Fortune Hunter (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 8) (4 page)

“But?”

“But then I went down to New Orleans. I saw how much you cared for that deputy, and how much he cared for you. But I also saw the strain between the two of you and I started thinking about the realities of our work. I don’t think it’s fair to get involved with someone and do the job we do. They would constantly be worried about us, and we’d constantly be worried about them. This situation with Ahmad shows how quickly everything can get personal. If you had family…”

He didn’t have to finish his statement, because I knew exactly where he was going with it. If I’d had any living relatives, Ahmad would have gotten to them a long time ago trying to find me.

“We put those we love at risk,” I said quietly.

“I can’t do that to her. At first, I thought I could pull back and leave it alone…let whatever it was die out, but it’s not that easy.”

“No. It’s not.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and seeing you and Carter in New Orleans made it all clear. I can have one life or the other, but not both. And as much as I love what I do, I can’t love it and Cassidy both. It wouldn’t be right.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Transfer to a different department. I don’t want to leave the agency. Counterintelligence is what I know, but I want to start doing my part from an office in DC. But not until it’s safe for you to return. I’m not about to leave you hanging. We’ve been through a lot together, and we’re going to finish this together, too.”

“I’m happy for you, Harrison. I mean that.”

“Thanks.” He was silent a few seconds, then said, “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know you’ll come out of it all right. You always do.”

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, overwhelmed and confused. Harrison’s news had caught me by surprise, but then, it had probably caught him by surprise as well. He’d never been the romantic sort.

But he was normal.

I sighed. That was true enough. Harrison had two loving parents, a regular childhood with Little League and a Labrador retriever. He had college buddies he played poker with and was a regular at a pool bar down the street from his apartment. Even though he was dedicated to the job, he’d managed to have a life beyond it. Something I was just learning how to do.

And failing miserably.

I
’d just stepped
into my driveway when I heard a car screech to a stop behind me. I turned around and saw Ida Belle gesturing from the passenger seat of Gertie’s ancient Cadillac. “Hurry up,” she said.

I had no idea what I was hurrying for, but since it didn’t involve sitting alone in my quiet house, I figured what the hell. I climbed into the car and Gertie set off down the street. Two casserole dishes sat on the backseat next to me, so I figured we were on some sort of charitable mission.

“Who’s the food for?” I asked, hoping one for was whoever was ill and the other might be for me. I loved Gertie’s casseroles.

“We’ve had a bit of luck,” Ida Belle said. “Beulah has agreed to talk to us about the catfish.”

“Did you bribe her with a casserole?” I asked. As far as bribes went, it was a fairly decent one.

“We didn’t have to,” Gertie said. “She said if we could prevent this from happening to another woman, then she was willing to tell her story, however embarrassing it might be. The casserole is because I feel sorry for her and Beulah likes to eat.”

“And the second casserole?” I asked, still hoping.

“Backup plan,” Gertie said. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

Ida Belle shook her head. “No need to worry about that unless it happens. Let’s just concentrate on learning everything we can from Beulah.”

I didn’t much like the sound of that, but once Ida Belle’s lips were sealed, I knew there was no getting information out of her. I watched as we headed out of the subdivision and down one of the farm roads about half a mile. Gertie turned onto a long gravel drive with a small white farmhouse at the end and pulled slowly down the bumpy path. The house had blue shutters and huge rosebushes out front. It looked fresh and pleasant.

“This is pretty,” I said, admiring how the giant oak trees behind the house created a backdrop of green.

Gertie nodded. “Beulah’s daddy built the house. He was an excellent carpenter. He built the Baptist church as well. If those silly Catholics had allowed him to build their church, the place wouldn’t have so many issues.”

“I take it he was Baptist?” I asked.

“Worse,” Ida Belle said. “Atheist. Said he’d believe in a higher being when one stepped down from a cloud and had a beer and a chat with him.”

“That must have endeared him to the local population,” I said.

“It was practically scandalous at the time,” Ida Belle continued, “but that didn’t stop Donald Sr. from hiring him to build the new church. That’s Pastor Don’s father.”

Pastor Don was the current preacher. He was an earnest but boring man who managed to make even an interesting topic sound as if he were reciting from a law journal. I did a lot of dozing in church.

Gertie nodded. “Pastor Don Sr. said the congregation deserved the best, and if the Lord saw fit to change a soul or two while the church was being built, then that would be a fine thing.”

“So he thought building a church would make Beulah’s father have a conversion?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t think he thought anything of the sort,” Gertie said as she pulled to a stop in front of the house. “But that’s the way he sold it to the building committee. Don Sr. knew Beulah’s father was the best carpenter in the parish. He didn’t care what the man believed in as long as he built a church that would last.”

“And last it has,” Ida Belle said. “Made it through every hurricane with only minimal damage.”

Since I’d recently spent time holed up in the church during a hurricane, I could personally attest to the strength of the building. Don Sr. had made a good choice in carpenters. I climbed out of the car, snagging one of the casseroles as I went. “So did Beulah’s father ever end up converting?”

“Not exactly,” Gertie said. “He never stepped foot in church again once it was built, but he starting dropping Beulah off every Sunday for children’s church.”

“You said Beulah never married, right?” I asked. “So how come she’s not a Sinful Lady?”

“When she turned forty and still hadn’t attached herself to a man,” Ida Belle said, “we extended an invitation, but she never accepted.”

“Why not?”

Gertie lowered her voice as we stepped onto the porch. “I think she was still hoping. Beulah was a sad little girl. Her mother died when she was eight; her father was a good man but one of those strong, silent types. She was a large child and not a pretty one, so the other children made fun of her. She didn’t have friends, and there was no family nearby. I think she’s been lonely most of her life.”

“Making her the perfect target for the catfish,” I said.

“I’m afraid so,” Ida Belle agreed as she opened the screen door and knocked on the blue wooden entry door.

I heard rustling inside and a couple seconds later, the door opened and an enormous woman peered out.

Midfifties, six foot two, three hundred twenty pounds, could probably bench-press a car. If she could catch you, she’d snap you in two like a twig.

I glanced over at Ida Belle. She hadn’t been joking. If Beulah put on some men’s clothes, cut her hair short, and took off the makeup, she could pass for Schwarzenegger’s younger brother. It wasn’t the best look on a man. It was even worse on a woman.

“Hello, Beulah,” Gertie said. “We’ve brought our friend Fortune with us. She’s younger and more up-to-date on certain things. I hope you don’t mind.”

Beulah barely glanced at me before pulling the door open and motioning for us to come inside. Her eyes and nose were red from crying, and she shuffled into the living room as though all the energy had been sapped out of her. She plopped down on a recliner that had seen its better days and I heard it creak in protest. Ida Belle and Gertie took seats on the couch next to the recliner, and I sat on an ugly antique-looking chair that turned out to be just as uncomfortable as it appeared.

I looked over at Gertie and Ida Belle, who were both studying Beulah, and waited for Gertie to get things going. She was the more emotional of the two. Ida Belle would perk up when we got down to business, but Gertie would get the lonely hearts ball rolling.

“I brought you a chicken casserole,” Gertie said as I put the dish on the coffee table. “I remember it’s your favorite.”

Good job, leading with food.

“Thank you,” Beulah said. “I haven’t felt much like cooking. Haven’t felt like doing anything, if I’m being truthful.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Gertie said. “You’re having a bad time of it, not to mention a nasty shock.”

Beulah nodded. “Yes. It all came as such a huge surprise to me…I still can hardly believe that people do this sort of thing. And for what? I suppose they have their bit of fun at others’ expense.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think it was fun,” Ida Belle said. “I’d say some of the unscrupulous and lazy have made it their profession. A lot easier than learning a trade and working eight hours a day.”

“It’s evil is what it is,” Beulah said. “Playing with people’s feelings. Making them promises and getting them to believe that their life is going to be that dream they always had.”

I held in a sigh. Ida Belle and Gertie had been right. Beulah had been carrying the torch for a big romance. Unfortunately, the torch had burned her badly.

“It’s a despicable thing for one person to do to another,” Gertie agreed. “I’m so very sorry that you got caught up in this.”

Beulah flushed. “I should have known better. No man has ever been interested in me. Why in the world did I believe that someone younger and so very handsome would want anything to do with someone like me? I’m a fool.”

“You’re not a fool,” Gertie said. “You just come from different stock than other people. In Sinful, we tend to take things at face value. It’s speaks to your character that you didn’t suspect the man of nefarious business. It’s simply not in your makeup to do such things, so you don’t expect others to do them, either.”

I was impressed that Gertie managed to deliver that nice little speech with a straight face. Anyone taking things at face value in Sinful was just asking for trouble. Since I’d arrived in town, I’d had the hardest time trying to figure out which end was up, and that was saying a lot given my profession.

Beulah must have bought it, because she gave Gertie a grateful look. “I appreciate your kindness. I know I’m not always the most pleasant person to deal with. You and Ida Belle are saints for offering to help.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Ida Belle asked. “Financially, I mean?”

“Yes,” Beulah said. “Things will be a bit tight for a while, and I’m praying that the air-conditioning and the roof hold out for another year, but I won’t have to sell the house or anything like that.”

“That’s good,” Ida Belle said. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

Beulah nodded. “Might as well get it over with. I don’t know that I can be more embarrassed than I already am, and I haven’t died from it so far.”

“Then start at the beginning,” Ida Belle said.

Beulah took a deep breath in and blew it out, then began. “It all started with Facebook. Maryanne said as how I should make an account so that I could see what was going on with my friends and family and such. I couldn’t see the point at first. I only have extended family left and haven’t had dealings with them for years. I probably wouldn’t know most of them if they knocked on my door. My friends are right here in Sinful, and I already know what their lives consist of because I see it firsthand. And quite frankly, no one’s life is so interesting that I think they ought to be taking the time to write it up and post it online.”

From Beulah’s perspective, I could see her point. My minimal exposure to Facebook had been random pictures of people’s meals, a lot of ranting, and odd pictures of people with their lips stuck out and cheeks pulled in like they’d eaten something sour. On the other hand, if Ida Belle and Gertie wrote up their daily lives and posted it online, they’d either be arrested or carted away to the loony bin. I was voting on the latter. No one would buy the truth.

“But Maryanne kept insisting,” Beulah continued, “saying as how I could meet people in groups online…groups for growing roses and cooking and the like. I do enjoy a good discussion on hybridization, and I’m always looking for a new take on an old recipe, so I finally gave in and set up an account.”

“And was it everything Maryanne said it would be?” I asked.

Beulah stared at me for a moment and blinked, like she was trying to remember who I was and why I was there. “Just curious,” I explained. “Gertie keeps trying to convince me to set up an account, but I’m more or less in the same position you are with family and friends.”

“I suppose what Maryanne said was true,” Beulah said. “I found a few groups of flower gardeners, one in particular that had a horticulturalist in it that was very knowledgeable. She provided me with several tips that worked well.”

Beulah frowned. “And then Thorne joined the group.”

“Thorne?” I asked.

Beulah’s expression shifted from frown to disgust. “Thorne Thompson. The man who stole my heart and my money.”

“His name was Thorne?” I asked. What the heck kind of name was that?

Beulah nodded. “He said his mother was a fan of some soap opera that had a character by that name. I thought it ironic, him being in a rose gardening group and being named Thorne. He even made a joke about it.”

“How old is Thorne?” Gertie asked. “Or I guess I should say, how old did he claim to be?”

“He said he was thirty-eight,” Beulah said.

“And that didn’t seem strange?” Ida Belle asked. “A relatively young man, stationed overseas with the military, showing up in a group that I can only imagine was predominantly composed of older women?”

“It did at first,” Beulah said, “but he had an explanation for everything. He said his mother was a big gardener and had lovely roses. But her eyesight was failing and she couldn’t see the computer screen well anymore. So he said he’d find her the information she needed and relay it to her during his weekly phone call.”

I glanced over at Ida Belle, who looked completely disgusted. I agreed with her. The catfish had created the perfect man—younger, presumably good-looking, and dedicated to his aging mother. It would be a hard combination for an any older single woman to resist, much less someone like Beulah, who’d been alone most of her life. It was insidious and cruel, and suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to see whoever had done this pay.

“I won’t go into all the details,” Beulah said. “I can’t stomach it right now. Maybe not ever. Thorne chatted with the group a bit most days, asking questions about hybridization. Then one day he sent me a private message, complimenting me on a picture I’d posted of my purple-and-white hybrids, and asking me how I’d managed the color combination.”

Beulah sniffed and rubbed her nose with her finger. “That’s how it all started. The message turned into a conversation and pretty soon we were talking for hours every day. Roses gave way to discussions of our personal lives. He told me about being stationed in Iraq and the hardships our soldiers had to face every day. It was disheartening to hear how bad things were. I felt sorry for Thorne, living that way.”

“Of course you did,” Gertie said. “Any decent person would.”

“I suppose that’s what he wanted,” Beulah said. “Just to get my money.”

“When did he ask for the money?” I asked.

“Not right away, of course,” Beulah said. “We’d been talking every day for six months or so before he even hinted at marriage. Of course, I didn’t take him seriously, but he kept insisting and finally, I believed him. Or maybe I didn’t. But I wanted to bad enough to send the money.”

“Then what happened?” Ida Belle asked.

“I went online the next morning, as usual, and tried to send Thorne a message but his account was gone. I thought at first it was a mistake…that Facebook had accidentally removed his account. So I sent an email to the address he’d given me for PayPal.”

Ida Belle shook her head. “But he never answered.”

“No. That was two weeks ago. At first, I didn’t want to report it. I thought what if he’d died in combat? But then who would have deleted his account? Once I finally faced the fact that I’d been snookered, I knew I should go to the police, but I was so ashamed. It took me another week to work up the courage to report it.”