Hurricane Force (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 7) (6 page)

“Damn,” I said and straightened up.

“It’s a match,” Ida Belle said, not even bothering to ask.

I nodded. Somehow, I’d known it would be, but I was still hoping I was wrong—that my instincts were all off-kilter because of the storm and had gotten mixed up.
 

“What do we do now?” Gertie asked.

The knot in my stomach slowly dissipated and I smiled.

What do
we
do now?

That one simple word made all the difference. I wasn’t alone. In five weeks, I had made friends who cared about me enough to get in the way of the deadliest arms dealer the world had seen in at least a decade.
 

“You have to lie low,” Ida Belle said. “And that’s going to be more difficult because of the storm.”

“Crap,” Gertie said. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but she’s right. Every hotel between here and Mobile will be booked from people evacuating. But there’s other places to hide. Not as comfortable and won’t have room service, but Ahmad wouldn’t find you.”

“I’m not hiding out on Number Two,” I said. The swamp island got its name because of the stench of the mud that made up most of it. It was a favorite for local fishermen, but I was fairly certain their nostrils had gone numb and they could no longer smell it.
 

“Number Two is known by too many locals anyway,” Ida Belle said. “Someone might see you and mention it in passing, then it’s all over.”

“There’s another problem to consider,” I said. “How am I supposed to explain my sudden desire for lonely places to Carter?”

Ida Belle frowned. “I hadn’t thought that far, but that’s a problem. If the hurricane hadn’t hit, we could have passed off a trip to New Orleans and gotten you out long enough to get our bearings, but now, I don’t know.”

“You have to tell him,” Gertie said.

Ida Belle looked at her, then at me, and sighed. “I’m afraid she’s right. I know in the beginning you felt you were protecting people by not telling them the truth, and I agree, to an extent. But now, I think you’re not telling Carter because you’re afraid to.”

I felt my chest constrict. Ida Belle was always direct, but she didn’t usually tackle the emotional side of things. Unfortunately, she’d exposed the biggest lie I’d been telling myself. I was afraid to tell Carter the truth. My feelings for him were unlike anything I’d ever experienced, and selfishly, I didn’t want it to end. Carter was an honorable man. When he found out I’d been lying to him, he was going to be angry and hurt and disappointed. When he found out why I had been lying to him, and who and what I really was, he’d be even angrier, and maybe even disgusted. Sure, he’d served in the military and had probably known a sniper or two, but it was a completely different thing to wrap your mind around your girlfriend’s being an assassin.

“What if he doesn’t want to be around me anymore?” I asked.

Gertie put her hand on my arm and squeezed. “Honey, this day was always going to come. Don’t you think it’s better to get it over with than let it linger until the end of summer? At some point, you’re going to leave here. That’s always been the case.”

“I know,” I said. “I guess I never figured things would go this far. I’m not exactly girlfriend material.”

“Maybe you weren’t before,” Gertie said, “but you’ve changed since you’ve been here. Can’t you see that?”

“I guess so.” It was more than a guess. I knew I’d changed, but I still wasn’t comfortable with it. Admitting I’d changed meant thinking about whether or not I was the person I was supposed to be. Finally assessing how much my mother’s death and father’s neglect and professional reputation had shaped the decisions I’d made.
 

It meant that I had to figure out who I was, because I’d never really known.

Ida Belle’s phone buzzed and she looked down at the display and frowned.

“It’s Marie,” Ida Belle said. “She said something is wrong at Celia’s house and to get over there.”

“Of course something is wrong at Celia’s house,” Gertie said. “Celia lives there.”

“Marie’s not an alarmist,” Ida Belle said. “We better go see what’s up.”

As we made our way back through the house, Ida Belle tried to call Marie, but the call wouldn’t go through. We jumped into my Jeep and made the couple blocks’ drive in less than a minute.
 

Marie was standing in Celia’s front lawn, next to a man sitting on the ground, his hands clutching his head. “That’s Norman Phillips,” Gertie said. “He’s a friend of Celia’s.”

I screeched to a stop and we hurried over. Norman didn’t even look up when we approached, but it didn’t take a medic to see that he wasn’t well.
 

Five feet eleven inches. A hundred ninety pounds. Weak liver. White as a corpse and shaking like a Chihuahua. A Chihuahua would probably be a bigger threat.
 

“What happened?” Ida Belle asked.

Marie shook her head. “He must have stopped to check on Celia’s house for her. I heard someone scream and when I looked out the front window, he was running out of the house and fell down on the front lawn. He hasn’t said a word. Just sits here shaking.”

“He’s in shock,” I said. “Did you go inside the house?”

Marie’s eyes widened. “No way. I sent a 911 text. The paramedics are on the way and hopefully some form of law enforcement, but with the storm…”

“I’ll go look,” I said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Marie said. “Norman isn’t the toughest man in the world, but he’s no pansy. I don’t have any idea what could have done this to him.”

“Is Celia still at the church?” I asked.

“I saw her standing in the doorway when we pulled off of Main Street,” Gertie said.

“I’ll be right back.” I headed for the front door and Ida Belle hurried beside me. I didn’t bother to tell her not to come. Ida Belle was me in forty years, and I was as stubborn as they came. We walked up onto the porch and I slipped through the partially open door. The living room looked fine, so we headed toward the back of the house. It took a single step into the kitchen to know what had Norman working on the fetal position.
 

What was left of Max Arceneaux lay facedown on the kitchen floor directly in front of Celia’s sink.
 

“Shotgun,” Ida Belle said. “Two blasts at least.”

I nodded. “Shot point-blank. The cabinet kept him from launching backward.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Ida Belle said. “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

“I never do. Professional habit.”

“Good. Because the last thing you need right now is to get caught up in a mess like this.”

“And boy is this going to be a mess,” I said. “Walter said Celia went into the store and bought shotgun shells right after her run-in with Max at the café.”

Ida Belle whistled. “I hope there was a church full of people with eyes on Celia the entire night.”

We slipped out the front door and headed down the sidewalk. “Surely,” I said, “Celia wouldn’t have sneaked away and killed Max. How would she even know he’d be here? And why was he here?”

“No. She wouldn’t have. If he’d broken in and threatened her, maybe, but despite all the things Celia is capable of, I don’t think murder is one of them.”

“But that won’t stop other people from thinking so,” I said.

“Especially everyone who heard or heard about the exchange at the café.”

Gertie looked up at us as we approached. Sirens sounded close by, which was good. Norman hadn’t improved one bit since we’d left. In fact, his breathing had started to increase and I was afraid he’d have a panic attack before the paramedics could get him oxygen. Ida Belle shook her head at Gertie and she looked over at Marie, who bit her lower lip. We couldn’t say anything with Norman there, but they both knew that whatever was inside that house was bad.

An ambulance pulled up to the curb and two men jumped out and rushed over to Norman. Right behind them, an SUV screeched to a stop and Celia burst out of the passenger side door, waving her hands. “What the heck is going on? What did you do to Norman?” She glared at me.

“She didn’t do anything to him,” Ida Belle said. “Marie found him this way.”

Celia smirked. “Like I believe that. Anytime she’s around, there’s trouble.”

“Oh, there’s trouble,” I said, “but it has nothing to do with me. You might want to save being belligerent for after the cops get here.”

Celia cast a worried glance at her house, then back at us. “What happened to my house?”

The paramedics helped Norman up and headed for the ambulance. Ida Belle waited until they were out of earshot before replying. “Your house is a crime scene.”

Celia threw her hands in the air. “What the hell are you talking about, you old fool? Hurricane damage is not a crime.”

“Murder is,” Ida Belle said.

Chapter Five

Gertie sucked in a breath and Marie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, and it took me a second to remember that they didn’t know what Ida Belle and I had found inside any more than Celia did.
 

Celia put her hands on her hips and glared. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull this time, but I won’t fall for it.” She whirled around and stomped off toward her house.

“Don’t go in there!” Ida Belle yelled. “For once, will you trust me?”

Celia glanced back at Ida Belle with a hold-your-breath-and-wait look but never slowed her pace.
 

“Stubborn, foolish bitch,” Ida Belle said.
 

“Should I stop her?” I asked.

“No. Let her go in and take a look. Serves her right. Not like she’s going to disturb the crime scene. Her prints are all over the house anyway.”

“Who’s dead?” Gertie asked.

“Max,” Ida Belle said.

Gertie’s eyes widened and Marie gasped as the blood rushed from her face.
 

“You’re sure it was murder?” Gertie asked.

I nodded. “Shotgun blasts to the chest at close range. Probably two. Maybe more. He fell forward so it’s hard to tell without turning him over.”

Gertie understood exactly what I described and her face wrinkled up for a moment. Marie simply sank onto the lawn, her hands clutched together.
 

A loud shriek rang from inside the house and a couple seconds later, Celia came running out the front door, tripped on the doormat, and face-planted on her porch. Gertie hurried over and leaned over to check on her. “She’s breathing. Just passed out, I think.” She headed back down the walkway. “The paramedics can see to her when they’re done with Norman. We told her not to go in there.”

“Yeah, well, the situation is even worse than it looks,” I said and repeated what Walter had told me the day before at the store.

“Celia couldn’t have shot him,” Marie said immediately.

Gertie nodded. “She doesn’t have the chops. Look at her now—passed out like a drunk at New Year’s. She wouldn’t have made it out of the house after shooting him.”

“What we think is not going to matter,” Ida Belle said. “Unless eyes were on Celia at the time Max was shot, she’s suspect number one. The front door is broken, but with the hurricane, there’s no way to prove it was forced versus the damage is because of the storm.”

“I tried to get her to replace that old door when I did mine,” Marie said. “But of course, she wasn’t about to do it since it wasn’t her idea.”

“Of course,” Ida Belle said.

One of the paramedics walked up. “Do you know what happened to him?”

I gave the young man a brief description of the scene in the kitchen. His eyes widened and I saw his throat move as he swallowed. “Thanks, ma’am.” He hurried away, casting a worried glance back at the house. He was probably terrified that they’d be asked to go in and get the body.
 

“Here come the police,” Gertie said. “Such as they are.”

Carter’s truck pulled up and he and Deputy Breaux climbed out and headed our way.
 

“What happened?” Carter asked.
 

Ida Belle gave him a rundown. Carter’s expression darkened. Deputy Breaux, who I thought would be upset, seemed to take the news the way he did any other report of a crime, like drunk and disorderly. Then I remember that he probably heard and saw a lot worse during hunting season and it put things back into perspective.

“Why is Celia passed out on the porch?” Deputy Breaux asked, glancing over at Celia’s heaving chest. “Was she attacked as well?”

“Only by her own stupidity,” Ida Belle said. “We told her not to look.”

“Ah.” Deputy Breaux nodded. “The paramedics can handle that one then. We’re not required to handle stupid.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “That’s all you handle in this town.”

“Touché,” Gertie said

“We have to document the scene,” Carter said.

“You’re still on medical leave,” I reminded him.

“It’s an emergency situation. I’m reinstating myself. Deputy Breaux can’t walk the scene alone, and I don’t have the authority to deputize any of you.”

Gertie’s eyes widened. “Oh, that would be great. Who has the authority?”