miss fortune mystery (ff) - bloodshed in the bayou (5 page)

I didn’t really know how to react. “It’s, um, very nice.”

The six of us sat in silence for a moment. My nerves were twitching but Fortune and the elderly ladies seemed relaxed. How often did they work with these two? And what did ‘working’ mean?

“We will help you.” Little said, getting to his feet. Big stood up next to him and nodded. “No young lady should have so much tragedy in her life.”

The two men walked out of the room. I was stunned. What just happened here? The door behind us opened and I got to my feet as the other women with me did too. Manny escorted us back to our car and we got in without saying anything.

“There now, you see, Margaret? That wasn’t so bad.” Gertie patted my hand.

“Are you okay?” Fortune asked. She was sitting in the back seat with me.

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You look terrified! Poor thing!” Gertie said. She handed me a medicine bottle labeled ‘Cough Syrup.’ I knew what that was. The Sinful Ladies made some mighty fine moonshine. Normally, I would’ve refused (although I’d be lying if I said I’d never had it before). After a solid swig, I handed the bottle back.

“Thank you.” I said.

Gertie pushed it into my hands. “You keep it. You might need more before we’re done.”

I stuffed the bottle into my purse, wondering what Peggy Sue would do when I gave it back to her in the purse she’d loaned me. No self-respecting Catholic saint would be caught dead with Baptist distilled ‘shine.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

“We wait.” Fortune said. “At some point, Big and Little will send a courier with an envelope that tells us what we want to know.”

“What do we want to know?” I asked.

“Who wanted your father dead,” Ida Belle spoke up. “Or better still, who killed him.”

I stared out the window and thought about that. I was really doing it – Peggy Sue’s bidding! She told me to investigate the murder and now I was.

“So we just wait for word back from those…men?” I asked.

“Oh no, dear.” Gertie said. “We need to talk to your mother. Check out the site where Walter found the body. That kind of thing.”

“But I did that.” I protested. “And I found nothing. Mom isn’t lucid most of the time. She’ll be a dead end also.”

The car pulled into my driveway and stopped. Ida Belle turned around to look at me.

“Have a little faith, Margaret.” She said. “Gertie and I will take your mother some pecan pralines tomorrow. Fortune will talk to Deputy LeBlanc.”

I got out of the car. “What about me?” I asked through the open window.

Ida Belle smiled. “You are going to take a couple days off of work for mourning. And tomorrow you need to go through anything your mother had about your father that might help us.”

I shook my head. “Mom only had that one picture.”

“No,” Ida said. “She had more. You just need to know where to look.” And with a wink, the woman threw the car in reverse and drove away.

Chapter 7

The next morning, I called the office and told them I was taking my bereavement days. I hung up thinking what a strange word that was. Bereavement. I guess technically, with my father dead, I was bereaved. Huh. I didn’t feel sad. That seemed weird too. After all, he was my dad. Well, he’d contributed half of my DNA, at least. It didn’t seem right to feel nothing.

No, that wasn’t quite true. I did feel something. I felt sad for my mother. Scared for her, actually now that she was facing arrest. And I felt bad for Peggy Sue and the kids. But I didn’t feel bad for me. Maybe I should see a therapist once this was over. That seemed like a good idea and it felt like I was doing something just by making the decision. I could worry about my lack of emotions later.

After a bowl of cereal and a quick shower, I threw on shorts and a t-shirt and walked around the house. Ida Belle had been convinced Mom had a stash of stuff about Hugo somewhere. And she’d said it with enough confidence, that I believed it. Which was strange because my whole life I’d thought there was only that one photo.

Well, I was off for a few days and there was nothing else for me to do. My house had been Mom’s. It was the house we’d grown up in and I’d always loved it. A little, two-story bungalow. I kept it clean, and took care of the garden. I was happy here. It was like my own little shell. Like I was some bizarre human turtle.

Except now, there was this irritating sense of worry. The idea that Mom had something hidden in our house this whole time, about Dad, really started to bother me. It made me anxious. Panicky.  Maybe I was more like an oyster with a grain of sand.

Where does one start looking for something they never knew existed in a place they’d always lived? It felt like a riddle where the answer made me out to be a joke. Okay, let’s take this practically. The downstairs consisted of a kitchen, living room and dining room. The kitchen seemed like a safe bet. Mom had liked to cook. Could whatever Ida Belle was referring to be in there?

I started with the cupboards, opening each one, feeling around inside for hidden panels or false backs like a Nancy Drew whose father kept asking when she was going to get a real job. In other words, I felt a little idiotic. Using a chair, I checked from the top, down. Every drawer was pulled out, emptied and searched.

Nothing. There were no secret hiding places. I checked between and under the appliances but unless whatever I was looking for was made of menacing-looking dust bunnies, I found zilch. I moved the kitchen table and checked beneath the old rag rug. Not so much as a post-it note. Crawling around under the table and looking under the seats of the chairs was useless too.

I continued this way into the dining and living rooms. At one point I got excited finding a packet taped to the back of the china cabinet, but it was just appliance warrantees. A few hours later, I broke for lunch, inhaling a club sandwich and some sweet tea before standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up.

Only three rooms were left, the bathroom, my bedroom and Mom’s room. As I mounted the stairs, I checked behind each picture lining the wall that led upstairs. The photos of my sister and me in a progression of ages grinned back at me. Why had I kept them? From kindergarten to senior year, my sister and I’d had our picture taken together every summer. It was a ritual we’d hated as kids that I appreciated now.

Maybe that’s why I’d never taken them down. The pictures were a reminder that we’d had a pretty good life here with just Mom. The little girls in the photos were laughing and hugging like best friends. And we had been, back then.

Before Mom went nuts when we were in college, I’d had only happy memories of our lives in this house. In fact, there weren’t many moments when we’d even thought about the father who’d left.

Mom never said anything about him.

Wait. That wasn’t right. She had said something once. I looked at the picture of Peggy Sue and me when we were about fifteen. That was when things started to change a little between us. My sister became more girly, interested in boys and clothes. I, on the other hand, spent more and more time outside, running around the woods and swamps. Dreaming of when I’d be done with school and could be outside all the time.

Something around that time…Mom had said…what was it she’d said? Something about us being different from each other. Something about Dad. I closed my eyes as if that would help. It didn’t. I stared at the next photo, the one taken when we were sixteen – when we’d started to look different. Peggy Sue wore makeup, paid a lot of attention to her hair and the way she dressed, while I stood beside her with messy hair, no makeup, wearing a sweatshirt.

People noticed and realized they could finally tell us apart. Most of the time, everyone paid more attention to Peggy Sue, who positively glowed under the attention. I spent most of my time avoiding people with my nose in a book or running around the bayou.

Mom had said that we…ARG! It was right there, but I couldn’t get hold of it. A vital clue was screaming in my head to be recognized, but I couldn’t grab it. I looked at the photo from our senior year in high school. At this point, we didn’t look like each other anymore. Peggy Sue had bleached her hair that year and wore it in long, bouncy curls.

My hair was dirty blonde and short, and I wore horned rimmed glasses. Even our eyes were different because Peggy Sue was trying out green contact lenses. She wore a pretty, red silk blouse and a pearl choker with matching earrings. They’d been Mom’s, I think. I couldn’t remember.

Peggy gave the camera a huge, toothy smile. She looked like she was ready to take on the world. I, on the other hand, gave a small grin, and wore a simple, black t-shirt. No jewelry. No makeup. The photo gave the impression that I was shy. But I wasn’t. It looked like I was lost in my glamourous sister’s shadow. But that wasn’t true. I was really happy. The two of us had just become different people.

With a sigh, I continued up the stairs, facing the bathroom. I’d start with that first. Maybe I’d get lucky.

The white, claw foot tub beckoned, and I was so tempted to get in and let hot water and bubbles soothe all this away. Instead I felt the underside of the tub and behind it and then checked inside the back of the toilet and the mirrored cabinet. I pulled out every towel from the linen closet and inspected every inch. I still was empty handed.

Only two places were left. Mom’s room and mine. If there was anything, it had to be in there. I hadn’t changed anything since she’d moved. On the holidays she used to come stay with me and we’d go over to Peggy Sue’s on Christmas Day and Easter Sunday.

From the doorway, it looked like she’d never left. I’d kept the furnishings just the way she’d liked it. One time, I painted the walls blue, instead of the peach color she’d had, and at Easter that year she’d screamed holy murder. I’d painted it back before Mother’s Day. That was in the days when she was well enough to stay with me for a weekend. This past year though, we’d only been able to do day visits. I should probably think about changing the room into an office or something.

I looked around, searching for the best hiding place. There were too many. Mom had two dressers, a nightstand, drawers under the bed and a fairly large closet. This was going to take a while.

I sat down on the bed. The afternoon shadows were growing longer. My body slid down until I was lying on the bed. A nap sounded really good. I closed my eyes. Maybe after a nap, I would be able to remember what it was Mom had said.

My eyes fluttered open. It was dark. What woke me up? And what time was it? I stretched.

Thunk.

My body froze and the hairs on my arms rose straight up.

Scrape.

Someone was sliding a drawer shut in the bureau not three feet away. Someone who didn’t know I was here. Was this a break in? Why would anyone break into my house? Peggy Sue had more stuff!

The surprise was replaced with fear. Any second now, whoever was in here would find me, and…and then what?

I strained to listen to any sound that would tell me what was going on. But it was silent. There was a strong smell of motor oil, which seemed weird.  The person wasn’t making noise anymore. Damn. Whoever it was must’ve heard me breathing or something. I thought about the layout of the room and dove off the bed for the nightstand. My fingers fumbled but eventually found the lamp’s switch, flooding the room with dim light. Just in time for me to see the back of a man, running out of the room.

What should I do? Should I follow him? I wasn’t equipped to deal with that, because my service weapon was downstairs. Would he leave or would he come back and attack me?

The house was quiet as I got to my feet and walked carefully to the doorway. Old floorboards creaked beneath my feet, causing me to wince. The pounding of my heart had to be loud enough to make the walls vibrate.

Very slowly, I peeked around the door frame. The hallway was empty. Were they in my room across the hall? I couldn’t see.

SLAM!

The front door banged and I ran to the window. Looking out, I saw a dark figure slip into the woods and disappear. Adrenaline finally surged in my veins and I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the front door and locked it. It took only a minute to close all the curtains and check the kitchen door. Then I found my cell and called Deputy LeBlanc.

“And you didn’t see who it was?” Deputy Carter LeBlanc asked me half an hour later. In spite of the heat, I was shivering beneath a wool blanket. The deputy had searched the house when he’d arrived, working his way from the ground floor up. I felt safer, but my adrenaline had crashed and I was shaking.  At work I’d faced down poachers and alligators without much trauma, but there was something about someone breaking into my home in the middle of the night that just creeped me out.

“No. It looked like a man…but I couldn’t really tell. It was so dark, you know?” I asked. “I’m sorry I can’t remember more.”

LeBlanc shook his head. “It’s alright. I’ll take some fingerprints off the drawers. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Peggy Sue burst in the front door looking like she just arrived at a country club dinner instead of jumping out of bed. “Oh my God, Margaret!” She ran over to me and gave me an awkward hug to avoid putting a wrinkle in her linen dress. “An intruder! I can’t believe it!”

I nodded. I was having a hard time believing it too. And that Peggy Sue would come to check on me – that was a shock. Nice, but a shock. I mean, I’d called her to tell her I was alright (news travels fast in Sinful and I wanted her to hear it from me first), but I certainly didn’t expect her to come over.

“Here.” She dangled the biggest hand gun I’d ever seen. “You should take this. In case he comes back!”

Deputy Carter blanched, gingerly taking the gun from my sister. “I hope you have a license for that, Peggy Sue.” He switched the safety on because, of course, it was loaded and ready to go.

“Whatever.” Peggy Sue waved him off. “That gun has been in Huntington’s family for years. I’m sure there’s paperwork on it somewhere.”