Hair Extensions & Homicide / Supernatural Sinful Box Set

by Frankie Bow

  “I know.” Thinking about Gertie’s eyesight reminded me of something else. “Listen, I have to ask you both something. This is a question that I can’t answer for myself because I don’t have enough distance to be objective. Do you think I look like Claudia Hunter?”

  “Not at all,” Ida Belle said.

  “Certainly not,” Gertie agreed.

  “Don’t worry about my feelings about being replaced in Carter’s affections or whatever. This is important. Gertie called Claudia ‘Fortune’ and I know we keep bugging her to get glasses, but still. Is it possible Claudia could have been mistaken for me at a distance? Especially on that poorly lit front porch?”

  The two were quiet for a moment, and we rode in silence along the single-lane road. On either side of the road, trailer homes cropped up occasionally on patchy lawns. Trees and telephone poles threw long shadows across the slender strip of asphalt.

  “You know,” Ida Belle said carefully, “there might have been a slight similarity…I mean, in a dim light—”

  “I’m just gonna say it,” Gertie interrupted. “That woman looked a lot like you. I think that’s why Carter was attracted to her in the first place.”

  “Now calm down, Fortune,” Ida Belle warned.

  “No, no, I’m okay. This might explain what happened to Claudia Hunter. Yes, she was eating that contaminated cheese, but it wasn’t enough to kill her.”

  We hit traffic on the way back in. I dropped Gertie and Ida Belle off at my place with an invitation to help themselves to whatever was in the fridge, and a promise to come back and tell them everything as soon as I was done.

  I arrived at Francine’s by a quarter after five. Harrison was already there. He had managed to get himself a table in the back, far from the other diners. Ally was working the dinner shift. Her eyes widened as she watched me walk to the back of the dining area to join the nice-looking stranger in the dark suit.

  “You’re here to bring me back, aren’t you?” I asked as I sat down.

  “Good to see you too, Fortune.”

  “You didn’t just stop by for a visit. So is this an extraction?”

  “I don’t see that we have any choice. Your cover was compromised.”

  “I see.”

  I took a sip of decaf.

  “So you think you have a better place for me?”

  “Oilmont, Montana.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey, good male-female ratio, if you’re worried about your social life.”

  “This extraction is not necessary.”

  “Really.”

  “Harrison, listen to me. I’m going to recap everything I know about this.”

  I did.

  “And?” Harrison asked.

  “Look, here’s how I figure it. Ahmad clears out of New Orleans but leaves a guy behind. Just in case. Ahmad’s guy gets friendly with Mercier, through one or more of Mercier’s activities. Parties, fake IDs, phony green card, whatever. So Mercier finds out about the ten-million-dollar bounty and decides he wants it. All of it. He takes Ahmad’s guy for a little ride, finds out what he can, shoots him in the head, dumps him. He’s trying to figure out how to find me when he has a stroke of luck—I walk right into his favorite Starbucks. He follows me out to Sinful. You saw that part on video, right?”

  “And somehow he gets ahold of this state-of-the-art weapon?”

  “I’m thinking Ahmad’s guy used it to pay him for services. Harrison, Ahmad’s an arms dealer. Poison spy pens are probably like party favors for him.”

  “Then what?”

  “Mercier waits for me outside my house, thinking he’s gonna shoot me with a dart and bag me. But dinner’s a disaster, Claudia Hunter storms out, Bernard Mercier sees her, thinks she’s me—”

  “He thinks Claudia Hunter is you?”

  “There’s a slight resemblance. And the front porch lighting is bad. Just stay with me on this. So Bernard Mercier’s just shot Claudia, thinking she’s me. Carter takes her to the hospital, where she dies. Not from cheese poisoning, or my terrible cooking, but from whatever Mercier shot her with. Not even a minute later, I come out and toss the gumbo out. I hit Mercier in the face. Accidentally, of course, because I have no idea he’s hiding there.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Turns out the spices I used turned the gumbo into pepper spray, pretty much. So Mercier gets a face full, his hands go to his face, he’s still holding the pen, he accidently shoots himself.”

  “And as he’s dying, breathes in some more spicy gumbo.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Didn’t you hear anything?”

  “I did, actually. Something rustling in the bushes. I thought it was my cat at first.”

  “Bad way to go.”

  “Harrison, don’t feel sorry for him. He tried to kill me.”

  “You have a cat? Never mind, not important. For the record, I do not feel sorry for him. He deserved everything he got.”

  “One thing I don’t understand is why he used something lethal. My price is ten million alive, only one million dead.”

  “Maybe he’s playing it safe. One million isn’t nothing. Let’s get back to where you’re staying, you pack up what you need. We have to be at Lake Charles Airport by seven-thirty.”

  “Harrison, no. This extraction is unnecessary. And dangerous.”

  Harrison looked skeptical.

  “I’ll tell you why. Unnecessary because everyone involved in this is dead. Ahmad’s guy, killed by Bernard Mercier. Bernard Mercier, killed by…mistakenly shooting himself. There hasn’t been any sign of anyone else coming after me. But if I disappear, there are two very persistent and resourceful old women who will move heaven and earth to try to find me. Oh, and here’s Deputy Sheriff Carter LeBlanc. I think he has something for you.”

  Chapter 19

  Carter was standing in the doorway of Francine’s Diner. I waved until I got his attention, and he started in our direction. I was relieved to see that he was carrying a small cardboard box. He’d actually listened to me.

  “You can’t let two old ladies decide issues of national security,” Harrison hissed.

  “What do you propose to do, kill them to keep them from talking?”

  “I can pay them off.”

  “Won’t work. Anyway, who’s to say that Oilmont is any safer than Sinful?”

  “Look, Fortune, someone followed you here and tried to kill you. I mean, that’s not my theory, it’s yours. This was way too close for comfort.”

  Carter set the box on the table, stuck his hand out, and introduced himself to Harrison. He was dominating the space, trying to take control of the situation. To make up for the fact that he felt helpless and had no idea who Harrison was or what was going on.

  “I brought what you asked for.” He slid onto the bench next to me.

  “Mind if I have a look?” Harrison asked. Carter nodded, and Harrison carefully picked off the single piece of cellophane tape holding the flaps shut. Carter and I watched him as he examined the contents of the box without touching anything.

  “May I take these two pens?” Harrison asked, finally.

  “Which ones?”

  “The blue and the red.” Harrison pointed, but he didn’t put his hand inside the box.

  Carter peered in and frowned.

  “Those? We have a bunch of those around the office.”

  “Then it won’t be a problem if I take them,” Harrison said. Carter bristled.

  “Please, Carter,” I said. If Carter this it as a favor to me, that could let him save face. He could convince himself that he wasn’t deferring to Harrison.

  “I don’t even know who this guy is, Fortune. He walks into my jurisdiction—”

  “He’s just some guy who wants a couple of one-dollar pens. Let him take the pens, Carter.”

  Carter looked at me, and Harrison, and then me again.

  “Sure. Go ahead and take the pens. As a personal favor to Fortune.”

  Harrison nodded. “Appreci
ate it. We’ll take the box, too. You can remove the other items. We just want the pens and the box.”

  Carter gave me a strange look. A “who are you?” look. He stood up and picked out the unwanted items from the box: paper clips, car registration documents, a hairbrush, a wallet, and a fake gold Rolex watch.

  “Is that all?” Carter asked.

  Harrison stared into the box. Then he looked at me. I could tell the wheels were turning.

  Carter watched us warily.

  Finally, Harrison reached into his jacket and produced a bulging manila envelope.

  “We appreciate your cooperation, officer.” Harrison handed the envelope to Carter.

  “What’s this?” Carter looked at the envelope in his hands as if Harrison had just handed him a dead fish.

  “Our thanks for your assistance. We insist that you accept it.”

  Carter lifted the flap of the envelope and peered inside. He tried to keep a poker face, but I could tell it was a struggle for him. I’d handled envelopes like that before, and I had a good idea how much cash Carter was holding.

  “Thank you. I’m going to donate this to the treasury of Sinful.”

  “Aren’t you going to keep anything for yourself?” I blurted out.

  “No. Sinful needs this. That’s where this will do the most good. The town’s in a bad place financially. They’re behind on their payroll. This’ll help.”

  When Carter left, I said,

  “Can I see it?”

  “Look. Don’t touch.”

  I stood up and peered into the box. Lying on the bottom were two ordinary clicker pens.

  “That’s it? I think we have a package of those back at the house.”

  “Look pretty harmless, don’t they? The red one’s equipped to shoot fine needles of a marine-derived toxin. The needle itself dissolves completely. The toxin does its job, and then it denatures. Within an hour or two there’s nothing to trace. No amount of analyzing the bodies would have yielded any useful information.”

  “I didn’t know you were going to give him money,” I said.

  “It’s always nice to spread a little cheer around.”

  “How did you know he needed money?”

  “Look around. Everyone in these little hick towns is scraping by.”

  “Where’d you get it? What was it for?”

  “That was to smooth the way for your extraction. It was my get-Fortune-out-of-Mayberry fund.”

  “What’s Mayberry? Wait a minute. Did you say was? Does this mean you’re not pulling me out?”

  Harrison exhaled.

  “Fortune, what you got us here? This is gold. Now that we have this, we can check our records and trace how it got into Ahmad’s hands. This can help us find the mole. We’re closer to an answer. Thanks to you.”

  “You’re letting me stay. What’s Morrow going to say?”

  “He tasked me with weighing the pros and cons. I think I’ve done that. Relocation carries its own risks, as you pointed out. And your story makes sense. Your would-be killer is dead, and there have been no further attempts on your life. There’s no immediate threat right now. You’re safest where you are. As long as you agree to stay put. No trips to the big city, no selfies on the internet. Can you do that? Lay low until it’s safe to come out?”

  “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  “So Mercier had two pens, huh? And I’ve never been able to get even one.”

  “Actually, the blue one is something else. Step Two.”

  “An antidote?” I asked.

  “It’s not technically an antidote, because there is no antidote. But it’s similar. Slows the metabolism so that the victim has a chance of recovery, something like that. Don’t ask me the details.”

  “So he was planning to bring me in alive.”

  Harrison nodded. “He just never had a chance to administer Step Two.”

  From across the room, Ally caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled back at her.

  “My roommate’s going to ask about you,” I whispered. “And FYI, you don’t look like a schoolteacher on vacation.”

  Harrison glanced at Ally. “Tell her I’m eccentric.”

  “Convince her that the guy wearing a dark suit in the middle of summer and carrying around a cardboard box is eccentric? I think I can pull that off.”

  Harrison stood up.

  “Guess I’ll get going. You can still come if you want. Last call for Lake Charles Airport.

  “Maybe next time. You just gave away all your money, so this is my treat.”

  “Three coffees. Big spender.”

  Harrison clasped my hand and then pulled me into a hug. He released me, and I watched him stride out past the gawking diners and through the front door, setting the bells jingling. He didn’t look back.

  As soon as I was at the front counter. Ally came rushing up.

  “Who was that?” she asked breathlessly. “What a sharp dresser!”

  “Oh, just a friend from work. He was passing through. Ally, can I get three fried chicken dinners to go, and a pecan pie?”

  “Aw, are you having a party without me?”

  “Just dinner and a chat with Gertie and Ida Belle. Hey, we’ll save you some pie.”

  Ally disappeared, and returned with a bulging, gravy-stained paper bag and a white bakery box with “Francine’s Diner” stamped on top in purple.

  “A chat? Honestly, Fortune, you spend so much time with Gertie and Ida Belle, don’t you three ever run out of things to talk about?”

  I smiled and paid for the coffees and the dinner, adding on a nice fat tip.

  “I’m sure we can think of something to talk about. By the way, Ally, have you ever heard of a place called Mayberry?”

  Schooled

  Chapter 1

  It wasn’t just the Louisiana humidity that was making me sweat.

  I shifted on the seat of the metal folding chair in a useless attempt to find a comfortable position. An ancient desk fan rattled away on the table, pushing the damp air around the tiny interrogation room.

  “So, we’ve established that you were in Mudbug last night.”

  Sheriff Robert E. Lee peered at me from under his bushy white eyebrows me as if I were a freak show exhibit. With my current cover identity, I sure felt like one. Sandy-Sue “Fortune” Morrow, children’s librarian and former beauty queen. Now pushing thirty and sporting the tackiest hair extensions this side of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

  “That’s correct, Sheriff. I was at Mudbug Technical College.”

  I didn’t know why Sheriff Lee had brought me in for questioning. But I did know that he—and much of the town— were wary of the new Yankee (that would be me). It didn’t help that since my arrival, the murder rate in Sinful, Louisiana (population 253, give or take) had skyrocketed to approximately that of Bogotá.

  “What were you doing way over at Mudbug Tech, Miss Morrow?”

  “I was enrolled—am enrolled—in a class there.”

  Lee squinted skeptically. I shrugged.

  “I’m thinking about a career change,” I said truthfully.

  “Don’t like working with children?”

  I was surprised Lee remembered that detail of my cover story.

  “Getting a little tired of it.”

  In fact, I worked for the CIA, doing the nasty and necessary jobs that you won’t find in any want ad or official position description. Director Morrow hates it when I call myself an “assassin,” so let’s just go with “operative.” My real name is Fortune Redding, and my most recent assignment had earned me the undying enmity of a particularly nasty customer named Ahmad. Morrow had stuck me undercover deep in bayou country until things cooled down. So far so good, but if Sheriff Lee ran my prints, things could get complicated.

  “Can you tell me what this is about, Sheriff?”

  I could see why I might be brought in for questioning on some flimsy pretext. I was the newcomer in town. But what were Ida Belle and Gertie doing h
ere? My two closest friends in Sinful were old enough to be my grandmothers. They were far from harmless, having been Vietnam-era spies and all, but Sheriff Lee didn’t know that. What on earth merited hauling in all three of us at once?

  And where was Deputy Sheriff Carter LeBlanc, who normally did most of the actual law enforcement in Sinful? Why wasn’t Carter the one interrogating me? My mind drifted back, once again, to that kiss at my front door…

  “It’s about Celia Arceneaux.” Sheriff Lee jolted me out of my pleasant reverie.

  “Ah. Celia. I should have known.”

  Celia Arceneaux had been on my case since the moment I set foot in Sinful, braying to anyone who would listen that I brought nothing but trouble with me. She wasn’t wrong about the timing, but none of it was actually my fault. In fact, I, along with Ida Belle and Gertie, had actually solved a few crimes together, dispatching some bad guys in the process. I’d even saved Celia’s life at one point. But Celia had been feuding with Ida Belle and Gertie for the past fifty years or so, and she wasn’t about to stop now. Apparently, gratitude wasn’t in her vocabulary.

  Worse, Celia had recently won (or “won”) the Sinful mayor’s office in an election with a margin so thin that the town was now in the middle of a recount. In the meantime, Celia was allowed to stay on as mayor-elect. It turned out that the only thing worse than Celia Arceneaux was Celia Arceneaux with a little bit of power. She could now enforce Sinful’s arcane laws (or not) as she pleased, declare holidays on a whim, and drain the city coffers by hiring her idiot relatives and generally mismanaging everything. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she started printing money with her picture on it and renaming the months of the year after herself.

  “So Celia filed another complaint about me? What is it this time? Washing my car on a Tuesday? Wearing off-white before Labor Day?”

  Sheriff Lee fidgeted and cleared his throat. Come on, Sheriff, spit it out. How bad could it be?

  “Celia Arceneaux is dead, Fortune.”

  I could almost feel my jaw hit the top of Lee’s desk.

  “What?”

  “I said Celia Arceneaux is dead,” he shouted.