Hook, Line and Blinker (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 10) Page 8

  “Ha! That might just be the biggest understatement spoken in Sinful this year.”

  “Speaking of, have you had any more Celia problems?” I asked, Carter’s words making me think about big mouths and lots of hot air.

  He frowned and shook his head. “Nothing. Honestly, that concerns me more than if she were spouting her vitriol all over town.”

  “You think she’s plotting her revenge.”

  “I’d bet on it. I’m sure I don’t have to say this, but tell Ida Belle to watch her back. No matter how things go down, Celia always figures out a way to bring it back around to Ida Belle.”

  “Or me. You don’t think she’ll go poking into my background, do you?”

  Carter’s eyes widened, and I knew he’d instantly processed all the possibilities, none of them good. “If she digs too hard…”

  “She’ll find out that the real Sandy-Sue never came to Sinful.”

  “But she has no way of figuring out who you really are.”

  “No. But if she starts screaming loud enough to anyone who will listen, my picture and that bit of gossip could wind up all over social media. Do you really think Ahmad’s cronies aren’t monitoring that? They have better computer techs than Microsoft.”

  Carter jumped up from the chair and cursed, then starting pacing. “We have to figure out something to do about this.”

  “Like what? The only way to stop someone like Celia from talking is to kill her, and you keep telling me I’m not allowed to do that.”

  Carter stopped pacing and stared at me. “This is no time for assassin humor.”

  “There’s nothing we can do. You know that. I know that. You just don’t like it and neither do I, but I’ve had longer to process it.”

  “Why is it taking the CIA so long to catch that guy?”

  I sighed, completely understanding his frustration, but I knew Harrison and my boss, Director Morrow, were doing everything possible to get me back to my real identity.

  “Because he’s really, really good,” I said. “And unless they can figure out who the mole is, he’s got someone inside the CIA helping him stay one step ahead.”

  I could have told him about Harrison’s message that something was in the works, but I didn’t want to give him false hope. It was bad enough that I was feeling hopeful. Disappointment sucked. No use in both of us feeling it when one would suffice.

  “There’s got to be something we can do,” Carter said.

  “The only thing we can do is sit tight and hope that the CIA gets Ahmad and that Celia doesn’t make good on her threat. Trust me, I’ve rolled a million different ideas through my head, and there’s nothing else.”

  “I swear to God that woman has turned this town into her own personal war zone. I wish she’d do everyone a favor and leave.”

  “She won’t do that. She’ll stay here until the day she dies, trying to get revenge on the people she believes ruined her life.”

  “Her life was ruined by a series of stupid choices. The only one who won’t admit that is Celia.”

  I shrugged. We both knew the score. Beating a dead horse wasn’t going to change who Celia was. I was fairly certain nothing would change Celia at this point.

  “Anyway,” I said. “I didn’t bring it up to get you riled. I just wanted you to keep an ear open…just in case.”

  “Of course. And I will. If you think of anything I can do to help—anything legal, or close to it—let me know.”

  “I will.”

  Carter leaned over and kissed me, then sighed. “I best get back to it.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  He smiled. “You’re already doing it.”

  I watched as he walked away, feeling a tiny bit guilty about the whole explosion thing. I hated lying to him, but until we knew for certain that something was going on, I couldn’t see any reason to bring him into it. Not to mention he would never approve of my involvement with Big and Little. That one was something we’d have to discuss at some point. Because if I was ever free to try this whole PI thing, this probably wouldn’t be the last time I used that connection to my own advantage.

  For whatever reason, they liked me and were willing to help with our escapades. It might not be the smartest relationship to form in terms of the law, but it was useful in so many other ways that I thought it was worth the risk. The CIA worked with plenty of criminals to get the intel or access we needed to bigger fish. All law enforcement did, at some point.

  All this thinking about the explosion and the PI thing brought me right back around to Celia. What I needed was a diversion. Something that drew her attention away from me and set her sights on something else. I just had no idea what that would be.

  But I had friends who might be able to come up with something.

  Ida Belle, Gertie, and I decided against cooking or reheating that night and opted for Francine’s instead. Ida Belle hoped that given what had happened with Hot Rod, more people might be out and about, which meant more gossip making its way around. The second-best place in town to get the local gossip was Francine’s. The first place being Ida Belle’s house.

  But this time, Ida Belle’s sources were coming up blank. Aside from periodic updates from Ida Belle’s hospital contact about Hot Rod’s condition, no one had anything to report. And that seemed strange. Usually there was speculation at the least, especially in a small town. There was always the guy who wore the funny hat or stared at people too long or never looked you in the eye. But not now. For the first time since I’d arrived in Sinful, lips weren’t moving.

  Ally was working the evening shift and hurried over when she saw us come in. “Your table in the back should be open in a couple of minutes if you want to wait.”

  Ida Belle scanned the café and shook her head. “The one in the middle will do fine.”

  Ally gave her a knowing look. “You want to see if there’s any scuttlebutt.”

  “And?” Ida Belle said.

  Ally frowned. “It’s weird, but no. I figured by now, Celia would have gotten half her followers convinced that Fortune was to blame for the attack on Hot Rod.”

  “Why is it always my fault?” I asked. “Ida Belle’s the one who bought a vehicle from him.”

  “Why would that give me a reason to crack him over the head?” Ida Belle asked.

  “You didn’t want to pay the note?” I asked.

  “Huh,” Ida Belle said. “I suppose it would be as good a theory as any, but I paid cash.”

  “Then I guess it wasn’t you,” I said.

  Ally smiled and walked to the table with the menus. We took our seats and gave Ally our drink order. As soon as she headed into the kitchen, one of the women at the table next to us tapped Ida Belle on the shoulder. I recognized her as a member of the Baptist choir.

  Midfifties. Five feet six. A hundred sixty pounds. Surprisingly decent muscle tone. With training, could probably produce a good left hook.

  Her husband, a big beefy man, sat next to her, a sour expression on his face.

  Late fifties. Five feet ten. Two hundred forty pounds. Muscle tone long gone. Personality gone with it. If it had ever been there to begin with.

  “Have you heard anything about Hot Rod?” the woman asked.

  Ida Belle told her what little we knew, and the woman shook her head. “It’s so awful,” she said.

  Her husband cleared his throat. “What’s awful are those death machines that man sells to unsuspecting citizens. He’s going to get people killed with that tomfoolery.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ralph, I’m sure those automobiles are so much more dangerous than the man who cracked Hot Rod over the head with a tire iron.”

  Ralph turned a bit red in the face and pushed himself away from the table. “I’m going to go outside and get some air.”

  The woman watched until he was a good ten feet away, then turned back to us. “If he goes outside still running his mouth with all that nonsense, he’ll just make it hotter out th
ere.”

  I smiled, somewhat surprised that she was willing to talk about her husband that way, but then maybe after decades with the same person, you stopped making excuses for their obvious personality flaws.

  The woman looked at me and stuck out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Lucinda Fleming. That surly, pompous ass that just walked outside is my cousin Ralph.”

  “Cousin? Oh.” I nodded.

  “You thought he was my husband and that I was being indelicate with my comments, did you?” Lucinda asked.

  I shook my head. “I thought he was your husband and you were being refreshingly honest with your comments.”

  Lucinda laughed, a giant booming laugh that had several patrons looking her direction. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I figured I’d like you, but then my requirements aren’t all that high. As long as you’re not a friend of Celia’s, then you’re pretty much a friend of mine.”

  “Then we’re officially best friends,” I said.

  “Speaking of which,” Lucinda said, “what is that old bat up to? No one I know has seen her since the announcement and that ridiculous display she made over the keys.”

  “We don’t know,” Gertie said. “None of the Sinful Ladies have seen her either.”

  Lucinda frowned. “Well, that’s worrisome. I prefer for a boil to be out in the open where I can see it. When it’s hiding down in a butt crack, it can be a real pain in the…you know.”

  “I guess it’s too much to hope for to think she’s depressed and drowning her sorrows in some homemade brew?” I asked.

  Ida Belle snorted. “That woman doesn’t know the meaning of depressed. She has two modes, mean and asleep. You can bet the only reason she’s hiding in her house is because she hasn’t figured out what she’s going to pull next.”

  “Or she’s busy working on it,” Gertie said.

  Lucinda nodded. “I don’t know whether to be scared about that or look forward to the entertainment.” She rose from the table and pulled her purse over her shoulder. “I better get going before Ralph leaves me to walk home.”

  She put some bills on the table for Ally, then leaned over and whispered something to Ida Belle. As she straightened back up, she patted me on the back. “Nice meeting you, dear,” she said, and headed out of the café.

  “What did she say?” Gertie asked.

  Ida Belle stared out the café and frowned, then turned back to us, her voice low. “She said the Seal brothers were released from Angola last week.”

  Gertie’s eyes widened. “That’s not good.”

  “Who are the Seal brothers?” I asked, figuring all the whispering was an indication that I wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “Twins whose mother died in a car wreck when they were in high school,” Gertie said. “They moved to Sinful and were raised by their uncle, as best as he could manage them anyway, until they turned eighteen and took off.”

  “So you knew them?” I asked.

  Gertie nodded. “After I retired from teaching, I still did some subbing when needed. They were students in my class. Sullen, trouble, not interested in anything but getting out of Sinful, but they stayed put until they were legal adults. They were only in town six months or so.”

  “But that was plenty enough time to cause problems,” Ida Belle said.

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked.

  “During that time,” Ida Belle said, “there was a rash of stolen cars. It had never happened before and hasn’t happened since.”

  “Until now,” I said.

  Ida Belle nodded. “The sheriff didn’t have any proof, but everyone figured they knew the score. Still, with the brothers’ connections, I think the sheriff was afraid to push the issue.”

  “What connections?” I asked.

  “They claimed they’re distant cousins to Barry Seal,” Ida Belle said.

  Okay. That was a name I knew. Barry Seal was a pilot who’d worked for the Medellín cartel. He’d ultimately turned informant and was assassinated while performing his public service work per his sentencing. The Feds had fallen under criticism for failing to provide adequate protection for Seal.

  “You said they claim to be cousins,” I said. “Does anyone know if that’s true?”

  Gertie shook her head. “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re bad news regardless of their family ties.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “There’s family ties and there’s family ties.”

  “She’s right,” Ida Belle said. “If our theory about what happened at Hot Rod’s is right, then the most likely candidate is organized crime. I saw the way Big and Little looked at each other when we talked with them. I guarantee you that’s exactly what they think.”

  “But the Medellín cartel is long gone,” Gertie said. “The Seal brothers are twenty-nine at the most. They could hardly have an association with an organization that was taken out of business when they were kids.”

  “They weren’t all killed,” I said. “And I seriously doubt those that got away became honest, hardworking citizens.”

  “Exactly,” Ida Belle said. “Which means we need to find out more about the Seal brothers.”

  “This uncle that they lived with in Sinful,” I said. “Is he still around?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “You just met him.”

  Chapter Eight

  We worked our way through dinner more quickly than usual and took our dessert to go, anxious to head back to my house where we could talk without being overheard. I grabbed my laptop off the kitchen counter and plopped down at the breakfast table as soon as we walked inside. Ida Belle retrieved three sodas from the refrigerator, and Gertie served up the dessert we’d brought from the café.

  “Okay,” I said. “First things first. Tell me everything you can about Ralph. You said he was the boys’ uncle.”

  “Not much to tell,” Ida Belle said. “He’s an accountant, a bore, and a blowhole. You’ve seen the blowhole side. It probably comes as no shock that he’s never been married.”

  “None whatsoever,” I said. “Was he born here?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “Born here, and aside from the four years he attended college in New Orleans, he’s never left. His father was the local accountant and Ralph worked for him. When his father retired, Ralph took over his practice. He passed shortly after retiring.”

  “How is he related to the brothers?” I asked.

  “His sister, Carol, was their mother,” Gertie said. “I think her husband’s name was Joshua.”

  “So they both grew up here, but Carol left and Ralph stayed?” I asked.

  Ida Belle shook her head. “Actually no. The big scandal back then was Ralph’s mother. She ran off with another man. She took Carol, who was just a toddler then, and left Ralph with his father. Ralph was maybe four or five. According to Ralph’s father, he never heard from her again after the day she left, and she made no effort to contact Ralph. I think Carol reconnected with Ralph in college or maybe right after when she found out that she had a brother.”

  “Wow. That’s unusual for these parts, right?” I asked.

  “It happens,” Gertie said, “but it’s far more common for a woman to have her fun on the side and one of the kids belong to her fling. Usually the husbands never figure it out. But the wife usually doesn’t take off with the other man, and it’s also irregular for a woman to abandon all contact with a biological child.”

  “I’d bet that was her husband’s requirement,” Ida Belle said. “Given the rumors that were floating around at the time and the fact that Carol reconnected with Ralph but not his father, I figure Carol belonged to the guy her mother left with.”

  “Ah, that would make sense,” I said. “In a daytime talk show kind of way. So Carol and Ralph reconnected as young adults. I assume Carol’s husband died at some point prior to her car wreck, since the brothers went to live with Ralph after she passed?”

  “Yes,” Gertie said. “Some sort of accident. I think he wo
rked in the oil field, but I’m not certain. Anyway, I want to think the brothers were much younger when that happened. I remember Ralph commenting one time about how Carol could have remarried a long time ago if the boys hadn’t been such trouble, but instead she’d spent so many years stressing over them without any help.”

  “So the father doesn’t sound like the connection between the brothers and crime,” I said. “Especially if he passed when they were young. I don’t suppose we have any reason to suspect Carol?”

  “None that I’m aware of,” Gertie said. “I believe she worked for the tax assessor’s office or something to that affect.”

  “And the car wreck?” I asked. “Anything suspicious there?”

  Gertie shook her head. “She ran off the highway and into a bayou one night. Blood alcohol content was sky high. She was probably unconscious before she went into the water.”

  “Her way of dealing with the brothers, I guess,” I said. “What about Lucinda?”

  “Born and raised in New Orleans. She and Ralph attended college at the same university, but Lucinda said they were never very close. She also worked for the government in some capacity, technical writer maybe. Did twenty-plus years for them, retired, and moved to Sinful.”

  “Why?” I asked. “It couldn’t possibly be for Ralph’s charming company.”

  “Her husband died and she wanted to get out of the city,” Ida Belle said. “And Ralph is tiresome, but there’s something to be said for having family around.”

  Something in the way Ida Belle delivered that first sentence made it sound as though she wasn’t quite certain of what she’d said.

  “You don’t sound convinced,” I said.

  Ida Belle frowned. “There was some talk, that Lucinda’s husband hadn’t died but had run off with another woman. I never could trace it back to the source.”

  “If he died in New Orleans, wouldn’t there be an obituary?” I asked.

  “Not unless immediate family requested one, and in this case, that would mean Lucinda,” Gertie said. “He was a native of Great Britain, so the gossip goes, and it was a late marriage for both of them. They were both in their forties. I believe Ralph said he was cremated and his ashes shipped back to the UK for burial in the family cemetery.”