by Frankie Bow
“Got it. Oh, hey, you know, the first one was a con woman.”
“First what?”
“The first fatality. Claudia Hunter.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know.”
Of course he didn’t. Harrison was keeping an eye out for me where he could, but a case of food poisoning in little Sinful would never make it into the papers. And Mayor-Elect Celia Arceneaux, image-conscious as she was, would hardly put it on the town website.
“Why don’t you catch me up?” Harrison asked.
I did, giving Harrison every detail I could think of concerning the mysterious death of “Claudia Hunter.”
“The official cause of death is milk sickness,” I said. “From contaminated cheese.”
“Sounds like you don’t buy it.”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. I mean, yeah, maybe I’m just surrounded by people who have really bad luck.”
“I hear you. So you know anyone who would want Claudia Hunter out of the way?”
“Any of the people she scammed.”
“Including Barney Fife?”
“His name is Carter LeBlanc. And to answer your question, I don’t think so.”
Okay, I’ll let you know when I have something. In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid. Stay safe.”
“Oh, I will. Believe it or not, I seem to have lost my taste for adventure.”
Harrison got back to me two days later, when I was having lunch in Francine’s Diner with Gertie and Ida Belle. I glanced at the caller ID, excused myself and went out to the front. I stood in the parking lot and watched the General Store, which was directly across the street.
“The vehicle owner and the stiff are the same,” Harrison said.
“You ran the DNA already?”
“Yeah. We put a rush on it. The John Doe is Bernard Césaire Mercier. Event promoter, graphic designer, marketing consultant, and the local college students’ go-to guy for fake IDs. And we pulled the surveillance footage and compared it to the picture you sent. He’s your man in the Starbucks too. We have you and your two friends pulling out in the Jeep, he leaves the coffee shop thirty seconds later and follows in the Escalade.”
“So he’s in the system. What’s he in for?”
Harrison paused. “Uh, no. He’s not in CODIS or anything like that. Actually, he’s one of ours.”
Chapter 13
“Bernard Mercier? The dead body in my front yard was working for…us? Are you sure about that?”
“Unfortunately, yes. He was an important asset, I understand. Well tied in to the International Lowlife Scene.”
“I guess that explains why he knew how to follow me from New Orleans to Sinful without me realizing it. But why? If Morrow’d meant to send me a bodyguard, he’d have told me.”
“Morrow doesn’t tell me everything. But if this Bernard Mercier was sent to protect you and someone killed him, that means you’re in danger.”
“Yeah, that’s bad.”
“But if Mercier was turned, and he meant you harm for some reason, then someone who’s protecting you is still out there and I don’t know about it.”
“Yeah. A guardian angel. Which is good, except for the part where one of our colleagues followed me out from New Orleans to kill me. Or maybe this has nothing to do with me at all.”
“One of our guys follows you from New Orleans, turns up dead in your backyard, and you think it has nothing to do with you?”
“It wasn’t my backyard, Harrison. It was my front yard.”
“Yeah, that makes all the difference.”
The summer humidity hung heavy in the air. I glanced up at the greenish-gray sky and was rewarded with a drop hitting me right in the eye. I crunched across the gravel parking lot and huddled under the short roof overhang of Francine’s Diner.
“Maybe he was following Claudia Hunter,” I said.
“Listen, I don’t know what this means, Fortune, but we found a high level of capsaicin on the tissues. That’s the active ingredient in hot peppers.”
“I can explain that. I cooked a batch of gumbo and it didn’t really turn out. So I threw it into the bushes. I guess it landed on him.”
“Gumbo?”
Harrison made a sort of choking sound as he tried to suppress a chuckle.
“Harrison? Harrison! It’s not funny.”
“Sorry,” he gasped. “I know.”
“Listen. Maybe my cooking isn’t the greatest, but it’s not bad enough to kill on contact.”
That sent Harrison into convulsions of laughter.
“It’s not funny.”
“I know. You’re right.” He sobered up, with some effort. “Oh, one more thing. One of Ahmad’s men was found in a Dumpster in the French Quarter. Shot in the head, one bullet.”
“When?”
“Looks like time of death was right around the time you were at that romance writer’s conference with your friends.”
“You know, I was thinking Ahmad might leave someone behind in New Orleans. So who killed him? My guardian angel again?”
“No idea. Listen, Morrow says avoid New Orleans and lie low until we figure out what’s going on.”
“So what do I do in the meantime?”
“Stay out of sight and out of trouble.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Any chance it’ll sink in this time?”
“Sure. Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’m keeping my lunch dates waiting.”
Gertie and Ida Belle had been considerate enough to order dessert for me from Francine’s limited but exquisite menu. The vanilla ice cream had started to melt, and the peach cobbler beneath glistened invitingly. I sat down and started to dig in.
“What’s the news from headquarters?” Gertie asked.
“Huh? Oh.”
I put my fork down and dabbed my mouth. “Good work with the courier service. They were already able to run the DNA.” I quickly filled them in on the rest of what Harrison had told me.
“Three dead bodies,” Gertie mused. “Claudia Hunter, this Bernard Mercier guy, and now one of Ahmad’s men. This is getting interesting.”
“Getting interesting? A dead body in my front yard wasn’t already interesting? Which reminds me, I need to find out more about this Bernard Mercier.”
“Like what?” Ida Belle asked.
“I won’t know until I find it. Maybe there was something in his car the police missed. Okay. We have to find out where the car’s impounded. Carter told me it was a black Escalade. We’ll have to break into the sheriff’s computer. I know they’ve recently changed the alarm code, so we’ll have to make it quick, in and out. Now once we know where the vehicle’s impounded, we’ll have to make a plan—”
“It’s at Walter’s,” Ida Belle interrupted.
“What?”
“The black Escalade’s at Walter’s garage. Carter’s having him hold on to it until they can figure out what to do with it.”
“The dead man’s car is right across the street from us?”
“It’s not an official murder investigation,” Ida Belle said. “So far as anyone knows, the guy’s a peeping Tom who got more than he bargained for and dropped dead.”
“So when can we go see the vehicle?” I asked.
Ida Belle shrugged. “Soon as we finish dessert.”
We found Walter in the General Store, rearranging a shelf of Swamp Rat Festival souvenir caps.
“I thought Mayor Celia insisted on calling it the Nutria Jamboree, or something,” I said. “Swamp Rat Festival wasn’t classy enough or something, as I recall.”
“Don’t call her Mayor Celia yet,” Walter said. “She’s still mayor-elect. Until the recount comes in, I’m gonna try to stay optimistic.”
“Mind if we have a peek in the garage?” Ida Belle asked.
“What do you want to go in there for?”
“We heard you had the dead man’s car,” Gertie said.
“Oh, heck, I’m not letting that thing take
up valuable space in my bay. I towed it over here as a favor, to get it off the Monroes’ property. It’s out back behind the building.”
“Has anyone claimed it?” I asked.
“It’s leased from a car dealership in Metairie. I’m waiting for them to get out here and take it off my hands. Until then, it’s not my problem if a bunch of nosy women wanna poke around. Although I should warn you, you’re not gonna find much. The Deputy Sheriff’s already been through it. And you know my nephew. He’s thorough.”
Chapter 14
The Escalade was parked outdoors, next to Walter’s garage. Mercier had probably kept it clean and polished, but after sitting in the outdoors, the black paint sported a pale film of bayou gunk.
The car was unlocked, and just as Walter had warned us, empty. Carter had removed everything from the glove box, and to make matters worse, Mercier had kept the car ridiculously neat. There were no fast-food wrappers, old receipts, forgotten papers, none of the mess that a normal, well-adjusted person might have.
“Look at this,” Ida Belle exclaimed. She had climbed into the driver’s seat and was caressing the dashboard. “A Wi-Fi hotspot in the car. How do they do that?”
“Yeah, real tough assignment Mr. Mercier had.” I ran my fingers around the door panels, starting with the front passenger door. “I’m sleeping in the desert and chowing down on camel spiders, meanwhile, this guy’s in New Orleans, letting les bon temps roulez in an Escalade. I wonder why he picked a black interior, though. That’s gotta be hellish when it’s ninety degrees out and ninety percent humidity.”
“Maybe it’s because black hides blood stains,” Gertie pointed out.
I searched the headliner for a slit or a hidden compartment, but I found nothing. I lay down across the back seat. It was wide enough to fit three comfortably, but at five foot ten, it was a little cramped for me. I moved my shoulder forward and slid my hand under the passenger seat, feeling for something out of place among the metal supports and the spaghetti tangle of wires.
“Found something.” I tugged a corner of something that felt like card stock, moving it this way and that until I managed to slide it free without tearing it. I sat up and Gertie and Ida Belle climbed into the back seat on either side of me.
I was holding an ordinary white #10 envelope. The flap was tucked in, not sealed.
“This car is so comfy,” Gertie said. “Of course, I’ve always been partial to Cadillacs. Ida Belle, you should save up for one of these.”
“Let’s see, I’m getting five hundred a month rent from Justin, plus my Social Security…I guess I’ll be able to buy an Escalade by the time I’m seven hundred and eighty-one years old.”
The envelope contained a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. It looked like an ordinary letter. Until l unfolded it.
“What’s that squiggly writing?” Gertie leaned in close to peer at the paper, which had the waxy sheen of a color printer. “Is that Arabic?”
Ida Belle snatched the paper away, dealing me a nasty paper cut.
“Fortune! Is that a picture of you?”
“Yes,” I said.
It was sweltering inside the Escalade, as you might expect. We were sitting in a black car, around noontime, in southwestern Louisiana, in the summertime. But my hands and feet felt cold.
One of my own had been turned against me by the bounty Ahmad had put on my head. And he’d come extremely close.
“You don’t suppose he was coming out to warn you?” Gertie asked.
“No,” Ida Belle and I said in unison.
“So he’s not your guardian angel.” Gertie looked disappointed.
“Can we go somewhere else to talk about this?” Ida Belle complained. “I’m sweating buckets.”
“Just a minute. Let me think.”
“Fine. I’m gonna open the door at least.”
Ida Belle patted the door.
“I can’t find the handle.”
“Not on my side either,” Gertie said.
I reached for the door panels. Gertie and Ida Belle were right. The handles had been removed and replaced by flat black disks.
“I can’t believe Carter didn’t notice this when he searched the car,” I said.
“I can,” Gertie retorted. “It’s all black in here. You can’t make out anything.”
“Glasses might help,” Ida Belle suggested.
I heard Gertie stirring behind me as I climbed over the center console to the driver’s seat. She was probably making an obscene gesture at Ida Belle. Gertie was kind of sensitive about her eyesight.
I let myself out—thankfully the driver’s door handle was still in place—and then opened the back door. Ida Belle hopped down quickly. Gertie scooted out behind her and looked down as if she were about to jump off the high dive.
I lifted her to the ground and pushed the heavy door shut. Even with her giant handbag, Gertie felt as light as a hummingbird.
“Escape-proof back seat,” Ida Belle said. “Looks like he was going for the bigger bounty.”
“You mean because Fortune is worth one million dollars dead,” Gertie asked, “but ten million alive? Was he planning to take her alive? My goodness, that’s terrible.”
I pulled my phone out and dialed Harrison again.
“Try to keep it down,” I said. “My handler went to a lot of trouble to get me a secure line, and he won’t like it if he thinks someone’s listening in.”
I looked both ways, waited for a red pickup truck to pass, and crossed the street. By the time we reached the other side I had already told Harrison what I’d found in Bernard Mercier’s car.
“So it looks like Mercier was coming for me,” I said. “And something, or someone, killed him before he could finish the job. Who, or what, was it? Don’t say my gumbo.”
“We still don’t know. Although Mercier’s death is a big setback for us, I did learn that. He’d made his name as the go-to guy for passports, state ID’s, birth certificates, anything. All he had to do was party and mingle in the Big Easy, and when a dirtbag of interest came to him for a fake ID, he routed the information back to us.”
“So he was the king of fake IDs. But he had his real ID in his car?”
“Why not? The truth is easier to remember. Like you, using your real first name when you’re undercover posing as Morrow’s niece.”
“Yeah. By the way, no one here calls it the Big Easy.”
I was making my way back through the gravel lot to the Jeep. Gertie and Ida Belle followed quietly.
“Fortune, I can barely hear you.”
“We’re next to Francine’s Diner,” I said. “In the parking lot. Can’t talk too loud. Prying ears everywhere.”
“It’s prying eyes,” Gertie corrected me, as if that somehow made more sense.
“Is someone there?” Harrison asked.
“No." I waved at Gertie to keep it down. "So what else? What about Ahmad’s guy? The one who turned up in a dumpster?”
“We think he was killed somewhere else and dumped. They couldn’t find a bullet. It went right through.”
I unlocked the Jeep to let Gertie into the back seat, then climbed in and unlocked the passenger side from the inside for Ida Belle. Ida Belle didn’t like being helped into cars.
“Maybe he was taken somewhere in a car with no interior door handles?” I suggested.
“You know something about it?”
“I had a chance to look through his car.”
“Fortune, I hope you didn’t—”
“Don’t worry, it was parked outdoors and unlocked. There was no problem getting access. But you should know that Mercier removed the rear door handles.”
Chapter 15
Harrison swore. We were in close enough quarters inside the Jeep that Ida Belle and Gertie could hear both sides of the conversation now. I saw Gertie in the rear view mirror, eyes wide.
“So Mercier might’ve planned to have the bounty all to himself,” I said, “and somehow he thought Ahmad wouldn’t figure out w
hat happened to his guy?”
“That’s possible.”
“Any connection between Mercier and Claudia Hunter?”
“Your food poisoning case? She was in New Orleans, and she’d use fake IDs for her aliases, so, it’s possible they crossed paths at some point. No connection I know of, though.”
“So we’re at a dead end.”
“Yeah. You’re real lucky Mercier dropped dead in your flower bed. Hey, that rhymes.”
“Harrison, I’m not that lucky. Whoever killed Mercier might be my secret guardian angel, but I think it’s more likely that whoever it is, they’re after the ten-million-dollar bounty too. In fact, that’s probably the only reason I’m still alive. Because I’m worth ten times as much alive as dead.”
“Hang on a second, Fortune.”
The phone went silent.
As I waited for Harrison to return, Ida Belle said,
“Ten million dollars is a lot of money. Enough to change people.”
“I don’t like where this is going, Ida Belle,” I half-joked.
“I’m just saying. Imagine never having to take in a boarder so you can make ends meet. Or tie your bumper to your car with rope ‘cause you can’t afford a proper new bumper. Imagine you’re someone like Delphine. Wouldn’t you like to be able to hire someone to look after your mother? Especially if she was as difficult as Miss Cookie?”
“I’d hire someone to smother her in her sleep,” Gertie muttered.
“Ten million dollars would set you up for life,” Ida Belle said.
“Or it could ruin your life,” Gertie countered. “Remember that security guard over in Mudbug who won the Mega Millions? He’s living in a trailer again, not even as nice as the one he used to have. And he doesn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas or Thanksgiving because his whole family hates him now.”
“Doesn’t stop people from trying,” Ida Belle said.
“Hey. Before either one of you gets any ideas. Ahmad isn’t just going to hand over ten million dollars and let my kidnapper go on her merry way. Ahmad doesn’t leave loose ends.”
