The Miss Fortune Series: Summer in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Miss Prim & Proper Mystery Book 1)

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The Miss Fortune Series: Summer in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Miss Prim & Proper Mystery Book 1) Page 2

by Caroline Mickelson


  "Shouldn't one of us tell Fortune she can come out of hiding now?" I asked.

  For some odd reason, this seemed to amuse Gertie. She let out a howl of laughter. "Fortune doesn't hide from anyone, girl. Oh, wait, maybe that's not technically true if we count--"

  "Be quiet, Gertie," Aunt Ida Belle snapped. "Fortune isn't hiding, Stephanie. She went upstairs where she's got some kick ass powerful binoculars so she could try to find out who the trigger happy moron is."

  Right on cue, Fortune jogged down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her eyes scanned the room first before she turned to look at us. "You all okay?"

  Gertie nodded, Ida Belle grunted, but I couldn't do more than stare dumbly. I felt like Dorothy must have when she landed in Oz. Fortune, however, appeared to be on top of her game.

  "Look, we'd better get our stories straight before Carter gets here. There's no way he's going to believe that we were trying to chase off a raccoon." She rolled her eyes. "And I keep thinking that things can't get any more awkward between us."

  "Who's Carter?" I asked.

  "Forget the coon story," my aunt said, ignoring my question. "Once he gets a ballistics report, he's going to see that we were on the receiving end of some serious firepower."

  "Which means..." Gertie stopped speaking when Fortune and Aunt Ida Belle nodded their agreement to whatever it was she'd left unsaid.

  "Which means what?" I said, looking between them. "What aren't you telling me?"

  Finally, I had their attention. All three women turned to look at me.

  "I think the real question," Fortune asked, "is what aren't you telling us?"

  The last thing I wanted to do was admit what kind of trouble I'd brought to their sleepy bayou town.

  The squeal of tires outside and the slamming of a vehicle door granted me a reprieve. Within seconds, someone was pounding on the front door.

  "That's Carter," Fortune said, her eyes focused on me. "He's the law here in Sinful."

  "Okay," I nodded my understanding. "So I tell him my story?"

  "No," all three women shouted in unison.

  "Stephanie St. James, you listen to me, child," my Aunt Ida Belle said, one hand clasped on my arm. She gave me a gentle shake. "You know nothing. You say nothing. Not until after Carter's gone, got it?"

  "But--"

  "But nothing," Gertie hissed as Fortune headed for the front door. "Not a single word. Lives depend on it, and not just yours, you hear?"

  I nodded, but not because I truly understood. I was beyond confused. Fortune, a girl pretty enough to be a beauty queen, had fire in her eyes. Gertie and Aunt Ida Belle had morphed from two wrinkled old ladies into CIA agent intense mode.

  It suddenly made sense why I was the only one who got off the bus in Sinful. The people in this town were just plain crazy.

  "Don't even mention the word raccoon." A surprisingly young, not to mention handsome, sheriff's deputy held up his hands as he entered the kitchen. "If you can't tell me the God's truth about what happened here, then y'all just stay silent, you hear?"

  Silent we stayed. I looked at Aunt Ida Belle, who looked at Gertie, who looked at Fortune, who looked at the ceiling. They seemed united in their silence, but I couldn't remain quiet.

  Good manners dictated an introduction, irrespective of the fact that someone had just tried to annihilate the four of us. I firmly believe that once our society loses our civility, we lose everything.

  I felt the glass crunch underfoot as I stepped forward and held out my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Allow me to introduce myself." No one else was about to do it for me, it appeared. "I'm Stephanie St. James from Boston."

  "Deputy Carter LeBlanc." His handshake was firm, his demeanor professional, but something in his gaze when he looked at the four of us was downright weary. "I'd like to welcome you to Sinful but it looks like someone else beat me to it." His appraising gaze swept through the kitchen before returning to rest on me. "I have a load of questions for all of you, but first, tell me how you know these ladies."

  "Certainly, Officer LeBlanc." I smiled my most congenial smile. "It just so happens that Miss Ida Belle here is my great-aunt on my father's side of the family."

  His eyebrows shot up. "You're related?"

  "Yes, sir," I said, more than a bit of pride in my voice.

  But Carter didn't look impressed. He looked downright horrified. "So now there's four of you?" He wiped a hand across his brow. "Damn."

  Chapter Four

  "Deputy LeBlanc certainly seemed out of sorts, the way he stormed out of here muttering under his breath," I said not long after Sinful's deputy sheriff had departed. After he'd helped us nail boards up over the shot-out windows, and before he'd departed, he warned us upside down and backwards not to leave the house until morning. Carter's demeanor vacillated between threatening and begging. "Is he always like that?"

  "Like what?" Aunt Ida Belle asked. She pointed to my broom. "Keep sweeping while you talk. You can do both at once, can't you?"

  I resumed shepherding broken glass into piles with my broom. "He seemed exasperated. Well, no, that's not the right word. I can't quite put my finger on it--"

  "Only Fortune's allowed to put her finger on Carter," Gertie said with a wicked grin. "Ain't that right, Fortune?"

  We all looked at Fortune, but she didn't respond. She sat lost in thought, the only one of us not working to restore order to her war zone of a kitchen. Aunt Ida Belle let out an ear-splitting whistle.

  Fortune jumped to her feet. "What?" She looked from one of us to the other. "What's wrong?"

  "You tell us." Ida Belle's frown was fierce. "Your mind's a million miles away and yet we've got trouble lurking right around us. Not a good combination."

  Fortune neatly sidestepped my piles of glass as she took a mug out of the cupboard and filled it with the coffee that Gertie had just made. "I was trying to remember exactly where I've heard that unique pattern of gun fire before." Her brow furrowed, she took a long, slow sip. "The bullet release pattern is not standard for an American-made semi-automatic."

  I stopped sweeping and stared at her. "You heard all that over the sound of breaking glass and my screams?"

  Her eyes narrowed, but only for a moment, as if she'd drawn a curtain over them and I wasn't supposed to see what was behind her thoughts. "I took a military history course in college," she said. "Weaponry happens to be a little something I studied one semester."

  I looked away and resumed sweeping without saying anything. If I had nothing left in this world, I still had my manners, which dictated that I not call my hostess out as a liar in her own home. But Fortune was lying. I, too, had studied military history in college, and none of those classes had taught us a darn thing about how to differentiate between the varying sounds of modern artillery.

  "What are you thinking?" Aunt Ida Belle pulled up a chair and sat, her eyes fixed on Fortune's face. "Out with it. You've got something on your mind."

  Instead of answering, Fortune shot me a quick glance.

  "Oh, go ahead," my aunt told her. "Stephanie's plum stuck in the middle of this like the rest of us are, she won't be any trouble. I'll see to that."

  I continued sweeping, heeding my aunt's words. I knew little about this woman, but I'd decided that she was formidable. I was going to stay on her good side while I was here in Sinful.

  "Those were Nikonov assault rifles if I'm not mistaken. Unless they were Kalashnikovs. Either way, they were Russian made."

  I froze. "Did you say Russian?"

  All eyes turned to stare at me.

  "Russian, huh?" Gertie said. "Would this have anything to do with the list of names you were rattling off earlier? Let's see, there was Vladimir--"

  Rude as it was, I cut her off right there. "I had very few interactions with Vladimir." After all, I had my reputation to protect, and being associated with Vladimir, however indirectly, wasn't going to help it. But a quick glance at the boarded up windows reminded me that I had something else I should
be worrying about protecting. Namely, my life. "There's probably a little something I should tell you all."

  "Go on, Stephanie," Aunt Ida Belle encouraged me. "Whatever it is, we can handle it."

  This I very much doubted. I told them as much. "Please understand that I don't mean any offense," I hastened to add. "But you and Gertie are well into your golden years, Aunt Ida Belle. I'm up against something serious here."

  Aunt Ida Belle slammed her hand on the table. "Enough of this beating around the bush, missy. Who's after you?"

  I hesitated. I'd come to Sinful to hide, not embroil my great-aunt and her friends in a dangerous situation. But the hiding obviously wasn't working. The people looking for me clearly knew where I was. Their welcome volley of bullets had sent that message loud and clear. I could run, but they weren't going to let me hide.

  Crestfallen, I plopped down in a chair. "Maybe I should leave in the morning."

  Fortune shook her head. "They'll follow you wherever you go. You're safer here."

  "But if I stay, I'll be putting you three in danger." I turned to my great-aunt. "I'm sorry, Aunt Ida Belle, I really didn't think they'd find me so quickly."

  She patted my hand awkwardly. "You're just going to have to trust us with the truth. Now, I'm asking you for the last time, who's after you?"

  "The mob." I half-expected them to not believe me. After all, how many elderly southern women had any experience with organized crime?

  "The Russian mob?" Gertie's eyes about bugged out of her head. "You're kidding me."

  I sighed. "I wish I were. But I'm not."

  "Who exactly are we talking about?" Fortune demanded. "Which family?"

  "Sidorov."

  Fortune gave a low whistle. "How deep are you in?"

  I swept my arm around the kitchen. "Deep enough that they followed me all the way down to the backwaters of the bayou." I buried my face in my hands. "I don't know what to do now."

  "I do."

  I lifted my head and stared into my Aunt Ida Belle's eyes. "You do?"

  "Sure I do," she said. "It's obvious, isn't it, girls?"

  Gertie and Fortune both nodded.

  "What am I missing?" If I didn't know any better, I would swear that the three women I sat with looked almost animated by the direction our conversation was taking. I, however, was hovering somewhere between shocked and horrified. "What are you proposing we do?"

  Fortune smiled. "We're going to get them before they get you."

  Chapter Five

  Our game plan, cobbled together over a late night meal of turkey sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies, made sense before we'd all headed to bed. However, in the light of day, as the sun was blocked from streaming in the kitchen windows by the boards we'd hastily nailed up the night before, I was suddenly much less sure it made any sense at all.

  The four of us against the Sidorov family? The idea was sheer folly.

  But Aunt Ida Belle shot down my concerns every time I tried to give voice to them. Her refusal to even hear me out put me in a tenuous position. Even though we were Fortune's houseguests, Aunt Ida Belle was still technically my hostess, not to mention that she was far older than I was, and a relative to boot. How could I argue with her?

  "Now stop trying to squabble with me," she chided me as I washed up the coffee mugs. "We're not going to sit around in this house like four scared ninnies. We're going to go about our day as planned. End of discussion."

  I sighed. "What are our plans for the day?"

  She nodded approvingly. "That's a girl. Just do as we say and everything's going to be fine."

  Fortune bounded into the kitchen wearing a bright yellow cotton t-shirt, black yoga pants, and shocking neon green tennis shoes. I gave her appearance a once-over as she did the same to mine. At the other end of the fashion spectrum, I'd chosen a light shell pink cotton blouse, a white cardigan, a knee-length black A-line skirt and black ballet slippers. I hardly need add that I also wore my pearls. After all, this was summer in the south. Pearls were a must.

  Gertie grabbed her two-ton purse off the counter and slung it over her shoulder. "Doesn't hanging out with these two young things make you feel about twenty-five again, Ida Belle?"

  "I'll answer that tonight if none of us ends up with a bullet lodged in our brain." She looked at Fortune. "Buddy McBride's coming by to replace your windows?"

  Fortune nodded. "He's coming at ten, so let's clear out of here. My mouth's watering just thinking about one of Francine's breakfasts."

  We piled into Gertie's Cadillac and began the wild ride toward the center of Sinful. As her ancient rust-mobile lurched to a stop in front of Francine's Diner, I realized I'd now cheated death three times in twenty-four hours. Between Gertie's driving and the Russian mob, if I survived my summer in the bayou, the Pope should classify it as a miracle.

  Francine's was exactly what I expected an old-fashioned, small time southern diner to look like. If it had been updated any time within the past twenty years, someone had taken great pains to hide the fact. But once we tucked into the heaping plates of fluffy waffles, tender scrambled eggs, and savory sausage links, I understood Aunt Ida Belle's insistence that we come here for breakfast. While I hoped this wouldn't be my last meal on this earth, if it were, at least I'd had a sneak peek of what food in heaven must taste like.

  "Now let's talk turkey." Aunt Ida Belle pushed away her empty plate. She fixed her eyes on me with that laser intense stare of hers. "What have you got that the Ruskis want?"

  "Did you steal something from them?" Gertie's eyes sparkled with excitement.

  "Not exactly," I hedged. Despite the fact that I was related by blood to one of the women I sat with, I still wasn't overly comfortable sharing such personal details. Especially considering that sharing said details might well end up getting them killed.

  "You know, Stephanie, you're in a no-win situation here." Fortune's expression was sympathetic. "And I know you don't know the three of us from a hole in the ground, but you've been marked."

  My eyes widened to hear my situation put so bluntly into words.

  "Ignoring this isn't going to make it go away," Fortune pressed on. "We need the details and we need them now so we can keep you safe."

  My expression must have conveyed my skepticism because Aunt Ida Belle jumped into the conversation, her expression stern and her tone authoritative.

  "Stephanie, I didn't go looking for any trouble, but courtesy of that old fool Mable, you've brought it straight to my doorstep. You and I are kin, and that still holds meaning with me. I'll protect you, but I won't put up with any half-truths or partial stories about what's going on. Is that clear?"

  I nodded. She was pulling rank. She knew it and I knew it. And honestly, what other options did I have?

  "Good." Satisfied her point was made, she settled back in the booth, a half smile on her face. "You don't need to understand how we work, you hear? Your job is to answer any question we ask, truthfully and immediately."

  "Yes, Aunt Ida Belle."

  "Now, start at the beginning and hurry up to the end so we don't have to walk around Sinful with invisible targets on our backs."

  The beginning? I guess that would be my job. "Back home, I write for the Boston Daily News. I have a weekly column on the finer points of etiquette, and I have a daily segment that answers readers' questions about how to handle awkward social situations."

  "So you're like Miss Manners?" Gertie asked.

  "Actually, I'm Miss Prim and Proper." I wasn't the least bit surprised when Gertie let out a whoop of laughter that had heads turning in our direction. Neither was I surprised by Fortune's barely concealed smirk. Aunt Ida Belle's expression was unreadable. "Thanks in large part to the internet, newspaper circulation is way down. While I'm still employed, I've had to take on a side job or two to make ends meet."

  Gertie's eyebrows shot up. "You became a mob escort?"

  "No, of course not." I took a slow sip of my coffee so I could have a moment to compose myself. One
day in Sinful wasn't going to turn me into a harpy who snapped at senior citizens, even if they were accusing me of upscale street walking. "I placed an advertisement in the paper offering my services as a protocol consultant."

  "And how much work did that bring in?" Fortune asked.

  My false pride urged me to exaggerate, but I was mindful of my great-aunt's earlier warning to be honest. "About as much as you'd expect."

  She nodded. "Not much."

  "Precisely. So when I received a telephone call from one of Mr. Sidorov's personal assistants, I was delighted." There was no need to tell them about the stack of unpaid utility bills that had prompted my happy dance when I heard the sum of money I was being offered.

  "They offered you a wad and a half, didn't they?" Gertie asked. "These mob types are always waving around fistfuls of cash like flags on the Fourth of July."

  I resisted the urge to ask Gertie just what personal experience she'd had with the Russian mob. There was nothing to be gained by embarrassing her when she had to admit she had none. "Let's just say they offered me enough so that I could keep my prize Persian in cat food for the next decade."

  "And what specifically were they wanting in return for the generous pay?" Aunt Ida Belle asked.

  "Initially, I advised the members of Mr. Sidorov's personal staff on the finer points of fitting into Boston society." Such as, one did not order shots of vodka with orange juice at corporate breakfast meetings. Nor was it considered top shelf to wear a purple suit to a funeral. "Trust me, it was basic manners tutoring, nothing more."

  "Well, something had to happen or they wouldn't have followed you all the way down here and shot up Fortune's house, huh?"

  "Point taken, Aunt Ida Belle." I quickly filled them in on all the little tasks I undertook for the family. "But it was all innocent enough. They wanted to be considered classy like the Kennedys, but no matter how many times I tried to tell them that the Kennedys weren't the standard bearer of class, they wouldn't listen. They're a stubborn lot who don't like to hear the word "no".

 

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