Chapter Three

 

I’d just finished breakfast when my cell phone signaled I had a message. I picked it up and my pulse quickened when I saw it was from my friend Ally, who should be neck-deep in breakfast service at Francine’s Café. 

re: Ida Belle There’s a mob outside the police station. 

Hell! I grabbed the keys to my Jeep and hurried into the garage, pressing in Gertie’s number as I jumped in the driver’s seat. 

“I’m picking you up in two minutes,” I said as soon as Gertie answered. “I’ll explain when I get there.”

Before she could utter a single word, I disconnected the call and threw the Jeep in reverse. As I squealed away from the curb, my mind whirled with all the reasons a mob might be assembled. But unless it was a “Free Ida Belle” movement, I had serious doubts it was going to be good news.

Gertie was standing at the curb when I screeched to a halt. She attempted a quick leap inside the Jeep, but the weight of her enormous handbag set her off balance and she ended up sprawling across the passenger’s seat and my lap. It took a bit of work to get her upright and her handbag straps unwound from the stick shift, but with minimal embarrassment and a brief apology, we were finally on our way.

I filled Gertie in on Ally’s text as I drove. Based on her grim expression, I could tell she wasn’t expecting anything good, either. 

But what we saw as I pulled onto Main Street was even worse than we expected.

Paulette stood in front of the police station, wailing like a wounded cat and screaming for justice. Sheriff Lee, who was probably old enough to be Paulette’s great-great-great-great grandfather, was trying to reason with her, but a 200-year-old man didn’t have a chance against a thirtysomething emotionally bent woman.

Hell, short of knocking her out, I wasn’t sure what would improve the situation.

A crowd of people were assembled behind Paulette, all grumbling and shaking their fists at the sheriff. I parked in front of the café and as we approached the crowd, I could begin to make out some of the comments.

“This town used to be safe!”

“How many murderers can one town have?”

“What the hell are we paying you for?”

As we approached the crowd, one of the angry protestors caught sight of me and shook his fist. “Things like this never happened before Yankees came to town.”

Five feet eleven, two hundred eighty pounds of flab, high blood pressure, incredibly low IQ.

“Given that the victim is also a Yankee,” I said, “I fail to see your point.”

His face turned a bit red but my logic didn’t stop him from blustering on. “You know exactly what I mean.”

I raised one eyebrow at him. “Are you saying he was killed because he’s a Yankee? If that’s the case, then I’m the one who should be worried, not you.”

“No, damn it! That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Really?” I asked, intent on carrying the absurdity as far as he was willing to travel. “Because that would make sense given that the victim before him was living in California. That’s kinda like Yankees, right?”

Several of the mob nodded in agreement and I held in a sigh. Humor had no place in Sinful.

“You’re twisting my words!” he raged.

“Your words were already ridiculous,” I said. “I didn’t have to so much as bend one for everyone to get that.”

“You meddling bitch.” He started toward me.

I smiled. “You forgot ‘Yankee.’”

Sheriff Lee, finally noticing the exchange, rushed forward at a good clip of negative two miles per hour. I have no idea what he thought he was going to do against the charging wall of ignorant flab coming at me, and I was almost sorry that he wouldn’t arrive in time for me to see it, but the situation in front of me was about to require action.

Flabby Man took another step toward me and lifted his hand, palm open.

Oh, hell no! He did not think he was going to bitch-slap me like some girl.

“Stop!” Sheriff Lee yelled, but I barely heard him over the crowd. Flabby Man never slowed, so either his ears were insulated with a layer of blubber or he was ignoring the sheriff like most everyone else did.

He took that final step, his arm swinging downward at the same time. He couldn’t have indicated his strike more if he’d sent me a text beforehand. In a single deft move, I stepped to the side, grabbed his thumb and twisted. He howled in pain and bent over to follow his thumb, and I kept pushing it lower. It didn’t take long for gravity to take over and he went tumbling down onto the street. 

“She assaulted him!” Another man in the crowd yelled.

I glanced over, taking only a second to dismiss him as a threat. He looked like Flabby Man’s twin.

“Good,” I heard a woman’s voice chime in. “He’s an asshole.”

“You can’t say ‘asshole’ in the middle of Main Street,” another woman complained. “It’s illegal.”

“What are you going to do about it, asshole?”

Sheriff Lee, who’d finally managed to make it over to me, waved his hands in the air, trying to get the attention of the clearly escalating crowd. “Everyone calm down. There’s no need for violence.”

I looked over at Gertie and shook my head. She raised her eyebrows, clearly no more confident than I was that Sheriff Lee could get the crowd under control. The voices continued to escalate in pitch and level. More and more people began shouting and pointing fingers, and I could no longer tell who was angry at whom and for what. 

And then all hell broke loose.

Such a simple thing—one shove—and the entire mob erupted. Men swung wildly at each other, mostly missing their intended target and hitting the women, who had handfuls of each other’s hair and were bent over turning in a circle like performing some insane dance. 

It was a bar fight without the bar.

Although it pained me, I knew retreat was the best option. I turned to grab Gertie and pull her out of the fray, but as I swung around, I caught a glimpse of her dropping to the ground and crawling through the crowd toward the sheriff’s department. 

What the hell was she doing?

I knew it was a suicide mission, but I couldn’t abandon a man in the field, so I ducked down and pushed through the crowd, trying to follow Gertie, who scrambled on all fours through the mass of thrashing idiots. I was just about to step onto the sidewalk when someone grabbed hold of my ponytail and yanked me backward. I saw a flash of glittery hot pink and knew Paulette was the culprit. 

It took me less than a second to assess my options, and none of them were good. If I didn’t get my hair out of Paulette’s grasp, those extensions were likely to rip right off, leaving me exposed in a way I couldn’t afford. By the same token, I could hardly assault the widow in the middle of Main Street and in front of a bunch of screaming witnesses.

I grabbed the base of my ponytail as I heard the first rip of hair and at the same time, a spray of water hit my face. I looked up and saw Gertie standing on the sidewalk directing a water hose onto the fighting crowd. Paulette screamed like a banshee and showed no sign of letting up, so I did the only thing possible. 

I clenched the ponytail as tightly as I could and swung around, flinging Paulette toward the sidewalk. She stumbled as she whirled around, and let go of my hair as she completely lost her balance and ran straight into Gertie, knocking her to the ground. 

Carter chose that exact moment to open the door to the sheriff’s department, and the spray of hose water caught him right in the face. 

It was like a gunshot went off. All fighting ceased and the mob scattered in every direction, leaving only me, Gertie, and Sheriff Lee standing there, dripping and clearly guilty.

Carter wiped his hand across his eyes then shook the water off. He pointed at Sheriff Lee. “Go to the Williams house and sit on Paulette. I don’t want her walking out her front door until I say so.”

Sheriff Lee, looking happy to escape, hustled off down the street at a faster clip than I thought possible.

Carter turned to Gertie, who still clutched the dripping hose. “You, put down the weapon and go home.” He pointed at me. “You, get inside.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “I never even threw a punch. I’m the victim here.”

Carter raised one eyebrow. “Somehow I find that impossible to believe. Inside. Now.”

He stepped to the side and held open the door.

Gertie sprang up from the sidewalk. “She’s telling the truth. You’ve got a lot of problems in this town, but Fortune is not one of them.”

He pointed his finger at her. “Home. Now. Or I’ll arrest both of you.”

Gertie’s mouth set in a grim line. She glanced over at me, and I gave her a small shake of my head. Whatever Carter had in mind for me, Gertie’s continued protesting would likely only make it worse. 

I could tell she wasn’t pleased, but Gertie shut off the water and with a final glare at Carter, stalked off down the sidewalk, her shoes squishing as she went. 

Ida Belle sat in a chair in front of the metal desk at the front of the sheriff’s department, and looked up in surprise when I stepped inside. Deputy Breaux perched in the chair across from her, looking even more uncomfortable than he had at Ida Belle’s house. The blinds on the front windows of the sheriff’s department were drawn, so they couldn’t have seen the fray, but I was certain they’d heard it. 

Carter pointed to a room diagonal from where Ida Belle sat and I stepped inside and flopped into a chair in front of a makeshift desk. Carter closed the door behind him and it didn’t take a second before he unloaded.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

My mouth dropped. “What was I thinking? Look, I know you find it impossible to believe that I’m not looking for trouble, but I assure you, I did not start that fight. I was only defending myself.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look remotely convinced. “Do you realize you have to defend yourself more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life? Professional football players defend themselves less than you do. Freedom fighters pale in comparison to the record you’ve established in just two weeks in Sinful.”

“I see. So it’s my fault this town is full of bigots and idiots.”

He stared at me for several seconds, his expression a mixture of aggravation and exhaustion. Finally, he sighed and slumped into the chair behind the desk. 

“You don’t have to tell me about this town’s prejudices. I’m not stupid nor am I deaf and blind. But you unnecessarily aggravate an already-volatile situation simply by your presence.”

“So you’re saying I should spend my entire summer in Sinful locked in my house so that I don’t cause the kindergartners to get restless and create more work for you?”

“No, damn it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But can’t you exercise a little more discretion? Did you really think it was a good idea to approach that mob when everyone knows you’ve taken up with Ida Belle and Gertie?”

“You forgot the part about my being a Yankee.”

“I thought that part was a given.”

I frowned. “In hindsight, I suppose it was a bad idea.”

“It was a horrible idea. Look, I know you care about Ida Belle and you’re worried about what’s going to happen, but you’re only going to make the situation worse if you incite an already high-strung crowd to another level of stupidity.”

I knew he was right, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up the charge. “Has it ever occurred to you that you incited that crowd by hauling Ida Belle down here for questioning? Couldn’t you have been more discreet?”

“Ha. Yeah, because this town thrives on discretion. Short of interrogating her by text message or sending professional kidnappers to whisk her away to a private island, no way could I question her without everyone in town knowing within minutes. This isn’t the big city, Fortune. Nothing goes unnoticed here.”

“Except murderers.”

His jaw twitched and a dark flush crept up his neck. 

Okay, so it was a low blow, but I was pissed off. 

“I know it may seem to a big-city girl,” he said, “that we’re nothing but a bunch of hicks who can’t walk without tripping, but I assure you that no one is going to get away with murder on my watch. Regardless of your confidence in my ability, I promise you, I will do my job.”

Okay, so that made me feel a little guilty.

“I’m not questioning your ability…exactly. But I don’t understand why you hauled Ida Belle in here when you and I both know there’s no way she murdered that man.”

“My personal beliefs have no bearing on the job I have to do. The state prosecutor doesn’t give a damn what I know. He only wants facts to make a case. It’s my job to collect all those facts so that he can make an educated decision about pursuing prosecution, regardless of whom he chooses to indict.”

“Even if those facts point to an innocent person?”

“This job didn’t come with any guarantees that I’d love it. But I promised to uphold the law and that’s what I have to do, with a belief that the system will work properly. I can’t choose to do my job only when it makes me happy. Maybe one day, you’ll understand that.”

His words hit me like a bucket of cold water, completely knocking me off my high horse. How many times had I been schooled not to get personally involved when I was undercover? The reasons were numerous and varied, but all boiled down to the same thing—personal involvement equaled a conflicted assassin, and conflicted could equal hesitation, which could equal death.

In other words—mission failure.

In all my undercover assignments with the CIA, I’d never even been tempted to get personally involved. The people I’d associated with hadn’t merited my interest, but I’d been incognito in Louisiana less than a day before I’d formed alliances with locals. Granted, I didn’t have a target in Sinful, so it was a different sort of undercover than what I was used to, but you boiled it right down to basics, my life would be a lot easier if I’d kept the same standards about personal involvement. 

For the first time in my life, I’d made real friends and now, everything was complicated. This was exactly what Carter dealt with every day—investigating people he knew, people he had relationships with and probably liked—every time a crime occurred. They couldn’t all be domestic disputes and fishing violations. Sometimes, he’d draw the difficult case. The case that made him take a hard look at people he’d known his entire life and ask himself if all this time he’d been unaware of the monster that dwelled within them. 

Immediately, I felt guilty for giving him such a hard time since I’d arrived. I’d thought him narrow-minded and rigid, but the reality was, he spent every single day managing a delicate balance between being a Sinful resident and having the rest of the residents under a microscope. 

Lately, that microscope had been working overtime.

I was trying to formulate a response when Deputy Breaux knocked twice on the door then stuck his head inside. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, “but Ally called and there’s a bit of trouble over at the café.”

“What kind of trouble?” Carter asked.

“Paulette is there demanding Francine close for the day in her husband’s memory. Francine not only refuses to close, she wants Paulette arrested for dripping on her new entry rug and ruining it. Sheriff Lee’s not making headway with either of them.”

No surprise there. A successful businesswoman like Francine wouldn’t have a bit of use for a piece of fluff like Paulette.

Carter closed his eyes for a second, then rose from his chair and looked down at me. “You’re free to go, but I want you to think about everything I said. You’re already a handy scapegoat for people. Try not to make it any easier on them.”

I gave him a nod as he walked out of the office, then jumped up from my chair and hurried out behind him, pausing by Ida Belle’s chair.

“Let Ms. Morrow out,” Carter instructed Deputy Breaux, “then lock the door behind her and don’t open it for anyone but me or Sheriff Lee.”

Ida Belle tugged on my yoga pants. “Find out what killed Ted,” she whispered.

I glanced at the front door where Carter was still issuing instructions to a confused-looking Deputy Breaux. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Check his office.”

Carter’s office was in the back corner of the building. I knew this because of the small matter of breaking and entering that Ida Belle, Gertie, and I had pulled off a week ago, but I couldn’t see any way to get back there when I was supposed to be leaving the sheriff’s department to go straight home and try to blend into the woodwork.

“Ma’am?” Deputy Breaux stood at the front door, his hand poised on the knob. Carter was nowhere in sight.

“Uh, I don’t suppose I can use the ladies’ room before I go?” I had zero idea where the restroom was, but I hoped it was somewhere at the back of the building and not upstairs.

Uncertainty washed over Deputy Breaux’s expression. “I don’t know…Deputy LeBlanc said I have to lock the door after you leave. I really need to lock the door.”

“And I really need to go to the ladies’ room. It’s a girl thing.”

“Oh…ummm.” Deputy Breaux’s face grew so red it looked as if it were glowing.

Got him.

“You can lock the door while I’m gone,” I said, “then let me out when I’m done.”

He hesitated a moment, clearly afraid he’d make the wrong call and incur Carter’s wrath.

I moved in for the kill. “It’s this medical thing, you see. The doctor says—”

“That’s okay, ma’am.” He held both his hands up to stop me from continuing, then immediately dropped one back down to grasp the doorknob. “Go ahead and I’ll let you out when you’re done.”

“Thanks.” I gave him my fake grateful smile. “If you could just tell me where it is…”

“Oh, right.” He pointed at the hallway behind him. “Down this hall, then turn right on the back hallway. It’s the second door on the left.”

“Great.” As I hurried away, I looked back at Ida Belle and gave her a wink.