Hurricane Force (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 7) (3 page)

“Probably just as well. It usually takes them forever to get that alarm on, and it’s hard to wait on people when you can’t hear a word they’re saying.”

“You heard about Max, right?”

“Oh yeah. Two of the fishermen came hurrying over here yesterday after he showed up, then Celia came in this morning, ranting like a crazy woman. That part was nothing new, mind you, but she did buy a box of shotgun shells.”

“Did she say why?”

“Claimed she needed to protect her home. I guess she thinks Max is going to break in.”

“And she thinks shooting him is a good answer for that?” My mind whirled with all the legal possibilities. Was it breaking and entering if you used to own the home, were supposed to be dead, and it turned out you were just a butthole who left your wife and didn’t bother to tell her for twenty years? If Celia shot him breaking into her—their house, was it self-defense or murder one?

“A bit of a messy situation Celia’s in,” Walter said, cluing in on my thoughts.
 

“I’ll say. I have no idea what would happen if she shot him.”

Walter nodded. “Can’t say that I know myself. I’m just hoping we don’t have to find out.”

“Did you know Max well?”

“Not really, but then I don’t think anyone did except Celia. Turns out, she probably didn’t know him that well either, I guess. Max was always a loner. Most people considered him a bit odd. He was always wandering around with a sketch pad, drawing odd renditions of buildings and people. It put people off the way he’d stare at them, then start marking on that pad.”

“I can imagine.” I wouldn’t want someone sketching me without permission. It was creepy.

“Why do you ask?”
 

“Because I figure if he came back after all these years, it’s for a darned good reason, and so far, no one can give me one.”

“I don’t think anyone’s got a good reason to give.”

“Except Max.”

“I suppose he does, but I’d bet he’s not going to share it. Not until he’s ready.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I guess we’ll just hope he’s not here to try to rob Celia.”

“Hope and pray on that one,” Walter said. “The woman is a horrible shot. She’d probably end up shooting a neighbor.”

I cringed. “We should probably warn Marie.” Ida Belle and Gertie’s good friend lived next door to Celia.

Walter nodded, then looked up at the door as the bells jangled. “Uh-oh. Speak of the devil.”

“He’s here?” I struggled not to whirl around and stare.
 

“Coming this way,” Walter mumbled.
 

I heard the footsteps behind me and Walter looked past me. “Max,” Walter said. “What can I do for you?”

“I heard the storm’s moving in,” Max said. “Figured I better get a flashlight and some water.”

Unable to stand it any longer, I turned around and stuck my hand out. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sandy-Sue Morrow, Marge Boudreaux’s niece.” I threw out my cover identity like a pro and gave myself silent props for not cringing when I said the name “Sandy-Sue.”
 

Max shook my hand. “How’s old Marge doing?”

“She’s dead. I’m here this summer settling her estate.”
 

Max looked a bit taken aback at the directness of my response, but he recovered quickly. “I’m sorry to hear that. She was quite a character.”

“That she was. So I hear through the grapevine that you’ve been gone for some time. What brings you back to town?”

Max’s expression went completely blank. “Just a bit of unfinished business. Shouldn’t take long to clear it up, then Celia can scramble to salvage what’s left of her flagging reputation and try to lord over the masses once more.”

“You really don’t like your wife, do you?” I asked.

Walter snorted and reached for a tissue, trying to pretend he was coughing.

Max smiled. “No one likes my wife. Why should I be any different?”

“I don’t know, because you married her?”

“The biggest mistake of my life, and one I fixed as soon as I had the ability to.”

I frowned. Sure, Celia was a raging bitch and a perpetual thorn in the side of anyone with a lick of common sense, but no one deserved such disdain from the person they’d made vows with. My initial assessment of Max had been correct. He wasn’t a nice man.

The bells on the door jangled again, and a gray-haired woman walked in holding hands with a man, probably twenty years younger than her. The younger man shared the same facial features, but his head remained dropped, his gaze locked on the floor. I could tell that he wasn’t completely right. I didn’t even bother with my usual assessment. There was nothing to fear here.

“Morning, Mrs. Hinkley,” Walter said. “Will you and Landon be needing some hurricane supplies?”

Mrs. Hinkley cast a glance at Max and wrinkled her nose, as if she’d smelled something unpleasant, then gave Walter a nod. “Some batteries, kerosene, and a couple jugs of drinking water, please.”

Walter reached for a box and set off in the store to assemble Mrs. Hinkley’s supplies. Max gave Mrs. Hinkley a nod and looked at the young man.
 

“Hello, Landon,” Max said. “Do you remember me? You used to draw pictures for me.”

Landon finally lifted his gaze and stared at Max for a moment, then moved behind his mother. “No! No drawing! No more!”

Max’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he rushed to say.

Mrs. Hinkley turned around and rubbed her hand up and down Landon’s arm. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice calm and soft. “You don’t have to draw. I’ve got a new can of clay for you.”

Some of the tension left Landon’s shoulders and he looked up at her. “Is it blue?”

“Of course it’s blue,” she said. “Isn’t that your favorite color?”

Landon nodded. “I like blue.”

“Why don’t you see if you can help Walter,” Mrs. Hinkley said, then turned around again as Landon headed off across the store.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Max said.

“It wasn’t you,” Mrs. Hinkley said. “He’s been that way ever since I brought him back to Sinful from the group home. He loves making animals out of clay, but he won’t pick up a pencil at all. I’m sure it’s a phase of some sort.”
 

Max frowned. “That’s unfortunate. He always loved drawing. Of course, I haven’t seen him in a long time. I guess things change.”

“They certainly do,” Mrs. Hinkley said, but her tone had grown frosty.
 

Max took the hint and gave us a nod. “I best go get my supplies. Good day, ladies.”

Mrs. Hinkley waited until Max had walked away, then looked over at me. “You must be Marge’s niece. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope,” I joked.

She smiled. “Mostly. Except for the stuff Celia said, but then I stopped paying attention to what Celia says sometime shortly after my birth.”

I nodded. “I like a smart woman.”

She laughed. “Then we should get along fine. You in here for supplies?”

“Yep.” I pointed to Ida Belle and Gertie, who were going through a box of supplies in the corner. “I’m depending on them for direction. This is my first hurricane.”

“Well, you’ve got the best helping you out. Ida Belle and Gertie are part of Sinful’s emergency management team for hurricanes.”

“If they’re not busy creating them,” Walter said as he stepped behind the counter with Mrs. Hinkley’s box of supplies.
 

“I heard that!” Gertie shouted from across the store.

“Put your earbuds back in,” Walter said.

Mrs. Hinkley smiled and peered into the box. “Looks like you got everything, Walter.”

“I’ll put it on your tab, Belinda. Give me a call if you need any help with your windows. I’ve got Scooter on hurricane duty today.”

“I’m hoping the new shutters take all the effort out of it, but I’ll give you a call if I need help. Tell Scooter to stay safe out there. The wind is already starting to pick up.”

“I’ll let him know,” Walter said.

“It was nice meeting you,” I said.

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Mrs. Hinkley said. “I’m glad to see Celia was wrong, as usual.” She pointed to the box and Landon slid it off the counter, and followed his mother out of the store.

“Celia must really be losing ground,” Gertie said as she pushed a box around the counter. “Belinda Hinkley is a hard-core Catholic.”

Ida Belle hefted another box onto the counter. “Belinda’s not bad. She’s never bought into Celia’s ravings. Never been a part of that silly God’s Wives group of hers. Her husband was a commercial fisherman. Got killed in a boating accident back when Landon was about ten. Her whole life was devoted to that boy until he went to a group home in New Orleans three years ago. Then she took up gardening with a passion—vegetable gardening, not flowers. She has some of the biggest and sweetest tomatoes I’ve ever eaten.”

Walter nodded. “If she’d grow more, I’d sell them in the store and we’d both retire.”
 

“It’s a shame the home closed,” Gertie said. “Belinda said he was doing so well there, and the poor woman deserved some time to herself. But I guess you have to take care of your own.”

“That is the truth.” Walter looked into the boxes. “You sure you got everything? You might have missed the kitchen sink.”

“We won’t know if we need one of those until the storm is over,” Gertie said. “And of course this isn’t everything, but we’ll supply our own cough syrup.”

Walter began making a note of the supplies. “I’ll put it on the church’s tab. Same goes for you three as far as Scooter goes—if you need any help securing your homes, give me a call and I’ll send him round.”

“Are you coming to the church for the storm?” I asked Walter.

“Oh, well, I don’t know that it’s necessary,” he said. “I’m pretty well fixed at my place. The ground’s a little higher and I’m farther away from the bayou than you are.”

“I was just thinking we might need help or something,” I said.
 

Walter looked a tiny bit embarrassed and more than a little pleased. “Well, if you think I might be able to help, I suppose I could spend the night in a pew.”

Gertie shook her head. “You’re assuming the building won’t explode if you walk inside. When is the last time you were in the church?”

Walter shrugged. “Whenever the last funeral was. Don’t see any reason to go otherwise. Pastor Don comes in here once a week to buy groceries and he lays out his entire sermon for me then. No use hearing it twice. I don’t need that much sleep.”

Walter finished up the tab and said he’d have Scooter deliver the boxes to the church. We headed out of the store and hopped into my Jeep.
 

“What was that about?” Ida Belle asked.

“What?” I asked, trying to play stupid.

Ida Belle narrowed her eyes at me. “You know what. Playing Walter up as the big man so he’d come to the church.”

Gertie leaned in between the seats. “Oh my God. You’re playing matchmaker.”

“I am not,” I said, but it didn’t sound very convincing.
 

According to Gertie, Walter had been in love with Ida Belle since he’d first set eyes on her when they were kids, and had even proposed a couple times, but Ida Belle remained staunch in her unmarried status. I got it, truly, I did. The thought of sharing a life, much less a bathroom, with the same man every day terrified me more than being lost in the desert with a leaky canteen, but I liked Walter, and he and Ida Belle weren’t getting any younger. This might be the world’s longest game of hard to get.

“Okay, fine,” I said. “Maybe I am, a little, but it’s not like I’m trying to push them up to the altar.”

“Technically,” Gertie said, “you did maneuver them both into church…”

“I was just repaying the favor.”

“What favor?” Ida Belle asked.

“The one where you and Gertie kept pushing me and Carter together,” I said.

Ida Belle frowned. “I don’t push, especially when it comes to romantic entanglements, but you can’t hold me accountable for pointing out what was already there. The attraction between the two of you is like flashing neon. Even a blind person could see it.”

“True,” Gertie said. “I had to order new sunglasses.”

“That’s because you needed a new prescription,” Ida Belle said.

“I did not.” Gertie flopped back in the seat and I grinned.
 

Ida Belle looked over at me and sighed. “I can’t believe you played matchmaker. You’re getting soft, Redding.”

I laughed. “This may be the only time anyone ever says that to me.”

Chapter Three

When the storm hit, it was a doozy. I’ll admit to jumping straight up out of the pew when that first wall of wind hit the side of the church, but in my defense, it sounded like a freight train had just slammed into it. People started praying, dogs and children wailed, and cats yowled. Except for Merlin. He sat in the cat carrier Gertie had furnished, still giving me what Ida Belle had referred to as “the stink eye.” He looked so angry, I was having second thoughts about going home with him after this was over. I had to sleep sometime.