Soldiers of Fortune (3 page)

“Well, apparently, he’s been summoned by his boss, Celia,” I said. “You can’t make it worse.”

“True,” Ida Belle said. “Before Gertie launches back to Genesis, I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version. Nelson left town after high school and went to New Orleans.”

I stared. The CliffsNotes version started at high school? That was over thirty years of notes.

“He got a job at a garage working on cars,” Ida Belle continued. “After a couple of years, he decided he knew everything and moved back to Sinful to open his own garage.”

“He thought competing with Walter was a good idea?” I asked.

Gertie shook her head. “Walter didn’t have a garage at the time. Only the store.”

“In fact,” Ida Belle said, “no other garages existed in Sinful at the time, so everyone was happy to have one so close.”

“Everyone who didn’t know Nelson very well,” Gertie said.

“Yes, well,” Ida Belle said, “it didn’t take long for everyone to figure out Nelson didn’t know his butt from a hole in the ground when it came to cars. Sure, he could do an oil change or fix a flat, but God forbid you needed anything more complex.”

“I take it he screwed up some cars and people weren’t happy about it?” I asked.

“He screwed up all right,” Ida Belle said. “The worst one was Sheriff Lee’s pickup truck. It was a classic.”

Gertie rolled her eyes. “Meaning it was so old, he bought it directly from Henry Ford.”

Ida Belle shot Gertie a dirty look. “In any event, that truck was Sheriff Lee’s pride and joy. He took it to Nelson for an oil change, but when Sheriff Lee pulled it into his driveway after the work was done, the accelerator stuck and he drove it right through his living room and into the bayou behind his house. Took out his bass boat, too.”

I’d been struggling to envision Sheriff Lee in motion on anything that didn’t run on hay, but the picture Ida Belle painted made it easier. “And he blamed Nelson?”

“Not at first,” Gertie said, growing animated, “but after Sheriff Lee drove through his house, other customers started complaining that their cars broke down after Nelson had worked on them, even though they’d had no issues before.”

“Uh-oh.” I could already see the writing on the wall.

“Sheriff Lee figured Nelson was jimmying the cars so that he could get more business,” Ida Belle said, “but Lee was never able to prove it. Still, the rumors were enough that people started taking their business out of town, and Nelson had to close the shop.”

Gertie snorted. “Close, my butt. He took everything that he could hock out of that building and hightailed it out of town in the middle of the night, leaving a bunch of residents who’d invested in his garage without a dime to show for it
and
holding the bag for all the rent and utilities he’d skipped out on for the building.”

“Including my grandmother,” Carter said.

“The man’s a criminal!” I said, now outraged. “And Celia thinks he’s the best candidate for sheriff?”

“Given that Celia’s only interest is having a puppet who’ll do her bidding, yes,” Ida Belle said.

“Good God,” I ranted. “That woman will single-handedly be responsible for the fall of the entire town.”

“Exactly what I’ve been saying,” Gertie said.

“Yes, well, we knew there would be trouble,” Ida Belle said, “but I don’t think any of us saw this twist with Nelson coming. After he was essentially run out of town, he hasn’t been back except for short visits.”

“I’m almost glad I’m on medical leave,” Carter said. “Maybe by the time Dr. Stewart clears me, Marie will have her recount done and Celia will be out the door.”

“That’s what I’m praying for,” Gertie said.
 

I was getting ready to suggest something stronger than prayer when a huge
boom
roared through the skies. Everyone whipped around in time to see fire blast upward, sending a cloud of black into the air.
 

“What the heck was that?” I asked. “That’s the middle of the swamp.”

Ida Belle and Gertie exchanged a glance.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, um,” Gertie stammered, “sometimes swamp gas can—”

“Don’t even go there,” Carter said. “It was probably a still.”

“A still?”

“Moonshine,” Carter said.

“Oh!” Everyone knew that the Sinful Ladies cough syrup was moonshine, but I’d never asked where or when they manufactured it. I assumed Carter hadn’t either, because then he’d be forced to do something about it. I looked over at Ida Belle and Gertie. Ida Belle gave me a barely imperceptible shake of her head.
 

So it wasn’t their still. But it was somebody’s. “Is this common?” I figured the items used to make moonshine had to be highly flammable, but in the time I’d been in Sinful, I hadn’t heard much talk about explosions, at least not of the liquor-induced sort.

“It happens more often than one might think,” Gertie said.

“Except one who’s familiar with Sinful and its residents,” Ida Belle pointed out.

I looked over at Carter, who was staring at the smoke cloud and frowning. “So what do you do in these situations?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yep. I’m on leave, remember?”

“Oh, right. Lucky you.”

“Unlucky Deputy Breaux,” Gertie said. “With the Fourth of July celebration and the election nonsense, he was already halfway to a heart attack. Then that mess with the sheriff and Celia this morning sent him scurrying for a place to hide. This may be what sends him over the edge.”

Before I could respond, the man in question burst into the middle of Main Street, frantically looking around. When he spotted us, he broke out into a run and slid to a stop in front of us. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked cry, then he bent over gasping for air.

What the hell? The sheriff’s department was across the street, not a mile out of town, but Deputy Breaux was acting like he’d run a marathon.

Gertie patted his back. “It’s your asthma, isn’t it? All this excitement was bound to trigger an attack. Just concentrate on breathing.”

Deputy Breaux rose up and took in a couple huge breaths and blew them out. His face was beet red and he looked as worried as he had been when Carter was shot. Something was seriously wrong. Something more than a still explosion.

“The explosion,” he wheezed.

“Yeah,” Carter said. “We saw it.”

“Scooter called in…him and Walter was fishing near it and Walter got hit with some debris. He’s unconscious. Scooter’s hauling butt back to the dock, and I already called for the helicopter.”

My pulse spiked and I glanced over at Ida Belle, taking in her pinched expression. Walter owned the General Store and was Carter’s uncle, a lifelong pursuer of Ida Belle’s affections, and my friend. “What hit him? Is he bleeding?”

“I don’t know,” Deputy Breaux said. “Scooter was in a bad way. I couldn’t make sense of everything, and I didn’t want him driving the boat and talking to me…”

“Of course not,” I said. Scooter was the mechanic for Walter’s garage and barely made sense sober and not stressed. He was probably practically incoherent now.

“Then we best get to the dock,” Carter said.

The five of us headed to the dock behind the sheriff’s department and all stood there in awkward silence. Gertie sat on a pylon, casting anxious glances at Ida Belle, who was trying to play off her worry by wearing her usual stoic expression, but I could tell she was having trouble keeping the mask in place.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves thinking the worst,” Carter said, breaking the silence. “Scooter isn’t known for his accuracy or communication skills. I’m sure Walter is fine.”

I nodded. “Carter’s probably right.”

Ida Belle stiffened and pointed down the bayou. “We’re about to find out.”

I turned to look at the bass boat ripping up the bayou so fast that it created huge wakes that crashed against the bank. Several people fishing on the bank gave Scooter a drenched middle finger, but he didn’t even bother to give the obligatory “sorry about that” wave. I hoped he cut his speed soon or he was going to run up the bank and right onto Main Street.

Just when I was about to suggest we clear out of the way, Scooter cut the engine, and the front of the boat dropped onto the top of the water and coasted straight for the dock. I could see Walter lying in the bottom of the boat, a life preserver under his head. He had a big red knot on his forehead near his receding hairline, but I was relieved to see no blood.

Scooter tossed the line to Carter, but Ida Belle jumped inside before it had been secured. She leaned over and spoke his name. Walter’s eyes fluttered and he attempted to move, then groaned and reached up to clutch his head.
 

“Don’t move,” Ida Belle said. “The medics are on their way.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“There was an explosion,” Carter said. “Probably a still. You got hit by debris.”

Walter blinked and squinted up at us. “I was fishing with Scooter. Just landed a good speckled trout. That’s the last thing I remember.”

I heard the approaching helicopter and looked up. “Your ride’s here.”

“What?” Walter turned his head to watch as the helicopter landed on the bank behind the dock. “I don’t need no doctor.”

“Don’t be an old fool,” Ida Belle said. “You need to have your head checked.”

“Probably true,” Walter said. “Given that I’ve been chasing a bossy woman for most of my life.”

The paramedics came down the dock with a bed and climbed into the boat. Ida Belle jumped back on the dock to get out of the way. The paramedics rolled Walter on his side and slid the backboard under him, then rolled him back onto it and lifted him onto the dock. A couple minutes later, he was in the helicopter, Ida Belle sitting beside him, and they were off.
 

“We’ll meet you at the hospital,” I shouted as the helicopter took off.

“Um, I hate to ask”—Carter gave me a sheepish look—“but do you mind driving? I’m still not cleared, and Dr. Stewart already told me if he sees me behind the wheel, he’ll readmit me to the hospital.”

“No problem,” I said.
 

Gertie perked up. “We should ask Scooter if he knows what hit Walter…in case there’s a cut anywhere.”

Carter frowned. “I didn’t see any, but you’re right. Even a small infected cut on the head is a bad thing.”

We headed back down the dock where Scooter was unloading the fishing gear from the boat. He looked up as we approached and there was no mistaking his worried expression. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Scooter asked.

“I think he’ll be fine,” Gertie said. “Probably just need to take it easy for a couple of days.”

“I hope you’re right. It was just so strange…that explosion coming out of nowhere.”

“We were wondering if you saw what hit Walter? The doctors will want to know.”

Scooter’s eyes widened. “Crap! I completely forgot. I brought it with me, in case you needed it for that police stuff and all.”

He turned around and opened his ice chest and pulled something out, then tossed it on the dock. Gertie shrieked and skipped backward right off the dock and into the bayou. Deputy Breaux whipped around and reached down to help Gertie back onto the pier.

Carter and I leaned over Scooter’s offering, then looked at each other.

“Walter was knocked unconscious by a flying leg?” I asked.

Carter stared. “That’s what it looks like.”

“Is anything ever normal in this town?”

Deputy Breaux stepped up beside me and the blood drained from his face. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.”
 

Carter reached over and grabbed the leg, lifting it up to his face. He took a sniff, then blanched. The smell wafted my direction and I covered my nose and mouth with my hand. Deputy Breaux covered his nose with his arm and took several steps back.

“It smells like it’s made of stale cat urine,” I said.

Carter tossed the leg back onto the dock and turned his head to take in a breath. “Yeah. Which is even worse news than before.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Do you know what smells like cat urine?” Carter asked.

“Old Miss Johnson’s house,” Deputy Breaux said, “but she’s got about a hundred cats and both of her legs. I saw her earlier downtown.”

Gertie rolled over on the dock and struggled to her feet, sending a spray of water onto us. “Meth labs,” she said.

Deputy Breaux uttered a strangled cry. “No way!”

Carter stared at her. “How do you know that?”

“Wikipedia,” she said. “There’s so much information on the Internet. It’s downright amazing, and somewhat disturbing in a lot of cases.”

“Yes, the Internet is full of things that help criminals,” Carter agreed, “but why were you looking up meth labs? You know what, never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”

I looked down at the leg. “A meth lab? In Sinful?”

Gertie nodded. “And with Nelson as sheriff, they could be selling the stuff on Main Street and he wouldn’t catch them.” She shot me a look and I struggled to keep my expression the same. I knew exactly what she was suggesting—that with Carter out of commission, there was no one left to keep Sinful safe.