Louisiana Longshot (A Miss Fortune Mystery, Book 1) (21 page)

Whatever she was up to, apparently Marge felt it necessary to keep her collection under wraps. I couldn’t imagine something like this remaining a secret for long if someone among the general Sinful populace knew about it. And if it hadn’t been a secret, Deputy LeBlanc would definitely have removed all the guns from the house after she died.
 

I smiled as I walked back to my bedroom with a handful of hangers, the pistol tucked nicely at my waist. I heard a boat cruising down the bayou behind the house and two birds land on a tree outside—all without casting a glance out a window. Amazing how one good pistol made all the difference in a person. I was starting to feel normal again.

What Deputy LeBlanc didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Chapter Sixteen

After ironing all the uniforms, I spent a good chunk of the afternoon drooling over Marge’s weapon collection and then took a nice, long nap before slumping onto the couch and cruising through hours of bad television. No one called, banged on the door, or dug up bones in my yard, and I was really starting to long for some excitement.

I almost wept with relief when my cell phone rang at nine p.m., and I saw Gertie’s name on the display.

“I got a line on Melvin,” Gertie said. “We’ll pick you up in five.”

She hung up before I could do anything rational like ask where we were going, or even smarter, refuse to go.

I jumped up from the couch and ran upstairs for my shoes. Who was I kidding? Like it or not, the situation intrigued me, and at the moment, I was more afraid of being bored to death than discovered by a Middle Eastern hit squad. Besides, it would give me great pleasure to find Marie before Deputy LeBlanc and come up with a viable alternative to Harvey’s murderer.

As I came down the stairs and back into the living room, I saw headlights flash across the front window and heard a car pull into the drive. I knew immediately that the low purr was not Gertie’s ancient Cadillac. I stepped outside and stopped short at the sight of the black, sexy Corvette idling in my driveway.

The passenger window went down and Gertie waved her arm at me. “Hurry up, already.”

I locked the door and hurried over as Gertie climbed out and motioned me into the car. I stuck one foot inside the car and twisted my body into a pretzel, then glided onto the center console and partially unraveled. Gertie simply turned with her butt over the passenger’s seat and dropped.

Ida Belle frowned. “You need to work out. Your knees wouldn’t be in such bad shape if you’d exercise a bit.”

“My knees wouldn’t need to exercise if you’d get a car suitable for a woman your age. Damn thing sits nearly on the ground.”

“This car is smoking hot,” I said. “I would never have figured you for a Corvette woman.”

“There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Ida Belle said, “but I’m about to tell you a couple of them. First off, this is my garage car, meaning I don’t take it out very often, and I let people ride in it even less often than that. I have a truck I use for everyday stuff, but it’s in the shop at the moment since I made the mistake of letting
someone
borrow it.”

Gertie pretended to study her seat belt.

Ida Belle continued. “And since Gertie turned her Cadillac into a swimming pool and now it stinks to high heaven, I had no choice but to use my baby as this is an emergency.”

She turned and pointed her finger at me, then Gertie, glaring at both of us. “But if either of you so much as puts a scratch or dent on this car, I will shoot you and leave the body for the gators.”

I nodded and wisely kept my mouth shut. As I’d recently been made aware of Ida Belle’s shooting acumen, I figured it was best to treat the car like fine china.

Gertie nodded, but as soon as Ida Belle turned around, she looked back at me and rolled her eyes.
 

“So, I take it you heard from Myrtle?” I asked, as Ida Belle pulled out of the driveway and drove toward Main Street.

“Yep,” Gertie said. “She gave us the names of Melvin’s cellmates while he was inside. He had three different ones, but two were still there with him when Harvey disappeared.”

“And the third?”

“Killed in a car wreck the day after he was paroled.”

“And I take it that Harvey was still alive and kicking then?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Another dead end. I glanced out the window and realized we’d driven right through downtown Sinful and were now on a lonely stretch of highway in the middle of the marsh. “So, then, where are we going?”

“Ida Belle figured that since Melvin showed up to serve you papers,” Gertie said, “he was itching to get his hands on the money. He must have had everything ready to go if Harvey’s body was discovered. No way Melvin got anything done that fast or without help. He’s just not that smart.”

Ida Belle nodded. “So I figured if we could find him associating with some nefarious character that was available to kill Harvey back then, we’d have our suspect.”

I groaned. “Please don’t tell me we’re on our way to some place with an abundance of nefarious characters.”

Gertie clapped her hands. “We’re going to the Swamp Bar. I’ve never been.”

Oh no.
“The place where you sent Deputy LeBlanc running off to yesterday?”

“One and the same.” Gertie gave me an approving look. “I’m glad you wore black. I didn’t think to mention it.”

“They have a dress code?”

“No. We can’t actually go
in
the bar. Too many of the regulars don’t like Ida Belle.”

“Should I even ask why?”

Ida Belle shrugged. “It’s just some nonsense over the shooting competition at the annual fair.”

Gertie nodded. “The nonsense part being that Ida Belle whups their butts every year.”

“Of course she does,” I muttered. “So, if we can’t go inside, what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to park at the end of the parking lot, where it’s easiest to make a getaway, and then peek in the windows.” Gertie almost squealed. “And I can get some pictures with my phone. Those phone pictures have been right handy.”

“This is exciting to you?” I asked. “Sneaking around in a swamp to spy on nefarious characters? I’ve got to tell you, I tried that whole sneaking around thing in the suburbs, and it didn’t work out so well, especially for Deputy LeBlanc’s hamburgers. I’m pretty sure sneaking in the swamp is an even worse idea.”

“You worry a lot, dear,” Gertie said. “It’s really not good for your health.”

I sighed. Of all the things I’d done in my life, worrying was the least of the things I’d done to affect my health.

“The most important thing to remember,” Ida Belle said, “is to remove your shoes before getting back in the car. I’ve tucked some trash bags in the trunk.”

Unbelievable.
With everything they had planned, Ida Belle’s biggest worry was getting the car dirty. I was more concerned that something besides our shoes would get shoved into those trash bags and thrown in the trunk at the end of the night.

My unrest increased tenfold as Ida Belle turned off the paved highway and onto a road comprised entirely of dirt and shells that seemed to lead directly into the heart of the swamp. She decreased her speed to barely above an idle, and I could hear the shells crunching under the tires. I hoped to God that if we ran into trouble, Ida Belle cared more about saving our butts than saving her paint job.

The further we progressed, the narrower the road became, or maybe it was just that the brush got thicker and closer to the road. Either way, combined with the pitch-black sky and complete lack of light except for the headlights of the car, it gave me a feeling of claustrophobia and being lost in a vast desert all at the same time. Normally, such things wouldn’t bother me. I’d dismiss feelings as counterproductive to the mission and move on, but ever since I’d arrived in Louisiana, I’d felt off balance. Oddly enough, foreign countries felt more familiar than this stretch of the U.S.
 

Finally, I saw a tiny flicker of light in the middle of the black. As we drew closer, the faint lines of the large building came into view. It was comprised of weathered wood—rotted in places—and a tin roof with holes rusted through it. I completely understood Francine’s sentiment about decent women not coming out here for a drink. I wouldn’t walk in the place unless I had two guns pulled and an up-to-date tetanus shot.

Ida Belle backed her car into a stretch of dirt at the far end of the open space that served as a parking lot. A truck with giant wheels blocked it completely from view of anyone in the bar—anyone that could see in the dark, that is.

I unfolded myself out of the car and looked at my two partners in crime. “Well?”

“We thought you’d need a moment for the blood flow to return to your legs,” Gertie explained. She looked over at Ida Belle. “She’s in really good shape.”

Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “Let’s get this done. It’s going to take me the rest of the night to get those bugs off my paint job, and I still have to roll my hair.”

“There’s Melvin’s truck,” I said, pointing to the rust bucket I’d seen him peel away from my house in.

“Good,” Ida Belle said. “Then this isn’t a waste of time.”

I didn’t bother to respond. The jury was still
way
out on that one.

We started across the open patch toward the building, and I immediately saw a problem. “Where are the windows?”
 

I had a clear view of the front and one side of the building. The side with the door in the center had a porch light, but there wasn’t a window in sight, and no glow emitted out of the walls.

“Too much glass in a place like this is dangerous,” Ida Belle explained. “There’re window openings on the bayou side that they cover with plywood when they close the bar.”

Nice.
“Seems a lot of effort. What time do they close?”

“I think the last time was in 1982.”

“Uh-huh. What about during Katrina?”

“No way! It was dollar-beer night.”

I knew I was going to regret it, but I couldn’t help but ask. “So, what
did
manage to close the bar?”

“AC/DC was performing in New Orleans. The brothers that own the bar are huge fans, and neither would agree to stay behind and keep the bar open. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem as their father would have filled in, but he was in jail at the time for shooting one of the patrons.”

Yep. I regretted it.

“Is Father Shooter still around?”

“Yeah, he’s the bouncer, but his vision’s going, so it’s unlikely he’d hit you if he got off a shot.”

“Unlikely” didn’t seem all that great of odds, but this was my penance for not asking for specifics before getting into Ida Belle’s car. If I managed to get through this unscathed, I was going to start requiring them to complete a detailed description of the mission—in writing—before I agreed to anything else.
 

“All segues into eighties rock bands and murder two aside, how exactly are we supposed to peek inside the bar if the only windows are over the bayou?”

“We’re going to steal a boat, of course,” Gertie said.

“Of course we are,” I grumbled. I don’t know why I’d asked. It should have been so obvious. “And if someone sees us?”

“Oh, wait!” Gertie reached into her enormous handbag and pulled out three black ski masks. “This will hide our identities.”

I didn’t bother to point out that the options for three people—two old, one young—who would steal a boat at the Swamp Bar to spy on someone, wouldn’t be that hard to pick out of the Sinful population. I pulled on the ski mask. What the hell.
 

I looked over at Ida Belle and Gertie and winced. Black ski masks, black sweats, and black turtlenecks were definitely not the happening thing for senior citizens. Ida Belle pointed to the left and started walking. I followed the two thieving seniors to the pier and stared into the dim glow cast by the pier light, studying our options. All of them looked like they were five seconds away from following the Titanic down, and I’d be willing to bet none of them had Leonardo DiCaprio, or anyone remotely resembling him, on board.

“The one on the end is best,” Ida Belle said. “It will be quieter and easier.”

Both good things when you’re stealing, I supposed.

“Okay,” Ida Belle instructed, “you guys take the boat around. I’m going to circle the bar and keep watch from the bank on the back side.”

“You’re leaving me alone with Gertie in the boat?” I asked. “What glasses is she wearing?”

“She’s only got to go ten feet.
That
she can manage. But just in case, do you want the person with the only set of car keys on board with you?”

I sighed and stepped into the boat as Ida Belle disappeared into the darkness. Gertie stepped in and stopped to pick up a long pole from the bottom of the boat. She handed it to me, then grabbed an oar and went to the back of the boat.

“Stick the pole in the water and use it to push the boat,” she said. “I don’t want to risk using the motor.”

Because I agreed with her one hundred percent on that risk, I stuck the pole in the slimy mud at the bottom of the bayou and got to pushing. As we inched up to the side of the bar, I realized that quite literally half of it was perched on giant stilts right over the water. Waves of cigarette smoke billowed out the openings that served as windows, and I could already feel my lungs constricting. Loud country music blared from a jukebox, and I could hear the sounds of at least one fight.