by Jana DeLeon
“What’s wrong with you?” Ida Belle asked.
“I’m a little sore.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, then hovered over the chair and dropped as if her knees had given out.
I got up and snagged a bottle of aspirin, then retrieved an ice pack from the refrigerator.
“Rotate this every couple of minutes on your knees,” I said, and handed her the ice pack. “If you’ve eaten breakfast, then take some aspirin. If not, then I’ll find you something to eat.”
Gertie stuck the ice pack on her right knee and reached for the bottle. “I had leftover chicken casserole. Ate it cold right out of the pan. Didn’t want to stand long enough to heat it or cook something else.”
Ida Belle narrowed her eyes at Gertie. “You’re that bad off from a little running?”
“It wasn’t a little running,” Gertie said. “It was a mad dash through the swamp, and then I got to bang around in the bottom of that boat because no one ever lets me sit in a seat.”
“That’s still not enough,” Ida Belle said. “What are you up to?”
Gertie threw her hands in the air. “You always think I’m up to something.”
“Only when you are,” Ida Belle replied.
“Okay, fine,” Gertie said. “Because I know you two nosy parkers won’t leave it alone until you know everything, I’ve been doing some video exercising. You keep harping on me about getting in shape, well, I’m getting in shape.”
“Getting in shape isn’t supposed to injure you,” I said.
“What kind of exercise video?” Ida Belle asked.
“Dancing,” Gertie said, suddenly deciding that her coffee needed intense stirring while staring into it.
I looked over at Ida Belle, who shook her head.
“What kind of dancing?” Ida Belle asked.
“Break dancing,” Gertie mumbled.
“Break dancing!” Ida Belle said. “Are you crazy?” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. That was rhetorical.”
“Can’t you just try one of those country-and-western line-dancing things?” I asked.
“It’s boring,” Gertie said.
“But not nearly as bad on the knees,” I said. “Break dancing is for young people whose bodies haven’t betrayed them yet.”
“My body hasn’t betrayed me,” Gertie said. “It’s just launched a mild protest.”
“Your body went on strike thirty years ago,” Ida Belle said.
“I’m getting decent at the head spins,” Gertie said. “I can rotate almost halfway around.”
“That’s because you’ve got the hardest head in southern Louisiana,” Ida Belle said. “And this proves it.”
“You’re one to talk. You and your fast cars and motorcycles.”
“But I’m still in good enough shape to drive them,” Ida Belle said. “And when I’m not, I’ll get a nice big Bentley. It will be like riding around on my couch.”
“I hope not,” I said, “because your couch sucks.”
“It’s probably time for a new one,” Ida Belle agreed.
“How old is that one?” I asked.
“When did Happy Days go off the air?” Gertie asked.
“Fine,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll buy a new couch if you agree to stop break dancing. Take up a nice waltz.”
“I don’t have a partner,” Gertie said. “What about hip-hop?”
“Take the deal,” I said to Ida Belle. “It’s as good as it’s going to get. And besides, we have far more important things to deal with.”
Gertie nodded. “Like the key.”
“Like the fact that Carter was sitting in my living room when Ida Belle and I got home this morning.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “Not good. What happened?”
I filled her in on our fight, Ida Belle’s declaration, and Carter’s insistence that he see the SUV today.
“I sent Little a text last night,” I said. “I just got word back that they’re ready.”
“Have you heard from Carter yet?” Gertie asked.
“No, but I told him I’d call when I got up.”
As if on cue, my phone rang. So much for waiting on me to call.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, and answered.
“I’d like to see the SUV this morning,” Carter said. “Is Ida Belle available to go to the storage unit with me?”
I frowned. So this is how it was going to be.
“No,” I said. “Ida Belle isn’t available to go to the storage unit with you. But Ida Belle, Gertie, and I will be happy to meet you there in an hour.”
“This is an official police investigation,” Carter said. “You have no business there.”
“Given that I’m the one who acquired the storage unit,” I said, “I’m going to go ahead and disagree with you. I can stay home, of course, but I seriously doubt the Heberts are going to let you into my unit without a search warrant.”
I heard him huff and knew he was mad. He’d thought he had an ace in the hole, but he didn’t. And while I had no doubt he could acquire a warrant, the waste of time was something I knew he wasn’t interested in.
“Fine. One hour.”
He disconnected and I put my phone on the table.
“That went well,” Gertie said.
I sighed. “I have a feeling this day is not going to get any better.”
Chapter Eleven
Carter was already at the storage facility when we pulled up. So was Mannie, standing in front of the security gate, arms crossed, and looking scary as only Mannie could do. Carter appeared more annoyed than impressed with Mannie’s display, but he was smart enough not to push the issue. Mannie might be hired muscle, but he was well-trained hired muscle. He knew to ask for a warrant if Carter started insisting.
I said good morning to Mannie, who nodded and opened the gate for me. We pulled around to the unit, Carter trailing behind. Mannie showed up a minute later and handed me a key to the padlock.
“Forgot to give this to you last night,” he said. “I’ll give you a card with the pass code for the security gate as well so you can come and go as you need to.”
He turned around and left without so much as a glance at Carter, but I knew somewhere in an air-conditioned office, Big and Little were watching the show from the security camera feed. I removed the padlock and rolled the door up. I was glad Carter was behind me and couldn’t see my face, because the scene in front of me didn’t look anything like it had the night before.
The completely intact SUV sat in the middle of the otherwise empty unit. No toolbox. No bench. No lift. Absolutely nothing to indicate that we’d disassembled a huge part of the vehicle the night before. Carter walked into the unit and around the SUV.
“Do you have the keys?” he asked Ida Belle.
“Left them in it,” she said. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Something that’s not supposed to be there, I guess.”
“The vehicle has been heavily modified,” Ida Belle said. “Everything engine-wise isn’t supposed to be there. At least according to the manufacturer.”
I stood there watching as Carter started up the vehicle, then killed it and started peering under the seats. He still hadn’t said a word to me and I was growing more and more agitated by the minute. Finally, I walked over to him.
“If you don’t need us for anything else,” I said, “we’ve got some errands to run. I’ll leave the unit key with Mannie and let him know to lock up after you leave.”
“What kind of errand?” Carter asked.
“Ida Belle needs a new couch, and all three of us need to get our minds off this,” I said, “so we’re going to New Orleans to go furniture shopping. Unless, of course, couch shopping on Wednesday is against the law.”
“Only in 1973,” Gertie said, “but it was every day of the week, not just Wednesday. Horton Myer fell asleep smoking and caught his couch on fire. The whole thing went up as though it was covered in rocket fuel. The mayor thought it would b
e better if no one had couches, but residents argued that the existing ones had to be grandfathered in. So he just banned buying new ones. It was only in effect for a month though. The mayor’s couch broke right off its legs and he hated his wife’s sewing chair.”
“That is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard,” I said, “and in Sinful, that’s saying a lot.”
“The mayor was an idiot,” Ida Belle said. “We get to say that a lot. About all the mayors.”
“Not anymore,” Gertie said. “Now we have Marie.”
“Yes, that’s all lovely,” I said, “but I’d like to leave.” I looked at Carter. “Do you need anything else from us?”
He stared at me a couple seconds, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expression was a mixture of frustration and that look like when you want to say something but can’t. Or won’t. Whatever. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I got out of there before I said something I might regret. Even if it was the truth.
“I don’t need anything,” he said finally. “I’ll drop the SUV keys off later at your house.”
“Great,” I said, and whirled around. “Then let’s go find something comfortable. I think one of those electric recliner couches is the best option. I saw a nice one on television last week.”
Gertie and Ida Belle hustled after me, Gertie glancing back at Carter.
“Well, that was uncomfortable,” Gertie said as we climbed into my Jeep.
“It’s not going to get any better unless he checks his ego at the door,” I said. “If anyone but Ida Belle had owned that SUV, Carter would have told them they might be in danger. He deliberately avoided telling Ida Belle because he didn’t want us sticking our noses into what he thinks is his business. Well, it stopped being only his business when Ida Belle became a potential target.”
Gertie frowned and shot Ida Belle a worried look. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“What would you like me to say?” Ida Belle asked. “She’s right. He wouldn’t have withheld information from anyone else. How she wants to feel about that is up to Fortune. I have my own feelings on the matter and will have a talk with Carter about said feelings when all this is over.”
I glanced over at Ida Belle and from the way her jaw was set, I didn’t envy Carter that conversation. He’d made a big mistake not warning her and an even bigger one pulling the cop card with me. Ida Belle was seriously pissed.
Mannie nodded as we pulled up to the security gate and handed me a business card. “The code for the gate is on the back of the card. It will let you in any time.”
“Thanks,” I said, and stuck the card in my pocket. “And thanks for cleaning all that up. It looked like the truck had never been apart.”
“We figured things would go better for everyone if the situation looked as, uh, clean as possible,” Mannie said.
“Well, we appreciate the forethought,” I said. “Carter is going over the vehicle. I gave him the key to lock up and told him to give it to you on his way out. He can have all the time he wants or as much as you want to give him. Whatever.”
Mannie’s eyebrows went up. “Problems in paradise?”
I stared at him. “Men are never a problem for me.”
Mannie grinned. “I kinda had a feeling about that. Go ahead and get going. I’ll keep an eye on things here and make sure the SUV is secure when Carter’s done. If you run into anything I can help with, give me a call.”
I gave him a nod and we headed back to the highway. I knew exactly the sort of help Mannie provided. He was the illegal version of me—a hired gun. And while I appreciated the backup, I was really hoping we didn’t need it.
Not this time.
An hour later, I parked the Jeep in front of an antiques shop in the French Quarter and hopped out. Gertie and Ida Belle followed me into the store, both of them looking slightly confused.
“You don’t want Ida Belle to buy an antique couch, do you?” Gertie asked. “Because that’s just icky.”
“Are you afraid it might be haunted?” Ida Belle asked drily.
“No,” Gertie said. “I’m afraid of the germs from all the people who sat naked on it before you.”
“Okay,” I said, “that’s an image I just didn’t need. And no, I’m not suggesting Ida Belle buy an antique couch. They’re all straight-backed and have no padding, and I’m pretty sure nothing in here has an electric recliner.”
“Then why are we here?” Gertie asked.
“We’re working,” I said, and waved at a salesperson back in a storeroom.
He put down the packing tape he was holding and headed our way.
Seventy if he was a day. Five feet eleven. A hundred seventy pounds. White hair. Nearsighted. Intellectual. Only a danger as a college professor.
“I’m Errol Jones,” he said, and stuck out his hand.
“Sarah Wilson,” I said, and shook his hand. “I’m wondering if you can help me with something. I inherited my great-aunt’s house and I’ve been going through her things. I found a key that looks like something that would open antique furniture, but it doesn’t fit anything in her house. I thought maybe you could tell me if I’m off base.”
“I can surely try,” he said.
“Great,” I said, and pulled the key out of my pocket.
Errol took the key and studied it, turning it around to see it from all angles. “I can see where you thought it might fit furniture. It does have the general look of a key that might unlock a wardrobe or a desk, but I think it’s bigger than any furniture key I’ve seen.”
He frowned and drew the key closer to his face, then lowered it and headed for a desk toward the back of the store. “Come with me, please.”
He pulled a magnifying glass from behind the counter and used it to take a closer look at the top of the key. “Ah,” he said. “I couldn’t be sure because it’s been eroded over time, but if you look through the magnifier, you can see the remnants of letters on the top of the key.”
I looked through the magnifying glass and saw what he was referring to. “I see it. Does that mean anything to you?”
“It might,” he said. “I thought I’d seen a key similar to this before but couldn’t place it at first. It belonged to an old client whose family went back over two hundred years in the city. It was a key to a door.”
“Like a door to a house?” I asked.
He shook his head. “A door to a crypt.”
“Oh,” I said. “Wow. I didn’t see that one coming.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said.
“No,” I said. “It was just unexpected. My family doesn’t have a crypt, so I can’t imagine where my aunt would have gotten a key to one. Or why she had it.”
“Perhaps it belonged to a friend who had no one else to oversee things,” Errol said. “So many families move away or simply die out, and the crypts crumble because there’s no one left to tend to them.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “Still, if there’s someone left in the family this belongs to, I’d like for them to have it. Is there any way to figure out whose crypt the key opens?”
“Not by the key alone,” Errol said. “Perhaps if the lettering were still legible…maybe you’ll find something in your aunt’s paperwork.”
“I hope so,” I said, and stuck the key back in my pocket. “I appreciate your time.”
“Of course,” Errol said, and smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, and good luck with your search.”
We headed back outside and Gertie was practically bouncing.
“That’s awesome,” Gertie said. “You figured out what the key opens. I would have never thought to bring it to an antiques shop.”
“It was a great idea,” Ida Belle said, “but we still don’t know what it opens. It’s not like there’s a shortage on crypts in this area, and for all we know, it might not even fit a crypt around here.”
I nodded. “We need to know who owned that SUV before you. That might help with the crypt identification, becaus
e there’s a lot of things I’ll do, but traipsing through every cemetery in New Orleans and trying to unlock a room full of dead people is not one of them.”
“Big said he was going to get that information,” Gertie said. “Maybe you could follow up?”
I pulled out my cell phone and sent Little a text.
Working on the key. Did you find out anything about SUV owner?
I sent the text and pointed to a café across the street. “While we’re here, might as well have beignets.”
“Now you’re talking!” Gertie hurried across the street, her desire for beignets apparently overriding her bad knees.
“Sooner or later,” Ida Belle said, “you’re going to have to address things with Carter.”
“I will, but not until I’m certain you’re safe.”
Ida Belle nodded, and we headed across the street and into the café. Gertie had already acquired a table underneath a ceiling fan. I shot her a grateful look as I sat. It was so hot, and the old building in the French Quarter didn’t hold air very well. Added to that, no one wanted AC eating up all their profits, so owners were probably using only enough air to keep customers from melting. If you wanted to actually be cool, you’d have to do it at home and on your own dime.
I would have loved a latte, but no way was I adding to the heat factor, so we placed orders for iced tea and beignets. As soon as the waitress headed off, my phone signaled an incoming call from Little. I jumped up from my chair.
“It’s Little,” I said, and hustled outside where I couldn’t be overheard by any of the restaurant patrons.
“Miss Morrow,” Little said, “I have some information for you. The previous owner of the SUV was First Rate Auto Sales in New Orleans. They acquired the car from the widow of a Preston Wilks, who passed at age eighty-two.”
“So probably not involved in anything nefarious.”
“Oh, I’ve met quite a few old boys who were still in the business, but I couldn’t find anything on Wilks that would indicate he had criminal ties.”
“So who put the key in the SUV?”
“There were no owners listed between the car lot and Hot Rod, but sometimes people buy cars from these small lots and the paperwork never gets processed.”