Soldiers of Fortune (29 page)

“He would have tried,” Gertie said.

We all laughed.
 

My phone buzzed and I looked at the display. It was from Carter.

You see the news?

Yeah. Ally just busted into Gertie’s house and turned on the television.

One problem down.
 

I sat down in a recliner and leaned back, all the tension leaving my neck. This was going to work out. Nelson and company were going down, some of Sinful would revert back to normal, and Swamp Team 3 would come out smelling like a rose.
 

We were getting better at this.

Chapter Eighteen

I had barely opened my eyes when I heard a knock at my front door. I forced myself out of bed and into a pair of shorts and trudged downstairs, desperate for coffee and with no desire at all to address whoever was on my porch. I swung open the door and squinted at the bright sunlight. I finally managed to get one eye partially open and saw Carter standing there staring at me.

“You awake?” he asked.

“Not really.” I stepped away from the door and headed for the kitchen. Coffee was a necessary thing. Like ten minutes ago.

“It’s almost noon,” he said as he took a seat at my kitchen table.

“Sunday or Monday?” I poured water into the coffeepot and yawned.

“Sunday. Did you really think you’d slept through an entire day?”

“I kinda wanted to.” I plopped into a chair and slouched back. “No banana pudding equals no race equals no church equals sleeping as long as I want.”

He frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know when I can feel again.”

He chuckled. “Too much wine?”

“Champagne. Ida Belle, Gertie, Ally, and I might have celebrated a while last night. And well into the morning.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“I think it was around four, but my phone was blurry.”

“No wonder you don’t want to move. Stay there.” He got up from the table and poured two cups of black coffee and placed them on the table.

I took a sip and waited for the coffee to spike my system. It didn’t take long. By the time I finished the cup and poured myself another, I was well on my way to feeling human again.

“Hey,” Carter said. “You’ve got both eyes open. That’s an improvement.”

“What a day. Between the boating and the whole Nelson thing, I need a vacation.”

Carter leaned back in his chair and looked at me. “Yeah, about that boating thing. Deputy Breaux said he heard that two women with tattoos caused a brawl at the Swamp Bar.”

“And?” I forced my body to remain limp and my voice casual. “Deputy Breaux needs to be a little more specific, doesn’t he? I mean, were the tattoos spelled correctly? That might narrow things down.”

“They were sleeves, not words, and the description of the two women sounded oddly like you and Gertie.”

“Video or it didn’t happen.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Fine,” I said, deciding to use Ida Belle’s lie to Ally from the night before. “Gertie overheard Nelson saying he was going to the Swamp Bar for the crawfish boil, and we went hoping to catch him doing something that could get him removed from office.”

“Uh-huh. And the fight?”

“That was an accident. Two women started fighting over one ugly husband and the end result was a Harley-Davidson biting the dust and Gertie getting the blame.”

Carter shook his head. “It’s all a moot point now, but did you see anything damning?”

“Just Nelson and the hooker. Oh, and they were talking to that Benedict dude who was arrested with him last night.”

“Didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t get involved in this sort of thing?”

“No. I promised you I wouldn’t get involved in the meth lab explosion. How the heck were we supposed to know Nelson was in it up to his neck?”

Carter sighed. “You weren’t. Hell, that one came as a surprise even to me. I knew the guy was worthless but I never saw this one coming.” He sat up and leaned forward. “Deputy Breaux also told me that two men wearing sheets drove a boat into Mrs. Pickens’s backyard. They’re lucky Mrs. Pickens is a bad shot.”

“That would have been worth seeing. What happened to them?”

“They’re in jail right now, but Mrs. Pickens wants them charged with a hate crime.”

“Driving a boat into someone’s backyard isn’t a hate crime.”

“Mrs. Pickens is black.”

“Oh.” I sat up straight. “OH!”

“And the boat had fire extinguisher foam all over it.”

“Maybe they were trying to put out an engine fire and lost control.”

He grinned. “I suppose anything is possible.”

“So,” I said, ready to change the subject while he was in a good mood, “have you heard any details on Nelson’s arrest?”

He nodded. “I have a friend with the state police. I gave him a call this morning and got the skinny. He said they got a tip from an informant yesterday about Nelson running meth.”

I stiffened. An informant? Surely not the Heberts? Informants for the state police? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. And it certainly explained a couple of things—like how Little got the print check on Dewey, and why he wasn’t worried about how to get the video to them, and how they showed up at the motel based on a “tip.”

“Our buddy Nelson wasn’t all that careful covering his tracks,” Carter said, “and they did the bust last night figuring they’d have enough evidence for a conviction by trial.”

“You think they’ll get it?”

“I don’t think they need it. Ballistics proved Nelson’s gun killed Kayla, and his were the only prints on it. And Colby rolled on them. Apparently, Nelson blackmailed Kayla into distributing. Colby admitted they were both addicts, but said he never wanted to be involved with Nelson. He’s telling everything.”

“Sounds like an open-and-shut case.”

Carter nodded. “I can’t imagine him or Benedict walking on this.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. Good for you and Sinful.”

“Not to mention another chink in Celia’s armor. This isn’t going to look good for her, bringing the meth trade to town.”

“Nope. If this election audit doesn’t put Marie in office, I bet enough has gone wrong to get Celia ousted. Any word on the man who lost his leg?”

“Yeah, Colby said it was the cooker, Dewey Parnell. He was a local who left for New Orleans after high school. I don’t think I’ve seen him since, but I’d heard he wasn’t up for citizen of the year.”

I opened my mouth to reply but before I could, I heard my front door open and bang shut. A couple seconds later, Ida Belle and Gertie came running down the hall and into the kitchen, blocking each other on the way. When they came to a sliding stop in front of Carter and me, they were both winded.

“What is wrong with you two?” I waved at chairs. “Are you being chased by wild animals?”

“Gertie’s car is broke so we walked to church,” Ida Belle said, “but then we saw something at Francine’s that you’re not going to believe. We ran all the way from the café.”

“I want to tell them,” Gertie pouted.

“Then tell, but hurry up before I burst,” Ida Belle said.

Their excitement was contagious. “Someone tell. Please.”

“You’re not going to believe who walked into the café,” Ida Belle said.

“Who?” I asked.

Ida Belle and Gertie looked at each other and grinned.

“Celia’s husband!” Gertie said.

Carter bolted out of his chair. “What? You’re lying.”

“Gertie doesn’t lie on Sundays, remember?” Ida Belle said.

“But he’s been missing decades,” I said, completely confused.
 

Ida Belle nodded. “When he didn’t turn up for Pansy’s funeral, we all figured he was dead.”

“Well, yeah, because that’s the only thing that makes sense,” I said.

“Not really,” Gertie said. “He could have been at the North Pole, or in prison, or living completely off-grid in the mountains of Tibet.”

 
“Tibet non-withstanding, why come back now?” I asked.

“Maybe he wants to be first man of Sinful,” Gertie said.

Ida Belle looked up and mumbled, probably praying.

“I don’t get it,” I said.

 
“Nobody gets it,” Ida Belle said.

“Especially Celia,” Gertie said. “She passed out right there in the middle of Francine’s. Tipped an entire tray over on Pastor Don.”

Carter stared back and forth from Ida Belle to Gertie, clearly dumbfounded and waiting for the punch line that wasn’t coming.

“But,” he said finally, “he never saw his daughter again, even at her own funeral. And he left his boat. I always thought he’d come back for that boat. I wonder where he’s been all this time.”

Ida Belle shook her head. “I don’t know, but I have the feeling things are about to get really interesting around here.”

“Good,” I said. “I was getting bored.”

The End

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Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and ‘gators of southwest Louisiana. She’s never stumbled across a mystery like one of her heroines but is still hopeful. She lives in Dallas, Texas with a menagerie of animals and not a single ghost.
 

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