Fortune Funhouse (Miss Fortune Mysteries Book 19)

by Jana DeLeon

  “I never said anything about headquarters,” Gertie said. “I figured he’d be lax enough to leave something in his car.”

  I frowned.

  “And since it’s parked at the fairgrounds,” Gertie continued, “and he’s otherwise occupied…”

  “Temporarily,” Ida Belle said.

  “I could probably distract him if I had to,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle glanced over at me. “Normally, I’d be dead set against such folly, but in this case…”

  “We don’t have anything else to go on,” I said. “Okay, turn around.”

  Ida Belle checked her mirrors, then hit the brakes, made a U-turn in the grassy median of the highway, and shot back into the opposite lanes. Gertie and I took a second to right ourselves from all the bouncing as Ida Belle grinned.

  “This thing sure can perform,” she said as she gunned it and the SUV leaped forward.

  We made it back to the fairgrounds parking lot in half the time we’d taken to get to the turnaround location, and I was pleased to see Palmer’s car was still parked up front. Fortunately, there was no charge for parking in what was essentially a giant pasture, so no carnival employees were hanging around to spot us.

  “Okay,” I said as Ida Belle pulled in. “There’s a clear line of sight from the parking lot to the fairgrounds but Palmer’s car is partially blocked by that van. So unless he exits from the far end, he won’t be able to see me near his car. So head to the end of the parking lot and if you get so much as a glimpse of him, then send an alert.”

  “Should I be ready to pull a getaway?” Ida Belle asked.

  “No,” I said. “If he doesn’t already know your vehicle, it will be easy to identify. If you alert, I’ll slip away and hide behind the cars until he leaves. Then you can pick me up.”

  “And if for some reason, he sees you before we can alert?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Then I’ll take off for the tree line,” I said. “He’s not going to catch me and I don’t think he’ll risk shooting me.”

  Both Ida Belle and Gertie looked a bit skeptical.

  “Okay, so even if he risks it, Carter said he’s a horrible shot,” I said.

  “Fair point,” Ida Belle said. “And the tree line is only twenty yards or so away. If you have to ditch him there, head south for the highway. There’s a gas station just a mile or so away. I can pick you up there.”

  I nodded and jumped out of the SUV, then hurried over to the passenger side of Palmer’s car as Ida Belle drove off for the end of the parking lot. I made quick work of the door and hopped inside. His state-issued laptop was right in the middle of the front seat, so I opened it and hoped I could crack his code. It had to be something simple and probably crude. I hunched down so that no one could see me in the car when they turned into the parking lot and went to work.

  Boobs. Palmer. Supercop.

  Nothing. I drummed my fingers on the seat. Think. What would Palmer use? The problem was I didn’t know enough about the man and didn’t really want to know more. I’d put in the most logical things. Then I had another thought and scrambled for the glove box. Inside, I hit pay dirt—a document with his badge number on it.

  I tapped in the number and sure enough, it opened right to the state police database. I figured the idiot would be using something simple. This was probably the only way he could remember his badge number. I accessed his case files and this case was right on top, labeled ‘Sinful Fairgrounds Murder.’ I frowned as I opened it. If there was a place rather than a name attached, that led me to believe that St. Ives’s real identity hadn’t been discovered.

  It took me all of ten seconds scanning the files to realize I was right. Not only did a fingerprint search yield nothing, they found no identifying items on his body. No wallet, keys, or cell phone. I’d done a cursory check and found nothing, but this backed me up. The autopsy report was in a separate file but when I started to click on it, the radio sounded.

  “Palmer, this is unit 5. What’s your 10-4?”

  “The fairgrounds,” Palmer replied, his annoyance clear.

  “I know that,” the cop on the radio said. “I’m looking at your car. The captain sent us to take over with the statements. He wants you back at headquarters.”

  “For what?” Palmer’s irritation was apparent.

  “Does it matter?” the cop asked. “He’s the boss. We can do an info exchange at the car.”

  “Give me two,” Palmer said.

  Crap! Crap! Crap!

  I inched up a tiny bit and peered over the dashboard, and sure enough, there was a state trooper parked across the aisle from me, facing Palmer’s car. There was no way I could exit without being seen as both doors were directly in his line of sight. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Ida Belle and Gertie.

  Need a diversion. Backup unit parked across from Palmer’s car. Palmer on his way. Trapped inside.

  The reply from Gertie was immediate.

  On it.

  I stayed low, praying that the cops remained in their car and that Ida Belle and Gertie didn’t do something that would get them arrested. Mostly, I worried about Gertie blowing something up. About a minute into my excruciating wait, I got my answer.

  “Unit 5, there’s been a purse snatching and assault at the fairgrounds.”

  The voice boomed out from the radio.

  “This is Unit 5. We’re here for a homicide investigation.”

  “10-4 but the captain said since you’re there and it just happened, you can handle it. Victim was exiting the fairgrounds in the direction of the parking lot when the theft occurred. Perp is running behind the last row toward the entrance.”

  I heard car doors slam and loud cursing. I waited a couple seconds, then checked to make sure the coast was clear before hauling it out the passenger door. I stayed crouched and ran two rows over and felt my phone buzzing. It was Ida Belle.

  I’m going to kill that woman.

  Uh-oh. I hurried toward the fairgrounds and could hear the yelling before I saw anything. Then I wasn’t completely sure what I was seeing. An angry woman stood near the end of the row of carnival games, her hands in the air and her mouth open wide. I knew she was yelling, but she was so angry I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  Not that it mattered. All the evidence I needed was just in front of her.

  Gertie was running away from the woman, clutching her purse strap in one hand, the bag bouncing along on the ground. I recognized her clothes but the Scream mask was new. She was moving faster than I expected but the state cops were gaining on her. I couldn’t believe I was thinking it but blowing something up might have been the safer option. And it wasn’t as if Ida Belle or I could intervene without giving the whole thing away.

  I considered shooting the whirling display on top of the cotton candy stand but worried what gunshots at the fair might cause. Given that it was Sinful, a bunch of people would probably pull out their own weapons, which presented a host of other problems. My hand was still hovering above my nine when Gertie jumped into a golf cart with big ‘Security’ lettering on the side and took off. It had been facing opposite of the direction she was running, so now she was headed straight for the cops. She swerved right and left as she approached, and they staggered, trying to figure out how to grab the cart but avoid being run over at the same time. At least neither had their weapon out, so that was a plus.

  She managed to blow by both cops without them grabbing hold and they turned and continued pursuit, but the golf cart was moving at a good clip, closing in on the end of the row. Just when I thought she was going to make it clear of the buildings, Palmer stepped out from behind a porta-john and raised his weapon.

  Good God! He was going to shoot her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gertie caught sight of Palmer and ducked just as a man flung the porta-john door open and, seeing the golf cart barreling toward him, took off running. With Gertie no longer in charge of the cart, it ran straight into Palmer, knocked him into the
porta-john, and then slammed the door shut and flipped the entire thing over. The cart finished the job by launching on top of the porta-john, covering the door. Gertie jumped out of the cart and took off running for the tree line.

  I heard Ida Belle’s SUV coming up behind me and ran over to hop inside. She headed for the far exit, keeping her speed low so as to not attract attention. I was kneeling in my seat, staring through the back glass, trying to make out what was going on. The state cops had arrived at the flipped-over porta-john, but instead of hurrying to get the cart off the door so they could get Palmer out, they stood there for a moment. Then they gave each other a high five and finally started tugging on the cart, but I could tell they were laughing.

  I turned around and dropped into my seat, desperately wanting a shower even though I hadn’t been anywhere near the nasty end of things. As soon as Ida Belle got out of the parking lot, she floored it and we sped along the back side of the tree line until we spotted Gertie wading through the ditch toward the highway.

  “Hurry up!” Ida Belle yelled as Gertie slogged through the mud and weeds and up the embankment to the road. “They’re going to be looking for you.”

  Gertie limped a bit faster, splashing the muddy water up her legs, and I could see Ida Belle grimacing at the thought of the inevitable cleanup that was coming. I jumped out and gave Gertie’s rear a push up to hurry her into the SUV and Ida Belle tore out of there as if we’d just peed in the baptismal.

  “What the heck were you thinking?” Ida Belle asked.

  “I was thinking I was a distraction,” Gertie said as she pulled off her mask.

  “Oh, you were a distraction all right,” Ida Belle said. “Almost a dead one. That idiot Palmer was going to shoot you.”

  “Yeah, what’s with the purse snatching?” I asked. “Any other time, you would have blown something up.”

  “You guys keep complaining about that,” Gertie said. “And besides, if there was an explosion then the carnival might decide to pull up stakes and leave early.”

  I frowned, thinking about all the funnel cake I might have missed out on. I wanted to be with Ida Belle on the side of good common sense, but the funnel cake was clouding my judgment. And then there was the visual of Palmer’s expression at the instant he was launched into the porta-john. That was epic. The only thing better would be the look he wore coming out of it, but only if you weren’t downwind.

  Gertie grinned. “All that matters is that Fortune and I got away. And I got a lick in on Palmer.”

  I couldn’t help grinning along with her. The whole thing had been a classic Gertie move and I couldn’t think of a better person to wish one on than the smug and incompetent Palmer Reed. My only regret was that I hadn’t been filming. Ida Belle’s lips trembled and I knew she was fighting not to laugh.

  “Okay, so that part was kinda fun,” Ida Belle admitted. “But you best hope he doesn’t figure out how to identify you. If that idiot gets a line on who did that to him, he’ll have you up on attempted murder charges just for fun.”

  “The DA won’t go for that,” Gertie said. “He’s cutthroat but I’d bet money even the DA hates Palmer.”

  “The other cops certainly do,” I said. “They stared at that porta-john a good while and even did a high five before making a move to get that golf cart off of it. They were too busy laughing.”

  “Good,” Gertie said. “I can’t think of a more appropriate place for him to be.”

  “What about that woman’s purse?” I asked. “She was screaming like you’d stolen her baby.”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “I know her from a knitting group. She doesn’t keep anything in that purse but tissues and stale crackers. All her money is shoved in her bra. Besides, I left the purse in the golf cart. It might need a wipe-down, but her stale crackers are safe.”

  My phone signaled an incoming text from Carter.

  Is this your handiwork?

  I clicked on the YouTube link and there was Gertie in all her glory, racing away in the golf cart, the two state cops running behind her.

  “Look!” I said. “Someone filmed it.”

  “Crap,” Gertie said. “I’m going to have to burn these clothes.”

  “Just give them to me and I’ll dump them in the bayou,” Ida Belle said. “The last thing we need is you playing with fire again.”

  I turned the phone so that we could all see, Ida Belle splitting her gaze between the road and the phone. We’d all seen it firsthand, but somehow, it was even funnier the second time. Probably because we were no longer stressed about getting away.

  Another text came through.

  ??????

  I laughed and replied.

  I can neither confirm nor deny.

  I owe you, Ida Belle, and Gertie a steak dinner with champagne.

  “Are we in trouble?” Gertie asked.

  “Carter says he owes us all steak and champagne,” I said.

  Gertie grinned. “It’s really nice when he’s on our side.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Ida Belle said. “Next investigation, he’ll be threatening us with jail and that horrible coffee they make down at the sheriff’s department.”

  “I’d still take that over Emmaline being in the hospital,” Gertie said.

  “We all would,” Ida Belle agreed and looked over at me. “Please tell me all this risk and chaos yielded something?”

  “Well…” I started.

  Ida Belle groaned.

  “The only thing I can tell you for sure is that the police are no further along on St. Ives’s real identity than we are,” I said. “They don’t even have his alias logged.”

  “Seriously?” Gertie asked. “If that idiot Palmer had questioned anyone from Sinful, he would have that information.”

  “Given that we found the body and he hasn’t bothered to contact us for a statement, it’s apparently not high on his list,” I said.

  “He’s definitely dropping the ball,” Ida Belle said. “But in the big scheme of things, I suppose it doesn’t matter since St. Ives doesn’t exist. We don’t have much more than Palmer does.”

  “Except that we know St. Ives rented a house next to Emmaline, so we can tie the break-in at her house and the murder in one way at least,” I said.

  “True,” Ida Belle said. “Well, I’m not interested in helping Palmer out, so unless I’m called to give a statement, he can keep ducking into porta-johns as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Good God. What the heck are we supposed to do now?” Gertie asked. “All this running and we still don’t have anything.”

  “I honestly have no idea,” I said. “Unless Mannie comes up with something, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “I do,” Ida Belle said. “I think we make a pit stop by our favorite motel and see if by chance St. Ives was holed up there.”

  I groaned. “Do we have to?”

  “I think we do,” Ida Belle said. “It’s the closest one to the fairgrounds and Sinful. If St. Ives really lived in New Orleans, then he won’t have a room. He was cheap, remember? No way he would have sprung for it if it was within driving distance.”

  “Wouldn’t he have had a room key on him?” Gertie asked. “Or a car? Surely he didn’t walk to the fairgrounds from somewhere, and I’m guessing Uber wouldn’t have made that trip from New Orleans.”

  I frowned. “That’s a good point. There was nothing in his pants pockets when I checked, but the police report indicated that no form of ID was on his body. Even if he had other pockets, apparently they were all empty.”

  “You think the killer took everything?” Ida Belle asked.

  “He must have,” I said. “And that would explain why Emmaline got hit. If she heard St. Ives go down, then he had to buy some time to frisk him for anything that would identify him.”

  “But why hide who he is?” Gertie asked.

  “Because the victim usually points to the perp,” I said. “Or to give him time to cover his tracks, or disappear. I don’t
believe for a moment that this was random, so we have to assume that whoever killed St. Ives was following him, waiting for the right opportunity.”

  “But the funhouse?” Gertie asked. “Why not pop him in the parking lot?”

  “Maybe there were people around,” I said. “This might have been the first opportunity he had to do it and not be seen.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “I guess it’s safe to assume that the killer took St. Ives’s car so that it didn’t get noticed sitting alone in the parking lot when the fair closed for the night.”

  “If I was the killer, that’s what I would have done,” I said.

  “So maybe there’s a car that has been abandoned somewhere,” Ida Belle said. “No one could complain if Carter ran a search for abandoned cars, right?”

  “That’s clever and sneaky and I like it,” I said. “I’ll ask him about it the next time we talk.”

  “And in the meantime?” Ida Belle asked.

  I sighed. “Go to the darn motel. I’ll be lucky if that clerk doesn’t call the cops when I walk in the door.”

  “I could go in,” Ida Belle said.

  “He’s seen all of us,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure he suspects all the explosions are our fault.”

  “Hard not to when the only time they happen is when we were just there,” Ida Belle said. “I know the kid’s not winning any Mensa awards, but he’d have to be stoned and half dead to not make that connection.”

  “Well, he doesn’t do drugs—his claim—but he is as white as a corpse,” I said. “He needs to put down the gaming controller and get some sunlight.”

  “One can do both,” Ida Belle said. “I won a tournament last weekend and I still managed to catch a mess of speckled trout with Walter.”

  “Is that why you missed church on Sunday?” Gertie asked. “You know you’re going to hell, right?”

  “I gamed on Saturday,” Ida Belle said. “We fished on Sunday and since we donated half the fish to the food pantry, I’m calling us good.”

  Ida Belle exited the highway and a couple minutes later, pulled up in front of the motel office. I took a deep breath and blew it slowly out, then headed inside. The same clerk was behind the desk and as soon as he set eyes on me, he jumped up, shaking his head.