Authors: Sam Cheever
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The island, which was named after a bodily function, hadn’t changed a whit since I’d last been there. It still smelled like the bad end of a boar and was jungle-like in its rabid vegetation. The moon washed silver and full over our heads, lighting our way as we shoved through grass and weeds. The overgrown green stuff adorned the edges of the small island like the fringe of hair on a monks’ head. It became less rampant as we moved away from the water but, for my comfort, it still sported way too many opportunities for creatures from the reptile family to hide.
I scrubbed the back of my hand over my forehead, feeling a deep muscle pain from gripping the side of the boat for the last hour.
Walter hadn’t been kidding when he’d proclaimed the boat less than satisfactory. I’d go so far as to say it was a boat fit only for my worst enemies. Shallow, square nosed and heavy, the thing rode the ripples in the Bayou like a tank, slamming against the black, murky water at the back end of every ripple. We’d be lucky if our teeth weren’t loose from the impact. I was pretty sure my backside was bruised.
I glanced around at my companions. With the exception of Fortune, who seemed strong enough to overcome nearly anything life slapped her upside the head with, my companions looked pretty much like me. Tired, disheveled and miserable.
The constant drone of mosquitoes lining our path didn’t help. Judging by the flinching and wild slapping motions of my friends, I wasn’t the only one who suffered from vampire bug PTSD.
“It would help if we knew what we were looking for,” Ida Belle said.
Fortune frowned. “I’d hoped we’d find my boat tied up along the shoreline.”
“It could be on the backside, where we left it the last time we were here,” I offered.
Apparently the jungle of cypress knees surrounding the small island limited the number of places to beach a boat on Number 2. I would add the eye-watering stench of the place, which, if it were up to me, would limit the potential docking areas to zero.
Fortune nodded. “We’ll cut straight across the island and see if my boat’s there. Then we’ll split up and cover the whole island looking for Cal.”
I tripped over a half buried root and stumbled several steps. My hands splayed to catch my fall, I barely managed to regain my feet before doing a face plant. “It will be a miracle if we see anything in this dark.”
Gertie looked up. “Felly’s right. Even with a full moon this place is dark.”
“Too many trees,” Fortune agreed.
Gertie pulled her purse off her shoulder and, resting it on her knee, started digging. “I’m pretty sure I have a couple of those little flashlights in here.”
A moment later she made a happy sound of discovery and handed a small, dark cylinder to Fortune. She produced a second flashlight within seconds. Though tiny, the lights were surprisingly bright.
“Much better,” I said.
Twenty minutes later the arc of light from our flashlights painted a long, knobby form in the grass. The gator flipped around and disappeared, displacing a soft plop of water which told us we’d reached the other shore.
A quick scan of the inlet was disappointing.
“It’s not here,” I said unnecessarily.
Fortune frowned. “I was sure.”
“Ladies.”
We all turned to Ida Belle. “I just saw something out there.”
We fell silent, staring out over the black water. Just when I thought she’d been seeing things, a blaze of light flashed through the darkness. Then another. The twin beams of light danced across the gleaming water and disappeared. A moment later an engine roared to life and headlights flared. We ducked as the headlights swung past.
“What’s out there?” Fortune asked.
Ida Belle shrugged. “There are a series of small islands along here. Number 2 is the biggest but the next one, Number 3 is about two thirds the size of 2.”
Fortune spun around and took off running back the way we’d come. Ida Belle jogged after her. I looked at Gertie and she groaned. I knew how she felt. I’d mowed through my dinner hours earlier and was currently working solely on body fat. While that was okay in theory…in practice it just plain sucked.
Hanging out with Swamp Team 3 was exhausting.
###
I decided as we approached the second island that Number 3 should be renamed Number 2 With a Bullet. The stench that was merely gut wrenching on Number 2 was almost deadly on its sister island. I was pretty sure my lungs were clenching up under the smell.
Even my stalwart companions were gasping and grimacing as we stepped off the boat from Hell and our feet were sucked down into sewer-scented mud. The lung-killing smell wafted up as we fought to get free.
“I pray we’re wrong. If poor Cal’s been here for any length of time he’s probably wishing for death.”
Fortune lifted a muck-covered shoe. “Well, if the guys in that boat were hoping to find a spot to hide him where nobody would look, they did a good job. I’m starting to wonder if Cal’s worth what we’re about to do.”
I didn’t say anything. Despite a deep fondness for my intrepid PI, my traitorous mind was starting to craft excuses for not setting…erm…sinking another foot on the foul island. After all, Cal was smart and capable. Surely he could free himself?
“There’s a light,” Gertie said. She wrenched her foot from the muck and stretched it forward, testing for firmness before putting her weight behind it. I stomped my feet trying to dislodge the thick layer of muck clinging to my sneakers. The sneakers which I would be flinging into the trash as soon as we got back to Sinful. In fact, judging from the Porta-Potty stench wafting upward, I might need to consign the shoes to a watery grave before we got that far.
“It’s a cabin,” Ida Belle said, excitement threading her voice.
The cabin wasn’t far from the water. We slopped toward it and, within minutes, found ourselves looking through cloudy plexiglass.
It turned out that the “light” Gertie had seen was merely a reflection of the moon against the dented metal walls of the makeshift cabin. The interior was dark.
Fortune pulled a gun from somewhere on her person and moved toward the door. She motioned for us to hang back and then tugged on the door. It was locked. A quick flash of light over the door from a flashlight showed us it was padlocked.
Fortune looked at Gertie. “I need a pen and a hairpin.”
Gertie dug in her bag and came up with the requested items.
“Thanks.” Fortune ripped the silver clip off the side of the pen and opened the Bobby pin, bending one end into a loop. Then she inserted the bent end of the pen clip into the lock mechanism at the bottom of the padlock and created pressure on it with her thumb as she inserted the straight length of the Bobby pin into the mechanism next to it. She jiggled the pin in and out a few times, until the barrel moved on the lock and, a second later it clicked. Unlocked. Fortune removed the padlock and opened the door. She hung back for a moment listening, and then slipped through. A moment later she called out. “He’s here.”
We dove through the door just as light flared in the tiny space. Fortune placed a lantern next to Cal, who was unmoving and hunched in the corner. He had a black cloth sack over his head and his wrists and ankles were bound with tape.
“Oh my God, Cal!” I yanked the bag off his head and gasped at the glossy trail of half-dried blood running from his scalp. “He’s hurt.”
Fortune bent over him, pulling the hair apart to examine his scalp. “He’ll be okay. It’s not deep and already clotting up.” She straightened, looking around the space.
Gertie held up a utility knife. “Looking for one of these?”
Fortune gave her a grin, snatching the knife. “Remind me to take you and your purse with me the next time I go on a mi…” She stopped, her eyes widening, and everybody looked at me.
Shaking my head, I lifted my hands. “Nothing. I heard nothing. I was singing to myself. It soothes me.” I refused to look at Fortune, going with the much disproved notion that if I couldn’t see her she couldn’t see me. That notion had gotten me into more trouble…
Fortune handed me the knife. “Cut him loose.” She looked at Gertie. “You got anything in that bag that will wake him up?”
With a grimace, Gertie pulled out her half-f jar of rose water.
I sucked wind. “He’s gonna kill us.”
###
“I’m gonna kill you.” Cal slapped at another mosquito and glared at us from the opposite end of the boat. Since we’re not stupid, Swamp Team 3 plus 1 was huddled near the motor, trying to keep as much distance between us and the mosquito magnet in the bow as possible.
The boat rose up on a miniscule ripple of water and then slammed down, dislodging me and Gertie from our makeshift seat on top of a bait box and sending us sprawling on the floor. Quick as a snake, Cal reached out and grabbed my ankle, dragging me closer. I screamed as his own personal cloud of airborne vampires descended on me, enclosing me in a buzzing web.
Cal wrapped himself around me and held on tight, whispering into my ear. “Whose idea was it to cover me in mosquito bait?”
I forced my eyes not to swing to Fortune. She didn’t need another reason to extinguish me. “Sorry, we needed to wake you up. You’re too heavy for us to carry.”
Cal let go of me to slap madly at mosquitoes and I escaped, scooting back to my spot on the bait box. He roared as they chewed on him, pounding himself so hard I was afraid he was going to do damage.
“We should knock him back out,” Ida Belle said with a grimace. “It’s the humane thing to do.”
I shook my head but reconsidered as he punched himself in the side of the head, seemingly trying to do just that. I needed to distract him. “So tell us what happened. How’d you end up on Number 2 With a Bullet?”
Gertie snorted at my new name for the island.
Cal pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt and zipped it high on his throat. “I was following your father like I told you. He led me to a remote spot on the shore of the Bayou, about a half mile from Walter’s. When he climbed onto your boat I realized I was going to lose him. So I approached, intending to make him take me with him wherever he was going. I was talking to him when someone came up behind me and hit me over the head.”
“You don’t know who hit you,” Ida Belle asked.
Cal shook his head, tugging the sleeves of the hoodie over his hands to protect them from bites. “I swam close to consciousness a couple of times but everything’s blurry. I thought I heard Mannie yelling at somebody, your father’s voice and somebody else.” He shrugged. “It could have been a dream.”
“Mannie?” Gertie frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
My long-suffering nail found its way into my mouth. “Actuwy it might,” I said around my nail. All eyes turned to me, filled with confusion. I tugged the finger from my mouth and addressed Cal. “I saw Mannie at the Backwater as I was leaving. He broke one of the windows in the Jeep.”
Cal frowned. “What was he looking for?”
“I didn’t stick around to find out,” I told him. “But he might have hit you over the head and then come back for me. The timing would have been about right.”
“If that’s true,” Fortune said. “He thinks you know something that he either wants to stop you from knowing or wants you to share with him.”
“Not him,” Ida Belle said, skimming Fortune a look. “Big. Mannie doesn’t do anything unless Big tells him to. If they’re looking for information, the Heberts are behind it.”
Cal thought about this for a moment and then lowered his head, shaking it. “Of course.”
“Care to share?” Gertie asked.
Cal’s head came up. His sexy blue gaze burned from beneath the hoodie. “The messenger was just to throw us off. Big’s involved in this Spift mess and he’s trying to keep us from finding out how.”
Fortune nodded. “He’s got to either be looking for Spift, which seems unlikely since he trades communications with him every week, or he’s trying to find the forger. That seems more likely.”
We all nodded in agreement. Behind me, the roar of the elderly motor softened and the boat slowed. I realized we were pulling up to Walter’s dock.
“Looks like Walter’s still here,” Ida Belle said.
“Good,” Cal responded, reaching for the half-tire nailed to the dock as a bumper. “I need to get something for all these bites.” He skimmed a glower over the four of us. “I don’t want to end up polka-dotted like you four.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Walter opened the back door for us and flipped on the overhead light. Like a beacon from the fiery pits, the illumination drew hordes of ravenous flying things toward it in a buzzing cloud.
“No!” Cal shouted. “Turn off the light.”
Walter blinked and flipped the switch again, stepping back as we filed past.
Cal jerked and twitched as he walked, his hands scraping mercilessly over his spotted flesh. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t get malaria or something,” he groused, sending us a scathing glance.
His comments drew my long-suffering fingernail to my mouth. I hadn’t even thought of that.
Damn Gertie’s rose water!
Walter eyed Cal and jerked his head toward the stool behind the counter. It was the place we generally found him reading his newspaper when we came into the store. “Sit. I’ve got some stuff that will take the sting out of those bites.”
Cal did as directed. Pulling off his hoodie and then his t-shirt, Cal took the tube of anti-itch cream Walter handed him.
At least I think it was medication…it could have been a basket of snakes for all I knew.
I was staring at his broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted pecs and washboard abs. The celestial choir was singing in my head. Fireworks exploding behind my eyes. Heat prickled my face and made my knees soften. My lungs twisted, screaming for air.
Almost as one, the four of us pulled air into badly depleted lungs and swallowed. That was when I realized I hadn’t been alone in the Cal stupor. I was pretty sure Gertie was going to do a face plant so I reached over and grabbed her arm. “Steady, soldier.”
Her only response was to gulp.
Fortunately, Walter missed our momentary lapse of Cal worship. “I guess you four were right.” He leaned over Cal, examining his wound. “He was on Number 2?”
“Number 3, actually,” Ida Belle said, throwing me a grin.
Pulling a first aid kit from under the counter, Walter opened the small, white box and settled it next to Cal. He pulled out some packets of rubbing alcohol saturated paper and ripped them open. “Somebody gave you quite a knock on the head,” he told Cal while cleaning the wound. “You should probably go get some stitches in that.”
“It’s okay. But I’ll take a few aspirin if you have them.”
Walter nodded toward the store aisles. “Third row over, Felicity. Under the antihistamines.”
I found the aspirin and, on an impulse, grabbed a box of non-drowsy antihistamines too. We could probably all use those after the night we’d had. Then I went looking for bottled water.
I found it in a refrigerated unit on the back wall. Grabbing 5 bottles, I headed back toward the front of the store. There was a small pile of stuff on the window ledge by the front door. I recognized Walter’s jacket and a set of keys. But the pile of mail under the keys caught my eye. I blinked, not understanding at first, and then reached for the top envelope.
By the time I returned to the group around the counter, I’d worked myself up pretty good. So that, when Walter looked up and gave me a smile, all I could do was hold the envelope up and glare at him.
He blinked, turning pale. “Felly, I…”
Gertie grabbed the envelope. “Walter, what are you doing with Charlie Spift’s mail?”
He shook his head, his hands coming up as if to ward off the verbal blows he knew were heading his way. “I promised him I wouldn’t tell anybody…”
Ida Belle jerked as understanding flared. “You know who Charlie Spift is?”
Walter sighed, shaking his head. “Not really. But I know his contact. I promised I’d never reveal who either was.”
“So that’s who you were picking mail up for tonight?”
He glanced at Cal, nodding. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why are you picking up his mail,” I asked, though as soon as I asked the question I knew the answer. “You run the mail to his contact and the contact gives it to Spift.”
Walter nodded. “He pays me a monthly retainer and part of that fee is keeping my mouth closed. I’m not doing anything illegal. It’s for his protection.”
Cal pulled his hoodie on. “Why is this Spift guy so secretive? What does he have to hide?”
Frowning, Walter shook his head. “I wish I knew. To tell you the truth I’ve come really close to canceling our arrangement a few times. I figure anybody who works that hard to stay out of the light has a dark secret.”
“Then why are you still picking up his mail?” Ida Belle asked.
Walter stood, hands on hips, and stared at the floor a long moment. Finally he looked up. “His contact is a good man. Unimpeachable character. I figure if he’s involved Spift must be okay.”
“Who’s the contact, Walter?”
Glancing at Ida Belle, Walter’s handsome face went gray. It was clear he didn’t want to lie to her.
“Walter?”
He expelled air, shaking his head. “I’m going to regret this.” Looking her right in the eye he said, “Brother Todd out at the Order.”
Cal headed for the door. “I guess we’re going back out to
The Order of Saint Francis Assisi on the Bayou
again.”
I hurried after him. “I don’t understand. We’re looking for Brother Todd now? I thought we were looking for Brother Mike.”
Cal held the door for us as we filed past. “Apparently we’re looking for both. I’m going to get all these monks in a room and harangue them until somebody talks. I’m getting really tired of this whole mess.”
“Wait!” Walter called out. He came around the counter, looking sheepish. “He’s not at the Order. I spoke to him earlier and he said he was heading to Mudbug. Something about finding Brother Mike.”
Cal shook his head and followed us out to the Jeep. “Apparently the whole monastery’s in on this…whatever it is.”
###
We figured Mudbug meant the Art Emporium. Gertie parked the Caddy a few blocks away and we crept up on the darkened building, keeping a constant eye out for the Mudbug police, who, according to Ida Belle and Gertie were bored and tended to patrol the streets pretty regularly.
The Emporium was dark and quiet, the front door locked.
We formed an obstructing circle around Cal as he quickly picked the lock and then slid inside behind him once the door was open.
My heart was pounding, my pulse dancing a jig beneath my skin. I was pretty sure I’d never broken and entered before. At least not when it mattered. There was that time a bunch of my friends and I broke into the Theta Phi Alpha sorority house at Indiana University and put green dye into all the sisters’ shampoo bottles because they’d snubbed us at a party. Mean girls. Of course we did it during Saint Patrick’s week so they could all look like lucky green clovers. I’m pretty sure they didn’t feel all that lucky to have green hair.
But back to my current illegal event. No green hair for the current breaking and entering event. Though there was a good chance there was going to be some red hiney before the night was out.
We stopped just inside the door and listened. The distant drone of voices filtered toward us, probably through the vents. The main show room was empty except for a few vacant pedestals and some truly ugly paintings hanging on the wall. To my relief, I noted the butt and boobs were missing from their pedestals. I could only hope they were currently polluting some other poor schmo’s eye space.
Cal motioned toward the door in the back…the one Ida Belle and I had ducked through the other night, just before Gertie threw the entire show into apoplexy with her ill-advised cocktail sauce explosion.
We stood to one side as Cal, gun held at high ready, opened it a crack and peered through. After a beat he nodded and slipped through the door. I followed him, with Gertie on my heels and Ida Belle following her. Fortune brought up the rear with her own, apparently ever-present gun.
The back room was filled with arguing voices. I recognized my father’s voice and a couple others which didn’t much surprise me. Though one voice was definitely a shock.
Cal stopped at the end of the hallway and I slid up close to him, whispering in his ear. “Pleece is here.”
He nodded. Lifting a hand, no doubt hoping we’d obey and stay back, he slipped around the corner and the arguing snapped off as if he’d flipped a switch.
“Mr. Amity,” Big Hebert said. “Strange seeing you here. Too bad you didn’t stay put on the island. It would have made everything so much less…complex.”
I jerked in surprise at the unmistakable sound of a click behind us.
“Drop the gun, Ms. Morrow.”
Fortune lifted her hands to the sky, gun muzzle upward. She put her gun on the floor and Mannie kicked it away. It skidded across the floor, preceding us into the main room. Mannie jerked his chin toward the conclave ahead. “After you, ladies.”
“I knew we should have subjected him to the Brazilian wax,” Gertie murmured.
“There’s still time,” I responded.
“Stop talking,” he demanded in a growl. Apparently we’d invaded his safe space again.
We filed into the already very full room and I blinked at the sight of my father in the center of it, tied to a chair next to an equally bound Pleece.
Mannie looked at Cal. “Drop it Amity.”
Keeping his gaze on me as if trying to beam me a silent message which I had no hope of interpreting, Cal slowly settled his gun onto the floor and kicked it away. It skittered in my direction, stopping a short distance from my foot.
Cal’s gaze widened slightly before he turned away.
He either wanted me to get the gun or he didn’t want me to get the gun. Good. That was helpful.
Felonius’s gaze widened when he saw me. I thought he sighed.
“I’ll ask you this one more time, Chance. Where’s the artist?”
“I told you, Big. I don’t know where he is. He wasn’t on the island when your pet thugs dragged me and the PI there.”
“You must think I’m pretty stupid,” Big said. “He couldn’t have gotten off that island without a boat. Now tell me where he is or I’m going to hurt you. Bad.”
My heart pounding with fear, I looked away from the terror in my father’s face. It was making me too jittery to watch. So I concentrated on looking for a way out of the current predicament.
Unfortunately, the first step in that process was to measure the situation and figure out what was going on.
I glanced at Pleece, trying to figure out what his role in the current drama was. Big didn’t seem that interested in him. Maybe he’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And for his part, Pleece didn’t seem all that interested in what Big was doing either. In fact, he appeared distracted, his gaze continually sliding toward a spot along the wall of the stockroom. I glanced that way and saw heavily laden wood and metal shelving. There were about a dozen cardboard tubes like the ones paintings were shipped in. A big hunk of cypress wood that could have been a sculpture for all I knew, and a variety of metal tools. On the bottom shelf were several paint cans and a basket filled with what looked like oily rags. I couldn’t help wondering what Pleece was looking for. Maybe he was expecting the police.
I stared at the spot and thought I saw movement. Slowly, my vision focused on the area until a panicked gaze came clear. The eyes blinked rapidly, seeming to beg me to silence.
In a wash of clarity, I realized exactly what was going on and who the real forger was.
Something slammed across the room and I jumped, turning my attention back to my father. His eyes were wide, focused on the crowbar Big was clutching in one meaty paw. The table was splintered beneath the sharp-edged metal tool. “Come on, Chance, don’t make me sorry I dragged your butt back here from that god forsaken island instead of just dumping your body in the Bayou.”
“I told your guy on the island. I don’t know why Cal was there. I didn’t tell him anything. I couldn’t. I don’t know anything.”
“It’s a pity your daughter will have to watch this, Chance. But I guess nosy runs in your family.” Big shrugged, his oversized silk suit puckering around his massive shoulders and then dropping smoothly down again.
“I’m telling you the truth, Big. Believe me, if I knew where Mike was, I’d tell you.”
My father’s revelation sucked all the air from the room. Brother Mike was the artist? He was Charlie Spift?
“We had an agreement, Chance. Your buddy and I. He’s been selling his goods directly to this Emporium and those other places in New Orleans…cutting me out of the profits. Nobody stiffs the Heberts.” He slammed the crowbar into the side of the chair, causing my father to jump and turn pale.
I leapt forward, my lips moving before my brain engaged. “Mike isn’t crossing you, Big.”
Mannie cocked his gun and Cal quickly stepped between me and the thug. “Back down, Mannie. She’s unarmed.”
“Talk to me, Ms. Chance. Maybe you’ll prove more reasonable than your father.”
“Spift wasn’t selling to other art dealers. He and my father were trying to find the person who was.”
Pleece’s frantic gaze found mine and widened. He gave a little jerk of his head, clearly afraid of what I’d reveal.