Missing in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law Mystery/Romance Series)

Copyright 2013 by Jana DeLeon

Published by Jana DeLeon

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Chapter One

Maryse Robicheaux LeJeune stepped out of the shower, dried off, and pulled on her robe before stepping into the bedroom. Her husband, Luc, had left for work ten minutes before, a lingering look of worry on his face as he’d walked out the front door. Maryse knew whatever case he was assigned had him rattled more than usual, but all her attempts to broach the subject had been met with stonewalling on his end. The only thing she’d gleaned from him was a fear for her safety.
 

Keep all the doors and windows locked and when you leave the house, take your gun. When driving, make sure you check your rearview mirror to ensure no one is following you. Do not go into the swamp for any reason. If you have a world-ending emergency there, let me know and I will make plans to take you out myself.

Being a DEA agent, Luc was always cautious, but the past week, he’d really gone to a different place. And despite the fact that she tried not to dwell on whatever dangers Luc faced every day doing his job, Maryse was jittery and on edge. The hot shower had momentarily helped, then she’d stepped out of it to hear a repeat of Luc’s admonitions before he left for work, and she’d launched right back into a case of nerves.

As she passed the bedroom doorway, she saw a shadow move in the living room. Instantly, she froze, her heart pounding in her chest. What if the bad guy Luc was worried about had been watching the house? What if he’d waited for Luc to drive away so that he could kill her or kidnap her or even worse? A couple seconds later, her cat, Jasper, scrambled into the bedroom and slid under the bed.

Maryse inched over to the nightstand and pulled out the loaded nine millimeter with suppressor that was always there. Gripping the gun tightly, she crept out of the bedroom and down the hallway, struggling to keep from hyperventilating. With every step, she said a silent prayer that all the training Luc had given her with the pistol paid off.
 

When she got to the edge of the hallway, she heard rustling on the other side of the wall. Before she could change her mind, she jumped around the corner, gun leveled.

The man in the black mask stood at the far end of the dining room near the kitchen counter. Maryse screamed and fired off five rounds in succession. Her aim was dead-on, but the bullets passed right through the man and struck the hutch behind him, glass exploding with every shot. A second later, the man started screaming, and Maryse knew it wasn’t a man at all.

“Damn it, Helena!” Maryse yelled, not sure whether to stop shooting or go back to her bedroom for more ammo. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Why are you shooting at me?” Helena wailed. “You know I hate that.”

“Because you look like a burglar. Why are you dressed all in black?”

“No one else can see me, so I figured why not?”

“
I
can see you and I thought you were here to kill me.”

Helena waved a hand and the black mask vanished. She glanced back at the mangled hutch, then gave Maryse a sheepish look. “I guess I didn’t think about you seeing the outfit and not knowing it was me. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry! You have two seconds to get out of my house or I start firing again.”

“This was just a misunderstanding,” Helena said.

“One. Two.”

“Oh shit.” Helena darted through the wall.

Maryse ran out the front door, waving the pistol, and chased her down the street all the way to the woods a good two blocks away.
 

Maryse skidded to a stop at the tree line and stared into the foliage, deliberating taking a parting shot at the ghost, but finally decided it would be a waste of a perfectly good round. Frustrated at the mess of glass she was about to have to address, not to mention the probable need to purchase a new hutch, she dropped her arm to her side and headed back up the street to her house.

She hadn’t made it half a block when Sheriff Colt Bertrand walked out Big Freddie Pinchot’s front door and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her.
 

Crap. I’m wearing a robe and holding a gun. I’m going to get a psych hold.
 

And that’s when Maryse decided that Colt might just be the most intelligent person in Mudbug. Without so much as the lift of an eyebrow, he dug his truck keys out of his pocket, jumped into his vehicle, and drove away without even a backward glance.

###

“You can’t just walk up to someone’s kitchen window and steal their pie.” Jadyn St. James stood in Mildred’s office at the Mudbug Hotel, hands on her hips and frowning down at Helena Henry, who was practically inhaling the cherry pie on the desk in front of her. The fact that the rather large ghost was decked out like a cat burglar in black spandex was even more troubling than the stolen pie.

Mildred, the hotel owner, stood next to her, shaking her head. “We had this discussion last year before you left. You’re a ghost, Helena. You don’t need to eat. You can’t possibly.”

Helena looked up at them, red cherry pie filling dripping down her chin. “But I want to eat. Do you realize that I can’t get high cholesterol or diabetes, and I won’t gain a pound from this? Now tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

Jadyn looked over at the plump hotel owner and knew she’d just lost her ally. No matter how much Mildred hated Helena constantly stealing food from her hotel refrigerator, she wasn’t about to let it make her a liar. Jadyn had little doubt that given the criteria Helena listed, Mildred would spend every day eating like Helena was right now.
 

For that matter, so would Jadyn.

She looked down at Helena and sighed. “Okay, I get it. At least, as much as anyone can. But you can’t steal things in broad daylight from people who can’t see you, although that’s probably a blessing. But you’re going to give someone a heart attack. Not to mention that you’ll make it impossible for Colt to do his job when people start reporting the thefts, and then residents will give him holy hell for not arresting the bad guy.”

Helena waved a hand in dismissal. “Sophie Jenkins is an old drunk. Everyone is just too polite to say it. So even if she reported a whole bakery marching out of her house, no one in Mudbug would believe her, least of all Colt.”

“I hate to say this,” Mildred said, “but she’s right. Sophie’s sorta known for her outlandish statements. A floating pie wouldn’t so much as raise an eyebrow in this town.”

Jadyn threw her arms in the air. “This town cannot be your personal buffet.”

“If they had a decent buffet around here,” Helena complained, “it wouldn’t be a problem. Not like anyone would miss an egg roll or two or a handful of popcorn shrimp. I tried the high school, but it was horrible! It’s no wonder half of the kids sneak out behind the school and smoke pot at lunch.”

Jadyn closed her eyes. “I did
not
just hear you say that.”

“I said—” Helena started.

“No,” Jadyn said. “What I meant was, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that part about the students, and that if you’d like to repeat it, you should do so in front of the sheriff.”

“He can’t hear me and besides, why should I be the one to tell?” Helena asked. “One of his deputies was out there last week smoking with them.”

Jadyn looked over at Mildred, who didn’t look any more pleased with that bit of information than she was.

“Okay, bottom line,” Jadyn said. “You don’t steal food from anyone who is not a drunk. And don’t steal from anyone who can’t afford the loss.”

“Fine,” Helena grumbled. “You two act like I’m an archcriminal.”

Jadyn shook her head. “I can’t believe I just endorsed stealing food, albeit under specific terms.”

Mildred patted her on the back. “Knowing Helena tends to skew normalcy a bit.”

Jadyn opened her mouth to reply but before she could get a word out, the front door to the hotel opened and slammed shut.

“Helena!” Maryse yelled from the lobby. “Don’t think you’re getting away with it.”

Instantly, Helena dropped the piece of pie she’d been holding, jumped up from the chair, and ran through the wall behind her. A couple seconds later, Maryse stormed into Mildred’s office, her face flushed red.

“Where is she?” Maryse demanded.

“She just ran through the wall,” Jadyn replied, wondering what in the world Helena had done to get her normally even-keeled cousin so angry.

“I’m going to kill her.” Maryse stared at the wall and yelled, “I’m going to kill you!”

For a split second, Jadyn wondered if it were possible to kill a ghost—which would solve a lot of problems—but then figured Maryse’s rant was rhetorical and not literal. “Should I even ask?”

“Oh, you should ask all right. Then when I have Sabine exorcise her back to whatever pit of hell she crawled out of, you won’t feel a bit of sympathy.”

Mildred looked over at Jadyn and raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Maryse took a deep breath and then unloaded on Jadyn and Mildred, filling them in on her less-than-stellar morning.

“The hutch that I gave you as a wedding present?” Mildred asked.

Maryse nodded. “It’s riddled with bullet holes now.”

Mildred put her hands on her hips. “I may just have to kill her myself. That hutch was a family heirloom.”

Jadyn cringed, quickly deciding silence was her best option.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Maryse said. “One of the vases on the hutch that I shot was daddy’s urn.”

Mildred paled and Jadyn’s hand involuntarily flew up to cover her mouth.
 

“I must have grazed the top of it,” Maryse continued, “because it fell onto the dining room rug and the top part broke off. Which would have been a situation that was salvageable except that while I was chasing Helena down the block, Jasper decided it was a perfect spot for a new litter box.”

“Holy Mother of God!” Mildred made the sign of the cross.

Jadyn felt her stomach clench. Next time she saw Helena, she might be tempted to try shooting her, too.
 

Maryse flopped into an office chair. “I rolled up the whole mess in the rug and tossed it in your Dumpster. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mildred sank into the chair next to her. “Your daddy is in my…oh, well.” Mildred grabbed a magazine off the desk and started fanning herself. “I don’t want you worrying about this. I’ll give you half of my ashes, and we’ll find you a sturdier urn.”

“Do they make them bulletproof?” Maryse asked.

Jadyn’s hand slid from her mouth and she looked back and forth between the two women, a million thoughts racing through her head. She assumed Jasper was a cat and he’d committed the worst of offenses with Maryse’s dad’s ashes and ruined a perfectly good rug. But why in the world did Mildred have some of Maryse’s dad’s ashes? Was it a Mudbug tradition? Some weird agreement among residents? And where was Mildred keeping her portion? Because she was going to be a lot more careful around vases now that she knew what might be contained in them.

In the midst of her mind storm, a flash of an old friend—an artist welder—went through her mind. “I might know someone who can handle the bulletproof urn thing. Let me check into it.”