by Jana DeLeon
“So why were you at the Swamp Bar to begin with?”
“Because we were trying to find out where Floyd was when the fire started at Ally’s. Ida Belle and Gertie knew he frequented the Swamp Bar, so we were trying to eliminate him as a suspect.”
“And it didn’t occur to you that checking Floyd’s alibi was one of the first things I would do? His bad attitude and disrespect for authority aren’t exactly a secret. Floyd was the first on my list of suspects.”
“So you already know he was in jail in New Orleans.”
“Yes.”
I sighed. “I don’t know why I let those two talk me into these things. It sounded so simple—dress up sexy, go to the bar, ask a couple of questions, then leave. We just wanted Ally to be safe, and if the guy who tried to burn down her house was living right next door, that would suck.”
“I get that, but can you please explain to me why you think I’m not capable of doing my job? I thought we were friends…maybe a little something more, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why my friend would consistently attempt to undermine me.”
A wave of guilt washed over me and I had the sudden urge to curl up in a tiny ball and disappear. I knew my actions could potentially cause Carter trouble with his job, but I’d never stopped to consider that I might be insulting him on a personal level. I’d been so focused on my own thoughts on the matter, I’d never seen it from his viewpoint.
“I think you’re very capable,” I finally managed, but couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Then why do you keep interfering?”
I shrugged. “We figured the Swamp Bar crowd would be more likely to talk to a woman than a cop. I swear, your capability never entered into the equation. I mean, except for the part where you don’t have boobs.” I frowned. “I guess that’s not much better, is it?”
“Not really. Look, I appreciate and respect your loyalty to your friends, even Ida Belle and Gertie, although they are probably the two worst influences you could have come across. But the three of you are going to get hurt or killed with these pursuits. Do you really not see how lucky you’ve been?”
Although it rankled me to no end to pretend incompetence, I nodded.
“Then from this point forward, I expect you to stay out of my investigation. I won’t issue any more warnings. If I catch you, Ida Belle, or Gertie doing anything that I even remotely suspect is related to my case, I’m going to throw you all in jail, for your own good.”
“I understand.”
He cocked his head to the side and stared at me. “Do you? Because it seems like you think I’m only trying to restrict what you do. Has it ever occurred to you that I care about what happens to you? That if something happened to you while you were nosing into my work that I’d carry the guilt of not preventing it around with me forever?”
My heart clenched and my stomach started to churn. Did he mean he cared about me more than he cared about the other citizens he protected? Attraction was one thing, but was Carter alluding to an emotional connection with me that was different? That thought made me warm and tingly and scared and panicked, all at the same time.
“Fortune?” Carter’s voice broke into my thoughts.
Despite my complete discomfort, I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry you had to worry about me. That wasn’t my intention. But I do think I’m more capable than you realize.”
He gave me a small smile. “I think you’re capable of a lot of things, but you’re still human.”
“You mean I’m a civilian.”
“That too.” He rose from his chair. “I’ve got to run. I need to figure out how to document this in a way that doesn’t make me a liar or incriminate you, and I’m not even sure that’s possible.”
I jumped up from my chair and circled to his side of the table, emotion overwhelming me. “Don’t put your job on the line. Document what you know. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
I knew my name going into his report would be the end of my stay in Sinful, but I couldn’t allow him to risk his career for me, especially when he didn’t know the truth. I put my hand on his arm. “This is my problem. Please let me handle it.”
He stepped closer to me and looked me straight in the eyes for several seconds. My knees started to quiver and more than anything else in the world, I wanted him to touch me, even though I knew it would only make things worse for both of us. He leaned toward me and I knew I should back up, escape his reach, but God help me, I couldn’t make myself do it.
His lips brushed against mine and all of my resolve drifted away like pollen in a hurricane. He reached up with one hand to cup the back of my head and deepened the kiss, parting my lips with his.
I swayed a bit and clutched his arm to steady myself as a wave of dizziness passed over me. Every inch of my body sprang alive—my heart raced, my breathing increased, and my skin tingled. He slipped his tongue in my mouth and began a sensual dance that had me on the verge of explosion.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’d already decided that personal involvement with Carter wasn’t fair to him, and only complicated things for me. But damned if my body agreed with my mind.
Just when I was ready to rip off all his clothes and have my way with him right there on the kitchen floor, he broke off the kiss and looked at me. “If it’s your problem, it’s mine too.”
Before I could formulate an argument, he leaned in for one hard, brief kiss, then spun around and left. I was still standing in the same spot when the front door clicked shut.
My problems had just gotten a thousand times worse.
“Fortune?” Ally’s voice roused me out of my stupor.
She gave me a critical look. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine.”
“What was that about? Or can’t you say?”
“I probably shouldn’t decree it publicly or anything, but Carter knows about my trip to the Swamp Bar. Apparently, there were pictures and, God help me, video.”
Ally’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Is he mad?”
“He’s mad and upset and worried. The whole bar saw Floyd tear out after me.”
“That would definitely justify upset and worried.”
“And I’m sure a few of them reported Floyd threatening to kill me as he left.”
Ally’s hand flew over her mouth. “Oh my God! Carter doesn’t think…he wouldn’t…”
“No. He doesn’t think I did it. In fact, he’s certain of it because he was watching the house last night. When Floyd was killed, I was busy pacing in my bedroom. Carter could see me from wherever he was hiding.”
Ally dropped her hand and exhaled. “Thank goodness.”
I nodded and left it at that. Ally didn’t need to know that Floyd had been killed with the heel from my shoe, or that Carter was running a huge risk in not reporting his knowledge to the DA’s office. There was nothing to be gained from both of us worrying about something that couldn’t be changed.
She grabbed her car keys from the counter and I put my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I know you planned on moving back in your house as soon as it was secure, but I hope you’ll rethink that. I think you should stay here with me until Carter figures all this out.”
Ally bit her lip. “All this stuff that’s happening, I want to say no because my staying here puts you at risk. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m scared to be there alone now.”
“You don’t have to be. Strength in numbers and all. Besides, apparently Carter is keeping an eye on us. We’ll be alert and smart, and we’ll both be safe here.”
Ally threw her arms around me and gave me a hug. “Thank you for being such a good friend. I’m so glad you came to Sinful.” She released me and sniffed, her eyes reddening, then she gave me a half wave and headed out of the kitchen.
I sank down in a kitchen chair, my mind whirling so fast I was afraid it would spin right out of my skull. What the hell had just happened?
My body completely sold out my mind.
Chapter Fourteen
I put in an emergency call to Ida Belle and Gertie, then tried to occupy myself with busy work. By the time they arrived, I’d already put on a load of laundry, mopped the kitchen floor, and dusted the living room, and was just about to start bleaching the driveway.
Ida Belle and Gertie took one look at me, standing in the garage and holding a bottle of bleach, and immediately flew into action. Gertie yanked down the garage door and Ida Belle grabbed the tarp that had covered the motorcycle the day before.
“Where’s the body?” Ida Belle asked.
“What? Jesus, there’s no body!”
Gertie visibly relaxed. “Thank goodness. This is a new blouse.”
“And bleach isn’t really the best choice,” Ida Belle threw in.
I stared, not sure whether to be impressed with their efficiency in shifting gears or horrified that they could move so easily from somewhat normal to Son of Sam. I decided to settle for impressed and slightly fearful.
“I was going to bleach the driveway,” I explained and stuck the jug of bleach back on the shelf.
Gertie frowned. “Is there blood? I thought I cleaned up the bit that dripped on the floor from your ankle.”
“No blood. No cleanup necessary. I was trying to occupy myself until you got here because I was afraid if I sat still, I would end up exploding.”
Ida Belle glanced at Gertie, her expression worried. “Then we best get inside so you can fill us in.”
As part of my domestic flurry, I’d put on a pot of coffee, but I couldn’t bring myself to drink a cup. Instead, I dumped half a bottle of Sinful Ladies Society cough syrup into a tumbler and took a big gulp. Ida Belle and Gertie took seats at the kitchen table and silently stirred their coffee as I paced the kitchen.
Finally, I blurted out, “Carter knows about last night.”
“How much does he know?” Ida Belle asked.
“Everything,” I said. “Everything relevant, anyway.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “You told him?”
I nodded.
They looked at each other, clearly surprised by my revelation.
“Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty?” Ida Belle asked.
“Yes…I mean, I didn’t tell him because I felt guilty, but I feel guilty now.” I blew out a breath and lowered myself into the chair. “A contractor found Floyd dead in Ally’s backyard this morning. He was murdered.”
Gertie sucked in a breath and Ida Belle straightened in her chair.
“How was he killed?” Ida Belle asked.
“Someone cracked him over the head with a two-by-four.”
Ida Belle looked a bit relieved. “Well, that could have been anyone.”
“Then he stabbed Floyd with the high heel from my shoe,” I finished.
“Oh.” Ida Belle fell back in her chair, deflated. Gertie’s jaw dropped and she remained frozen in place.
“He didn’t arrest you?” Gertie managed to get out.
“No. He kissed me.”
Ida Belle and Gertie both studied me, as if waiting for the punch line that would never come. If anyone had told me it was possible to feel more miserable than I did right then, I would have called him a liar.
“So,” Ida Belle said finally, “I take it that means he doesn’t think you did it?”
“He knows for certain I didn’t do it,” I said and explained about Floyd’s watch and Carter’s staking out my house. “But he also knows how it would sound to the prosecutor.”
Ida Belle’s expression cleared in understanding. “Especially if the prosecutor found out that Carter asked you out. Jesus, what a mess.”
“I told him to turn all the evidence over to the DA,” I said. “That it was my problem to deal with.”
Gertie sucked in a breath. “And he kissed you?”
I nodded.
Gertie leaned forward. “Was it the Godfather-it-was-nice-knowing-you kind of kiss or the I’ll-never-let-them-hurt-you kind of kiss?”
“The latter.”
Gertie whimpered a bit and covered her chest with one hand. “That’s so romantic.”
“And stupid,” Ida Belle said. “If there’s pictures and video of Fortune at the Swamp Bar floating around, someone else can make the same connection that Carter did.”
“Do you really think so?” Gertie asked. “Swamp Bar regulars aren’t the sort that would associate with Fortune on a normal basis, and she was heavily made up.”
“Floyd recognized her,” Ida Belle pointed out.
I nodded. “Which is exactly why I told him to turn over the evidence.”
“He doesn’t think you’ll get a fair shake,” Ida Belle said, “and he’s probably right. The prosecutor assigned to this area is an incompetent, ladder-climbing idiot of monumental proportions. All he cares about is conviction rate. It doesn’t matter to him whether he’s actually getting crime off the streets. As long as he has a warm body in a cell, it’s another notch in his belt.”
“She’s right,” Gertie said, “and with Carter unaware of your real background and the connections you have to get you out of this, he thinks turning over that evidence would be buying you an express ticket to Angola.”
“That’s what I figured,” I said. “I can’t let him risk his future for me, especially since he doesn’t know the truth.”
Gertie shook her head. “I don’t think you have a choice. The only way around it is to turn yourself in, and that would not only blow your cover, but get you locked up where the man gunning for you could easily have sharpshooters surrounding the place, just waiting to cap you when you leave.”
“I could contact my partner,” I said, “and let him know I needed extraction.”
Gertie’s face fell. “You mean just disappear?”
I nodded. “Then Carter could turn in his evidence and my director could deal with the fallout.”
“But you’d be gone, maybe forever.” Tears began to form in Gertie’s eyes.
“If Carter is caught withholding this evidence,” I said, “he could lose far more than his job. He could go to prison himself for conspiracy.”
Ida Belle leaned forward in her chair. “Never the best option for a cop.”
Gertie clasped her hands together, her distress clear. “There has to be another way.”
“There is,” Ida Belle said.
Both Gertie and I turned to stare at her.
“Really?” I said. “Because I haven’t thought of anything.”
She gave us a single nod. “We could find the killer.”
I shook my head. “I promised Carter I would stay out of his investigation. He’s stuck his neck out enough already. Our investigating always seems to come back in our faces, and his.”
“But we’ve always caught the bad guy,” Gertie said.
“And almost gotten killed in the process,” I said.
“So we’ll be more careful,” Gertie said.
“There’s no careful way to go after a killer,” I said.
“She’s right,” Ida Belle agreed. “By default, any movement toward a killer comes with heavy risk, and I understand completely why Fortune doesn’t want to compromise her promise to Carter.” She looked directly at me. “But despite all that, I’m not ready for you to leave Sinful.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I said, “but it’s not fair for me to let Carter jeopardize his job when I’m not being honest with him.”
“Then you won’t be involved,” Ida Belle said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Gertie and I will do all the investigating. You won’t have anything to do with it. Gertie and I acting like fools is commonplace. Carter won’t take any flak over us.”
“No. It’s too risky. And besides, we have no leads.”
Gertie perked up. “Billy said that weird g
uy you talked to in the bar was looking for Floyd, didn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Ida Belle said. “And that guy could have taken the shoe.”
“But we have no idea who he is,” I argued. “We have my description and a first name from a highly unreliable source. Where would we even start? And don’t you dare say we should go back to the Swamp Bar and ask.”
“No,” Ida Belle agreed. “I think we should steer clear of the Swamp Bar for a while.”
“If by ‘a while’ you mean until Christ returns, then yeah.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “So back to the guy in the bar. According to Billy, the guy said Floyd was going to have big problems, right?”
“He said that Floyd was going to have big problems, or little problems.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Gertie said. “A problem is either big or little. It’s not both.”
Ida Belle jumped up from her chair. “Unless the problem is big and little.”
Gertie sucked in a breath. “Big and Little Hebert.”
“Their names are Big and Little?” I asked. “What are they—a circus act?”
“Oh, they’re an act all right,” Gertie said, “but not the entertainment type. They’re a father and son act who work for Sonny Hebert.”
“Who’s Sonny Hebert?” I asked.
“He’s a mob boss out of New Orleans and third cousins, or some other relation, to Big and Little,” Ida Belle said. “The Feds finally busted him on something a year or so ago, but I think he only got a couple years.”
“What do Big and Little do for Sonny? Hit men?”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “Nothing like that. As far as I’ve heard, they don’t handle any of the strong-arm stuff. Just things like loan-sharking, illegal gambling, that sort of thing.”
“So Floyd could have owed them money,” I said.
“Sure,” Ida Belle said, “but in my experience, bookies didn’t kill people who owed them money. That’s a surefire way to never get paid.”
I nodded. My knowledge of the U.S. Mafia was mostly limited to the movies Gertie had me watch, but what Ida Belle said made sense. Dead men couldn’t pay bills, and bookies weren’t the kind of business that put a lien against an estate.