"Deputy LeBlanc," I said. "I believe that you came here to see me, so please direct your questions directly to me. Fortune doesn't answer for me. Neither does my great-aunt or Gertie."
This succeeded in redirecting his attention from Fortune onto me. His eyes locked onto mine. "Where is the body that was on Fortune's kitchen floor this morning?"
I took a deep breath. Here was a chance to step out in truth. To be righteous. To be the woman I wanted to be. "At the bottom of the bayou."
"Aw, damn, I don't know why I bother asking any of you anything." Carter's face registered his disgust. "It's just one lie after another."
"No, I'm telling you--" I began, but Aunt Ida Belle leaned into me and pinched my arm. Hard. I shut up. I couldn't risk another pinch. Not after the night I'd had.
Gertie came to stand in front of me. "Well, Carter, if you're not going to accept our invitation to sit and have a cup of coffee like the southern gentleman that I thought your mama raised you to be, then you'd best hit the road."
Carter didn't move. "I'm not done here. I've got Celia and the big brass breathing down my neck. I've got an eyewitness who reported a body, but I don't have a corpse. Worst of all, I've got the three of you between me and the truth. Let me assure you, I've had enough of this nonsense. It ends now."
Something in his tone gave me the chills.
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small, clear plastic bag. "Can you identify this by any chance, Miss St. James?"
Fortune, Aunt Ida Belle, and Gertie all leaned forward to peer into the bag. I didn't have to. I knew what was in there. It was my handkerchief. I recognized the lace trim. I must have dropped it near Fontenot's Mortuary after I cleaned my face with it in the wooded area by the parking lot.
"Cotton and lace, big deal." Gertie's tone was disdainful. "That could belong to any woman here in Sinful. Well, except Celia." She chuckled. "I doubt our fair wanna-be mayor has the good manners to...."
And there she stumbled. At the word "manners" Carter knew he had me. I could see the flash of satisfaction in his eyes.
"We're done here," my great-aunt announced. "Carter, you either arrest my niece or you leave this house and don't come back until you can speak to us in a more civil manner."
Carter called her bluff. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a set of handcuffs. He held them up. "What's it going to be, Miss St. James?"
"Carter," Fortune's voice sounded strained. "Please. Don't do this. Stephanie is innocent of any wrongdoing. She's not capable of--"
"Capable of what?" He interrupted her, his tone clipped. "Finish your sentence, Fortune. She's not capable of what exactly?"
Poor Fortune looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming big rig. Gertie looked equally frozen, and Aunt Ida Belle was pale, definitely not a natural shade for her. A rush of affection for these women washed over me. I had a good amount of empathy for Carter, it can't be fun to play the bad guy. I also felt more than a little indignation that the Sidorovs had me between a rock and a hard place.
Or so they thought.
"Deputy LeBlanc, I can answer every question you have. I can tell you who the dead man is and precisely where his body's located. Not only that, I can lead you straight to the murderer."
His eyes narrowed. "Do I sense a 'but' coming?"
Smart man. I nodded. "I'll tell you everything you want to know and more, but I need to be on the outside. That means you have to agree not to arrest me."
He studied me carefully for several moments. "Why should I trust you?"
"The company I keep should vouch for me." I gestured toward Fortune, Gertie and Aunt Ida Belle with an open hand. Despite my exceedingly high stress levels, I still wasn't about to point at them. That would be shockingly rude. "I don't expect you to trust me when I'm a virtual stranger. But you know these women. Fundamentally, they're honest, law-abiding, upstanding citizens. Deep down, you know that."
"They're good people. I'll give you that." Carter slipped his handcuffs back into his pocket. "Okay, I agree not to arrest you for obstruction of justice tonight, but that's the most I'll promise."
"I'm going to need you to promise that you'll give me back up when we set a trap for the murderer."
He closed his eyes for a swift moment. "You're as cagey as the rest of these women." He held out his hand. "I accept your terms."
More than a little relieved, I shook on our agreement. Now came the hard part.
To save myself, I had to nail Vladimir Sidorov to the wall.
Chapter Fourteen
"Nyet."
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I needed to sound in control and a hundred times calmer than I actually felt. I shifted my cell phone to my other ear. "I'm losing patience with you, Vladimir," I said. In reality I was losing my nerve, but he didn't need to know that. A quick glance at Fortune, Gertie, and Aunt Ida Belle reminded me to be tough. Or at least act like it. "I'll repeat myself for the last time. You either meet me at Fortune's house tonight at eight o'clock or I call your father to tell him that it was you who murdered your brother."
I held the phone away from my ear as a stream of Russian curse words filled the air. The vehemence with which Vladimir swore left little need to translate his words. He was flat out enraged. With me.
"Is that a yes or a no, Vladimir?"
Gertie flashed me a double thumbs up. I'm glad one of us was enjoying ourselves.
"I call this bullshit," Vladimir said, his accent so strong it sounded like he said bull-sheet. "My father knows you killed his precious little Mikhail."
"He only believes that because he hasn't see the proof I have that you're the one responsible for your brother's murder. And I'll thank you not to swear in a lady's presence."
The ensuing explosion of curse words sounded even more venomous than the one before. Misha's brother really needed to work on improving his vocabulary. Perhaps a long stint in prison would give him the time for that little project.
Aunt Ida Belle made a circular motion to indicate that I should wrap up the call, which was fine with me.
"Be there at eight o'clock, Vladimir, or you'll be hearing from your father shortly afterward." I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the coffee table. After this was all over, I wanted a new phone. One that hadn't been exposed to toxic Russian verbiage.
"Good job," Fortune said. She paced the length of Gertie's living room. I could tell she was worried. Her words were encouraging, but her expression made it clear that she didn't think I could pull off tricking Misha's brother into a confession.
Well, that made two of us. But what choice did I have now? None so far as I could see. Someone was going down the river...I shuddered at my own poor choice of phrase...someone was going to take the rap for Misha's murder, and it wasn't going to be me.
I couldn't face life in prison. I'd have to give up my pearls. I'd have to give away my precious cat. I'd have to wear an orange jumpsuit. That thought alone was too much to bear. I've found that pastels flatter my skin tone and brunette hair so much better than bright colors.
And then there was my work. How would Miss Prim and Proper fare while incarcerated? I'm sure I would find no shortage of potential clients in prison, but I wanted more opportunities and challenges than providing lessons on the polite way to eat with a dull plastic spoon or the etiquette of group showers. Oh, no, prison life was not for me.
"I can do this." I said the words aloud, as much to convince myself as my companions.
Aunt Ida Belle patted my hand. "Of course you can, Stephanie."
Gertie, doubtless made as uncomfortable as I was by my aunt's blatant lie, jumped to her feet. "I'm starving. Who else wants to head to Francine's for a late lunch?"
"Count me in," I said. I could use a vanilla milkshake right about now. Plus, I didn't think I could take another six hours of sitting around watching the others watch me. Carter was meeting us at seven so I could get wired and we could go over the plan again. But that was hour
s away. I needed a distraction now. "Let me just tidy up."
I returned a few minutes later smartly turned out in a white eyelet sleeveless dress with a lilac shantung silk handbag and shoes. Mob or no mob, I wasn't going to start dressing in t-shirts and yoga pants.
When I suggested we walk to Francine's instead of racing up there in Gertie's Cadillac, I was quickly vetoed. Aunt Ida Belle felt we weren't protected enough if we were walking, Fortune agreed we'd be too vulnerable, and Gertie, well, Gertie just loved any excuse to get behind the wheel. I acquiesced politely, as any good guest would do.
Francine's was virtually empty. Francine herself was there but she wore a horrific scowl as she poured our coffee. Her demeanor was hardly befitting a proper proprietress, but I resisted the urge to point that out. Instead, I focused on the menu.
"What's got you looking so miserable this fine afternoon?" Gertie asked. "You been drinking that pickle juice again?"
"Stifle it, Gertie." Francine slammed the coffee pot onto our table. "I'm not in the mood."
Obviously not for niceties, that much was clear.
"What's wrong?" Aunt Ida Belle asked. "You need help with something?"
Francine sighed. "I'm sorry, it's been a long morning. Our refrigerator is acting up."
Fortune set her menu aside. "You want me to take a quick look at it?"
"No, but thanks for asking. It's under warranty, so that's not a problem." She shot a quick look over her shoulder. "The company sent a repairman out. He's the one giving me fits. Plain old rude, I'll tell you. He's in there grousing like it's an Olympic sport but not getting much done from what I can see."
I handed Francine my menu and scooted out of the booth. This was something I could handle. Honestly, I welcomed the distraction. "I'll just have a wee word with him," I said.
Francine's face was transformed by her grateful smile. "Thank you, hon. He's right through those double doors. I'll be with you as soon as I get the girls' order."
I slipped through the double doors, a mini-lecture ready to trip off my tongue, but the kitchen was empty. I looked around the small space. Where was Mr. Miserable? I inhaled and a drift of cigarette smoke wafted through the back door. I headed in that direction.
I pushed open the door. A man in denim overalls stood at the bottom of the steps with his back toward me. "Excuse me, sir. I'm going to ask you to put out that cigarette."
With a careless flick of his wrist, the man tossed his cigarette down onto the asphalt and turned around to face me. His expression certainly was surly, Francine wasn't wrong. Something in the way he looked stirred up a latent anger within me. I came down the last two steps toward him.
"Now, then, I'd like to have a word with you about your attitude when you're--"
But my next words were cut off about the time my oxygen supply was. Before I knew what he was about, he grabbed me around the waist with one hand and clamped his other hand over my mouth. Despite my thrashing about to free myself, he carried me like I was a rag doll toward a white van.
I struggled mightily when I saw the van door slide open and another man's hands reach for me. I wasn't sure what happened to women who were thrown in the back of a van, but I knew it was nothing good.
The second man's hands were rougher than the first. With far more force than was called for, he threw me against the opposite wall. The door slid closed behind him and I felt the van lurch forward. Panicked, my eyes swept through the back of the vehicle looking for another means of escape. There was another door, but a metal grate stood between me and an escape.
I did the only thing I could think of, I screamed. Like a banshee. Which turned out not to be the wisest move because the man reached over and backhanded me across the face. Hard. I touched my stinging face. "That was rude."
He hurled a few curse words in my direction. My head snapped up.
Russian. He'd spoken to me in Russian. I didn't know what the words meant, but I didn't need to. This wasn't a random kidnapping. This was a thousand times worse. These thugs were Sidorov henchmen. And I'd walked right into their trap.
Red hot hatred flowed through my veins like lava down a Hawaiian mountainside. I looked around wildly while I struggled to think what my options might be. My best guess was that we were traveling at least sixty miles per hour. Judging by the way the way the van was weaving back and forth, the driver was as erratic as Gertie.
Gertie. A ripple of hope ran through me. Fortune. Aunt Ida Belle. They'd find me gone and come after me. Which would put them in grave danger. My soaring spirits crashed and burned in one fell swoop. If it meant they were going to be in danger, I hoped they wouldn't find me.
I turned my attention back to the man who stood between me and freedom. His sneer was downright nasty. But what could he do besides smack me around a little? Somewhere, Vladimir was waiting for me to be brought to him. And I was quite sure he wanted me in one piece.
"Where are you taking me?" I demanded. "Where's Vladimir?"
Instead of answering me, he ignored me. Which really got under my skin. If I were writing a handbook on kidnapping etiquette, I certainly would have included polite conversation as a must-have.
As much to distract myself as to annoy him, I peppered him with questions for the duration of the drive. How much English he actually understood, I didn't care. If he didn't enjoy playing the role of a kidnapper, he could take that up with the Sidorovs.
The van came to a stop about fifteen minutes later. At least it felt like fifteen minutes, it could have been less. Or more. All I knew for certain was that I was hopping mad.
As soon as my feet were on the ground, I tried to pull away but idiot number two had a tight grip on me and I couldn't pull free. The bright afternoon sunshine hurt my eyes after being in the semi-dark van, but I looked around.
As best I could tell, our precise location was the middle of nowhere. Trees with dark green leaves provided a shaded canopy for a rather sad looking hunting cabin. Or maybe it was a fishing cabin. I could smell the bayou. I looked down at my feet and frowned. This mud was going to ruin my pumps.
A rough push from behind propelled me in the direction of the cabin. As I stumbled up onto the porch, the door swung open. One more good push got me through the doorway. I blinked as my eyes now had to adjust to the dark interior. I didn't know where we were, but I knew Vladimir Sidorov was here. I could smell him.
"Vladimir, didn't I mention to you more than once that you wear too much cologne?"
A low growl came from the opposite side of the room. By now I could see just enough to make out the form of my host for the afternoon's festivities. Equal parts disgust and anger swirled around inside of me. I felt curiously unafraid. Maybe because I knew that the odds of my making it out of here alive were so bad, even I wouldn't bet money on them.
I wished I'd let Aunt Ida Belle wire me before we'd gone to Francine's diner. Not that it would help much if no one knew where I was. Damn Vladimir.
I looked him up and down. He was overdressed and I told him so. "It seems you're intent on ignoring all of my lessons, aren't you? You wear a gray pinstripe three-piece suit to a meeting in the Louisiana bayou? Really? What about respecting the local culture? Denim jeans and a plaid shirt topped off by a baseball cap would have been far more appropriate."
Vladimir frowned. He turned to the van driver. "Did she hit her head?"
"Nyet," I snapped, using up just about all the Russian I knew. "I'm warning you that I'm not in a good mood." I stuck my right foot out so he could see the damage done to my shoe. "These are ruined thanks to your stupid choice of a rendezvous point."
From the way his face scrunched up at my use of the word "rendezvous", I knew Vladimir wasn't completely sure what it meant. But I wasn't about to dumb down my language for his sake.
I looked around. Shades were drawn over the windows, but I could see light streaming in through the back door's glass pane. What I didn't see were more of Vladimir's people. Was he really only here with the two who'd kidnapped me
or were the others hiding? Not that it mattered. I wasn't about to make a run for it. I was trapped right in the middle of nowhere and I knew it.
"So, let's move this meeting right along," I said. "Why don't you confess to Misha's murder and we can be done with your little game?"
In lieu of an answer, Vladimir pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and pointed it straight at my head.
Chapter Fifteen
Gunshots erupted. Above the sound of my own screams, I heard Vladimir scream, too. His wasn't a shout or a yell, but a full on squeak-scream several octaves higher than I thought he'd be able to reach. As quickly as it began, the shooting stopped. Stunned, I opened my eyes.
Despite the volley of bullets, miraculously, no one had been hit. I barely had time to register the fact that I wasn't bleeding before I received my second shock. Fortune was standing behind Vladimir with a thin wire rope in her hands. She was securing his hands behind his back. And the reason he was letting her? Because my dear Aunt Ida Belle stood holding his gun in her hands, and it was leveled directly at his left temple.
"Hiya kid, you okay?"
I whirled around. Gertie held not one but two guns, and they were trained on the men who'd kidnapped me.
I struggled to get a lungful of oxygen. "What just happened?"
"Officially or unofficially?" Gertie grinned. "Because the answer depends on who's going to hear it."
"Unofficially?" I wasn't even sure, but I just wanted some sort of explanation. "How did you find me?"
Gertie pointed to Vladimir's henchmen with her weapons. "Loosey and Goosey here tore out of Sinful so fast that they aroused plenty of people's suspicion. Carter got a slew of calls at the police station just about the time we raced over there to report that you'd been kidnapped."
My knees threatened to buckle with relief. I couldn't believe they'd found me so quickly. And then the other shoe dropped. "Wait, you shot your way in here?" I didn't know if I should be horrified or impressed, but I knew I was grateful.
The Miss Fortune Series: Summer in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Miss Prim & Proper Mystery Book 1) Page 7