miss fortune mystery (ff) - body in the bog in the bog
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Authors: j l johnson
Text copyright ©2015 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Jana DeLeon. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Miss Fortune Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Jana DeLeon, or their affiliates or licensors.
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The Body
in the
Bog
A Miss Fortune Mystery
JL Johnson
Chapter 1
“These bones are definitely human, not just some randomly-scattered animal bones,” Fortune exclaimed, critically eying a few bones sprawled out on the ground, near a large mound of dirt that had obviously been disturbed by some kind of animal.
She thought it had been a very large animal, and had also happened fairly recently, if she had to guess. The dirt looked freshly uprooted, and she could see deep claw marks all around the site. The animal might have been spooked off only moments ago, right when she and Gertie showed up.
“Gertie, I’m pretty sure this was someone’s grave. I know a grave when I see one,” she narrowed her eyes at Gertie as she slapped at a mosquito the size of a quarter trying to suck her forearm dry. “Damn blood suckers! What is it about this place and bones, and blood, and… dead things?”
“Oh no, it’s really a grave, do you think? My dear, we need to get back to town and tell Ida Belle about this,” Gertie said, looking back toward Sinful, then directly at Fortune.
“It’s definitely a grave. There’s no trace of a coffin though, and I don’t see a marker of any kind,” Fortune poked at the mound with a stick.
“I think I know who that is...”
“Wait a minute, did you just say you know who’s grave this is? You
think
you know? Or you definitely know?” Fortune asked suspiciously.
“I think, I’m not certain... It was all so long ago... I know it must seem suspicious, but,”
“Suspicious? A single grave with no signs of either a coffin or a marker, out here, next to the bog? Hell’s bells yes, I’d say it’s suspicious!” Fortune exclaimed, her eyes as big as the now-squashed mosquito. “Then again, is there anything about this town that isn’t suspicious?”
Fortune and Gertie were at the edge of the bog, only a short distance outside of Sinful. The town of Sinful was so small that if you drove through it and blinked, you’d never realize there’d been a town there at all.
They’d been picking blackberries for the next batch of SLS cough syrup. It had been Fortune’s idea to add some flavor and color to the potent brew the Sinful Ladies Society sold as a cough and sore throat remedy, once she discovered the berries.
Not that she had anything against their regular brew of pure white lightening, or moonshine, as Gertie called it. She had quite a few bottles tucked away in case of emergency. Sinful was a dry town and you just never knew what could happen that might prevent travel outside of town.
Hurricanes and floods were at the top of the disaster list, but there were other things in the small town that could cause the loss of your mobility. Alligator attacks were at the top of that list.
The bayou ran right at the edge of Fortune’s backyard and it was chock-full of the menacing reptiles. The locals all said the alligators were mostly harmless, but Fortune wasn’t putting her trust in the word
mostly
.
She gave the alligators a wide berth, sticking to the ‘Don’t bother them and they won’t bother you,’ school of thought. It sounded too good to be true. Fortune thought it probably was too good to be true, so she wasn’t inclined to get up close and personal with the scaly monsters any time soon. Alligator wrestling was
not
in her future.
She figured every single one of the creatures was just biding their time, waiting for any opportunity to crunch on her feet, her legs, or any other body part they found convenient. Staying far, far away from them seemed only sensible.
Mowing the lawn in a buzz-cut also seemed sensible, since all sorts of snakes, poisonous and otherwise, loved to lurk in tall grasses.
Her neighbors were almost exclusively elderly and seldom mowed their yards, so Fortune figured any snakes venturing near would be far happier living in their yards. She couldn’t make herself feel guilty about it either, all’s fair and all that.
Old people vastly outnumbered the young in this town and they drove like… Well, they drove like old people. Simply being anywhere near a road was playing with danger. There was only one gas station in Sinful, and Fortune found it amazing the pumps were still standing.
She expected to hear the explosion at any minute. The tank on her Jeep,
well, it had been Marge’s Jeep, but she was using it
, was kept full at all times. She figured it was only a matter of
when
the tanks would explode, not
if
they’d explode.
There were cases of the SLS cough syrup at both Ida Belle’s and Gertie’s houses, but Fortune believed in being prepared. She also believed in variety and flavor.
Blackberry just happened to be one of her favorite flavors and she’d found bushes full of the berries. Fortune only had to convince the ladies it might be a bit more respectable if their brew actually looked, and tasted, a bit more like cough syrup.
“Do we look like we care about being respectable?” Gertie had snickered.
“Actually, I think you do,” Fortune replied, one of her perfect, salon-sculpted eyebrows raised. “Otherwise, why would you sell it in those cute, little, pink bottles with the adorable labels? Why not XXX-labeled, brown ceramic jugs? And, why bother calling it ‘cough syrup’ at all?”
She’d spied the bushes on one of her early-morning runs. Fortune was by no means a morning person, but it wasn’t humanly possible to do anything in this god-forsaken part of the country requiring any sort of movement or physical activity after the sun had risen. Simply
breathing
in the sweltering, dank air was difficult.
If she wanted to continue to enjoy lunches, and gossip, with her new friend Ally at Francine’s Cafe, she had to set her alarm for O’dark-thirty, and at least try to run some of those calories off.
Even if she tried to jog to New York City and back every morning, she knew she wouldn’t begin to burn enough to combat the butter-filled desserts, sauces, and pastries Francine excelled at creating, but she had to admit, she felt better about herself for at least trying.
On returning home, she usually stripped down to her running bra and panties, and hosed herself off outside, not wanting to sully Marge’s house with her sweat-filled running clothes.
She’d been told, more than once, that any form of nudity was illegal in Sinful, on most days, and at most times. The deputy sheriff, Carter LeBlanc, had caught her at various times, in various modes of undress, but since she was on private property, in her very own backyard, and wearing the equivalent of a bathing suit, she tended to ignore him.
Someone would have to be stalking her to catch her hosing off, and anyone who’d take such extreme measures would likely be more dangerous to her than just an ordinary Peeping Tom. She imagined peeping wasn’t legal here anyway, at any time, on any day. But in this town, nothing was certain.
Most things were illegal in Sinful, at least on certain hours of certain days. Keeping up with it all gave her a massive headache.
Everyone in the small town, except Gertie and Ida Belle, thought Marge had been her aunt, and that she had inherited Marge’s house when she died. The regular Sinful folk thought she was here to pack up the house and sell it.
Those two old ladies had correctly guessed she wasn’t actually Sandy Sue Morrow, Marge’s actual, beauty-pageant winning, librarian niece. After gaining their promises to never reveal the truth, she’d admitted she was a CIA assassin named Fortune Redding.
She’d had a singularly bad stroke of luck on her last assignment, which had resulted in pissing off an Arab sheik, who’d then offered a hefty sum for her head.
Now, she had all manner of really bad guys actively hunting her down, looking to kill her and collect that reward. Rogue assassins, mercenaries, Jihadists, and bounty hunters, to mention just a few, were all searching for her. Her boss had decided none of them would look for her in the quiet, sleepy, little town of Sinful, Louisiana.
He’d been partially right, but she soon discovered there were lots of quiet secrets in little towns, especially those of the Southern variety. And drama didn’t take naps in Sinful, it was always wide-awake and raring to go.
They were near the bayou that ran down the center of Sinful, not too far from the main part of the town, when she found the partial remains of the body. She was glad she wasn’t alone, that she’d talked Gertie into coming with her. The whole experience unsettled her, it was creepy out here, and she was relieved Gertie was nearby.
Fortune had recently decided Gertie needed some exercise too. The poor old dear wasn’t as flexible as she once was, although she still had some amazing Kung-Fu moves for someone who called herself ‘older than dirt.’
Gertie had wanted to drive, but Fortune had ridden with her a time or two, and never, ever wanted to repeat the experience. Gertie didn’t like wearing her glasses, even on the rare occasions she could find them, and tended to crash into things.
Instead, she used the exercise excuse and convinced Gertie to walk the short distance with her to pick some of the berries. They’d left after breakfast, hoping to be home before the oppressive heat of the day set in. Each of them had brought a bucket to fill. One of the buckets now lay on the ground, flung there by Fortune after she made her gruesome discovery.
“Although I’m pretty sure I know who that body is, or was, we need to talk to Ida Belle. He needs to stay buried… Hidden,” the old woman muttered as she stooped to reach for her bucket.
“He?” Fortune asked, as she just shook her head and sighed. “Of course it’s a he, I should’ve known… ”
“Yes, if it’s who I think it is. Why don’t you just bury those bones, or rebury them I guess.” Gertie straightened her back, making assorted old-people noises, and then turned to head toward home.
“Wait. Who? Wha… Why?” Fortune sputtered, her brain formulating questions too rapidly for her mouth to settle on any single one. “Now, wait just a damn minute,” she called forcefully, watching Gertie march home. She sputtered again, this time under her breath, then she quickly shoved the bones deep into the dirt and packed it down over the bones.
She was afraid the animal would come back for them. If the animal was anything at all like Marge’s old hound dog, aptly named Bones, even a ton of dirt wouldn’t be enough to keep the bones securely buried.
“C’mon,” Gertie turned back to her. “Please, just leave it alone Fortune,” Gertie sighed. “This isn’t my story to tell. Ida Belle… Well, it’s not her story either, but she’ll know what to do.”
“How many secrets, and bodies, do you
Ladies
have hidden around here?” Fortune shook her head. She had quickly learned the Sinful Ladies Society really was more Syndicate than knitting club, and Ida Belle was truly the Godfather… no, make that Godperson of the elderly organization.
No wonder the so-called normal folk in Sinful called them the Geritol Mafia,
she thought as she gathered the strewn berries. She placed them back in the bucket, and then trotted to catch up with her senior friend.
Chapter 2
Ida Belle and Gertie were waiting in her kitchen when she came down the staircase after showering. She sniffed deeply and then smiled. At least they’d made coffee, and she hoped the other scent she detected was Gertie’s homemade cinnamon rolls.
“I don’t know how the bones got out of the ground. Fortune thought it was some kind of animal,” Gertie was saying as she rounded the corner. “At least no bills surfaced, at least, not that I could see.”
“I know we buried him plenty deep…” Ida Belle paused when she spotted Fortune,
she
at least, had the good sense to look sheepish.
“So, who was he?” Fortune asked, the first of a million questions she had about that body. There hadn’t been much doubt in her mind that these two ladies were knee-deep in whatever trouble had caused someone to bury that body, and Ida Belle had just erased any smidgen of doubt that remained. “Who was he and how did he come to be buried so close to town? And did you say bills? What does
that
mean? What bills?”