Louisiana Longshot (A Miss Fortune Mystery, Book 1) (5 page)

As quietly as possible, I traversed the lawn, careful not to step into the bayou water and create a splash. A dark cloud passed over the moon, reducing visibility to almost nothing, and I paused for a moment, hoping the tiny bit of light returned soon. A couple of seconds later, the dim glow of moonlight slid over the water, and I located two humps about two feet from the bank. As the moonlight passed over them, I caught a flash of the white of the eyes before the shadows took over again.

I positioned myself directly in front of the humps and lifted the shovel above my head. But as I began my downward pummel, a hand reached out of the hedges and grabbed the shovel, stopping my swing. An arm hooked around my waist and yanked me a good five feet away from the water before releasing me.

“Coming back to bury the rest of the body?” a deep voice asked.

I let out a sigh.
Deputy Charming.

And I was standing in the middle of a potential crime scene, at midnight, trying to regain possession of a shovel. Even with forensics on my side, this had to look a bit suspicious.

“Actually, I was going to kill that frog so I could get some sleep. Do you guys give them amplifiers or something?”

“That’s no frog.”

“I may not be from here, but I think I know a frog croaking when I hear it.”

“Ah, it’s a frog making all the noise, but that’s not what you were about to hit.” He released his grip on the shovel, flipped on a flashlight and shined it on my target. It was two humps of eyes all right, connected to a mouthful of teeth and a long body and tail.
 

The alligator, apparently resenting the spotlight treatment, spun around in the water faster than I would have thought possible given the length of the creature and disappeared beneath the murky surface.

“Well,” I said, not about to let him catch on to the panic that coursed through me at my near miss, “maybe I’ll luck out and he’ll eat the frog.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got some attitude, lady. I’ll give you that.”

Suddenly, it occurred to me that I was standing next to a stream of killer-creature-infested water, in the middle of the night, barefoot and wearing my pajamas, a pink, fluffy garment that Harrison had picked out to match the luggage. But that wasn’t the part that interested me. I knew why I was there, but why was Deputy Charming there?

“So, you mind telling me exactly what you were doing hiding in the bushes?” I asked.

“Bird watching.”

“Bull. You think that person was murdered and someone might come here looking for more pieces.”

“I thought it might be interesting to see if anyone turned up here after word about the bone spread around town.”

“How can you be so sure it has?”

He laughed. “The Sinful Ladies met tonight at seven. Likely, the entire town knew by eight.”

“Uh-huh, and does that nice bunch of little old ladies know you’re using them to flush out the guilty party?”

“Ha. Nice bunch of little old ladies. That’s a good one.” He turned his flashlight across the back lawn toward the street. “Well, since you’ve likely scared away any of the guilty or the innocent, stalking around in your pajamas and brandishing a shovel, I guess I’ll head home.”

I stared at his retreating figure as he crossed the yard and disappeared around the front of the house. I had no earthly idea what brand of crazy was being sold in this town, but I was going to make every effort to stay away from it.
 

Right now, I was going to go back to bed, sleep in until I couldn’t sleep any more, and wake up tomorrow pretending this day had never happened. I clutched the shovel with one hand and covered my yawn with the other, my body itching to crawl back on that fabulous mattress.

Croak.

# # #

I awakened the next morning to a repetitive dull thud coming from downstairs. I pulled the cotton balls out of my ears and realized someone was banging on the front door.
 

At eight a.m.
 

On a Sunday.

Whoever was assaulting that door was lucky I hadn’t been able to travel with my guns, or brought the shovel into the house last night, but that wouldn’t stop me from improvising. If they didn’t go away quickly, I could probably find something to work with in the kitchen.

I forced myself out of bed, trudged downstairs, and flung open the front door. A startled Gertie stumbled backward, and I grabbed her just in time to keep her from plummeting backward off the porch.

“Should I even ask what you’re doing here this early?” I asked as I stepped back into the house and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be fast or easy.

“Well, it’s Sunday, of course,” Gertie said as she trailed behind me. “You’re probably just disoriented from the trip and all the excitement yesterday and forgot.”

I filled the coffeepot with grounds and water and pressed the switch. “Sunday? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Gertie’s eyes widened. “Sunday’s church day, of course. I know some people think just any old day will do, but ‘progressive’ isn’t appreciated much in southern Louisiana. Unless you’re a heathen, you go to church on Sunday.”

I opened my mouth to say I was absolutely a heathen and had no desire to attend church, here or anywhere else, but Gertie was on a roll and getting more animated by the second.

“Word of your arrival has spread through town,” she continued, “so I knew I had to get over here early before the Catholics got to you.”

“Sounds ominous.” I poured a cup of coffee and put it in front of Gertie, then poured another for myself. “What exactly do these Catholics do if they ‘get to you?’”

“Invite you to their church, of course.”

“And that would be bad?”

“It would for me. I’m Baptist. Why, the last time I failed to get to a visitor first and get them into Sinful Baptist, the whole congregation prayed for me every night for a week—out loud. Sinful Catholic sent me a thank-you card. I don’t need that kind of embarrassment again.”

I cringed. A whole week of praying out loud. No wonder she was desperate. “I guess it won’t kill me to attend, but do they really start this early?”

“Service starts at nine. Used to be eleven, but everything’s changed since The Banana Pudding War.”

“Was that anything like the Civil War?”

“Oh, much worse,” Gertie said, completely serious. “You see, no businesses are open in Sinful on Sundays, because it’s a sin to work on the Lord’s day and all. But Francine makes the best banana pudding in the parish, so Pastor Don and Father Michael agreed to give Francine’s Café special dispensation to be open on Sundays without her having to go to hell.”

“So the woman spends her entire Sunday cooking for everyone in town, and all she gets for it is a reprieve from hell? It sounds like she got shortchanged.”

Gertie nodded. “You and I agree on that one. Anyway, Francine only has refrigeration for so much food, so she’s limited on how much banana pudding she can make.”

“Let me guess—there’s not enough for everyone in town.”

“Nope. Both churches used to start at eleven and run ’til noon, but the Catholics decided to start at ten thirty so they could get out early and ensure their banana pudding. Pastor Don retaliated by starting church at ten, and it went on that way until Mayor Fontleroy made it illegal to start church before nine o’clock or end before ten.”

“I’m beginning to understand why this town is called Sinful. Everything is illegal.”

“It sometimes seems that way. So you go get dressed, dear. I brought an extra purse big enough to carry your tennis shoes. We’ll change during the benediction so that we can sprint to Francine’s as soon as Pastor Don says ‘amen.’”

“Sounds like a plan.”
 

I didn’t have anything to do anyway. Besides, if the banana pudding was worth waging a war and giving someone a free pass on hell, it might be worth checking out. There was also the added bonus of seeing Gertie sprint. Besides, Morrow had told me to blend in with the natives. Apparently, skipping church would draw more attention than my pink luggage.

Even given all the variables, the day had to be less complicated than the one before.

I downed the rest of my coffee and hurried upstairs to find something suitable for God and running. The coolest, thinnest fabric I could find in my assortment of girly wear was a turquoise cotton dress with no sleeves and a skirt that sorta branched out. I figured that would allow air to pass as well as provide plenty of leg room for sprinting, although I doubted the actual need given the apparent median age of the town.

Despite the fact that I was lean and not overly endowed, I tossed on a bra, figuring I’d burst into flames if I walked into church without one. Underwear was a given as you never knew when you might have to go into a fast drop and roll. Flashing people on Main Street was illegal most everywhere. In Sinful, it might get you the death penalty.

I hopped into the bathroom, filled my hands with cold water and splashed it on my face. That was normally the extent of my morning routine, but before I could turn and dash out, I remembered that I was supposed to be acting like a girl. I sighed and walked back into the bedroom to retrieve the bag of makeup I’d left on the desk the night before when I’d unpacked.
 

As I started to walk back into the bathroom, I saw a woman in the bathroom mirror.
 

My hand swept to my hip, reaching for the weapon that wasn’t there, and a second later, I realized how fortunate that was. The woman in the mirror was me.

I stepped in front of the mirror and turned my head from side to side, watching the long blond extensions bounce across my shoulders. The high, narrow cheekbones that had made me look gaunt with a shaved head now looked exotic. The turquoise dress seemed to make my matching eyes glow, especially with the mass of blond framing it. Good Lord. I was actually pretty.

Like Mom.

The thought ripped through me before I could stop it. I dropped the makeup bag on the floor and clutched the bathroom counter with both hands, staring down at the sink. I hadn’t thought about her in years - hadn’t allowed myself to. Memories of my mother were the one thing that crippled me, and weakness in my line of work could get you killed.

But I’m not working right now.

That was true, but it didn’t mean I shouldn’t be on alert. I took a deep breath and shook my head, trying to clear the warring arguments. Gertie was waiting downstairs to take me to church. Thoughts about my mom always led to thoughts of my father. And those thoughts had no place in a church.
 

I picked the makeup bag up from the floor and pulled out a pale pink lipstick, grabbed my tennis shoes, then hurried out of the room, applying the lipstick as I walked. That was as good as it was getting. I couldn’t look at that face—my mother’s face—any longer.
 

“Sleeveless dresses aren’t illegal in church, are they?” I asked Gertie as I stepped into the kitchen.

“Heavens, no. We’re devout, but we’re not barbarians. The humidity here is nothing to sneeze at.”

Gertie handed me an enormous tapestry handbag that looked a lot like her own and I dropped tennis shoes and Tic Tacs inside. “Do I need anything else?”

“Looks good to me. If you’re ready, let’s get going. I want to make sure we get the back pew.”

I nodded and followed Gertie outside. I glanced around, but didn’t see a vehicle. “We’re walking?”

“I had a bit of a fender bender,” Gertie said. “Wasn’t my fault, of course. It was a really stupid place to put a stop sign.”

“Ah,” I said, figuring I was better off without the details.

“Anyway, I’m supposed to get my car back this week.” Gertie looked over at me. “Marge has a Jeep, you know.”

“Really? That’s great. I didn’t know if I’d have a vehicle while I was here.”

Gertie nodded. “The battery’s dead because it hasn’t been used, but Walter, who owns the general store, ordered one for it last week.”

“Cool.”

Since Marge’s house was only two blocks from Main Street, it didn’t take long to arrive at church. I was amused to see that both churches sat on opposite sides of Main Street facing each other—like a religious standoff. I looked down the street and saw the sign for Francine’s midway down the block and on the same side as the Catholics.
 

“They have a bit of a lead,” I said, “especially if we have to dodge traffic.”

“It’s illegal to drive on Main Street when church is letting out.”

 
I rolled my eyes. “Of course it is.”

“And horses aren’t allowed at all on Sunday, due to the, er…mess. There was the incident with the mayor’s wife and a pair of fancy shoes she’d had shipped all the way from France.”

I nodded. The sheriff’s horse had taken care of business in my backyard the night before. You could lose an entire combat boot in that pile.
 

Suddenly, I stiffened.

I felt the woman’s gaze upon me before I located her, staring at me from across the block. She was probably Gertie’s age, had silver hair, and wore a tan pants suit.