Fortune Hunter (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 8) (10 page)

“Yes, of course. I’ll be happy to make a blanket for the charity drive. I’m surprised no one has contacted me already. Usually Gail did that…I suppose you’ve heard. Simply horrible. I can’t imagine…even with good locks and an alarm, I worry about such things. I don’t suppose the police have any idea who would want to hurt her. I haven’t a clue. Such a nice woman and a spotless reputation. So rare these days.”

There was a longer than usual pause as Gertie listened. I could hear Florence’s voice pick up in volume and speed but couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Really? That’s most incredible. I would never have thought. No, of course things like this didn’t happen in our day. I suppose whoever told you was quite certain? And someone who gets things right—not like old Mrs. Wainwright who confuses everyone with brown hair. Oh! Yes, that makes all the difference. How distressing. I’ll pray for him, of course. Yes, thank you so much, Florence. You’ve been a lifesaver with the pattern.”

Gertie hung up the phone and looked at us, frowning.

“Well?” Ida Belle said. “Don’t drag it out, woman. Who told that old gasbag that Gail was having an affair?”

“Nolan,” Gertie said.

I sat upright. “What?”

Even Ida Belle looked surprised by that announcement.

Gertie nodded. “The same day Fortune met them at the general store, Florence said she overheard Nolan on his cell phone. He was behind the Catholic church during one of the clothes drives that Gail was assisting with. Florence went out to get some air and before she realized the conversation was private, she heard him say he feared his wife was having an affair.”

“Bull,” Ida Belle said. “She probably saw him outside on the phone and deliberately went out there to see what he was saying.”

“Probably,” Gertie agreed. “But that point aside, do we think she’s telling the truth?”

“I think so,” Ida Belle said. “Florence loves gossip, but she’s always careful to not be the one starting it. She wouldn’t stick her neck out as the creator unless she was sure of what she’d heard.”

“So we take as fact that Nolan thought his wife was having an affair,” I said. “Do we think that is true, or could Nolan have been misreading something?”

Ida Belle shook her head. “That’s certainly a possibility from our perspective because we don’t know why Nolan came to that conclusion. He could have made a mistake. Given even a small dependence on Gail, I imagine he would have been scared by the thought of their marriage dissolving.”

“Not to mention, he might actually love her,” Gertie said drily.

Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “Love is a secondary consideration when one can’t live independently. An important one, of course, but probably not the biggest worry Nolan had if Gail were to leave him for another man.”

“So where do we go from here?” I asked. “Trying to figure out who she was having an affair with seems premature since we don’t know for certain that was the case.”

“But if she wasn’t having an affair,” Ida Belle said, “then we’re back to having no motive.”

“If she were having an affair, what would be the motive?” I asked. “Assuming the man she was having the affair with wanted to be with her, why would he kill her? There’s no monetary benefit for him.”

“Maybe she broke it off with him,” Ida Belle said.

“And he figured if he couldn’t have her then no one would?” I asked. “I suppose that’s possible. I’ve been watching those forensics shows and people commit the dumbest crimes over affairs.”

“What if it was someone who hated Nolan?” Gertie asked.

“What do you mean?” Ida Belle asked. “If Nolan was the target, why not kill him?”

“Because taking Gail from him might be worse than death,” Gertie said. “Now he’s alone again, unable to completely support himself, financially or physically.”

“You think someone killed her to make Nolan’s life miserable?” I asked. “It’s possible but it’s so…”

“Evil?” Gertie finished.

I nodded. Beulah had used the word first. I agreed with her then and I agreed with Gertie now. So far, everything that had happened since I’d been in Sinful had a solid motive behind it. And even though some of the motives wound around a bit, they always came back to money. I couldn’t think of a single thing that could be called an emotional crime. Certainly emotions were involved in so many instances, but never as the primary motivator. In fact, I’d never had a case in my work for the CIA that was emotionally motivated. Everything always came back to power and money.

Evil.

It was an old-fashioned word, but maybe this was an old-fashioned crime.

I
climbed
out of the backseat of Gertie’s car and reached back for the casserole dish. Ida Belle snagged a bowl of creamed corn and a basket of rolls, and the three of us walked up the sidewalk to Nolan’s house. Gertie must have broken some sort of casserole-making record. That was four that I knew of in a matter of days. And who knew if she had a spare lurking in her refrigerator.

I glanced over at Carter’s truck, parked in Nolan’s driveway. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Marie needs a break,” Ida Belle said. “If Gail had died of a heart attack, we’d be doing exactly this, and Carter knows that. He might not like it, but he can’t argue with facts. When people die, we bring food and sit with the family. Doesn’t matter how they go.”

It sounded reasonable, probably because it was. But I doubted Carter would want to see it that way. He would jump right to the conclusion that we were there to interfere with his investigation. He was right, of course, which was going to make it harder to take offense at his aggravation, but if Marie sent for us and Nolan needed the help, then Carter would have to take it at face value.

We knocked on the door and a couple seconds later, Marie opened it up. She stepped back to allow us in, and I couldn’t help but notice how worried she looked.

“I’m afraid it’s still messy in here,” Marie said. “The police searched the entire house and they managed to rumple everything. They sealed off the master bedroom. I have no idea what they were looking for.”

“It’s standard procedure,” I said. “They are looking for anything that might give them an idea who killed Gail and why.”

“Well, they could have been a little tidier tidy with it,” Marie said. “I’ve been straightening things up for hours.”

“How is Nolan?” Ida Belle asked.

Marie shook her head. “Not good. The only thing I’ve been able to get him to eat was a piece of toast and that was this morning. His strength is going fast.”

“Is he talking much?” Gertie asked.

“He’ll answer if I ask him something,” Marie said, “but sometimes I have to touch him before he realizes I’m speaking to him at all. I’ve never seen someone so devastated. It’s a bit overwhelming, not knowing what to say. His situation…”

Ida Belle nodded. “It’s different from our usual fare. I’m sure you’ve done everything you could. Taking care of people has always been your gift.”

Marie gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, but this time, I don’t feel I’ve lived up to my calling. I appreciate you guys filling in for me. I sat a chicken out to thaw this morning before I heard and I need to do something with it or it will ruin. And I ran out without a shower.”

“And you need a break,” Gertie said. “It’s rough on the heart to sit in a house of mourning, especially without company.”

“Yes,” Marie agreed. “Myrtle is coming this evening when she gets off from work. We’ll probably stay the night, just in case.”

“I’m surprised he’s allowed to stay here at all,” I said, “with it being a crime scene.”

Marie flushed. “There was a bit of a row over that. Carter wanted Nolan to leave, but I cut him right off. Where is Nolan supposed to go? No one else’s home is set up to handle Nolan’s needs. I suppose one of those hotel rooms with the proper equipment is possible, but why should the man leave a place that can accommodate all his needs and move to a place that can only accommodate some?”

“Not to mention that it would hardly be appropriate for people to sit with Nolan in a hotel room,” Gertie said. “I’m glad you were here to talk some sense into Carter.”

“I know he’s just doing his job,” Marie said, “and I appreciate that it’s not optimum for people to be here while they’re trying to look for clues and take fingerprints, or whatever, but Nolan’s situation isn’t optimum either, and I didn’t want him to have even one more thing to worry about.”

Ida Belle patted her on the back. “You did fine. The master bedroom is the biggest concern and that still leaves the entire downstairs to live in. Go on home and get refreshed. Nothing will happen to Nolan on our watch.”

Marie gave us all quick hugs, then headed out. We heard voices drifting down the hall and I assumed Carter and Nolan were at the back of the house, which probably contained the kitchen. Ida Belle set out down the hall, and we found Carter sitting at a kitchen table, talking to Nolan. He looked up as we walked in, first a bit surprised, then I saw a flash of irritation that he quickly tried to mask.

Nolan’s expression was almost blank, like his entire face had gone slack. He looked toward the doorway when we entered, but I don’t think he really saw us. It looked as if he was acting on instinct but actually staring right through us. His face was pale and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. I noticed his hands shook slightly. He didn’t resemble at all the cheerful man I’d met the day before.

Gertie went over and squeezed Nolan’s shoulder. “We’re so sorry,” she said. “Marie needed to run home and see to some things before she comes back this evening. We’re here to help until she returns. We’ve brought you a casserole and some fixin’s. We’ll be in the living room when you’re done in here.”

Nolan managed a slight nod but didn’t speak or even look up at her.

“Don’t go upstairs,” Carter said.

Ida Belle gave him a dirty look. “Of course not.”

We sat the food on the counter and headed back into the living room.

“Does he think we’re idiots?” Gertie asked.

“No,” I said. “He thinks we’re interfering. I figured he would.”

“Of course we’re interfering,” Ida Belle said. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

She walked to the center of the living room and looked up the stairs. “I wonder,” she said.

“About what?” I asked.

The stairs were positioned at the back wall of the living room, across from the front door, and went straight up where they connected with a hallway. There wasn’t a balcony, so you wouldn’t be able to see someone on the second floor of the house unless they were at the landing.

“I wonder why he didn’t go back out the window,” Ida Belle said.

“It was faster to leave by the front door,” Gertie said. “Running downstairs has to be quicker than scaling down that trellis. Not to mention the risk of the trellis breaking.”

“I suppose so,” Ida Belle said, “and I guess we have to assume he had a car parked somewhere nearby. Coming around from the backyard would take up more time. But still, what if Nolan had been armed?”

“Watching television in his own living room?” I asked.

Ida Belle raised one eyebrow. “When you’re home alone watching television, where is your gun?”

“If I’m alone, it’s next to me on the couch,” I said. “If I’ve got company, then it’s on my body. But you can’t compare Nolan to someone like me. I’m hardly the norm. Neither are you and Gertie. I know she has a rifle under her couch cushions. It puts my butt to sleep if I spend more than ten minutes on it.”

“You’re right about the differences,” Ida Belle said, “but how could the killer know that for certain?”

“I guess he couldn’t,” I said. “Unless he knew Nolan as well as he knew Gail. I mean, not that well, if we take Florence’s story for the truth. You know what I mean.”

“I think,” Ida Belle said, “we need to have more details. For example, we know the lights went out, but why? Myrtle didn’t have that information but it’s important. If the time between when the lights went out and when Nolan heard the scream and the shot was only seconds, as it seemed when it was relayed to me, then assuming the killer tripped the power at the meter, how did he get from the meter, up the trellis, jimmy the window, and get inside to shoot Gail in a matter of seconds?”

“All good questions,” I said. “My guess is the lapsed time was greater than our assumptions. Maybe once Carter is gone, we can find out some of the details from Nolan.”

Gertie shook her head. “It didn’t sound as if he was overly chatty. And he looks awful.”

“He doesn’t look well,” I agreed, “but he’s talking to Carter, right? So he’s capable.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll decide he needs to talk it through while we’re here,” Gertie said.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ida Belle said. “I’ve seen that blank look before. He’s barely present. I bet Carter has to ask him every question three or more times before he gets any response, and then it’s probably not a very detailed one.”

“If he doesn’t talk,” I said, “I don’t know how this is going to do any good.”

“I want a look upstairs,” Ida Belle said.

“I doubt you’re going to get it,” I said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Carter plans to sit right here until Marie returns and the three of us leave. Even if he leaves the house, I’d bet odds he sits in his truck and watches. Does the bedroom only have windows on the back of the house?”

Ida Belle sighed. “No. It runs the width of the house and has windows on the front side and back.”

“So if anyone went upstairs, he’d see light,” I said, “and I promise you, he’ll be looking for it.”

“She’s right,” Gertie said. “We’re under a bigger microscope now than we would have been if we’d never come at all.”

Ida Belle pulled out her phone and started tapping on the screen. “Then we just have to be smarter than Carter.” She paused and I heard a text come in. She tapped again, then smiled. “It’s taken care of. Just give her a few minutes to get the ball rolling.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Myrtle, of course,” Ida Belle said. She walked around to the couch, grabbed a car magazine, and plopped down. Figuring that was all the explanation I was getting at the moment, I sat in the recliner and turned on the television. Gertie took a seat on the other end of the couch and clapped.

“Oh, look,” Gertie said. “There’s a magic show on. I love magic shows. Hey, we should take a trip to Las Vegas and see one. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“As soon as people aren’t trying to kill me,” I said, “I’d be happy to take a trip with you to Vegas.”

“Ha!” Ida Belle let out a single laugh. “You wouldn’t be so quick to say that if you knew what happened that time we went to the riverboat casino in New Orleans.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary to go into all that,” Gertie said.

“What happened?” I asked.

Ida Belle pointed at Gertie. “Someone thought it would be a good idea to have a drink every time those girls came by with a tray.”

“It was dollar drink night for seniors,” Gertie said.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“They’re watered down quite a bit, of course,” Ida Belle said, “but ten of them will do you in, even if they’re not a full serving of liquor.”

“I did not have ten drinks,” Gertie argued.

“It was probably more, but ten is all I counted. The slot machines I played the first thirty minutes didn’t give me a clear view of you. God only knows what you managed to throw back during that time.”

“So ten drinks, at least,” I said.

“Which means she had to go to the bathroom,” Ida Belle said. “So she goes walking toward the back of the casino, all willy-nilly, and I figure I better follow her in case she runs into problems. She ran into problems all right. At the end of the hallway, instead of turning left into the ladies’ room, she pushes open the emergency exit, walks outside onto the deck, straight into the railing, and flips right over.”

I looked over at Gertie. “You fell overboard?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Gertie said. “The boat doesn’t actually leave the dock.”

“So she’s down there thrashing around,” Ida Belle said, “and the alarm from the emergency door is going off like a siren. Two security guards rush me and I’m pointing over the side and yelling that someone needs to fish Gertie out of the bayou.”

I put my hand over my mouth. “Oh no.”

“So one of the guards pulls out a walkie-talkie and tells someone they’ve got a passenger overboard, then we all go running around the side of the boat and down to the dock.”

“And they fished Gertie out?” I asked.

“Nope,” Ida Belle said. “A drunk fisherman docked behind the casino heard the splash and thought fish were jumping. He threw a cast net over her and was trying to drag it in when the security guards got there. I’ve never seen a man so disappointed. He thought he’d snagged a hundred-and-forty-pound bass.”

“A hundred and ten pounds,” Gertie said.

“Maybe in 1953,” Ida Belle said.

“Why doesn’t that story surprise me?” Carter’s voice sounded behind me, and we turned to look at him. “I’m done for now. I have no problem with you guys staying here. I think he needs someone to watch him, but I don’t want anyone upstairs or in the backyard.”

“How is he?” Gertie asked.

“Completely broken up,” Carter said. “I can’t begin to imagine…anyway, my mom said to let her know if Marie can’t stay tonight and she’ll be happy to do it.”

“Tell her thank you,” Gertie said. “And we’ll let her know if we need her.”

He nodded, then glanced at me before heading out. I rose from the recliner and looked out the front window. “He’s driving away. Unbelievable.” Then I remembered Ida Belle’s phone call to Myrtle. “What did you do?”

“I asked Myrtle to get him out of here for a bit,” Ida Belle said.

“And how did she do that?” I asked.

Ida Belle shook her head. “I assume she told him there was police business that needed handling and no one else was available.”

Ida Belle’s phone signaled that she’d received a text and she looked down at it. “Oh no.”

“What?” I asked. Based on her expression, it was nothing good.

“She sent him to the hotel. It seems the state police have turned over the case of the night desk clerk who accused the maintenance man of attempting to sexually assault a nun in the hotel lobby.”