Jana DeLeon - Miss Fortune 05 - Gator Bait

by Jana DeLeon

  “What the hell are you wearing?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Fortune said to distract the sheriff,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle cringed. “She meant start a conversation or fake a heart attack or something benign. Not dress like an Old Testament street walker. And what’s with the tennis shoes? Weren’t you wearing red pumps earlier?”

  “My feet hurt and you never know when I’ll need to run. Besides, the tennis shoes have a red stripe.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ida Belle said. “Where the hell did you get that getup, anyway?”

  Gertie put her hands on her hips. “It so happens that this is the dress I bought for our high school homecoming.”

  “I don’t ever remember seeing it,” Ida Belle said. “Maybe I was drunk.”

  “In high school?” I asked.

  Ida Belle shrugged. “Small town. Not a lot to do. You either got married, drunk, or pregnant, not necessarily in that order.”

  “You never saw the dress because I didn’t get to wear it,” Gertie explained.

  We didn’t have time to waste, and I knew the answer would be something that either strained credulity or made me blanch, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “Why not?” I asked.

  Ida Belle sighed.

  “Back then,” Gertie said, “I wasn’t exactly in hot demand.”

  “You’re not in hot demand now,” Ida Belle grumbled.

  Gertie gave her the bird. “So when that idiot Fingers Marcantel asked me to the dance, I started to say no.”

  “His name was Fingers?” I asked.

  “Yes, on account of him losing two of them in a fight with an alligator,” Gertie said.

  “That’s not true,” Ida Belle said. “Everyone started calling him ‘Fingers’ because he couldn’t do math without using them to count—and I’m talking high school, not elementary. He made up that story about the alligator to sound like a tough guy. What really happened is he stuck his hand under the lawn mower when his dad was working on it.”

  Gertie waved a hand at Ida Belle. “Whatever. Anyway, I wanted to go to the dance, and Fingers was my option, so I took it. I snuck off to New Orleans with two other girls and we bought dresses our mothers would have never let us out of the house in.”

  “Your mothers would have been right,” Ida Belle said. “I wish yours was still around to stop this tragedy.”

  “Anyway, I was walking home from school one day and heard someone moaning behind the big oak at the west side of the park. I thought someone was hurt, so I ran around the tree and there was Fingers and that slut Jasmine Arceneaux.”

  “Great-aunt of Pansy Arceneaux,” Ida Belle threw in.

  I nodded. Pansy Arceneaux, Celia Arceneaux’s daughter, wasn’t exactly a vestal virgin, and her less-than-moral ways had gotten her killed. “So it runs in the family. I take it you were so disgusted you didn’t go to the dance with Fingers?”

  “I would have still gone,” Gertie said. “I mean, I’d already bought the dress, but Fingers’s mother found out. She pumped him full of penicillin and sent him off to military school the next day.”

  Ida Belle threw her hands in the air. “All that to explain why you’re dressed like a Halloween hooker. You know what? I don’t even care anymore. Let’s just get this over with.” She stalked out the back door, Gertie trailing behind, her skirt swishing as she walked.

  I gripped the ice pick and package of raw meat and set out after them, wondering how my life had gotten so complicated all over again.

  Chapter Seven

  I perched on top of one corner of Carter’s back fence and studied the giant sleeping dog on his patio. I motioned to Ida Belle, who was sitting on the opposite corner, and she pulled out a piece of steak and whistled.

  Tiny opened one eyeball and Ida Belle whistled again, waving the hunk of meat in the air. Realizing his perimeter had been breached, Tiny jumped up and trotted straight for Ida Belle. She scooted back on the fence and tossed one of the hunks of meat about five feet out. The smell of the meat had Tiny skidding to a stop beside it. He took a single sniff then gobbled the entire thing up in two bites.

  I worried for a moment that I hadn’t brought enough meat. The bait had to give me enough time to get in and out of Carter’s house. In and no out was fraught with issues I didn’t even want to consider.

  Ida Belle waved and pulled out a second piece of meat. Tiny stretched his entire body up the fence, whining for Ida Belle to provide him with more raw treats. As soon as she dropped the next piece, I dropped into the bushes, then burst out and sprinted for the patio. Tiny’s head jerked around, and for a moment, I thought it was all over but the trip to the hospital, but Ida Belle whistled again and dropped another piece of meat on the ground.

  I jabbed the ice pick into the door lock and shoved the credit card down the slot between the door and the frame. A couple seconds later, the lock clicked open and I bolted inside, closing the door on the now-charging rottweiler. Tiny slammed into the door and dropped onto the patio. For a moment, I thought he’d broken his neck, but finally, he rose and wobbled over to his bed, where he flopped down.

  I ran to the front of the house and peered out the window. Riker and Mitchell were still parked at the curb. Riker was arguing with someone on the phone. I wondered if it was the sheriff’s department. I eased the blind slat back into place and headed for the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if Carter maintained a separate office, but if he didn’t, I figured he might work at his kitchen table like I did.

  Sure enough, some maps of the bayous and a pad of paper and pen were sitting there next to his laptop. I scanned the maps and recognized some of the channels surrounding Sinful, including the one that led to the place we’d had our romantic dinner, but I didn’t see any notes on the maps or the notepad.

  Come on, Carter.

  I opened his laptop. The password box flashed at me and I groaned. I typed in “Tiny” and hit Enter.

  Failed.

  I tried “Emmaline” and hit Enter again.

  Failed.

  Crap. One more try and I’d be locked out completely. I pulled out my phone and texted Ida Belle.

  Need password to Carter’s laptop. Already tried Tiny and Emmaline.

  A couple seconds later, Ida Belle replied.

  Try Fortune.

  I frowned. Surely not.

  A second text came through.

  Trust me.

  I took a breath and typed “Fortune,” then hit Enter before I could change my mind.

  The screen flashed, then the desktop appeared.

  I froze for a moment, my hands poised over the keyboard. Carter had changed his password to my name. Had he done it before our date? Was he just due for a change or had he changed it because he wanted to use my name? If so, what did that mean?

  I shook my head and focused on the laptop again. All of those questions were better explored later and over a beer or three. I took a look at the bottom of the screen and saw that a Word document was open. I checked the date and felt my pulse tick up a notch when I saw it was created Saturday, well after midnight. Bingo. I clicked on it and it filled the screen.

  HE shouldn’t have been there.

  That was it. The entire document contained only those five words. And I had zero idea what they meant. I went to Internet history and saw that he’d accessed the sheriff’s department around the same time he created the document, then the local newspaper shortly after, but I couldn’t tell what he’d read within the newspaper site. Clearly, he was looking for something.

  Something about the man who shouldn’t have been there.

  I closed the laptop and started toward the hallway, but drew up short in the middle of the kitchen. At casual glance, it looked completely normal, and quite frankly, neater than I’d expected for a single man. Pretty curtains with yellow daisies above a window over the sink, matching yellow rug on the stone floor below, a set of white canisters lining one side of the countertops.

  But something was off. Something I couldn’t put m
y finger on.

  And then I saw it. A single blue dish towel hanging on the refrigerator, its matching partner hanging over one of the two cabinet doors under the sink. I stepped closer to the refrigerator—a massive stainless steel block that could probably hold a month’s supply of beer—and took a closer look at the surface. Sure enough, the fingerprints I expected to see appeared on a good bit of the stainless steel surface, which was exactly why I had a black refrigerator. But the handle, which should have been littered with fingerprints, was completely clear.

  I pulled the rag off the refrigerator and squeezed it. It was still damp.

  Someone had already searched Carter’s house!

  They used the rag to wipe where they touched and failed to put it back in its correct spot. If not for that one slipup, I might never have noticed. I stared at the refrigerator again and frowned. Did people really hide stuff in there? I’d never known someone who did, but I supposed if you were searching a house, you opened everything. I used the dishrag to open the refrigerator and smiled at the store of beer and hamburger patties.

  My curiosity piqued, I closed the fridge and headed for the hallway to check out Carter’s bedroom. I didn’t anticipate finding anything more, but it would be remiss not to look, and if I was being honest, I kinda wanted to see what his bedroom looked like. I headed down the hallway, poking my head into doors as I went. Guest room. Hallway bath. Exercise room…nice equipment. I slipped inside to check the weights on the bench press bar. Three hundred. I’d figured as much. He had a three-hundred-pound-bench-press sort of chest.

  Only one door remained, and it had to be the master bedroom. I pushed it open and stepped inside, scanning the room. It was a nice large room with big manly sort of furniture. A four-poster bed with giant columns like a building in the Roman Empire, and matching dresser and nightstands, all in a dark wood. The walls were painted light brown and the comforter and pillows were all navy. Navy rugs with cream stripes were on each side of the bed, covering a small piece of the natural hardwood that stretched everywhere in the house except the kitchen and bathrooms.

  I crossed the room and peeked into the master bath, expecting to find it somewhat dated, as my house was, but clearly Carter was not holding fast to history. The bathroom had been completely updated. It looked like a sea of brown swirling marble with brown and navy glass tile accents. Quite frankly, it was the nicest bathroom I’d ever seen except for that one hotel in Morocco where I stayed while pretending to be the arms dealer’s girlfriend. That place had gold fixtures that I was pretty sure were real.

  But it was the little touches such as the navy vase with fake white flowers—the kind that looked real, not the cheap ones—the matching candles, and all the other decorations that were absolutely perfect for the space that had me suspecting a woman had been involved. No one had alluded to Carter’s being seriously involved with anyone since he’d returned to Sinful, so I was going to hazard a guess that it was Emmaline’s touch. She had that refined, elegant look about her. This room looked the same way. The yellow accents in the kitchen were probably her as well.

  I was just about to check out the closet when I heard noise out front. I hurried back to the living room and peered in between the blinds. At the same time, my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Gertie.

  Sheriff Lee is rounding the corner.

  Time to bail. I hurried to the back door and scanned the patio. Tiny was in the same spot he’d collapsed in before, eyes closed and chest moving rhythmically. I sent Ida Belle a text telling her to fire up the bait and watched as she whistled and waved a piece of meat. Tiny opened one eye, then rolled over and closed them both again. I swear he looked like he was snoring.

  I saw Ida Belle whistle again, then she rapped on the fence, but the sleeping rottweiler didn’t so much as flinch. The voices out front started to get louder and I realized they were approaching the front door. There was no place to hide. Once Riker and Mitchell got inside, they’d toss the place upside-down looking for a clue. My only option was to sneak out the back door and hope I could make it over the fence before Tiny decided naptime was over.

  I eased open the back door, got Ida Belle’s attention, and put one finger over my lips. She stopped rapping on the fence and nodded. I took a step outside the door and paused, but Tiny never flinched. I inched forward again and made it almost to the end of the patio before Tiny stretched and rolled over. I froze, praying that the dog didn’t open his eyes. I was right in his sight path. The seconds ticked by and finally, Tiny began to snore. I stepped off into the grass and picked up my pace as I crossed the lawn. Ida Belle gave me a thumbs-up right before I slipped into the bushes.

  And stepped on a squeaky ball.

  It might as well have been a gunshot. Tiny bolted up as if he’d received an electrical jolt, his eyes instantly locking on mine, then a second later, he launched off the patio with speed I had hoped he didn’t possess. I leaped for the top of the fence but miscalculated the first jump and came up an inch short. I could hear the dog racing across the lawn, exhaling a breath every time his front feet hit the ground.

  I squatted and jumped again, this time giving it 200 percent.

  And overshot the top of the fence by a good foot and a half.

  I reached for the fence, but my upward momentum was so strong that I couldn’t break the forward progression. The only option I had was attempting to redirect it so I clutched the top of the fence and folded myself over it, knocking my breath out as my ribs crashed onto the top rail. I heard Tiny jump behind me and felt the fence sway as his entire weight crashed into the slats. I could hear Ida Belle whistling, but Tiny wasn’t having any of it. As I swung my leg up, Tiny jumped again, and this time, he caught my shoe.

  The only thing that kept me from falling back into Carter’s yard was the fact that I was literally bent over the fence at my waist. I grabbed the fence rail on the other side and jerked my leg as hard as I could, trying to shake the tugging dog off my shoe. I felt myself start to slip backward and tugged harder, this time putting my entire body into it.

  The shoe popped off my foot, and I flew over the fence like a rubber band being shot off a finger. I didn’t have the time or the body positioning to prepare for a drop-and-roll, so I crashed onto the hard ground behind the fence, jarring every bone in my body and making my teeth hurt. I heard Tiny growl and slam himself into the fence again.

  Then there was a loud splintering sound.

  I stared in horror at the split that appeared in three of the fence slats, then spun around and ran for the corner of the fence Ida Belle occupied. If Tiny made it through that fence, my only saving grace would be the steak. Tiny must have mounted another attack because I heard the boards crack again, but this time it was less of a splinter and more of a sonic boom.

  Time was up.

  I ramped up my speed, but I could hear Tiny closing in on me. Ida Belle was still perched on top of the fence and gesturing wildly at me to hurry. When I was a couple feet away from the fence, I jumped, and not a moment too soon. Tiny leaped at the same time, barely missing snagging my one remaining shoe. I scrambled on top of the fence next to Ida Belle and looked down at the angry dog.

  “We can’t sit here forever,” Ida Belle said. “Someone will hear the racket and call the police.”

  “If we’re lucky, that’s all that will happen. I’m more worried that Riker and Mitchell will hear the racket and come to investigate.”

  Ida Belle’s brow creased in worry. “I only have two pieces of meat left, and that’s not nearly enough time to get away. That dog practically inhales them.”

  I scanned the fence, the woods behind Carter’s house, and the roofline, looking for a potential out. I’d escaped from heavily guarded arms compounds in the Middle East in 110-degree weather and without having food or water for two days. If I couldn’t work around one suburban pet, I needed to turn in my agent badge.

  “We need a distraction,” I said. “Something more interesting than us.”

&nb
sp; “Good luck with that.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and sent a message to Gertie.

  Make a lot of loud noise. Tiny is loose and we need a distraction.

  I hit Send and then had a second thought.

  Take cover after making the noise.

  I hit Send again and waited. A couple seconds later, Gertie answered.

  I got this.

  Holy crap. I was more than a little afraid.

  “What are you doing?” Ida Belle asked.

  “I think I just unleashed the kraken.”

  “Huh?”

  “Pirates of the Caribbean. You know, that pirate movie Gertie made us watch last week.”

  “Oh.” Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

  A second later, the loudest whistle in the history of man echoed through the neighborhood. Tiny froze for a moment and cocked his head to the side. Then a second whistle rang out and he took off for the front of the house.

  Ida Belle jumped off the fence, gesturing wildly. “Those Feds will shoot that dog. We have to rescue him.”

  Crap! I hadn’t even considered the douche-bags-with-weapons part of the equation. I bailed off the fence and grabbed Ida Belle’s sleeve as she started to run. “Wait! I’ve only got on one shoe and Tiny’s still got the other in his mouth. They’ll know it was us.”

  Ida Belle stared at me for a second and I swear I could see the wheels turning in her mind. She reached down and pulled off her shoes. “Take the other one off,” she yelled as she ran for the woods and chunked her shoes into the bayou.

  I had zero idea where she was going with this, but since I didn’t have anything better, I yanked off the remaining tennis shoe and hurled it into the swirling water.

  “This way.” Ida Belle took off down the fence line of the house next to Carter’s. I sprinted behind her and followed her around the house to the sidewalk around the corner.