Swamp Sniper (11 page)

“Thanks for the cookies,” he said as he opened the door and stepped past my friend Ally. “Evening, Ally.”

“Bye, Carter,” Ally said then gave me a questioning look. “I suppose it’s a good sign that you’re not in handcuffs?”

A mental picture of me naked and in handcuffs ran through my mind and I felt a blush creep up my neck. Instantly, I shut the completely inappropriate vision down and waved Ally inside.

She followed me back to the kitchen and took a seat at the table, studying me while I poured her a cup of coffee. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” she asked.

“No, he was here on police business and was about to leave anyway.”

She took a sip of coffee and narrowed her eyes at me. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing. It’s June in Louisiana. I’m hot.”

“Now you’re lying.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. He totally made a move on you!”

“No, he didn’t.” Although I was pretty sure he was going to make a move, he hadn’t actually gotten to. So technically, I wasn’t lying.

“Oh.” Ally’s expression fell a little. “Did you want him to?”

“No…I don’t…I can’t…” Crap. I had no idea how to finish those sentences.

She grinned. “You
did
want him to. Isn’t that a real ripper? Of all the men in the world you could find attractive, you pick Carter, the one man who’s always trying to stick you in a corner and make you behave.”

 
I shook my head. This conversation was out of control and going places I wasn’t ready to go. “I don’t find Deputy LeBlanc anything but annoying.”

“Now you’re lying again. Come on, Fortune. Every woman with a pulse thinks Carter’s hot. Unless you’re dead or blind, you can’t help but notice.”

“I never said he wasn’t hot. He’s just not my type.”

“Do tell? Tough, sexy, incredibly good-looking men with a solid job history and a strong moral code aren’t your type? I’m afraid to ask what is.”

I sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Hell no. Of all the things that have happened to you since you’ve arrived in Sinful—finding human bones, being accused of murder, almost being murdered yourself—this is the first time I’ve actually seen you uncomfortable. No way am I dropping this, so you may as well spill.”

I studied her for a moment, her expectant, gleeful expression staring impatiently back at me, and I couldn’t help but smile. This was what it felt like to have real friends. People who would back you up when you needed them but also had no compunction about picking apart your most intimate thoughts. In some ways, this was just as foreign to me as my erratic feelings about the enigmatic Carter LeBlanc.

“I can’t really tell you anything,” I said finally, “because I don’t have any answers.”

“Oh.” Ally frowned, apparently sensing that I was telling the truth. “You really don’t know if you like him?”

I shrugged. “I like him well enough when he’s not giving me shit, and I don’t really blame him for the times when he does give me shit because I’ve usually asked for it.”

“And?”

“And yes, he’s not hard on the eyes.”

“But?”

I threw my arms in the air. “But why does that have to mean anything?
You
like Carter
and
you think he’s hot, so why aren’t you trying to date him?”

She frowned. “Hmmm. That’s a valid question. I grew up with him, mostly with him looking out for me since I was younger and tended to get picked on. So I think I see him more as a big brother than a potential mate, but it doesn’t prevent me from seeing him that way with someone else.” She gave me a hopeful look.

“Well, I’m going to have to disappoint you. I’m only here for the summer. The last thing I need to do is get involved with someone.”

Ally’s shoulders slumped a bit. “I keep forgetting you don’t really live here. Or maybe I just don’t want to remember. I guess I was hoping…”

“I can’t stay, Ally. My life is somewhere else.”
As
someone else.

“And you love it?”

I paused for a moment, considering her question. Did I love my life in DC? Or was it simply all I’d ever known?

“It’s what I know,” I said finally. “It’s who I am.”

“You’re young, Fortune. You still have time to be anyone you want to be. I’m not trying to push you into something you don’t want to do, but you should think about it. Since you’ve been here, you’ve had a chance to see an entirely different life from your own. And maybe Sinful isn’t your place, either. But that doesn’t mean your old life is.”

I stared out the window at the bayou. The setting sun cast an orange glow over the surface of the outgoing tide. It looked so deceptively peaceful, especially compared to the hustle of DC.
 

But it was all a lie.

Sinful had more than its share of dark secrets, and it seemed they’d all chosen now to bubble up to the surface. I only hoped those buried secrets didn’t end up exposing my own.

Chapter Nine

“Where’s the popcorn?” Gertie called from the living room.

“You’re not eating that crap on my new rug!” Ida Belle yelled back from the kitchen.

I stood in the pantry clutching the bag of popcorn, not certain whether to head for the microwave or my Jeep. The two of them had been impossible since I’d walked through the door, and I was ready to shoot them both. The fact that we were a mere ten minutes into my senior babysitting adventures was a really, really bad sign.

“How are we supposed to watch a movie without popcorn?” Gertie yelled.

“If you’re going to eat popcorn, you have to stand in the hallway,” Ida Belle shouted back.

I stalked to the microwave, determined to restore peace if it was the last thing I ever did. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to move the rug? Because I have every intention of eating and drinking and I’m not going to stand in the hallway to do it. Nor am I going to sit at the kitchen table with you two squabbling as my only source of entertainment. Because I have to tell you, you’re not all that entertaining.”

Ida Belle stared at me. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“You did. And her. The two of you are like battery acid tonight. One more word and I’m going home. Carter can get someone else to babysit. If I wanted children, I’d give birth.”

“Touché. I suppose we’re both a little on edge.”

“Well get off the edge. Roll up the damned rug, pop this popcorn, grab us a couple of beers, and let’s get this show on the road. I am so tired of conflict, I’m ready to join a Zen cult.”

“I don’t think they’d approve of your chosen profession,” Ida Belle said. “Fine, we’ll roll up the damned rug and cart all manner of food and drink into the living room. What are we watching anyway?”

“I don’t know. Gertie picked.”

Ida Belle grabbed the bag of popcorn and shoved it in the microwave. “Probably another one of those horrible chick flicks.”

“For your information,” Gertie said as she strolled into the kitchen, “I rented
The Expendables
1 and 2.”

I held in a grin. “A bunch of old mercenaries getting involved in things they have no business doing. How appropriate.”

“You are really catching up on modern film,” Gertie said approvingly.

“The other night, I watched a Rambo series marathon.”

The microwave dinged and Gertie rushed over to remove the popcorn. She ripped into the bag, then dropped the entire thing into the bowl and ran to stick her fingers under cold water. Ida Belle shook her head, pulled the bag from the ends, and dumped the popcorn into the bowl.
 

“She’s never going to learn,” Ida Belle said as she walked past me and into the living room.

I grinned and grabbed three beers from the refrigerator before traipsing behind her. The opening credits had barely finished when the doorbell sounded. We all froze, then looked at one another, probably all afraid that whoever was outside brought more bad news.
 

Finally, Ida Belle got up and opened the door. “Damn it, Marie,” she said as she waved the other woman inside. “Why didn’t you call? We all thought you were Carter coming to arrest me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Marie said, clearly dismayed that she’d given us a scare. “But I needed to tell you something and that woman got me so flustered with her talk—tell her right away, don’t use a phone because they might be listening—I thought I’d have a heart attack on the way over here.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Ida Belle asked. “What woman? And sit down before you pass out.”

Marie dropped onto the couch, clutching her purse. “Babs Gaspard. That friend of Celia’s.”

“What in the world did Babs say that’s got you so upset?”

“It wasn’t what she said. It was all that spy stuff. Do you really think someone is always listening to our phone conversations, because I got into a fight with my cousin the other day and said some things about her I’d rather not be repeated, even though they were true.”

“Your cousin Shirley?” Gertie asked.

Marie nodded.

“That makes sense,” Gertie said. “Most everything said about Shirley is true.”

Ida Belle waved a hand at Gertie. “Forget about Shirley. And forget what that silly woman said. No one is listening to your phone conversations.”

“Are you sure?” Marie asked and looked over at me.

“I’m fairly certain,” I said. “It’s not as easy as one might think to get an order for a wiretap or to intercept a cellular signal.”

Marie’s eyes widened.

“At least, that’s what I’ve read,” I said, trying to cover my faux pas.

“Oh right,” Marie said, her expression clearing in understanding. “I bet you read a lot of different things while you’re working in the library.”

“You know it,” I said. “So what did Babs say that you needed to tell us?”

“She said there’s a man at Ted’s house. No one’s ever seen him before. He’s young, probably Paulette’s age, and showed up this evening.”

“Ted’s family?” I asked.

Marie shook her head. “Babs didn’t know. She just said Celia told her to get the information to me and to tell me to take it straight to Ida Belle.”

“Why in the world would Celia Arceneaux think I’d want to know about some strange man visiting Paulette?”

I sighed. “Because that’s Celia’s way of helping.”

Marie looked even more confused.

“Celia paid me a visit this afternoon,” I explained, “expressing her support of Ida Belle’s innocence—to remain anonymous, of course—and asked me to find the real murderer. I thought I’d convinced her that it would be dangerous for civilians to attempt to corner a killer, but apparently, stubbornness runs in the water supply around here.”

“Oh, I see,” Marie said, “and Celia didn’t want to talk to me directly, so she sent Babs instead. Like a secret messenger.”

“Some secret,” Ida Belle said. “Babs’s mouth flaps like sheets in a hurricane.”

Gertie sighed. “Impolite, but true.”

“So what else did Babs say?” I asked.

“That’s it,” Marie said.
 

“What do you mean, that’s it?” I asked. “That’s barely more than nothing at all. You know, if people are going to insist on playing Nancy Drew they should really make sure they have something worth sharing before they go all covert operation.”

“Maybe it’s not Ted’s family,” Gertie said. “Maybe it’s Paulette’s boyfriend.”

Marie’s eyes widened. “Paulette has a boyfriend?”

“We don’t know,” I said. “It’s just a theory that if Paulette spent her time in New Orleans fooling around with another man, that he might have gotten jealous and killed Ted.”

“Oh, that’s a good theory,” Marie said. “Except that it’s Paulette. Would a man really kill someone over Paulette?”

“Therein lies the rub,” I said. “And even if Paulette was having a torrid affair, I hardly think that man would show up at her front door the same day her husband was murdered. No one could be that stupid.”

“Well…” Ida Belle said. “But I happen to agree with you on this point. So I guess we need to find out who this man is.”

“Oh, Babs said Celia was going to handle that,” Marie said. “She’s going to bring Paulette a casserole tomorrow. She’ll pass the information on to Babs as soon as she’s done, then Babs will tell me, then I’ll call you first to let you know I’m coming, then come over here to tell you what she says.” Marie sighed. “Jeez, I’m tired just thinking about all of it.”

“Me too,” I said.

Marie jumped up from the couch. “Well, I guess I’ll let you ladies get back to whatever it is you were doing.”

“Watching a movie and eating,” Ida Belle said. “Why don’t you join us?”

“I can’t. I left a casserole baking and it was done about five minutes ago.” With that, she dashed out the door, slamming it behind her.
 

I shook my head. “Marie is far too nervous to make a good operative.”

“And she’ll burn her house down,” Gertie said.