Fortune Hunter

by Jana DeLeon

  “Why did he lie?” Gertie asked.

  “More importantly,” I said, “what is he really doing?”

  Gertie bit her lower lip. “I don’t like this at all. Peaches is such a nice girl—a girl with manners and class. If Brandon is up to no good…”

  “Whatever he’s doing is making money,” I said, “and since he’s lying to his wife, I’m going to have to vote for the ‘up to no good’ option.”

  “I have to agree,” Ida Belle said. “Well, one thing at a time. Let’s worry about Brandon when this situation with Gail and the catfish is resolved.”

  She put the car into gear and headed back down the road. Gertie cast a worried glance at me before turning around. I didn’t blame her. I was worried as well. Peaches was a nice girl. She didn’t deserve the kind of problems Brandon might bring down on them.

  A minute later, we turned onto an even narrower road and after a half mile or so, pulled up in front of a tiny, run-down house that was completely surrounded by cypress trees.

  “I suppose if the walls of the house ever come loose,” I said, “the trees will hold them in place. It’s like the creepy cousin of the Keebler factory.”

  “Her son tried to get her to move into an apartment in New Orleans,” Gertie said, “but he could never get her to leave.”

  “So he just stopped trying?” I asked.

  “Sort of,” Gertie said. “He died.”

  “I suppose that gets him a pass,” I said.

  “I’ll just run this in so we don’t all get tied up in there,” Gertie said.

  “Good,” Ida Belle said, looking relieved.

  Gertie climbed out and limped up the stairs and onto the porch. She knocked on the door and someone must have yelled, because a couple seconds later, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

  “That woman makes me crazy,” Ida Belle said.

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “Ha! Both of them, but Mary Esther is the worst. She does nothing but complain. It’s too hot or too cold or the wind’s blowing too much or not enough. That’s probably why God’s let her live this long. He doesn’t want to hear about all the mistakes he made when building heaven.”

  I smiled, then remembered Brandon and the smile faded. “What could Brandon be doing out in the swamp that makes money?”

  “Poaching is the most likely answer. He has a cover on the bed of his truck, so he could have anything in the back of it.”

  “I always thought most people poached for their own benefit—I mean, to stock their own refrigerator.”

  “I’d say the majority do,” Ida Belle said, “but there’s a black market for things like alligator, dove, and deer. Some of the butcher shops are less than ethical about things. Not the one in Sinful, mind you. Shorty’s always been aboveboard, but others are less particular about things like the law, especially when it comes to extra dollars in their pocket.”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell?”

  “Yep. If the police question them, they say they had the meat in the freezer from last season and are bringing out a little at a time so they don’t run out completely.”

  “And without a search warrant, the police can’t look at their freezers and see what’s actually there.”

  “You got it.”

  “Do you really think that’s it?” I asked. Poaching was illegal and very uncool, but in the list of things Brandon could be doing, it was one of the lesser offenses. Other locals hiding out in the swamp had been running drugs, brewing up crystal meth, and arms dealing. A little poaching would probably only get Brandon a slap on the hand if he got caught. A little crystal meth brewing would get him serious time.

  The front door popped open and Gertie hobbled back out to the car. “I had to tell her I hurt my ankle and you’re taking me to the hospital,” she said. “Otherwise, I would never have gotten out of there.”

  “We should be taking you to the hospital,” Ida Belle said.

  “Stop your grousing. Fortune can take a look when we get to her house,” Gertie said. “If she thinks I need to see a doctor, then I will.”

  Ida Belle seemed satisfied with that and we headed back to Sinful. Ten minutes later, we pulled into my driveway. As soon as we got inside, I pointed to the recliner and told Gertie to sit, then I opened the shades on the front windows, allowing evening sun to flood the room with light. I raised the footrest on the recliner and proceeded to unwrap the dishrag from Gertie’s ankle.

  It was already swollen and purple, but not as bad as I’d been expecting. I touched the side with one finger. “Does that hurt?” I asked.

  “Some, but not too bad,” Gertie said.

  “Will you grab some cough syrup?” I asked Ida Belle. “There’s two bottles in the pantry.”

  Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup would stop a cough and cure a host of other things. It was the Sinful Ladies Society’s special brew of moonshine, but as long as it was packaged and sold as an herbal medicine, everyone in Sinful was happy to look the other way…and purchase a bottle or two.

  Ida Belle returned with the bottle and handed it to Gertie.

  “Take a big swig of that,” I said.

  Gertie tossed back a big shot of the moonshine, then handed the bottle back to Ida Belle. “Take that back to the kitchen. If I drink any more, I’ll be asleep in this chair instead of looking at photos.”

  “Do you feel it yet?” I asked.

  “Got that tingling warm feeling,” Gertie said. “Do your thing.”

  I reached over with both hands and began gently pressing on Gertie’s ankle, locating the bones and ensuring they were all where they belonged and weren’t protruding. Gertie grimaced a couple of times, but otherwise, said nothing.

  “Well?” she asked when I finished.

  “Nothing’s broken,” I said. “It could be a hairline fracture but I think you’d have a harder time walking on it if it was. My best guess is that it’s a sprain.”

  Gertie looked up at Ida Belle. “Is that good enough for you?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “Let’s get it wrapped up good and get some ice on it for the swelling. You can take an aspirin and I’ll put a pillow under your foot to keep it propped up.”

  “But the photos,” Gertie protested.

  “I’ll grab my laptop and load them,” I said. “We can go through everything right here in the living room.”

  I spent some time getting Gertie’s ankle wrapped well, then Ida Belle propped it up on a pillow and secured the ice pack around it. I snagged my laptop from the kitchen, hooked up the camera, and downloaded the pictures. It took me fifteen minutes to delete all the duplicates and unusable shots, but eventually, I had it down to fifteen good shots that we could review. I perched on one arm of the recliner, Ida Belle on the other, and started the show.

  “Here’s the ground,” I said. “From a distance and then close up.”

  We all peered at the shot. “If you look here,” I said and pointed to the loose dirt directly in front of the trellis, “you can make out footprints.”

  “I see them,” Gertie said, getting excited. “That’s a big foot, isn’t it?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “Definitely made by a man.”

  “Or Beulah,” I said.

  “True,” Ida Belle agreed, “but I don’t like her for this.”

  “Me either,” I said and flipped to the next shots. “Here is a shot of the trellis and you can see where it leads from the ground right up to the bedroom window. Here’s a close-up of the bottom part.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie leaned in and studied the picture. “Do you see that?” Ida Belle asked and pointed to a section of leaves that were starting to curl on the ends.

  Gertie nodded. “That’s where he went up. He damaged some of the vine and it’s dying.”

  I took a closer look. “Isn’t that more on the other side?”

  “Looks like it,” Gertie said. “Maybe when he came down?”

  “But he didn’t come down the trellis,” Ida Belle said. “He ran down
the stairs, remember?”

  I moved to the next photo, which showed a close-up of the other side of the trellis. “This side looks more curled than the other,” I said, “and it’s already a shade or two lighter.” I frowned and switched back to the close-up of the ground.

  “What are you thinking?” Ida Belle asked.

  “There are several impressions on the ground,” I said, “but this one appears to be a tiny bit deeper, although it’s hard to tell from this angle.”

  “What would that mean?” Gertie asked.

  “Either it was made by someone heavier wearing the same brand of shoes, or he made it by jumping off the trellis when he got close to the ground, creating a deeper impression than if he had stepped off.”

  “But he didn’t come down that way,” Ida Belle repeated.

  “That time,” I said, “but what if that wasn’t his first time up the trellis?”

  Gertie’s eyes widened. “You think he was spying on her? A Peeping Tom thing?”

  I shook my head. “I think it’s far more simple than that. I think he was scouting the area to ensure that when opportunity arose, the situation was conducive to his plan. Basically, he was doing reconnaissance.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “So he tested the trellis to make sure it would hold his weight and that there weren’t any weak spots on it.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Gertie’s eyes widened. “But that means he’s been watching her for some time. He knew which window was the master bedroom, and he must have been somewhere nearby waiting for Gail to be at home and go to bed before Nolan.” She shuddered. “That’s creepy.”

  “And very premeditated,” I said.

  “He certainly won’t be able to claim the ‘fit of passion’ defense,” Ida Belle said.

  “How old do you think that first bit of damage to the vines is?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t put it at more than two or three days older at the most,” Gertie said, “or it would be a lot more obvious.”

  Ida Belle agreed. “Marie told me Gail was out of town two nights before the murder.”

  “Then that’s probably when he did his scouting,” I said. “Less chance of being seen or heard with only Nolan in the house.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “This is what I don’t understand. If we assume Gail figured out who the catfish was, why didn’t she go to the police as soon as she got back to Sinful?”

  “Maybe she didn’t know for sure,” I said. “It might have only been suspicion at that point. Or maybe she thought she knew but had no proof.”

  “And remember,” Gertie said, “if she went to the police, then she’d have to admit that she’d been having an affair.” She sighed. “It’s all so sordid, using people’s emotions to steal from them. Drugs, gunrunning, and the like I kind of understand because for the middleman, it’s impersonal. But what kind of person can do this over and over again?”

  “A sociopath,” Ida Belle said. “Someone without a conscience.”

  I nodded. “And unfortunately, it’s not as easy to spot them as one might think.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie fell silent, and I knew their minds were rolling through the citizens of Sinful, trying to figure out which one of them had been hiding a dark side from the entire town.

  “Hey,” I said, “did either of you look at Gail’s Facebook page?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “It didn’t even occur to me,” Ida Belle said. “Surely she wouldn’t have corresponded openly with the man or even been friends with him.”

  “Let’s check,” I said, and brought up Gail’s page. I scrolled down to her wall. Another dead end. She hadn’t posted in six months.

  “If she’s never on her page,” I said, “how would she know if someone sent her a private message?”

  “If she had notifications set up,” Gertie said, “she would have gotten an email at whatever address she indicated.”

  I closed my laptop. “Then I guess that’s how he did it. But we still don’t know why he would have zeroed in on Gail in the first place. The other women were single and a bit older.”

  “Maybe because Nolan is disabled?” Ida Belle suggested. “He might have thought she found her life less than what she wanted, which was apparently true.”

  “And she ran a charity,” Gertie said, “so he might have figured she’d be a soft touch for cash.”

  My cell phone went off and I started, then pulled it from my pocket. It was Carter.

  I can be there in 15. Does that work?

  “What’s wrong?” Gertie asked. “Your face got that pinched look like when I make you wear that push-up bra.”

  I didn’t want to go into it all. Not now. But I didn’t see any way to get them out of my house without telling them the truth.

  “I ran into Carter at the shooting range yesterday. He wanted to come by tonight and talk with me.”

  Gertie perked up. “Maybe he’s come to his senses.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He said he felt he owed me a better explanation of why he couldn’t be with me.”

  Ida Belle scowled. “I agree with that much, but in the big scheme of things, what difference does it make?”

  “It doesn’t,” I said.

  “But you want to know,” Gertie said.

  “Damn it, I do.” I blew out a breath. “Why can’t I just let this go?”

  “Because you care for him,” Gertie said simply. “When is he coming over?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” I said, “assuming I give him the go-ahead.”

  Ida Belle rose from the chair arm. “Do it. Maybe whatever he has to say will help you let go. Maybe it won’t. But he does owe you better than what you got. We’ll get out of here. Call us if you need anything.”

  I nodded and replied to his text.

  Sure.

  Then wondered what I’d just opened myself up to.

  Chapter 14

  Carter pulled up in my driveway exactly fifteen minutes after his first text. Gertie had insisted I have a shot of cough syrup to steady my nerves, but I didn’t think it had done much good. It confused me how a simple conversation with someone who wasn’t a physical threat had me more nervous than being undercover and talking to a target.

  He’s an emotional threat.

  I sighed and went to open the door. That was the only threat I wasn’t trained to deal with.

  He walked in quietly, almost hesitant, and it hit me that he was nervous too. That was something, at least, and it did make me feel a tiny bit better.

  I headed back for the kitchen. I thought whatever he had to say would be easier with a table in between us, and it gave my arms somewhere to rest instead of hanging limp at my sides. Even better would be if I had something to drink, so I went straight for the refrigerator.

  “Do you want a beer?” I asked.

  “That would be great,” he said, and gave me a grateful look as he took a seat at the table.

  I opened two beers and sat across from him. He looked tired and something else, sad maybe? I wondered if that was because of me or because of the case.

  “You look beat,” I said, breaking the unbearable silence.

  “I am,” he said. “I would never admit this to Mom, but I don’t think I’m a hundred percent.”

  “A concussion can take a long time to completely heal. And you haven’t really given it a good rest.”

  “I know, but lately, there doesn’t seem to be time for rest. It’s like this entire town has turned upside down.” He looked down at his beer bottle and tapped his finger against it. “This is exactly the sort of thing I was trying to avoid by coming back here…things like this murder.”

  I nodded. Carter had told me the reason he came back to Sinful when he left the Marine Corps was because he thought it would be as far removed from the things he’d seen in Iraq as he could get. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working out that way.

  “But surely,” I said, “crime happens everywhere.”

  “Of co
urse. But crime in Sinful used to be limited to poaching and drunks and the occasional assault charge. Even the deaths were garden-variety—natural causes or accidental drownings and the like.”

  “That’s not exactly correct,” I said. “Marie’s husband was murdered years ago. You just didn’t know about it until this summer. And that’s not the only crime that went back in time. Maybe Sinful isn’t as peaceful as you believed.”

  He stared at the wall behind me for a bit, then nodded. “That’s probably true, and crime has gotten worse overall everywhere. I guess it was foolish to think it wouldn’t escalate here as well. Still, this situation with Gail is one I didn’t expect. A domestic dispute gone bad, I could see, but this?”

  “I think everyone is surprised and shocked. You’re not in the minority.”

  “I don’t suppose I am.” He looked directly at me. “Anyway, it looks like my reasons for returning to Sinful have been rendered useless. I’m right in the thick of the kind of tragedies I’d hoped to avoid.”

  “A big city would be worse.”

  “Yeah, but it probably wouldn’t be personal.”

  I nodded, completely understanding his viewpoint. Until I came to Sinful, none of my missions had been personal, which made them easy from a mental standpoint. Get in. Do the job. Get out. But in Sinful, I’d made friends. There were people who mattered, and when they’d been at risk, I had been unprepared for the overwhelming emotions that came over me. I couldn’t imagine how much harder it was for Carter, having known most of the people here all of his life.

  “I can appreciate that,” I said. “My work is, well, my work, but the things I’ve gotten mixed up with here were because the people mattered to me. Not because it was the next assignment.”

  He gave me a small smile. “You’ve certainly done your share of getting mixed up in things. I think back about how worried I was that you were going to get yourself hurt or killed. I should have been worried about everyone else you came in contact with.”

  The smile remained in place so I knew he meant it to be funny and a compliment. But it was still a harsh reminder of the position I’d put him in, and I still felt guilty for all the worry Carter had endured over my safety.