by Frankie Bow
“How's the brownies?” Ally asked.
“Fantastic," I said. "Seriously, one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
"Mm!" Justin nodded enthusiastically, swallowed and patted his mouth with a napkin.
“Eh Aunty, I mean Fortune, heard your romance writers conference got real interesting.”
“Ooh, yeah, me too. I wanna hear all about it!”
“It was really Gertie’s conference. She’s the writer. Ida Belle and I were just along for the ride.”
“But there was a murder right in your hotel," Ally exclaimed. "I can’t believe you three didn’t jump in and try to solve it. I know that Ida Belle and Gertie always seem to be in the middle of things. And since you got here… sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just that the three of you...”
“No offense taken. We had more important things to worry about.”
“More important than murder?” Justin said. “Like what?”
“Gertie’s literary career. She spent the whole time networking and picking up ideas for her next book.”
Ally and Justin wanted to hear all about the conference, so I told them the parts I felt comfortable sharing. We ended up talking well into the night, enjoying brownies with ice cream, and swatting at mosquitoes as the sky slowly darkened over the bayou. Before long I was thoroughly enjoying being home. I’d completely forgotten about Carter’s mystery woman.
Chapter 4
I saw Carter’s new friend for myself the next morning at Francine’s Diner, where I’d repaired after my morning run. The prospect of having buttery pancakes and endless cups of strong coffee served to me was irresistible. Or at least more appealing than going home and scraping together breakfast on my own.
I’m not a vain person. Nevertheless, when I heard the jingle that signaled a customer coming in, looked up, and saw Carter holding the door for a showy blonde. I felt painfully self-conscious.
Female. Five-foot-ten. One-twenty. Excellent physical condition. Blonde hair color expertly done, likely at significant expense. Threat level low. Unless you’re talking about a threat to my chances with Carter…
This woman wasn’t just pretty. She was stunning. Why hadn’t I taken the extra five minutes this morning to comb my stupid hair extensions out before I pulled them into a sloppy ponytail? I was acutely conscious of last night’s red wine stain on the right leg of my sweats.
Carter caught my eye and barely acknowledged me with a chin jut, not even a nod. His companion followed his line of vision to me and waved excitedly. Although I couldn’t hear them, I could tell she was urging him to bring her over to meet me. He didn’t want to, that was obvious. But his Southern manners prevailed. He reluctantly steered her in my direction. I gulped water to wash down my mouthful of pancake and surreptitiously ran my tongue over my teeth to clear them of any pancake globs.
I engaged my own Southern manners and invited them to sit my booth. Francine’s was packed now, so I was saving them a twenty-minute wait, minimum.
She slid in first. Carter reluctantly scooted in after her and introduced us. Her name was Claudia Hunter. She seemed personable and charming, as well as gorgeous. Well, Carter did have good taste. Or so I liked to think.
She reached across the table to hand me her business card. I reflexively accepted it with both hands, as I’d been trained in my international protocol course.
“Claudia Hunter,” I smiled at Carter. “Representing the world’s most beautiful people.”
Carter reddened.
“Now you have beautiful bone structure, Fortune.” Claudia traced her French-manicured finger down her own flawless cheek. “Very aristocratic, very American Royalty. I see you wearing Ralph or Calvin. I can set you up for a test shoot. Any time. Let me know.”
I had no idea what she meant by “wearing” people, but I played along.
“Who do you see Carter wearing?” I asked.
She aimed a knowing smile at him.
“Carter is so versatile,” she purred. “His potential is…unlimited, really. Carter can do anything he wants to.”
She probably didn’t mean it to sound dirty, but now it was my turn to blush. I wolfed down my pancakes and made some unconvincing excuse about how I had to hurry home. As I left, I said,
“It was so nice to meet you, Claudia.”
And then, inexplicably:
“Why don’t you and Carter come around for dinner?”
To my horrified amazement, she said yes.
I jogged back to the house, Francine’s pancakes and coffee sloshing around in my gut with every step. I pulled off my running shoes and left them on the porch to air out, then dashed inside to find Ally.
The light under the bathroom door told me that Ally was getting ready to leave for her shift at Francine’s. Justin sat at the kitchen table, reading.
“Hey, Fortune.” His voice was friendly, but he didn’t look up.
“Hi, Justin. Must be a real page turner.”
He held the book up so I could see the title.
“Sociobiology of Caviomorph Rodents: An Integrative Approach. I assume this is for your thesis on swamp rats?”
He set the book down. “I live, breathe, and dream ‘em. I still won’t eat ‘em.”
I pulled out a chair and joined him at the table.
“Yeah, I think Ally’s swamp rat pie was one of her less successful experiments. So what’s new with the nutria?”
“Eh, here’s something I learned. You know the babies, when they’re suckling, the males are bigger, yah? So they go for the higher yielding teats, the sisters gotta make do with the leftovers.”
“That’s boys for you,” Ally said, emerging from the bathroom. “You’re trouble from the get-go.”
“Aw man, you sound just like Ida Belle,” Justin laughed. He looked much better than he had a week ago. When he’d first arrived from Hawaii, he’d had some health issues. Dr. Broussard was keeping an eye on him, and Justin seemed to be recovering well. He’d progressed from scrawny to merely skinny, and his cheerful disposition had returned.
“Listen, Justin and Ally, I need your help.”
Ally stared at me.
“Fortune, what happened? Did Ida Belle shoot someone? Did Gertie drive into a tree?”
“Worse. I invited Carter Le Blanc and his new associate to dinner.”
Ally sighed. “What day?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Justin and Ally replied as a chorus.
“Look, Carter and I—I don’t know what happened. I guess I wanted to demonstrate that there were no hard feelings, you know? I wanted to be gracious and above it all, and next thing you know I hear myself inviting them up to dinner here at our place.”
“What time?” Ally asked.
“Eight.”
“My shift ends at eight. I’ll see if I can get away early. Justin can help you.”
“Huh?” Justin looked up from his book.
“Justin, we’re having people over for dinner tonight at eight, and Fortune can’t do this by herself. Fortune, how many?”
“You two, Carter and what’s her name, Claudia Hunter, and I’ll ask Ida Belle and Gertie. That’s six.”
“Seven. You forgot to count yourself. We can do it. Right, Justin?”
“No worries.” Justin closed his book and stood up. “How about a gumbo? I think we got time. I’ll start the rice cooker. We got it.”
Ally came over and kissed Justin’s smooth cheek.
“Thanks, sweetie. I’ll see y’all tonight.”
Justin left to shop for supplies, so I had nothing to do but set the table and straighten up my already-immaculate house. And mentally scold myself for this stupid dinner invitation. What was wrong with me? This was not the kind of tactical blunder you’d expect from an experienced undercover operative. There was no upside to this and lots of possible downside. What if Claudia started asking questions about my time on the pageant circuit? How did I mess up so badly?
I wondered if it was because my cur
rent assignment was so different from my normal gig.
Take a typical mission: I pose as an antiquities specialist working for a well-known auction house. My target is a key financier in a foreign fighter logistics network.
My script is straightforward: I bring the suitcase full of 500-Euro bills to the rendezvous point, under the pretext of making a purchase for a collector. At the rendezvous point, the target is neutralized. (I can’t tell you the details, but the next time you have a chance to handle a 500-Euro bill, you might want to wear gloves.) I return to the extraction location, mission accomplished, with a bonus: I’ve just recovered a priceless set of Assyrian ivories looted that had been looted from the National Museum. The whole operation has taken less than 72 hours.
Compare that with my current assignment: No clear mission other than “stay out of trouble,” and no definite end date. I was coming up on two months of trying to pass myself off as a retired beauty queen. It was frustrating to have to hide my real talents, especially when I was stuck in a town that seemed to have a higher per capita murder rate than Caracas. No surprise that I wasn’t on top of my game.
I decided to call Gertie rather than Ida Belle to let them know about tonight’s dinner plans. Either one of them would give me a hard time for unnecessarily endangering my cover, but I knew Gertie would be a little nicer about it.
My plan backfired. Ida Belle was over at Gertie’s, and Gertie simply handed the phone over to her. Ida Belle scolded me for letting myself get all in a dither over a man, and she even accused me of inviting Carter to dinner to show him that I was a better choice than Claudia.
Ida Belle may have been a world-class spy in her day, but she’d sure misread my situation. Even worse, she convinced Gertie to agree with her. All that proved was that anyone could make a mistake.
Chapter 5
I heard Justin clumping up the front steps, so I told Ida Belle and Gertie to come over at seven, hurried off the phone, and opened the door for him. His arms were full of bulging grocery bags.
“Okay, here’s what we gonna do.” Justin set the bags down on the counter. “Ally showed me how to make gumbo, an’ now I’m gonna teach you. All good?”
“I’ve cleared all my afternoon appointments,” I said.
“Awesome. First, we gotta prepare all the ingredients an’ set ‘em out. That’s called the mise en place. It means put all the stuffs in place. Ally got some chicken stock in the freezer, so we can use that. You wanna do the okra, or pick the shells outta the crab meat?”
What followed was a blur of rinsing, peeling, chopping, and lunging for the oven controls when anything seemed like it was about to boil over or burn. After a few hours of frantic activity, we’d tamed the ingredients into a bubbling, fragrant gumbo. At Justin’s urging, I dipped a clean spoon into the pot and took a taste.
“No good?” Justin asked.
“Ow! I just burned my tongue and can’t taste anything now.”
Justin pulled out another clean spoon and sampled the gumbo for himself. I noticed he blew on it first. I should’ve thought of that.
“Not bad. Little bland. You got any of those dried tabascos here, the kine Ida Belle got me from New Orleans? I can go back and get ‘em from my place if no.”
“No, I know we have some here.”
Ominous music sounded from Justin’s backpack under the kitchen table. Ally had told me that it was the “Imperial March” from Star Wars, which Justin had set as the ringtone for his thesis advisor. Justin was a little afraid of his thesis advisor.
“Oh no, it’s Nakamura. I gotta get that. Fortune, you can add the tabasco peppers. Just one for the pot, maybe two little ones, not too much, ah? Stir it around good, too, an’ fish ‘em out when you’re done.”
Justin scrambled for his phone and went out to the backyard. I dug through the spice cabinet and found the still-sealed jar of pepper flakes that I’d bought at the spice shop in New Orleans.
One or two peppers, Justin had said. But these were flakes. How many flakes to a pepper? Through the back door, I could see Justin on the phone, pacing. He looked agitated. I guessed his advisor was still giving him a hard time about the amount of grant money his stay was costing. He hadn’t told her that he’d had some health issues when he arrived here, so she didn’t understand why he wasn’t collecting his data faster. She kept threatening to end his stint in Sinful and bring him back to Hawaii, and he kept pleading for more time.
I could sympathize.
Justin’s trans-Pacific call was too important for me to interrupt. I could handle this on my own. I mean, if I could cook up an improvised explosive device from—well, never mind the details, but surely I could figure this pepper thing out without any help.
Okay, start again. One or two peppers. What size were the peppers? Was Justin talking about those crunchy green things with the thick stems, the vinegary ones I used to pick out of my sandwich from the Italian deli on Connecticut Avenue? Unclear.
Okay, forget the flakes-to-pepper conversion. Look at it another way. The pot of gumbo was enormous. Even dumping in the whole jar would barely make a difference.
On the other hand, I’d bought these pepper flakes for Ally, so it wouldn’t be nice to use up her whole supply on one meal. I decided to err on the side of caution. I screwed off the top, tapped half a jar of pepper flakes into the gumbo, and stirred them in. As the last flake sank into the thick liquid, I realized that I probably should’ve Googled a recipe. Oh well, too late now. As Ally likes to say, you can’t unbake the cake. I made sure all of the burners were on low heat and went to get dressed before the dinner guests arrived.
Chapter 6
I opened the front door to see Claudia and Carter standing on the front porch. Claudia was clinging to Carter’s arm, looking stunning in a black mini-dress. Her blonde hair was pinned up in a messy bun that looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her long, golden legs and swelling cleavage gleamed in the porchlight.
As soon as I let them in, Gertie complimented Claudia’s outfit and called her “Fortune.” This brought the conversation to a screeching halt. Ida Belle tried to smooth things over by scolding Gertie about needing glasses. This just annoyed Gertie, and the two started bickering.
Justin and Ally played host and hostess, for which I was immensely grateful. I kept myself busy tidying and refilling glasses, regretting my stupid dinner idea. Who cared if people thought I was sociable and generous and totally over Carter? I was actually none of those things. There was no point in pretending I was.
I was longing to talk to the Company shrink, which was weird because I’d always resented the mandatory sessions that followed each assignment. We all did. Why do they waste time putting us through this touchy-feely nonsense, we’d complain, when we could be back out there saving the world? But now I was starting to see the sense of it. My mind was an asset, and the Company had to keep its assets in top working order. I was clearly not in top working order. Just a short chat with Doctor Whatshername would have done me a lot of good about now.
I was carrying the bag from the kitchen trash out to the garage when I almost collided with Carter. He cleared his throat and paused, unsure of what to do next. This was the first time I’d been alone with him since he’d returned to Sinful from his leave.
“Nice of you to come tonight,” I said.
He sighed. “I wasn’t expecting so many people. It’s a little weird.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised you showed up in Sinful with a modeling agent. It doesn’t seem like you.”
“Modeling and acting,” he mumbled.
We heard Claudia’s vivacious laugh in the living room. Carter glanced up guiltily.
“Well,” I said lightly, “Sinful’s loss is Hollywood’s gain.”
Carter snorted. “Hollywood’s not breaking down my door yet. Claudia’s the one who wanted to come here. She said if she was going to invest in me she wanted to see me in my natural habitat.”
“Your natural habitat? That makes you
sound like an exotic pet.”
He sighed. “I’m just trying to pick up a few extra bucks. Make hay while the sun shines, like they say. Look, Fortune, I’m thirty-…let’s just say I’m over thirty.”
“That’s not old.”
“Old enough that none of the special operations units will take me.”
“Why does that matter? What, four tours in Iraq wasn’t enough for you? You were planning to leave Sinful and join MARSOC?”
“No, not literally, but—don’t look at me like that, Fortune. I am not having a midlife crisis.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it.”
“What I’m having is a financial crisis. At this point in my life I should be…look, my latest pay envelope came with an IOU inside instead of a paycheck, thanks to our new mayor-elect. And I have a pile of bills that aren’t going to pay themselves.”
“Does your mother know about this?”
“Yes. And for your information, she thinks picking up an acting gig or two isn’t the worst idea. At least until Dr. Stewart clears me to return to work full time.”
“Well, Emmaline is a smart woman. I guess if she’s for it...” I shrugged.
“Here, let me get that. You go back and play hostess.”
Carter took the trash bag from me and headed to the garage. I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and returned to the living room just in time to hear Claudia laughingly make a Deliverance reference.
“I believe that movie was shot in Georgia, dear.” Gertie was using her schoolteacher voice, never a good sign. It was her way of not losing her patience. “This is Louisiana. They are two different states, you realize. Not even contiguous.”
“Oh, Fortune, here you are,” Ida Belle said. “Claudia was just telling us all about her special diet. She says suitable food’s real hard to find out here in the boonies.”
“Oh, I’m not that particular,” Claudia laughed. “I just like to eat whole, natural food.”
“She orders raw cheese from an organic farm in California,” Ally added. I could tell Ally was bristling at the implication that our local fare wasn’t good enough. Justin picked up on it too, and patted Ally’s shoulder to distract her. Great. My dinner guest was managing to offend everyone, even my easygoing roommate.