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

by Caroline Mickelson

  "Funny thing about members of organized crime," Fortune said. "They like to give orders, not take them."

  "I figured that out, trust me."

  "So what made you run?" my great-aunt asked.

  "Mikhail. The Sidorov's youngest son. Everyone calls him Misha. Let's just say he developed a bit of an unhealthy attachment to me."

  "Ha! A man was in the middle of this." Gertie pumped her fist in the air. "I should've taken bets this morning. I knew it."

  The rest of the story just tumbled out. I'd increasingly become uncomfortable not only with the people the Sidorovs surrounded themselves with but also with Misha's attentions. "He insisted that we were engaged, a lie his father believed." I could feel my face flame as I remembered how persistent of a suitor Misha had become. "He even told his father that he'd executed a man in front of me and now we had to get married so I couldn't testify against him."

  Gertie shook her head. "The boy sure doesn't know much about how to woo a woman, does he?"

  "Did he execute someone in front of you?" Fortune asked.

  "No, good heavens, no." I shuddered. "But I wouldn't put it past him. Which is why I found a cat sitter and got out of town. I never want to see Misha Sidorov again."

  Fortune's cell phone rang and we waited in silence while she took the call. Her face barely registered any emotion as she listened to the caller, but her words sent a chill right through me.

  "Don't touch the body, we'll be right there."

  Chapter Six

  Oddly enough, as we raced out of Francine's, just barely slowing down long enough to throw two twenty-dollar bills in the direction of the cash register, no one seemed overly surprised at the sight of four grown women tearing out of the diner as if the gates of hell were about to close behind us.

  "Get in," Gertie yelled as we neared her rusted-out Caddy.

  She needn't have worried. Fortune all but shoved me in the back seat before she dove in on top of me. Aunt Ida Belle swung into the front passenger seat as if she'd been riding shotgun with Gertie for decades, which she probably had. Gertie peeled out onto the main street and gunned the car back toward Fortune's house.

  Luckily no small children were playing ball in the street. Otherwise, Gertie would have added to Sinful's growing body count.

  "Hurry up," Aunt Ida Belle egged her on. "We've got to get there before Carter does."

  "Why?" I asked, but no one answered my question. I didn't even bother with the other two questions I was desperate to have answered. Whose body was it and where was it? I'd see in due course. Assuming I survived the car ride.

  "What else did Buddy McBride say?" Aunt Ida Belle asked, glancing over her shoulder at Fortune. "He recognized the body?"

  "I didn't ask."

  Despite the warmth of the mid-morning sun, I shivered. I'd run away from the Russian mob to find a quiet place to hide, but in less than twenty-four hours we'd been shot at and now there was a body we were rushing to get a look at before the police did. Why weren't my companions panicking? If anything, they seemed energized by the race towards the corpse. For the first time, I wondered if I'd have been safer hiding out in Boston.

  "Let's hope that fool takes his time calling the sheriff's department." Gertie swung wide around a corner as we neared Fortune's house. "I was his English teacher for three years running. Let's just say, that boy was a little short in the initiative department."

  Because Buddy's truck was parked in the middle of the driveway, Gertie guided her Caddy straight up and onto the lawn. I gasped at her lack of decorum. Parking on the street in front of a home was one thing, but on the lawn? Mercy.

  My companions didn't try to contain their delight that no law enforcement vehicles were in sight.

  "We beat 'em," Gertie called out triumphantly over her shoulder as she bounded toward the house.

  "Let's just hope it's not Buddy's glutton of a brother-in-law who had a heart attack in Fortune's kitchen," Aunt Ida Belle chimed in as she hurried to catch up with Gertie.

  But it wasn't Buddy's brother-in-law we found dead on the kitchen floor.

  It was Misha Sidorov.

  A wave of nausea rolled over me as I stared down at Misha's lifeless body. I clapped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming.

  I'd never seen a dead body before, nor do I ever want to again. Misha's baby blue eyes stared straight up at me. I couldn't help but feel that their empty gaze was almost accusatory. My knees buckled and I reached out for something to hold on to.

  "Gertie, grab a chair." Fortune slipped her arm around my waist and I willingly sagged against her. "Ida Belle, why don't you take Buddy outside and see what he can tell you?"

  As I sank into the chair Gertie brought over, I glanced up at Buddy. He looked about how I felt. Shocked. Numb. Horrified. But I doubt he felt even a drop of the guilt that was threatening to engulf me. I covered my face with my hands and groaned.

  "Stephanie, listen to me." Fortune knelt beside me. "Who is this man? You recognize him, don't you?"

  I nodded. "It's Misha. No, I mean, it was Misha. Oh, I feel sick."

  "Stephanie, pull yourself together. The police will be here soon, so first you need to tell me what you can." She stepped in front of me to block my view of Misha's body, but not before I saw Gertie kneel down beside him.

  "What's she doing?" I demanded.

  "Praying?"

  I peered around her to get a better look at Gertie. "With her hand in Misha's pocket?"

  "She's looking for his ID," Fortune assured me, sounding more confident this time.

  "I just told you who it is," I said. I wasn't going to wrangle with the past tense. So long as his body was in the same room as me, I was using present tense. Propriety and grammar be damned.

  Gertie sat back on her heels. "I can't find any ID on him. His wallet is stuffed with cash, but there's no driver's license." She blew out an exasperated breath. "Not so much as a library card."

  "Really, Gertie?" Fortune's words were laced with sarcasm. "Hard to believe that any self-respecting mobster would go out without laminated incrimination in his wallet. Focus, woman. Carter's going to be here any moment. What else is he carrying?"

  "He's packing a nice piece." She pulled out a Makarov pistol and held it up. "I wouldn't mind keeping this one for myself."

  "Oh, he loved that gun." I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes. "He never went anywhere without it."

  "Well, he can't take it with him so there's no sense in letting it go to waste." Gertie shoved it in her purse.

  "Put that back," Fortune demanded. "We don't have time to bail you out for petty theft and obstruction. If you want a gun like that then you save your social security checks and buy one on the black market like everyone else."

  Gertie slid Misha's gun back into his holster. "Fine. Spoil my fun."

  "Fun? Did she say fun?" I could hear the hysteria in my voice. I looked up at Fortune. "This isn't funny."

  She patted my shoulder in an awkward attempt at reassurance. "I know. We're just trying to gather information so we can find out who did this to Misha. And to find out who's gunning for you."

  I shivered. I'm not going to pretend that I was devastated that Misha was dead. I wasn't ever in love with him. And I was more than a little frightened by how obsessed with me he had been. But there was a bit of sadness mixed in with all the other emotions swirling around in my head.

  I knew who was "gunning" for me, as Fortune put it. The Sidorovs. All of them would be out in full force once they heard that Misha was dead. I'd be to blame even if I wasn't the one who killed him.

  "How did he die?" I asked. The question hadn't occurred to me before now. There wasn't blood splattered everywhere, well, anywhere in fact. Not that I could see. I stood and peered around Fortune. Misha lay still, as if he were asleep. Except that his eyes were wide open. That was seriously starting to freak me out.

  "I don't know. I'll take a look." Fortune motioned for Gertie to come stand next to me. She knelt beside
Misha and studied his still form. She didn't touch him, but she didn't shy away from examining him either.

  Suddenly it occurred to me that the way Aunt Ida Belle, Fortune, and Gertie were acting wasn't the way that three women would normally act in the presence of a strange corpse. They appeared curious and galvanized for action. Where was the panic? The swooning? The vapors?

  "Carter's coming," Aunt Ida Belle's voice rang out from the front door. "Haul your carcasses out here, ladies."

  Fortune shot to her feet. She and Gertie each grabbed one of my arms and hustled me out to the front porch just as Deputy LeBlanc's pickup truck came tearing around the street corner.

  Fortune leaned in close. "Pay attention, Stephanie. Answer all of Carter's questions honestly. But don't volunteer information. We need to keep our cards close to our vests if we are to have a chance of keeping you safe. Understand?"

  I nodded. Not because I actually understood, but because the look on Carter's face as he got out of his truck was thunderous. I decided then that I'd be safer with the ladies. At least they were unlikely to haul me in on suspicion of murder.

  I wasn't so sure I could say the same for Sinful's deputy sheriff.

  Chapter Seven

  Before Carter even stepped one boot on the front porch step, Ida Belle, Gertie, and Fortune all broke into speech at once. Carter stuck two fingers in his mouth and emitted an ear-splitting whistle that was so loud, I was surprised it didn't wake poor Misha.

  "Do. Not. Say. One. Word." Carter brushed past us and breezed into the house. "And don't move either," he called over his shoulder. "Y'all stay put until I come back out or Deputy Breaux arrives."

  An eerie silence descended over the five of us. I took my first good look at the man who'd found Misha's body. Buddy McBride was likely in his mid-forties, no older. He wore a dingy used-to-be-white t-shirt with "Got Glass?" emblazoned across the front. He held a Georgia Bull Dogs baseball cap, which he was twisting near to pieces. I'd never seen the man before, but one thing was clear. He looked miserably uncomfortable. I felt for him.

  "Am I in trouble, Miss Gertie?" Buddy asked in a low whisper, his eyes darting toward the house.

  Gertie leaned past me to look him square in the eye. "Did you kill that man in there?"

  He shook his head vehemently. "No, ma'am, I did not."

  "Then stick with that story and you're fine." Gertie looked over her shoulder to see if Carter was coming, but the coast was clear. She turned back to Buddy. "Now, I remember that time when you were in the fourth grade and Lester Williams threw his baseball straight through the library window. You remember that, Buddy?"

  He gulped. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

  "Then you also remember when you swore up and down that you didn't see who threw the ball, but all along you knew it was Lester. You remember that, too?"

  Buddy nodded earnestly.

  "I covered for you with the principal because I didn't want you getting in trouble for being a loyal friend." Gertie paused for a moment to let Buddy catch up before she went in for the kill. "Now, I figure that means you owe me. Don't you, Buddy?"

  Aunt Ida Belle, Fortune, and I exchanged glances. I sensed they were as impressed with Gertie as I was. The woman was smooth, I'd give her that.

  "I reckon it does, Miss Gertie."

  "Good boy. Now, you tell me what you saw in there. Mind that I only want the truth."

  Buddy nodded, bit his lip, shifted from foot to foot, and would have continued squirming if Aunt Ida Belle hadn't elbowed him in the ribs.

  "Well, it's like I told Miss Ida Belle, I didn't really see nothing."

  "Anything," Gertie corrected him.

  He nodded. "Right, anything. I didn't see anything. I was working alone because Lazy Davy called in sick this morning. He's been doing that a lot lately."

  With a name like Lazy Davy, how could this surprise him?

  "So, I'd finished chipping out the glass still stuck in the window frame," Buddy continued, "and then I headed out to my truck to get my vacuum."

  "When did you first see the man in there?" Fortune asked, her voice low. "Did you see a car or hear anyone else?"

  "I already told Miss Ida Belle everything," Buddy protested. He licked his lips and his hands shook. "It's all so confusing."

  Gertie reached into her bag, rummaged around, and pulled out a small bottle. She handed it to him. "Take a sip and then get back to your story. Hurry now."

  Her former student didn't hesitate. When he tipped back the bottle I saw the words "Cough Syrup" printed on the front of the bottle. Cough syrup? Buddy hadn't coughed once. But he gave a contented sigh after two long swigs.

  I felt like I'd just disappeared down the rabbit hole. Everything was making less sense as time wore on, not more.

  Aunt Ida Belle grabbed the bottle out of Buddy's hands and handed it to Gertie, who capped it and tossed it back in her shoulder bag.

  "Did you see anyone at all? Or hear anyone?" Gertie demanded.

  Buddy shook his head. "Nothing, I swear. I went out to my truck and was digging around the back for my vacuum. There weren't no cars going by and I didn't hear a thing. Course, I had my music up kinda loud." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPod shuffle and ear buds. "And I had my back to the street while I was looking for my extension cord."

  So Buddy McBride was officially of no help. Perfect.

  We were standing in frustrated silence when Carter came back out of Fortune's front door. He looked around, a frown on his face. "No sign of Deputy Breaux?"

  Fortune shook her head. "None."

  Carter swore under his breath. His obvious frustration notwithstanding, I hardly considered this appropriate behavior when ladies were present. I couldn't help myself. I had to say something. "Deputy LeBlanc, I'll remind you that there are ladies present."

  His eyes widened. He looked at Fortune. "Is she for real?"

  Fortune nodded wordlessly.

  Carter turned to face me. "I mean no offense, but this isn't a ladies social. My job is to find out who killed that man in there."

  "Who is he?" Gertie asked, her voice as innocent as an angel. "I mean, who was he?"

  Carter crossed his beefy arms across his chest. "Don't tell me that you don't know."

  "I don't know," Buddy said. "I've never seen him before in my life."

  I was saved from having to lie, or confess, by the arrival of two cars. A man in uniform, presumably Deputy Breaux, got out of the first vehicle. A woman in a hideously loud floral print dress got out of the second. The deputy moved deferentially aside as the woman slammed her car door and strode toward the house.

  "What on earth is going on here, LeBlanc?" she demanded.

  "Is this the police commissioner?" I asked.

  "Ha!" Gertie snorted derisively. "She couldn't even get elected as mayor without causing a fuss."

  "Shut up, Gertie." The woman turned to look me up and down from my ballet flats to what I hoped was my still perfectly coiffed chignon. "Who is this?"

  I don't mind admitting that I took an immediate dislike to the woman in front of me. Her scornful expression was enough to curdle fresh milk. But regardless of her poor manners, I still had a reputation to uphold. I held out my hand. "My name is Stephanie St. James. I'm Ida Belle's great-niece from Boston."

  Her face contorted. "Another Yankee?" She shot a disdainful glance at Fortune. "That would explain you being smack in the center of trouble."

  "What are you doing here, Celia?" Carter asked.

  "I was at the police station looking for you, and Myrtle told me that you were here. I decided to ensure that you were here on official business and not on a social call."

  I saw Fortune's hands clench into fists. Clearly, there was a tense history between these women. Whoever this Celia was, she was trouble. Trouble in an ugly dress.

  But what about Misha? His body was just lying in there. Surely he should take precedence over the bad blood between Fortune and Celia? "Trust me, this is official business," I said,
carefully choosing my words to not give away that I knew the victim. "If you don't believe us, go in and take a look. There's a dead man in there."

  Celia drew herself up and squared her shoulders. "Maybe I will. As Sinful's mayor, I certainly have the right."

  Carter waved the other deputy over. "Stay here with Buddy and the ladies. Don't let them talk." He waved for the mayor to precede him into the house. "Hurry up and view the body, Celia. I've got a crime scene to process."

  She stomped past us into Fortune's house but was back out within the space of less than two minutes. She glared at us all. "I knew you were up to monkey business." She wagged her finger at Fortune. "I should have you brought up on charges for filing false police reports. And your boyfriend is going to lose his job if it's the last thing I do."

  She stormed out to her car and peeled away from the curb just as Carter reappeared on the porch. He looked about ready to have a stroke.

  "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "Where's the body?"

  We all stared at him.

  "What are you talking about, boy?" Ida Belle demanded.

  "He's gone." Carter pointed toward the house. "The body's gone."

  Deputy Breaux spoke for the first time. "Are you sure he was really dead?"

  Carter let loose with a stream of cuss words that proved he must have been bayou-born and bred. They were words I'd certainly never heard before.

  Without waiting for permission to move, Gertie and Ida Belle charged into the kitchen. Fortune and I followed, with Carter, Buddy, and the deputy right behind us. We all came to a collective screeching halt in the kitchen entryway.

  "Oh, my God." I felt as if the air had been sucked out of my lungs. "He's gone."

  Misha had not only departed this earth, but his body was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter Eight

  "Is this a training drill?" Deputy Breaux asked. His face was a mask of confusion. "Or some kind of trick to test my observation skills?"