Hair Extensions & Homicide / Supernatural Sinful Box Set

by Frankie Bow

  “That’s some fancy beer,” he said.

  I looked him in the eye and took a swig of the lemony pale ale.

  “It’s delicious,” I said. “Perfect for a muggy afternoon. Too bad you’re on duty. I’d let you try it. So what’s new?”

  “The food tests came back.” He popped the tab on the can of root beer and watched the foam swell and dribble onto my porch.

  “The food tests came back. And?”

  Carter slurped the foam from the top of the can, and I almost dropped my beer bottle. He wasn’t trying to be sexy on purpose. He just was sexy. It was extremely distracting.

  “Milk sickness,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  He looked into the distance. The late afternoon sun shone through the greenish haze that always seems to hang over the bayou. Crows chattered in the bushes off to the right.

  “You get it from drinking milk. Or consuming contaminated dairy products. Those free-range cows on that farm where Claudia bought her fancy cheese? Most likely they grazed on white snakeroot. Humans drink the milk, it can be fatal.”

  “I’ve never heard of that. It’s called milk sickness?”

  “It was the leading cause of death and disability in the Midwest and Upper South for over two centuries. The medical examiner was telling me all about it. She was pretty excited. They don’t get these cases too often.”

  “What’s the toxin?”

  “It’s called tremetol.”

  “Isn’t that a narcotic?”

  “You’re thinking of Tramadol.”

  “Isn’t that what you just said?”

  “I said tremetol.”

  “You pronounce your t’s like d’s. How am I supposed to know? So did you notify the FDA?”

  He nodded. “Looks like they’ll shut down the dairy.”

  “I hope they recall that cheese before it kills someone else. So are you going to apologize for accusing me, then? I mean really apologize?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry about what I said, Fortune. I was way out of line.”

  “Thank you. I apologize for accusing you of murder, too.”

  “What’s strange is, milk sickness doesn’t usually come on that quickly. Dr. Broussard asked me if Claudia had loss of appetite, foul breath, but she didn’t have anything like that.”

  “How are you supposed to know what her breath smells like?” I shouldn’t have said that. It made me sound like a sore loser. “What I mean to say is, you shouldn’t blame yourself for not spotting the symptoms. You’re not a doctor, and you have enough to worry about. That’s what I meant.”

  We sat for a moment and soaked up the afternoon warmth. The crows squabbled more loudly, and I turned toward the racket.

  Something glinted in the bushes. I stood and went to the edge of the porch to investigate.

  “Fortune,” Carter said behind me, “I am sorry I doubted you. It just seems like wherever you go, trouble follows. But you’re right. I shouldn’t be thinking that way. It isn’t fair to you.”

  “Well, don’t speak too soon.”

  I heard Carter get up, and then he was standing beside me. He swore under his breath, stepped into the bushes and shooed away the crows. They cleared out, flapping and squawking in protest. I went over to take a closer look.

  A dead man—I was pretty sure it was a man—lay face up in my periwinkle bushes. On his wrist, a gold Rolex gleamed with the reflection of the setting sun. Shriveled brownish chunks clung to his chest and what was left of his face. I took shallow breaths to minimize the stench.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Carter asked.

  “Is that a trick question?”

  “Sorry, I have to ask.”

  “Maybe I could’ve answered that before the crows got to him.”

  “He seems to have some kind of substance on him.”

  “I believe that ‘substance’ is the gumbo I made the other night. See? That’s a piece of chicken right there.”

  “This is your gumbo, huh? Mind if I ask the obvious question?”

  I sighed.

  “When you announced you were taking Claudia to the hospital, I came out right afterward and dumped the rest of it into the bushes. I mean, that kind of thing doesn’t exactly boost a girl’s confidence in her cooking skills.”

  “You threw out the gumbo? Fortune, you didn’t have to chunk it. You could’ve just mixed it with rice or something.”

  “A little late for that now.”

  “At least this tells us something about TOD. We left around, maybe nine o’clock? So he must’ve been dead before then.”

  The breeze shifted and wafted the odor of death into our faces.

  “Uh, Fortune, mind if I…” Carter inclined his head toward the house. I nodded, and he dashed off.

  I didn’t blame him. The sights and smells were a bit much even for me. While Carter was inside, I took out my phone and snapped pictures. I hoped Harrison wasn’t eating his lunch when the images came through. I shoved my phone back into my pocket when I heard Carter returning.

  “I know this isn’t an easy question,” Carter said. “But think. Do you have any idea at all who this man is? At all?”

  I forced myself to take a good look.

  Male. Five ten. One-ninety. Facial features—Harrison’s gonna have to get someone from forensics to figure that one out. Threat level: Zero, unless you have a weak stomach.

  “No. Although I did see someone in New Orleans wearing a watch like this.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it. He was reading a newspaper. I saw a hand and a watch.”

  “Poor bas—poor guy.”

  Carter was still watching his language around me. That was sweet. Or patronizing. Take your pick.

  “Did you see anyone following you on the road back here?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  That bothered me. If someone was following me, I should have been able to pick up on it.

  “We’ll look for an abandoned car anyway,” Carter said. “Although he could’ve hitched a ride, taken a cab, got dropped off somewhere close. Okay, I have to call this in. Stay away from the body. Please. Don’t walk around it.”

  Carter descended the stairs and walked back to his SUV, and I surreptitiously clicked a few more photos. I thought Ahmad’s men had all cleared out after that last episode in New Orleans, but maybe Ahmad had left someone behind. This John Doe had straight brown hair, unlike Ahmad or any of his men, but hair can be altered. I myself had gone from buzz-cut to flowing tresses in less than a day, thanks to the miracle of hair extensions.

  I ran into the kitchen and got a sandwich bag. Then I ducked into the bathroom and dug out a cotton swab.

  I made it back onto the front porch, just as Carter was coming back up the steps.

  “You didn’t go near the body, did you?” he asked.

  I casually slid my hand into my pocket, concealing my makeshift DNA kit.

  “Of course not.”

  “Fortune, why don’t you go on inside? I can’t leave the scene yet, but you don’t need to hang around.”

  As usual, Carter didn’t want me getting underfoot with his investigation. Fine. I’d just have to collect my samples later.

  I brought the drinks back inside, surprised by how badly my hands were shaking.

  Chapter 11

  There was no question of calling an ambulance. It was too late for our John Doe. Instead, Carter called the Medical Examiner in New Orleans. She wouldn’t leave for Sinful until the next morning, so Deputy Breaux was posted in my yard overnight.

  Deputy Breaux came over late that afternoon and set up a tarp over the section of the front yard with the body. Ally and Justin came out to say hello to him, then retreated into the house. There they sat on Marge’s sturdy couch, huddled side-by-side, drinking hot cocoa.

  I keep forgetting how fragile civilians are. Ida Belle, Gertie, and I were used to this kind of thing; but for Ally and Justin, a corpse in the front yard was a little out of the ordin
ary.

  After Justin went back home I took a plate of Ally’s brownies out to Deputy Breaux. We made small talk as curious neighbors strolled by, trying to gawk at the body without being too obvious about it. I figured Deputy Breaux wouldn’t doze off until well after dark. That was okay. I’d wait.

  Deputy Breaux sat straight in his lawn chair next to the body. His steel coffee thermos stood proudly in the chair’s cup holder. He’d set up a blue tarp to shelter him and the corpse in case it rained.

  It was a horrible job, but I’d never seen Deputy Breaux look happier. This was probably the most important assignment he’d ever had.

  It wasn’t until after midnight that I heard his breathing become slow and rhythmic, with a faint rattle on the inhale.

  I slipped back inside to where I’d stored my supplies. In my “great-aunt” Marge’s secret arsenal behind the bedroom closet, I’d found a set of tiny glass jars with screw-on tops. I had no idea what they were originally meant for, but they’d do for now. I took them into the bathroom, along with a butter knife from the kitchen, and wiped everything down with the rubbing alcohol that Ally used to clean her earrings. Then I wrapped everything in a clean paper towel and snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

  Outside, the gentle buzzing of the deputy’s snoring mingled with the clicks and croaks and humming of the bayou creatures. I tiptoed down the porch steps, through the periwinkle bushes, over to where Breaux was guarding the corpse. I ducked under the tarp and got to work, using the butter knife to scrape tissue samples from the body. Fortunately there was already enough damage from scavengers that my minor incursions wouldn’t be noticed. I wiped the tissue into the little jars like peanut butter, and screwed the tops on tight to minimize contamination. Deputy Breaux stirred and mumbled. It sounded like he said “Shania, darlin’” but it was hard to tell.

  I stood up, and tiptoed back up the porch steps—just in time to hear an ominous motoring sound coming down the road. I backed into the shadows.

  It was a cloudy night and I could barely make out the silhouette of a three-wheeled scooter. It had to be Delphine. Sure enough, as she came closer I could make out the flags fluttering from her handlebars, and then the bulk of Delphine herself. She was at least as old as Gertie and Ida Belle, and though her mobility was limited, she hadn’t let that stop her from riding out to my house in the middle of the night to rubberneck. Right behind her, urging on her motorized wheelchair, was Delphine’s mother Cookie.

  “Quit bumping me, Mama!”

  “You’re going too slow!” Cookie shrieked as she rear-ended her daughter. “Get the lead out!”

  Deputy Breaux snorted and woke up.

  “Who’s there? Oh, evening, Miss Delphine. Miss Cookie.”

  For an agonizing second, Delphine’s single headlight raked the porch. I held my breath and froze until the light passed. Deputy Breaux tried to stand, bumped his head on the tarp, ducked, and stepped out from under it.

  “Where’s the dead body?” Cookie barked.

  “Right here, but I can’t let anyone—”

  “Is it Gertie?” she interrupted.

  “It’s an unidentified male, Miss Cookie.”

  “I told you, Mama, it ain’t Gertie,” Delphine yelled back at her.

  A window lit up across the street. Then a few more.

  “You said it was Gertie!” Cookie shrieked.

  “I never said that, Mama!”

  “Why’d I come all the way out here? Take me home, Delphine.”

  Miss Cookie wheeled around and motored off, leading Delphine away in a slow-motion chase.

  Deputy Breaux settled back into his seat. I waited for him to drift back to sleep, and then quietly let myself back into the house. I slipped the little jars into an insulated foil envelope that had contained one of Ally’s gourmet spice orders, and popped the package into the refrigerator. I’d figure out a way to get it over to Harrison tomorrow.

  The next morning was a swirl of activity in my front yard, what with the Medical Examiner and the gawking neighbors and the shrill voice of Mayor-Elect Celia Arceneaux piercing the din. Ally had left to work the first shift at Francine’s, so it was just me and Merlin at home. I pulled the drapes shut, made some coffee, and got my phone out to call Harrison.

  He picked up on the first ring.

  “Thanks for the warning, Redding. Those pictures almost made me lose my breakfast.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you could get me an ID on him.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “It’s no joke. This guy just turned up dead in my front yard. I—listen, I gotta go. Deputy sheriff’s knocking on my door.”

  “Fortune?” I heard Carter calling.

  “Get back to me when you can,” Harrison urged.

  I opened the door just enough to let Carter inside. He squeezed in and slammed the door shut behind him. If he hadn’t, half of Sinful would’ve surged into my living room behind him.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  “Too hot. Got a root beer?”

  “Sure, I’ll get it for you.”

  “Nah, I know where they are.”

  “No, really I…”

  Carter was already opening the fridge. I prayed he wouldn’t notice my improvised DNA kit.

  “What’s this?” He pulled the insulated foil package out and examined it. “U.S. Restaurant Supply?”

  “That’s Ally’s,” I said. “See? That’s her name on the address label.”

  Carter reached in and pulled out one of my jars.

  “Carter, put it back! Ally doesn’t like people messing with her cooking stuff.”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s, uh, meat paste.”

  “Why’s she keeping it in an insulating envelope? It’s already in the refrigerator.”

  “Carter, I don’t know. You’d have to ask her. Can you put that back, please? I assume you have more questions for me. You didn’t just come by to inspect the contents of my refrigerator, did you?”

  Carter put the package back (finally!), popped the root beer open, and joined me at the kitchen table.

  “We found his car. At least, we think it’s his car.”

  “Really?”

  “A black Escalade. It was registered to a Bernard Césaire Mercier, age thirty. Ring a bell?”

  “Not even a little. Where’d they find the vehicle?”

  “Gravel lot behind Royal Cobbler.”

  “That empty shoe repair shop?”

  “Yeah. Royal Cobbler’s been in Sinful since 1926. They were part of my growing up here. It’s a shame.”

  “Well, people don’t get their shoes fixed anymore. Nowadays it’s cheaper to throw them away and buy a new pair than to get them repaired. Did you know China manufactures as many pairs of shoes each year as there are people in the world?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  Where had I heard it? Oh, that’s right. It came up during the briefing I got before my Xinjiang assignment.

  “I’m a librarian,” I told Carter. “I read things. Anyway, I don’t know any Bernard Mercier, and I have no idea why he chose my periwinkle bed as his final resting place. You find out anything else?”

  Carter stared at his can of root beer.

  Chapter 12

  “Look, Carter, I’m not trying to hijack your investigation or anything. But the fact is, I am involved in this, whether you like it or not. It’s my front yard that’s a circus right now. Tell me what’s going on. Maybe it’ll jog my memory.”

  “There was one detail. Looks like TOD was after you threw out the food.”

  “How do they know?”

  “You’re not going to like this. They found gumbo inside his nasal cavity and esophagus. So Mercier, or whoever this man was, was still alive and breathing when you threw dinner on him.”

  “You’re not saying my spicy gumbo was the cause of death.”

  “No. It wasn’t enough to asphyxiate him. They’re still working on figuring out what killed him.”<
br />
  “I threw spicy gumbo on a dying man. Good to know.”

  Carter stood up.

  “Fortune, if you think of anything at all that could be helpful, call me. And please don’t put yourself or any innocent civilians in harm’s way.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “I’m serious. We don’t know what this Bernard Mercier was up to. What if he meant you harm?”

  “Well, if he did, someone killed him before he had a chance to do anything.”

  “Yeah.” Carter shook his head. “Looks like you might have a guardian angel.”

  The crowd had dissipated by the time Carter left. I grabbed the insulated package from the fridge, hopped in the Jeep and sped over to Gertie’s house. Ida Belle was there too, so I only had to explain things once. I gave Ida Belle the insulated package and an address. She made a quick phone call and slipped out. Within the hour, she returned. She reported that she’d handed the package off to someone in the Sinful Ladies Society who owed her a favor, and that it would arrive at the shipping center in Mudbug by the deadline.

  I called Harrison and told him everything I’d learned so far.

  “How do you spell Bernard Césaire Mercier?” Harrison asked.

  “LeBlanc didn’t spell it out for me. But here’s something. The John Doe was wearing a fake Rolex. And so was a man back in a coffee shop in New Orleans who I think was watching me.”

  “That’s not much to go on. Which coffee shop?”

  “Starbucks.”

  “Great. That narrows it down.”

  “No, it’s the Starbucks in the French Quarter, close to the hotel where Gertie had her romance conference. There’s only one in that area.”

  I told him the street and cross street, date, and approximate time.

  “Okay, we’ll see if we can pull some surveillance footage.”

  “Harrison, you think that’s safe to ask NOLA PD for a favor? Ahmad might’ve gotten to someone while he was in town. The guy’s got all the money in the world.”

  “We don’t need to work with the police. Most of these stores have those inexpensive surveillance systems now that are connected online. The internet of things, Fortune. It’s a buffet of data.”