"Whose house?" Aunt Ida Belle took off her seatbelt and turned around to face me. "Fortune's house that was shot up? Or Gertie's, where likely Carter is sitting looking out his window waiting for us to come home so that he can watch our every movement?"
"Why not your house?"
I could see that she was trying to keep her cool. She really was. She spoke as patiently as I'd ever heard her. "Because I'd put money on it that the Sidorovs know you're likely to show up there eventually. If they followed you to Sinful, they know that you're my niece. Running into Vladimir or any of his goons isn't going to get us any closer to getting you off the hook."
"We're here now, so let's get our plan straight," Fortune said.
I shot a curious glance at her. For an ex-beauty queen and a librarian, she certainly had a take-charge, commanding personality. Something didn't jibe.
"Stephanie, why don't you stay here with the car while Ida Belle and I go take a look around back?" she asked.
"What about me?" Gertie demanded.
"You're not getting out of this car," Aunt Ida Belle told her. "If you do, I just know that this will somehow turn into the Great Coffin Fiasco."
Gertie glared at my great-aunt. "You've been at the center of a few fiascos in your day, Ida Belle."
"True, but not nearly a fraction of the ones you have."
Fortune held up both hands. "Stop. You two can duke this out later. If Big really did send a boat down the bayou, it should be docking around back about now. No one's going to be very happy if we keep them waiting."
Ida Belle slid out of the front seat and quietly closed the door. She motioned for me to follow her. "I want my niece with us. If this is a trap, we can't leave her just sitting here ripe for the picking."
I didn't wait for Fortune to respond. I opened my door and got out. As much as I liked Gertie, my gut instinct told me that I'd be safer with Fortune and my aunt.
Gertie slouched down in the driver's seat. "Fine. Go have fun without me. I'll just sit here wasting away to nothing. An old woman left all alone...."
I watched as aunt Ida Belle and Fortune exchanged glances. I don't know what unspoken agreement passed between them, but without so much as a by-your-leave they started out toward the mortuary parking lot. I gave Gertie an apologetic shrug and hurried after them.
We kept to the darkened perimeter of the property. I did my best to make my way through the brush as quietly as they did, but I was sure the sound of my galloping heart beat could wake the dead. Not a very comforting thought this close to a mortuary.
I smelled the bayou before I saw it. I can't think of any way to describe it except to say that it redefined the word "swampy" in my mind. The night air was thick and heavy. A cadre of insects and critters created a symphony of noises that I'd never heard in Boston. Stars twinkled in the nighttime sky as if they were laughing at our folly.
Fortune stopped and held up a hand. She pointed to a dock behind the mortuary. The shadow of an airboat was barely visible. If we weren't looking for it, we'd easily have missed it.
"It looks like they've got Misha," Fortune whispered.
"Or his coffin anyway," Aunt Ida Belle said.
The thought of Misha's lifeless body boxed up like that made me ill. Literally. I turned away and lost my lunch as discreetly as I could. Thankfully, I always carry a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "I can't do this," I said after I blotted my lips. "We shouldn't be here."
Aunt Ida Belle's hand closed around my wrist. "But we are, and we're going through with this." She then dropped her bombshell. "Stephanie, I think it would be downright rude of you not to accept our help."
Ouch. She really knew how to deal a blow. We stared at each other for a long moment.
"You're right, Aunt Ida Belle. Please accept my apologies." I squared my shoulders and lifted my head high. "I'm ready."
Fortune pointed in the direction of the boat. "You're not the only one."
Two moving figures, so large they had to be Big and Little's henchmen, stood on the dock, a gurney with a coffin on it alongside them.
"Let's roll," Fortune whispered over her shoulder as she began to move.
We crept along the side of the property until we were within a stone's throw of the men. They appeared unaware of our approach.
"Where the hell are they?" the first one growled. "Big's going to be spitting mad if we have to bring the stiff back to the warehouse."
Stiff? I took great umbrage to that. Misha, every law-breaking, narcissistic ounce of him, was dead and should be spoken of with at least a modicum of respect. My fear of the Sidorovs faded as my temper flared. I stepped out onto the paved lot. "I'll ask you not to speak of that poor deceased gentleman in such a disparaging tone."
Both men jumped, clearly startled at the sound of my voice. I felt a bit smug at the realization that they obviously hadn't heard us approach. Good. I had their full attention. It struck me as the perfect time for a lesson on speaking respectfully of the dead. I marched over to stand in front of them. "The man in the coffin, Mikhail Sidorov, has now gone to meet his maker. It's a fate that awaits us all, including the both of you." It was dark so I wasn't able to clearly read their expressions, but I knew they were looking at me.
"Look, lady, we don't need no lecture--" one of the goons began, but I held up my hand to stop him right there. Gertie certainly would have if she'd been here to hear his use of a double negative.
"Yes, you are correct, I am a lady. However, you do not have the right to address me in such a disrespectful tone of voice. Is that clear?"
Instead of answering, they both took a step backward, somehow managing to bump into each other as they did so.
"Gentleman, I'm not certain what part of this great nation you both hail from, but I can't imagine that where you were raised it was polite to ignore a lady's question." I was just warming up. I'd missed working directly with clients. There was nothing like bringing a sense of propriety to individuals unfortunate enough not to have been raised properly to warm my heart. "I'm not sure what direct instructions Mr. Hebert gave you--"
"He told us to dump the body and hightail it back when you all showed up," the larger of the two said. "So that's what we're gonna do."
"Not so fast." I pointed to the back door of the mortuary. There were five concrete steps leading up to a not particularly wide door. "The least you can do is open that door for us. And please do not pretend that you don't know how to pick a lock. I know better."
"We're not sticking around to help, lady," hulk number one said. He looked at his associate and jerked his head in the direction of their boat. The other man nodded and they broke out into a trot. They jumped onto their airboat and started it up before I could catch my breath.
"Wait," I called after them, panic rising in my chest. "Come back here. We need your help." But I was speaking to their boat's wake as they sped out of sight.
Aunt Ida Belle came to stand behind me. She laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Let it go, child. We can manage this without them."
"We need to go and check the lock, so just wait here for a minute. And Stephanie, your aunt's right," Fortune said, her voice resolute. "We can do this ourselves."
Like heck we could. They were seriously overestimating our abilities, and I couldn't take it anymore. I whirled around to confront them. Unfortunately, I moved so quickly that I stumbled and bumped into the gurney that held Misha's coffin.
Transfixed, I watched in horror as the gurney began to roll in the direction of the bayou's bank. I struggled to speak, but the words were stuck in my throat. Only a strangled cry came out.
"Hush, Stephanie," my great-aunt called out from the mortuary steps. "Just keep watch while we work on this lock."
I kept watch all right. I watched as the gurney headed straight for the bayou. I watched as one of the wheels got caught on a rock and it jerked sideways. I watched as the coffin slid straight off the back and down the embankment.
And then I watched in horror as Misha Sidorov
's coffin sank into the Louisiana bayou.
Chapter Twelve
I still hadn't managed to speak when I heard squealing tires in the front parking lot, followed by the sound of a car's horn.
Fortune and Aunt Ida Belle ran down the steps and joined me.
"I'll go see what that crazy Gertie wants." Aunt Ida Belle sprinted off in the direction of the Cadillac.
Fortune frowned as she surveyed the spot where we stood. "Where's the coffin?"
I swallowed hard and pointed toward the water.
I winced at Fortune's sharp intake of breath.
Her eyes were wide. "What happened?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but Aunt Ida Belle came jogging back to where we waited before I could manage a single world.
"We've got to clear out now," she said, looking back over her shoulder. "Carter's on his way over here. Myrtle just called Gertie's cell. A call came into the station about suspicious activity near the mortuary. She called him and then Gertie. Let's go."
My feet were rooted to the spot. I pointed toward the empty gurney. "Misha." It came out as a barely audible squeak.
Aunt Ida Belle's eyes grew wide and she gasped. "Where's the coffin?"
"We don't have time to explain." Fortune gave me a tiny shove in the direction of my great-aunt. "Just get her in the car and I'll be right behind you. Go."
This was all Aunt Ida Belle needed to hear. She grabbed my arm and dragged me along beside her, not letting go until we reached the Cadillac. She yanked open the door and shoved me in the backseat.
"Where's Fortune?" Gertie demanded.
"I'm right here," Fortune ran up and dove in beside me, almost as if she'd done it a dozen times before. "Go."
Gertie needed no further inducement. Her lead foot hit the gas pedal and the Cadillac tore out of the parking lot.
"Go east," Ida Belle shouted as we neared the entrance. "Carter's most likely to come from the west."
Fortune toppled into my lap as Gertie whipped around the corner. I helped her sit back up. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "You?"
I shook my head vigorously. No. I was as far from okay as a person could be. "Misha." It was all I could say. The image of his coffin hitting the water and disappearing from sight was tattooed into my brain. It was never going to go away.
"What about him?" Gertie asked.
I moaned.
"What the hell happened back there?" Ida Belle frowned at me as if I were a naughty school girl rather than a woman traumatized. "Misha's dead. You're going to have to accept that."
Yeah, the idea was really starting to sink in.
"We can talk once we get to Gertie's house," Fortune said. She turned to look out the back window. "No sign of any headlights behind us, so I think we've dodged Carter."
"For now." Aunt Ida Belle reached over and tapped Gertie's shoulder. "Slow down. We don't need anyone calling the police because they've spotted us tearing through town."
Gertie immediately brought down her speed to a crawl.
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, go thirty miles an hour, you old fool," Aunt Ida Belle snapped. "You can't ever just fly under the radar, can you?"
"Only sissies fly under the radar." Gertie drove on through the quiet streets at exactly thirty miles an hour.
I only wished my heart rate would slow down to the same steady pace. I couldn't understand how my companions appeared to recover from adrenaline rushes the way normal people recovered from a sneeze. These women moved fast, talked fast, lied quickly, and appeared to take it all in stride as if it were their normal. Which was a very scary thought.
Gertie pulled into her driveway and switched off the engine. "Just another fun night on the town with the girls."
Aunt Ida Belle was already halfway up to the front door. "Tell that to Carter when he gets here. See how far that story gets you."
Once inside, we all scurried to create the illusion that we'd been home for a good part of the evening. I washed up, changed into my pink nightgown with the lace collar, slipped on the matching robe, and slid my very tired feet into a pair of quilted satin house slippers. I left my pearls on. At this point, I wore them more for comfort than for fashion. I needed the sense of security they provided. The vision of Misha's coffin slipping away replayed itself continuously in my mind.
I was tempted to climb into bed and pull the blankets over my head, but I heard my aunt calling me.
"There you are," she said when I stepped into the living room. "I know it's been a rough night. How about a drink?"
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted toward me. I smiled gratefully as I sank into an overstuffed chair. "Thank you. I take my coffee with cream and one lump of sugar."
But instead of a coffee cup, I was offered a University of Louisiana shot glass. I wasn't ill-mannered enough to refuse, even if it wasn't the drink I'd had in mind. Still, I had to ask one question. "It's not Russian vodka, is it?"
"Nope, it's good old American Jack Daniels whiskey." Aunt Ida Belle poured a measure of amber liquid into the tiny glass. "Drink up."
I did. And then I coughed, wheezed, and gasped for air as she poured me a refill.
"Tell us what happened, Stephanie. We don't have much time," Fortune said. "Carter's going to come around here any moment and we all need to be on the same page."
"Did you get the body inside the morgue?" Gertie asked. She laughed and slapped her knee. "Can't you imagine old Tipsy's face tomorrow morning when she opens up shop?"
"Who is Tipsy?" I asked.
"Tipsy Fontenot is Sinful's mortician," my great-aunt explained. "Her name's actually Heidi, but she's tipsy so much of the time that the nickname stuck."
"Well, drunk or sober, she's not going to find Misha's coffin inside of the mortuary tomorrow morning, or any other morning," I said.
Gertie's eyes grew wide in her wrinkled face. "You left him in the back parking lot?"
All eyes were on me. I had to tell them. "No, he's not there. He, well, I stumbled, you see, and accidentally knocked into the gurney. I didn't hit it hard, but I guess I jostled it enough that it began to move. To roll. And then..." I took another shot of liquid courage before continuing "...and then, Misha slipped into the water." I delivered the last five words in such a rush that at first I couldn't tell if Aunt Ida Belle and Gertie understood me.
"Misha's coffin is floating down the bayou?" Gertie asked. "Just like baby Moses?"
I shook my head from side to side. "Not floating, no. He sank."
"I pushed the gurney in and it sank, too," Fortune added. "Carter won't find anything that leads back to us when he takes a look around Fontenot's place. There's no evidence, still no body."
"Misha's in a watery grave," I barely managed to choke out.
"Lord above," Gertie said after a long moment of silence. "It's a good thing I wasn't there, I'd have been blamed."
"No, it's all my fault." I felt my cheeks flame. "Everything is." I don't know if it was the Jack Daniels talking or if my moral compass had finally locked in on the right thing to do, but enough was enough. "I'm going to confess."
"Not dressed like that, you're not," Aunt Ida Belle said. "Now, listen, Stephanie. I know you were raised up north, but part of your roots are southern. Let me tell you something about southern women, we don't fall to our knees when the earth below us shifts."
"That's right," Gertie chimed in. "We don't throw in the towel when the other team is wiping the floor with us. We stand tall. We stand strong."
I looked at Fortune, but she shrugged apologetically. "Yankee born and bred, sorry."
This had to be a nightmare. I lifted up the sleeve of my robe and pinched myself. Hard.
"Bless her heart," Gertie said. "Ida Belle, tell her this isn't a bad dream."
Aunt Ida Belle's frown was ferocious. "She knows that. She's going to do the right thing, aren't you, Stephanie?"
"Right thing?" I repeated. "I'm not even sure I know what that is anymore."
"Well, then, I'll
tell you. You're going to lie through your pretty white teeth and help us keep the lid on this whole mess until we can figure out a way to put the screws to Vladimir Sidorov."
The lights from a large vehicle shone through the living room window blinds as it pulled into the driveway. The sound of a slamming door was followed by a loud pounding on Gertie's front door.
Carter was here.
Ida Belle got to her feet. "Now mind you do the right thing, child. Lie like our lives depend on it."
Chapter Thirteen
Carter LeBlanc strode into Gertie's living room, his face six shades of red. "Where have y'all been?"
"Depends on when you're talking about," Gertie said. "You know that Ida Belle and I went to Florida two years ago, and of course you know we both served in Vietnam--"
"Cut the crap, Gertie. You know I meant tonight." He looked from one of us to the other, his gaze lingering the longest on Fortune's face, but he eventually zeroed in on me. "Where were you tonight, Miss St. James?"
I gulped.
"I want the truth." His eyes bore into me like they were drilling holes into my skull.
"Out." It was the best I could manage under some very difficult circumstances. Carter wanted the truth. The girls wanted me to lie. The only way to walk this tightrope was to be as creative with the truth as I possibly could. "We went for a drive. I wanted to see downtown Sinful at night."
"You heard my niece, Carter. She said we were out, and we were out. Trust me, she's a terrible liar."
"A few weeks with you three ought to take care of that little problem." Carter crossed his arms over his chest.
"Quit acting like we're strangers you're here to interrogate," Aunt Ida Belle chided him. "Sit down and have a cup of coffee with us. You can tell us what has you all riled up."
Carter didn't sit. He didn't even blink. I had to think this wasn't a good sign.
"Fortune, are you going to toe the party line here or are you going to tell me the truth about where you've been tonight?"
I felt for Fortune. I really did. She might think she was hiding her feelings for the deputy sheriff, but she most certainly was not. Her dismay was clear for all to see. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And I couldn't just sit by and let their relationship suffer because of my problems.
The Miss Fortune Series: Summer in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Miss Prim & Proper Mystery Book 1) Page 6