| |
“Not again!” Deputy Carter LeBlanc’s expression was priceless, but easily gauged. The look on his face said it all, but Carter couldn’t resist yelling, too.
Guess it’s understandable all things considered.
Gertie and Ida Belle had a knack for sticking their noses in police business. Carter tried to stay on top of local crimes but it wasn’t easy. Gertie and Ida Belle planted themselves in the thick of ongoing investigations which, according to Carter, made his job all the more difficult.
“Fortune! Don’t think my outburst is reserved for two little old ladies.” He shook his finger at me. “I’ve had about enough of you, too!”
“I swear, Carter...Deputy LeBlanc.” Thanks to his instantly narrowed eyes, I quickly made the correction. “I give you my word. I just this minute found the body.”
“Just this minute?” He killed his engine. Using a paddle and net, he attempted to lure the deceased closer to his boat before the aggressive current won and carried the poor guy downstream. Hooking the fellow’s collar, he glanced up and asked, “As in, right at this very moment? You expect me to believe that the three of you just stumbled upon a dead man while out for a morning stroll?”
“Yes!” Gertie and I chimed in together.
“If you want to tell a believable lie, learn to be a convincing fabricator,” Ida Belle whispered.
“She’s right,” Carter snapped, catching the corpse’s arms and dragging him to the boat. “And in the future, you should ask your co-conspirators to dress appropriately. Mind telling me why Gertie and Ida Belle are here in their pajamas?”
“Not at all,” I said simply. “I called them and invited them to a come-as-you-are party.”
“Fortune, zip it,” Gertie said.
“I’ll take it from here,” Ida Belle said, turning to Carter. “Guess you’ll never believe we had a pajama party?”
“That dog has long since yapped and wagged her tail.”
“If you’re referring to Fortune...”
“That was downright rude, Carter,” Ida Belle said, interrupting Gertie.
“And for the record, I’m not wearing pajamas. I was out for a morning run.”
Carter stared at her blankly. Ida Belle snorted.
“Back to why you called Ida Belle and Gertie first,” Carter said, leveling a stern glare in my direction. “9-1-1 too many digits for you?”
“Speed dial does have its advantages, particularly when you’re trying to ‘yap and wag’ at the same time,” I said, miffed by his earlier reference.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t exactly smile. “So how long before the whole town knows?” He successfully lowered the corpse out of sight before one of the gators returned and whipped around the boat’s stern. The predator flipped over and under in his angry show of outright displeasure.
“Yikes!” Maybe Ida Belle should’ve followed Gertie’s advice and donated a few curlers to the swamp. She could sacrifice one or two.
“Well?” Carter squared his shoulders and placed his hands on his hips. “Who else knows about this?”
“Don’t get testy with me,” Gertie said. “I only called Ida Belle.”
His gaze shifted from Gertie to Ida Belle. “And?”
“Marie. I called Marie,” Gertie admitted. “But she didn’t pick up.”
“Just as well,” Ida Belle said, smiling at Carter. “She doesn’t really have the stomach for these outings.”
“And?” Carter continued to press, clearly worried about who knew what.
“Ally, but that’s it. Scout’s honor.” Gertie made the hand signal. “And I was a Scout.”
“Scouts wouldn’t have you. Sinful doesn’t want you but we haven’t figured out what to do with you yet.” Carter’s boat floated closer to shore, rocking to and fro as he moved from one end to the other before adding, “And I doubt we ever will.”
“Somebody chugged a cup of mean before he decided to go out for a morning float,” Gertie said.
“Maybe he needs a bottle of cough syrup.” I caught glares from Ida Belle and Gertie at the mention of their discreetly bottled moonshine, a popular item at fairs, church bazaars, and most town fundraising efforts. The Sinful Ladies Society held private meetings to discuss a lot of local news but they also met on a regular basis to stock up on the town’s favorite drink.
Carter squatted in his boat and checked out the dead guy. He grimaced as he pulled moss from the fellow’s face. Shaking his hand over the side of the boat, he peeled gunk from his fingers and continued a thorough assessment. “I’ll be damned.”
“You know him?” Gertie asked.
“Yeah,” Carter replied, glancing up. “You do too.”
“Well?” Gertie stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to peer inside the boat. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Who is he?”
Ida Belle took a deep breath. “Casey Williams?”
“You knew?” Carter asked.
“Let’s not forget who had the first boots on the ground here,” Gertie said.
Carter pointed at the waders next to Gertie. “Am I supposed to assume that you mean Fortune?”
“No, I left mine behind,” I stated proudly.
“Let me guess, you didn’t want to get them muddy?”
“Well why would I care if—”
Gertie elbowed me in the ribs and quickly whispered, “Sandy-Sue was a beauty queen, remember. Let’s assume she wouldn’t like muddy boots.”
“You were saying?” Carter waited. “If what, Fortune?”
I came up empty and gawked like a bird with her neck sticking out of a birdhouse. Like the aforementioned winged creature, I was too afraid to take a first flight into unfamiliar skies.
Undoubtedly aware that he wouldn’t get an answer, Carter tilted his head at the deceased. “So assuming everything is the complete opposite of what you’ve told me, you’ve been out here what...two, maybe three, days?” He studied Ida Belle. “Guessing he’s been dead at least forty-eight hours.”
“You’re just trying to drag our butts into this mess,” Gertie said, ready to defend Ida Belle.
“Dragging your tails out of this mess is my main concern.” He gave me a curious look. “When did you spot the body?”
“Let’s see...” I was trying to come up with a believable story while establishing the right kind of alibi, should I need one. I stroked my chin, wondering if I looked like my deceased father.
Considered one of the best agents of his time and mine, Dwight Redding—my dad—often said that a good CIA agent learned to control their speech. How and when to talk, how to handle interrogations, and what to do when buying time proved crucial in all official matters. I wasn’t much for stroking my chin, but at the moment, I was trying to remove the remnants of bayou slime so I went with it.
“Fortune, I need the truth first shot out of the gate.”
I wanted to supply accurate information but didn’t have enough to help Carter’s case. That alone was a problem since this wasn’t the first body to turn up in my yard.
When I first arrived in this picture-perfect town, I had been overly concerned about the unspoiled streets lined with pretty plants and frilly storefronts. Sinful looked like a cutout from a paper-doll establishment, a world designed for talented artists and inspired writers.
My opinion quickly changed after a human bone turned up in my yard. I realized it was impossible to gain a real-world view of any community until the newcomer walked away from the sidewalk and peered at the backyard or went wading in the town’s murky waters.
This Louisiana sanctuary with its plethora of unlikely suspects and motivated killers had seemingly changed upon my arrival. Was I to blame? Probably. CIA Director Morrow seemingly thought I chased the black clouds. If the dead guy in Carter’s boat was exhibit A then Morrow was right.
“Kathleen Williams, Casey’s mother, won’t rest until Casey’s killer is brought to justice.” Carter blew out a hard breath. “Your help would be appreciated.”
Brought back to the present, I said, “I don’t have a lot to add because I have no idea what happened.”
“You have no idea what kind of local uproar this will cause,” he mumbled, clearly disturbed by Casey’s death.
“She doesn’t, but I do,” Ida Belle said, frowning at Gertie.
“I didn’t know the victim.”
“Of course you didn’t, dear,” Gertie said. “Casey’s been living in New York for the last several years. From what I’ve heard, he’s been up to no good since he left Louisiana.”
“That does tend to happen,” Ida Belle said in a matter of fact voice.
“Heard something similar.” Carter shot me a peculiar look. “Don’t suppose you have any enemies in New York. Do you?”
“Well no,” I said, not at all convinced. It was possible that the ‘stiletto killer’ had earned enemies all over the world. “Believe it or not, Carter—Deputy LeBlanc—I would rather make a friend than earn an enemy.”
“I can believe that.”
“Good,” I said, standing taller.
“But you still seem to have more of the latter and less of the former.”
“Carter LeBlanc, that was unnecessary.” Gertie shook her finger as she scolded him.
I let the comment slide because it was the truth. The average person had more than a million reasons to count me as an enemy. The average bad guy possessed another nine million reasons but those guys had to be willing to drag a person through customs kicking and screaming so it wasn’t an easy chore to collect on the higher bounty.
Carter stood erect in his boat. His broad shoulders and tapered hips were shadowed by the rising sun, but he looked more intimidating all the same. “Here’s how we’re playing this.” He looked off in the distance. “I took the boat out, left the general store before dawn, and ran across the body. You saw me down here. Called Gertie and Ida Belle, which wouldn’t come as a shock to the locals, and that’s why you knew about this. It’s why you were down here by the bayou, on the chance someone saw you.”
“Well Carter LeBlanc. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that you had a little—”
“Gertie,” Ida Belle warned, putting her hand up to stop further stammering. “We’ll take it. Sounds like a plan.”
“But it’s not the truth,” I said, realizing what Carter was risking by telling this version of the story.
“This is our story, Fortune. You came down here and tried to help me free the body. I couldn’t stop you before Ida Belle—stubborn woman that she is—was yanking and pulling at him, trying to get him free before the alligators made Casey their next meal.” He nodded at Ida Belle. “Casey’s mother will be real grateful for all that you’ve done.” He swung his gaze to me. “And you should be real thankful for friends around here. The last thing we need is another town uprising while the locals call for your arrest.”
“Thank you,” I said, humbled by his willingness to protect me. I wondered what it meant, or if it meant anything at all. I groaned at a sudden thought. I now owed Carter a favor and fellows in law enforcement always remembered to call those favors in.
“You didn’t kill Casey. I know that. You didn’t know him so you didn’t have motive. I’m guessing you didn’t have opportunity.” He took a deep breath. “It was a foggy morning. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. When I came across the lights here at Fortune’s, I decided to turn around while I could see and that’s when I spotted the body.”
“Sounds believable enough,” Ida Belle said.
“Hope so. That’s our story. There’s no need to mention who found the body before I did.” Carter turned and scanned the other bank, apparently on a search for any potential onlookers. “Why don’t you head on up to the house. I’ll call the coroner and Sheriff Lee. We’ll get to work and get to the bottom of this.”
“So I’m not a suspect,” I said, throwing that out there since I was the new gal in town. “I mean, I have a knack for landing smack dab in the middle of murder investigations whether I want to be there or not.”
“Did you know Casey?”
“Well no.”
“Did you put the body there in the trees?”
“No.”
“Toss the deceased into the bayou? Pump a few rounds in his back?”
“Of course not.” It wasn’t out of the realms of my imagination if I’d possessed motive but I didn’t know the guy. “No, I did not.”
“Then stop kicking a gift horse in the mouth. I told you how we’re playing this. Don’t borrow trouble.”
“He’s right,” Ida Belle said.
Carter was seemingly apprehensive about offering the lifeline. He blew out a few exasperated breaths. “For a woman who claims she doesn’t do drama with the best of them, why is it that I always find you center stage or sneaking behind a drawn curtain?”
Gertie grinned. “Why, Carter LeBlanc. That was pretty good. Reminds me of your Uncle Walter back in his early years. He always had such a way with words.”
My gaze met Carter’s. As if he’d read my mind, he said, “I may be more like my uncle than I care to admit.”
Deep sorrow then marked its place upon his face. Carter cleared his throat, squatted next to the body, and shook his head again. “I’ll talk to Casey’s mother after I give her time to process her son’s death. See if she knew anything about his friends or why he came home after all these years. Maybe she can shed some light on what happened.”
“He definitely made the wrong kind of enemies,” Ida Belle said. “Men like Casey shouldn’t leave home. They’re bound to find the wrong crowd.”
Carter flipped the body over and the weight of the corpse caused two thumps and rocked the deputy’s boat. Grimacing, he said, “Looks like Casey made the wrong kind of friends in New York. And his enemies were professionals. Guns for hire, if I had to guess.”
Ida Belle and Gertie shot me a knowing look. Had Casey returned home to fulfill an assassin’s contract? If so, how close had he come to taking out his target?
Since his body was in my backyard? I could only assume the worst.
He’d come home to take a killer’s mark. He’d returned to Sinful for me.