Fortune Hunter (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 8) (11 page)

* * *

I
t took some doing
, but Gertie finally coaxed Nolan into eating some casserole. He was slow to take the first bite, but once he did, he seemed to realize he was hungry. He ate a smaller portion than what a man his size would probably have consumed under normal circumstances, but it was enough to keep him from passing out. Gertie urged him to taste one of the cookies she’d brought but he’d given them a glance and said “maybe later.”

He’d eaten the entire meal in silence and we hadn’t tried to get him talking, but once the dishes were cleared, Ida Belle gave us a nod, signaling that she was going to see if he was up to a chat.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Gertie asked.

“No, thank you,” Nolan said. “You’ve all been quite kind. Everyone has been so kind.”

“We’re all very sad and upset,” Gertie said. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

Nolan nodded. “She was everything. No other woman was like Gail.”

“She was an incredible person,” Ida Belle agreed. “I think that’s why it’s all so shocking…”

I watched Nolan’s face closely as Ida Belle let that sentence linger. We all knew what she’d left unspoken. Nolan’s jaw tightened so briefly that if I hadn’t been paying attention so well, I might have thought I’d imagined it.

“I can’t imagine,” he said, “who would do such a thing. Everyone loved Gail.”

I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. He was lying, but about which statement? Either he had an idea who might have killed his wife, or he knew someone or more than one person who didn’t think Gail was as great as the rest of us did.

“I suppose,” Ida Belle said, “with her work there is the possibility of unpleasantness. Someone who didn’t qualify for help, or that sort of thing.”

“A good percentage of the homeless are mentally ill,” I said. “It’s possible someone imagined a slight or misunderstood what could be done to help. It’s such a difficult problem.”

Ida Belle nodded. “So many layers.” She looked at Nolan. “Gail never mentioned a client that she was frightened of, did she? Fortune makes a good point. If mental illness were involved, that would explain a lot.”

Nolan frowned. “She never said anything. Lately, she’d look more worried than usual. I could see the strain on her face, but when I asked about it, she said it was concerns over an upcoming grant renewal.”

“Yes,” Ida Belle said. “Maintaining funding for such endeavors is a constant worry. When I served on a charity board years ago, it seemed we were always busy trying to find more money and struggling to keep from losing what we had. It’s unfortunate that there’s so much more need than we can find the funds for.”

“She was dedicated to her work,” Nolan said. “Lately, she had to spend so much time on it, sometimes working so late into the night that she didn’t even have the energy to make the drive back to Sinful. She’d get a room in New Orleans.”

“That’s sensible,” Gertie said. “One’s eyes simply aren’t the same when they’re overly tired, and the highway is not particularly well lit. And with no shoulders to speak of, it only takes a second for things to go wrong.”

“She was sensible,” Nolan said. “Which is what makes it all the more confusing. Sensible women don’t go around getting themselves killed.” His eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe this happened. I can’t believe she’s gone. Every time I doze off, I wake up thinking I’ve had a nightmare, and then I remember the nightmare is real.”

He collapsed into tears and I looked over at Ida Belle and Gertie, completely at a loss. This was well outside of my skill set. Gertie reached over and put her hand on Nolan’s arm. “Everything will be all right,” she said. “Carter is a very smart young man. He’ll figure out what happened and the person who did this will pay. It won’t change the way things are, but it should bring you a small amount of peace.”

He looked over at her and nodded. “I hope you’re right. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll lie down for a bit. Marie rearranged the downstairs guest room to accommodate my chair. If one of you wouldn’t mind pushing me in there. I’m still a bit weak.”

“Of course,” Gertie said and jumped up from her chair. “Do you need to use the uh…facilities, first?”

“Not right now,” he said. “But you needn’t worry about that. All the bathrooms in the house are equipped for such a thing. Again, I appreciate the meal and the company. I don’t think I’d like being alone right now.”

Gertie pushed him out of the kitchen. Ida Belle waited until they were out of hearing, then looked over at me.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think he’s distraught,” I said, “and I think he lied.”

She gave me an approving nod. “You caught that too, huh?”

“It was subtle, but it was there. I don’t think he knows anything or he would have told Carter. When Carter walked out of the kitchen earlier, he looked perplexed, and not at all like a man who had an angle to pursue.”

“So it’s merely suspicion,” Ida Belle said. “I’d agree with that, but still, why not offer it up anyway? It’s not like Carter would go arrest someone over a hunch.”

“Maybe because his suspicion is wrapped up in something he didn’t want others to know.”

“The affair angle. Yes, I could see that. No use sullying the woman’s reputation right at the start.”

I nodded. “He’ll wait a bit and see if any other explanation is forthcoming. If not, then he’ll volunteer his idea.”

We both sat staring at each other, focused on our thoughts, so when the telephone rang, we both jumped. Ida Belle rose from her chair and answered.

“Bishop residence,” she said. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Bishop is resting at the moment. This is Ida Belle, a friend of his. Can I take a message and have Mr. Bishop return your call when he awakens?”

Ida Belle picked up a pen from the message rack next to the phone and wrote a name and telephone number on the pad of paper hanging there. When she finished taking down the phone number, her eyes widened. “I understand. I’ll have Mr. Bishop contact you as soon as he’s available.”

She hung up the phone and looked over at me. “That was a man with an insurance company in New Orleans. He needs to talk to Nolan about the life insurance policy Gail had. Apparently, he feels that Nolan could benefit from talking to an investment adviser rather than putting the entire amount in a regular bank account.”

“I wonder how much?” I asked.

Ida Belle shook her head. “He didn’t say, but it has to be a good amount. I mean, if it were only a hundred thousand or so, one wouldn’t need an investment counselor.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Well, that’s good news, right? Maybe Nolan will have enough to pay for the in-home care he needs. That way he won’t have to move into one of those homes.”

“That would be ideal,” Ida Belle said. “I can’t imagine living in one of those places. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the care is often top-notch and so many of the facilities are quite new and comfortable, but all the same…people.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what she was saying. I wouldn’t do well with people around me all the time. It would feel claustrophobic. Perhaps Nolan didn’t feel like Ida Belle and me and would be quite content in such a situation, but if he had some money coming, then hopefully, he’d have a choice.

As much as choice could sometimes be a burden, not having one was far worse.

“We need a look at that bedroom,” Ida Belle said, “and the trellis.”

“I don’t see how we’re going to get it. We can’t go upstairs without Nolan hearing us. If we go outside, the neighbors behind can see into the yard, and I’ll bet money half of them have binoculars trained over here right now.”

Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “You’re a genius.”

“I’ll take the compliment, but what’s it for?”

“Guess who lives in the house directly behind this one?”

I shook my head.

“Your new friend, Peaches.”

“So you think I should knock on her door and ask to look out her back window with binoculars? I can’t imagine any scenario where that would sound appropriate, not to mention what trouble we’d get Peaches into if Carter found out.”

“No, of course. We don’t want to get the poor girl in trouble. She’s a nice sort, and her mother would have a heart attack at any whisper of impropriety where that girl is concerned. Quite frankly, I don’t want that one on
my
conscience. But if we were to pay her a visit, then one might find a need to see the upstairs or perhaps use an upstairs restroom.”

“Don’t most of these houses have a downstairs restroom for guests?”

Ida Belle grinned. “You of all people should know. All sorts of things can happen to disable a restroom.”

I
t was almost
six o’clock before Marie returned to take another shift. She fluttered in with a million apologies for the late hour. Apparently, she’d sat in the recliner for a minute to rest and awakened a good two hours later, much to her dismay. We assured her that everything had been fine in her absence and we were happy she’d gotten some sleep. Nolan was still resting.

Once Gertie had returned from getting Nolan settled, we’d filled her in on Ida Belle’s plot to get a look at the trellis. Gertie said she had a pattern for the cutest baby shawl ever and some lavender yarn that Peaches would love. Gertie said she could whip out the shawl that evening, and we’d pay Peaches a visit late the next morning. Apparently, young people had a different opinion of what constituted a reasonable hour for visiting. Anything before 10:00 a.m. was considered quite rude.

We told Marie about the message from the insurance man, then headed out. Myrtle had checked in earlier but didn’t have any news, as Carter had yet to return to the sheriff’s department, much less file a report. We were at loose ends as we climbed into the car, all feeling like there was something we should do but having zero idea what it could possibly be.

“Maybe we should all head home and do some thinking,” Ida Belle said. “I think best when I’m out in my garage. Gertie thinks best when she’s knitting and that’s what she’ll be doing.”

They both looked at me.

“Uh, I sorta think best when I’m shooting guns,” I said, “but I figure that’s probably not a good idea.”

“Certainly not at your house,” Gertie said. “But there are places you can go let off several rounds.”

I perked up. “Sinful has a shooting range? And you never told me?”

“It’s not exactly a range,” Ida Belle said. “Old Man Calhoun retired about ten years ago and sold off his dairy cows. He’s got over a hundred acres, a lot of it marsh, so he lets people do some target practice back there. Has some boards set up to hold cans and the like. You give him a twenty and shoot as long as you want.”

I glanced up at the sky. I still had over two hours of daylight, and shooting guns always beat sitting around bored. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. I did think best when I was using a firearm. “Where is Old Man Calhoun’s place?” I asked.

Thirty minutes later, I was bumping along in my Jeep on a narrow dirt road that appeared to lead directly into the center of the marsh. According to Gertie, more and more of Calhoun’s farmland had succumbed to the bayou each year, making it harder for him to find places for his cows to graze. Each year, he’d cut the size of the herd to account for the loss of land but eventually, age and hassle won out and he retired from the business altogether.

As I rounded a corner, completely blocked by a line of oak trees, I almost hit an oncoming truck. The truck swerved to the left and I swerved to the right, my Jeep sliding off the side of the road and a little into the ditch. The all-wheel drive saved me from going all the way into the ditch of water, and I pulled back onto the road and stopped. The truck, a black Dodge with off-roading tires, didn’t even pause. I gave it the finger as it disappeared on the other side of the trees.

Now, completely aggravated and needing a shooting round more than ever, I put the Jeep back in gear and continued my journey into nowhere. A couple minutes later, I spotted a house out in the middle of the marsh. The log cabin didn’t look remotely like the farmhouses you saw in movies, but it was an impressive structure, all the logs notched and fitted perfectly together. As I pulled up to the house, an old man wearing overalls, a T-shirt, and rubber boots stepped out onto the porch and squinted at me.

Somewhere between eighty and death. Five foot eleven. A hundred fifty pounds soaking wet. Bad vision. Too many medical ailments to list. Threat level zero unless armed.

“Mr. Calhoun?” I asked as I climbed out of the Jeep and approached the house.

“I ain’t buying nothing from you,” he said. “Don’t vote and I already found Jesus.”

I grinned. “Lucky for me, I’m not here for any of that. Ida Belle and Gertie told me you have a target practice area on your farm.”

“Ida Belle and Gertie, huh? Didn’t know those two old broads was still alive and kicking.”

“They’re alive and kicking quite well.”

“Good. They’re intelligent women. Not many like them around. Most are silly and a mass of nerves. What about you, girl?”

“Me? I’m neither silly nor nervous. I just like guns and wanted to get in some practice.”

He gave me a once-over. “Got good muscle tone. A little too skinny for my taste, but you look fit enough to handle a gun.” He pointed at a barn about a hundred yards from the house. “The practice area is behind the barn. Got some boards with nails for you to put cans on. Did you bring some with you?”

“Yes. Ida Belle told me to. I have a whole garbage bag.”

“Hmmpppfff. Wasn’t kidding about wanting to practice, was you? Hand me twenty bucks and you’re welcome to shoot them cans as long as you got daylight.”

I pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy yourself. If you decide you need a rest, I got a bottle of moonshine…best batch I made so far. It’s been a long time since I had a pretty young thing out this way. Got some money to leave and no kids. You think about that.”

He turned around and headed back inside. I stared after him for a minute, not sure if that had been a proposition or a proposal.

I climbed back in the Jeep and drove out behind the barn. It took a couple minutes to set up a row of cans, and then I unloaded my guns on a makeshift table. I looked down at the collection and smiled. Marge had certainly known her weapons, and loved collecting them. And this was just the pistols. I hadn’t dared pull out the barely-legal and not-even-legal parts of her collection. I didn’t want people to know what she’d hidden behind that secret panel in her bedroom closet. I pulled on safety glasses got down to business.

I loaded the nine-millimeter I usually carried and let off sixty rounds, pausing only to change out the empty magazine with a loaded one. Then I switched things up a bit and did a couple rounds with a revolver. The 1911 kept calling to me, so I pulled .45 rounds out of my bag and got to shooting. The 1911 was one of my favorite weapons, and this one was an excellent pistol. The trigger was smooth as butter and with hardly any recoil, it wasn’t any more difficult than firing the nine-millimeter. By the time I was done, only shards of aluminum remained, the tiny pieces wrapped around the nails that held them in place.

I loaded another magazine in the nine-millimeter and leveled the pistol at one of the nails. A second later, I squeezed and the bullet cut the nail in half. I smiled and lowered the gun. I better stop at one. It wouldn’t do to tear up Mr. Calhoun’s shooting area. I put the pistol down on the table and pulled off the glasses.

“Impressive.” Carter’s voice sounded behind me.

I whipped around, startled that I hadn’t heard him walk up and already bracing myself for whatever accusation was likely forthcoming.

“I figured you were really good,” he continued, “but that nail…that’s fifty yards at least. I wonder can you handle farther.”

“Yes. The distance depends on carry, of course.”

He nodded.

“Are you here to arrest me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Am I supposed to be?”

“Well, it’s become a common occurrence. Maybe not arresting me, but questioning me about my movements to make sure I’m not some notorious criminal hiding out in Sinful and single-handedly destroying the town.”

He looked over at the table. “Did you get that stash from Harrison?”

“No. It belonged to Marge.”

“I searched her house after she died to make sure there were no weapons. The house was going to sit empty for a while and it’s never a good idea to have guns lying around unattended.”

“You missed a spot.”

“But you found it, and didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not your inheritance. I’ll let Sandy-Sue know where to find them when she eventually gets here to handle this for real.”

“I don’t suppose that’s all of it,” he said, looking a bit pained.

“Not even close,” I said while simultaneously admonishing myself for enjoying his discomfort as much as I did. “Anything else you can pin on me besides borrowing weapons?”

“I don’t know. Do you know any nuns?”

“Not the last time I checked,” I said, holding in a smile.

“Bummer.”

“So if you’re not here to harass me, then what are you here for?”

He pointed to a duffel bag sitting on a stack of wood that I hadn’t noticed before. “I came to shoot. I didn’t know you’d be here. Didn’t even know you knew about this place.”

“Just heard about it today. Ida Belle told me.”

He looked at the row of shredded cans again and frowned. “Are you dusting off the cobwebs before you head back to DC?”

Given his stance on our ill-fated relationship due to my profession, I couldn’t imagine why he cared, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

“No,” I said finally. “After New Orleans, Ahmad disappeared into the shadows again. My freedom is no closer today than it was the day I arrived.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I was momentarily surprised that he sounded as if he meant it, but then I wondered if he was sorry for me because I was still in limbo or sorry for himself because I had to remain in Sinful.

“Hazard of the job, I guess,” I said.

He nodded and looked out across the marsh. Several uncomfortable seconds of silence ensued and I was about to pack up my pistols and head home when he said quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

I stared at him, no idea what to say. My pulse rate jumped and my heart pounded in my temples. “I’ve missed you, too,” I said finally.

“I…I wasn’t fair to you,” he said. “I didn’t explain my reasons, and I owe you better than that.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m the one who lied. I’m sure your reasons are important to you, but since I can’t change who or what I am, they really don’t matter, do they?”

“Maybe not,” he said, “but I’d still like to tell you. That is, if you’re willing to listen.”

Was I willing? I wasn’t sure. Part of me wanted to know simply because that part still had feelings for Carter and wanted to know more about him. But the piece of me that belonged in DC knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change anything. I didn’t need closure. I needed a miracle.

“Okay,” I said, going against all good judgment. This conversation couldn’t serve to do anything but hurt me more—pointing out all my flaws and all the reasons why I would never be good enough for Carter LeBlanc. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“Not now,” Carter said. “I only had an hour break and I’ve got to be back to work in fifteen minutes. Your place? Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. What time?”

“With everything going on, I’m not sure. I’ll let you know. Is that all right?”

I nodded and he picked up his duffel bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I watched until he disappeared around the barn, then wondered how long he’d been standing there. He’d said he had fifteen minutes left on his hour break. It took about ten minutes to drive out here from downtown Sinful. Had he been watching me for that long and I’d never noticed? He’d looked almost sad when he’d complimented me on my shooting ability. Was he starting to realize what I already knew—that someone like me wasn’t made to live a regular life?

I started packing the pistols into the bag. Speculating was a waste of time. If Carter was serious about explaining himself, then tomorrow night, I’d have all the answers I needed.

And they wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

* * *

G
ertie pulled
the tiny purple shawl out of a paper bag and showed it to me. “Isn’t it cute?”

Even though I had a slight to moderate aversion to babies, shawls, and the color purple, I had to admit, it was kinda cute. I had no earthly idea under what circumstances a baby needed a shawl, but I didn’t figure it was information I’d ever need, so no point in asking.

“It’s fantastic,” Ida Belle said. “Now can you put it down and watch the road?”

Gertie looked out the windshield and yanked the steering wheel to the right just in time to keep her car from launching over pink flamingos and into someone’s front lawn.

“Peaches will love it,” I said. “You’re sure she’s at home?”

Gertie nodded. “Yesterday evening, at the General Store, I heard Brandi Monroe say Peaches was watching her son, Barclay, this morning at eight-thirty for an hour so she could get her hair done.”

“Barclay?” I asked.

“Brandi fancies herself highfalutin,” Ida Belle said, “so she picked an English name.”

“Isn’t it Scottish?” I asked.

“Not according to Brandi,” Ida Belle said.

I checked my watch. Nine forty. Hopefully, Highfalutin Brandi and Barclay would be long gone by the time we got there. Baby shawls and chitchat were already outside my comfort zone. I didn’t want to add more pieces to the morning puzzle.

“What time are we relieving Marie?” I asked.

“Whenever we can get there,” Gertie said. “She doesn’t have an appointment or anything. She just wanted to get home for a shower and change of clothes and to get some things done around her house.”