front of me turned his entire chair around to face me. “We’re on the back end of hurricane season,” he said. “I always come this time of year. Not so many families. It’s a lot quieter.”

  “I can definitely see the advantage of that,” I agreed.

  “You don’t have kids?” Pink Tie asked, inching closer.