Hook, Line and Blinker (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 10) Page 4

  “You think he’s done it before,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. “And car thieves usually have a particular type of car they work. Knowing what he took could help us track down other thefts of similar nature.”

  “I agree,” Ida Belle said, “but how do you propose we do that? Carter changed all his computer passwords, and so far, Myrtle hasn’t been able to figure them out. He’s started making all his notes on the computer, so no handy pad of paper with case information lying around, and once he assembles a paper file, he’s locking active cases in a safe in his office.”

  “I think he’s officially gotten our number,” Gertie said.

  “Yeah, I think our days of data gathering with a simple break-in at the sheriff’s department are over,” Ida Belle said.

  Even though I had yet to be present for one of those “simple” break-ins, I didn’t bother to argue. The end result was the same. None of us thought it was worth the risk to try again. We’d barely gotten away with it before.

  “Well,” Gertie said, “since we can’t get to Carter’s files, I guess we’ll just have to break into Hot Rod’s shop and check the cars there against his inventory.”

  There were so many things wrong with Gertie’s plan that I wasn’t sure where to begin, but I took a deep breath and made a stab at it.

  “The shop is now a crime scene,” I said. “We’d be breaking a million laws just stepping past the tape. And I’d bet money that Carter called for backup and someone armed is sitting guard there until he figures out what’s going on. Then there’s the huge assumption that Hot Rod even keeps an inventory that we could check stock against.”

  “You’re right on all the first statements,” Ida Belle said, “but I’m not so sure on the last. I signed a bill of sale and all the other pertinent paperwork when I bought my Blazer, and Hot Rod gave me an envelope with copies of everything, including all the receipts for parts and anything he subbed out. I know he doesn’t come across as highly organized, but I bet he’s got folders on every car that moves through his shop.”

  “Cool,” Gertie said. “So if he has a file with receipts and stuff for every vehicle, then the ones that have been sold would have a bill of sale in them, right? Anything that didn’t we would assume should be in the shop.”

  “Or out to a sub for other work,” I said.

  “But he’d probably have an estimate in the file if that was the case,” Ida Belle said.

  “Then it’s settled,” Gertie said. “We break into Hot Rod’s shop.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Nothing about this is settled. Did you miss all the beginning of my statement about crime scene and armed guards and all that? Do you plan on strolling up and asking politely to go inside?”

  “Of course not,” Gertie said. “I said ‘break in.’ I thought that was clear.”

  “Okay, I may be crazy here,” I said, “but I’m clearly not the most insane. When I went to Hot Rod’s with Ida Belle, I noticed it was at the end of a dead-end road. One road in. One road out. Short of going on foot or dropping in by plane, we can’t get there without being seen.”

  “The plane idea is interesting,” Gertie said, “but I was thinking more of an invasion by water.”

  “She’s right,” Ida Belle said. “There’s a bayou about a hundred feet behind the shop. Unless someone’s watching the back, we could probably get in and out without being seen.”

  “And leave our DNA all over a crime scene,” I said.

  “Technically,” Ida Belle said to me, “our DNA is already there. Gertie’s is the only one missing.”

  Gertie huffed. “Which means I get stuck playing lookout again. I always get stuck playing lookout.”

  “And I always get stuck playing the floozy,” I said.

  “I keep offering to play the floozy,” Gertie pointed out.

  “The point of undercover work is to go unnoticed,” Ida Belle said. “You’re a good century past your prime floozy time.”

  “Okay, all talk of floozies aside, we can’t do this,” I said. “Carter would arrest us all if he found out, and you know what that would do to my cover. Morrow would yank me out of here so fast, I’d get whiplash.”

  “Then what else are we supposed to do?” Gertie asked. “You can’t get anything from Carter. Myrtle can’t get into his files. Unless Hot Rod wakes up and has something to help, we’re stuck with nothing.”

  Ida Belle’s phone rang, and she looked at the display. “It’s my hospital source.”

  She answered the phone and Gertie and I both leaned across the table, eagerly listening to the one-sided conversation. If you could call single-word responses a conversation.

  “Thanks,” Ida Belle said after about a minute. “If you get anything else, call me right away.”

  She put the phone down, and I could tell that whatever she’d heard wasn’t good. “The niece checked in. Hot Rod had a decent bout of consciousness. He told the nurse I was in danger and started yelling for the cops. Before the officer standing guard could get a statement, Hot Rod went into cardiac arrest.”

  Gertie’s hands flew over her mouth.

  “Oh no!” I cried.

  “They got him stabilized,” Ida Belle said, “but there’s no way to know when he’ll regain consciousness again.” She sighed. “Or even if he will. I don’t want to sound all doom and gloom, but I’m afraid it’s serious for our friend.”

  “And serious for you,” Gertie said. “Whatever Hot Rod is worried about was enough to send him into heart attack zone, and with his family history…”

  I didn’t want to agree with Gertie, because agreeing left me only one option, and that was breaking and entering into what could turn out to be the scene of a capital murder. But if Ida Belle was in jeopardy, we needed to know why, and the answer was probably somewhere in Hot Rod’s shop. Maybe it was as simple as him remembering something he had left undone on her SUV. Something he thought might cause a wreck. If so, then he’d have a note in those files Ida Belle insisted he kept.

  Whatever it was, it probably had nothing to do with why someone had attacked Hot Rod.

  At least, that’s what I was going to keep telling myself.

  Even though I didn’t believe it for a minute.

  Chapter Four

  “How come I never get to drive?” Gertie groused as I tossed a backpack of breaking-and-entering supplies into the bottom of my airboat.

  Ida Belle stared. “You’re seriously asking that question? How many boats have you sunk this year? Because any number over zero is too many.”

  I’d only arrived at Sinful at the beginning of the summer, but based on my limited exposure to Gertie and boating, I was betting that number hovered somewhere over five and maybe below ten. But then, I was probably being optimistic.

  “Ida Belle drives the boat,” I said. “She’s the best driver. And before you ask, you can’t sit in the other chair. That chair is for lookout and I have perfect vision.”

  Gertie threw her hands in the air, stepped into the boat, then flopped down on the bottom in front of the bench. “Perfect driving, perfect vision. You two are always cramping my style with all your rules.”

  “Limiting one’s chance of death is not cramping your style,” Ida Belle said. “It’s keeping us all available for future projects.”

  “You’re a perfect cook,” I said.

  “I suppose that’s something,” Gertie said, slightly mollified.

  “What’s the Carter update?” Ida Belle asked.

  I shook my head. “He just texted me a good morning and thanks for the sandwich last night. He didn’t give me any other clues.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “He didn’t tell Myrtle where he was going either. Just checked in with the office and headed back out.”

  “You need to put that ‘find iPhone’ thing on his phone,” Gertie said. “That way, we’d always know where he was.”

  “Yeah, because he wouldn’t notice that,” I said. “And because that tracking thing always works so wel
l in the swamp.”

  “Maybe we should GPS his truck,” Ida Belle said. “Anyway, it’s something to consider for later on.”

  I stared. “You two know that private detectives don’t have the legal right to break and enter and stalk law enforcement officers, right?”

  “Veronica Mars does it all the time,” Gertie said.

  “That’s a television show,” I said, “and she’s a minor. She won’t go to prison.”

  Gertie shrugged. “There’s a downside to everything.”

  I shook my head and untied the boat from the bank. As long as I was in a relationship with Carter, Ida Belle and Gertie were never going to take my being arrested seriously. But Carter couldn’t protect me from everything. If the Feds were involved, then I was open game. In fact, being involved with a law enforcement officer would make me an even juicier target.

  Not that I was some sort of stickler for the law. CIA assassins didn’t exactly care what laws they were breaking when they were on a mission, especially since we usually weren’t citizens of the countries we were operating within. Our jobs were all about the success of the mission and not so much about how we accomplished it. But if I was going to make a go at honest civilian employment, then the legal system was something I needed to start taking a bit more seriously.

  After we found out why Ida Belle was in danger, of course. Because my friend’s safety trumped laws.

  Ida Belle climbed into the driver’s seat, and I pushed the boat from the bank and jumped inside. My butt had barely graced the seat when Ida Belle took off like a shot. I clutched the armrests as if my life depended on it, and that wasn’t too far from the truth. I loved the airboat more than I’d ever thought I’d be devoted to a piece of machinery, and I knew that Ida Belle was a top-notch driver, but there was still that inkling of what-if every time I climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  But given my personality, that was also part of the attraction.

  The ride took about twenty minutes and probably should have taken thirty. Ida Belle had utilized a shortcut for airboats that shaved off some time, meaning, she’d skipped the boat over a patch of land to cut the distance. Given the height Gertie flew up from the bottom of the boat, and the dirty look she gave Ida Belle after we landed back in the water, I guessed we probably wouldn’t hear any complaining about having to sit in the bottom again, because if Gertie had been on the bench, she would be sitting on that patch of land.

  Ida Belle cut the engine as we approached a long stretch of bank lined with cypress trees. We’d gone under the highway at some point in the blurred ride, so I figured we must have reached our destination. Ida Belle scanned the bank and looked down at Gertie.

  “What do you think?” Ida Belle asked.

  Gertie nodded. “I think this is about right.”

  That was my cue, so I grabbed the rope and did a leap onto the bank, then pulled the boat over to the landmass and tied it off. Ida Belle tossed me the backpack of breaking-and-entering equipment, then Gertie handed me her purse. It was heavier than the backpack, which was already cause for alarm, but I knew better than to look inside or even ask. It would just make me worry more, and I needed to concentrate.

  I hefted the backpack onto my shoulder, and Ida Belle pointed to the tree line. “If we head straight back, we should hit the back side of Hot Rod’s property.”

  “How far?” I asked.

  “Quarter mile, maybe?” Ida Belle said.

  A quarter mile was nothing walking upright and carrying a light backpack. I’d crawled farther and with heavier equipment. “Let’s get this over with,” I said.

  There was no sign of a trail, so we picked the least dense opening and stepped into the woods, then continued to pick our way through the trees and brush, attempting to maintain a direct line from the boat to Hot Rod’s place. Several minutes later, I saw a break in the trees, and the woods opened up to a clearing of swamp grass. Hot Rod’s warehouse was about fifty yards to our right.

  “We’re not directly behind it,” Ida Belle said. “I think we got off a bit trying to find a decent path through the woods.”

  “Close enough,” I said, and pulled binoculars from the backpack. “Let’s see if we can spot any movement.”

  “There’s a car out front that looks like a cop,” Ida Belle said.

  Our side view afforded us a look at a piece of the parking lot in front of the building, and sure enough, right there in the middle of a Camry and an Accord was a sheriff’s department vehicle.

  “It’s not local,” I said. “It says ‘Mudbug’ on it.”

  “Carter needed some assistance and didn’t want the state police in his business,” Ida Belle said.

  I nodded. “It’s twenty yards from the tree line to the back of the building, and it won’t take but ten seconds or so to jimmy one of those windows.”

  “Then let’s move directly behind the building and get going,” Ida Belle said.

  I started to move, but Gertie grabbed my arm.

  “Wait,” Gertie said, and pointed at the horse and rider coming around the building.

  Sheriff Lee.

  “Crap,” I said. “We can’t get into the building with Sheriff Lee and some spare deputy circling it like flies.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “We could still outrun Lee. Even with the horse.”

  Given that the horse was as ancient as Sheriff Lee, she was probably right, except for one thing.

  “The problem is,” I said, “we can’t outrun a bullet. And if he sees someone breaking in, he’s not going to mosey up close to see if it’s just the friendly Sinful busybodies, nosing into a crime scene. He’s going to whip out that gun at his hip John Wayne–style and start firing. I’ve seen him shoot before. It’s not something I care to be in the vicinity of again.”

  “He needs to get glasses,” Gertie said. “He can’t see squat.”

  Ida Belle and I stared at Gertie for a moment. Given that we’d been yelling all summer for her to get her own prescription updated, it seemed an odd comment, if not ridiculously hypocritical.

  “What?” Gertie asked. “I’ll have you know I have an appointment next week. Then you two won’t have anything else to complain about.”

  Ida Belle raised an eyebrow. “You’re handling all two hundred things on my list of things to complain about at your eye doctor next week? That’s one talented doctor.”

  Gertie shot her a dirty look, then pointed at Sheriff Lee. “You can keep insulting me or figure out what to do about that.”

  “What can we do?” I asked. “It doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, and that means neither are we.”

  “We need a distraction,” Ida Belle said. “Something that will draw Sheriff Lee into the woods. That way, we could sneak in.”

  “We could step out of the tree line naked and he still wouldn’t see us,” I said.

  “What about noise?” Gertie asked. “His hearing’s still decent. Decent enough, anyway.”

  “Decent enough to hear what?” I asked, already worried about the answer. “Because if it involves guns or explosives, I’m already voting no.”

  “What if it involves tiny explosives?” Gertie asked. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a package of firecrackers.

  “It sounds too much like gunfire,” I said. “He’ll come charging this way, ready to shoot.”

  “Charging is a bit of a stretch,” Ida Belle said. “It might work. If you threw one, then moved farther into the brush. He wouldn’t be able to move quickly through the brush, with the horse or without. Gertie could draw him away far enough to allow us to get inside, then do it again so we can get out.”

  “What about the deputy?” I asked. “We haven’t even seen him. What if he’s a lot younger and quicker than Sheriff Lee?”

  “Everyone’s a lot younger than Sheriff Lee,” Ida Belle said, “but I see your point. Maybe Gertie and I should split the firecrackers and once we have their attention, head off in different directions. That should confuse them enough
to give you a window.”

  As misdirection went, it wasn’t that bad of a plan, except for the part where I was the one assessing Hot Rod’s inventory. Aside from the DeLorean and the Ferrari, I hadn’t paid attention to anything else in his warehouse. If we couldn’t come up with some sort of inventory listing, I wouldn’t have any idea what was missing. But Ida Belle might.

  “What if I work the distraction with Gertie,” I said to Ida Belle, “and you do the inventory assessment?”

  I explained my reasoning and Ida Belle nodded.

  “Hot Rod and I chatted about several of his cars after the test drive,” Ida Belle said. “I probably can’t remember them all, but I definitely recall several of them.”

  “Good,” I said. “Will you have any problem with the window?”

  “Please,” Ida Belle said. “I could jimmy a window before you were even born.”

  “Okay,” I said, not about to ask why Ida Belle had perfected window jimmying in her past life. “Then you move into position directly behind the window on the far corner of the building. When you’re there, Gertie and I will start the distraction maneuver.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and checked the service. “We have decent cell reception here. Ida Belle, when you’re ready to leave the shop, send us a text and we’ll start up the fireworks again.”

  Ida Belle nodded, grabbed the backpack of tools, and headed off through the woods. Gertie broke the package of firecrackers in half and handed some to me.

  “Lighter?” I asked.

  She pulled a couple packets of matches from her purse and handed me one. “I’m old-school.”

  I took the matches, wishing I had a lighter but considering the source, we were probably better off with Gertie going old-school. I didn’t want to think about the combination of a leaky lighter and whatever else she had in that handbag.

  “When Ida Belle is in place,” I said, “we’ll set off one firework to draw attention. When they come this way, then you and I will split off in two directions, lighting new fireworks about every ten yards. You go back toward the bayou so you’ll be closer to the boat. I’ll go north and work my way back around.”