Chapter 10 #2
I wasn’t about to tell Carter the truth.
If he knew we were butting into his investigation, he’d clear out the drunks and lock us up until he caught the poacher.
And with Celia tying his hands at every opportunity, that could be a long visit on a hard cot.
But Gertie was family and if we could at least get her in, we could coach her through the questions by phone.
“Even if I wanted to let her in here, I can’t,” Carter said. “Celia is parked outside my front door and she’s got one of her minions parked outside the back. Unless she can teleport, no one gets in unless it’s official police business.”
“Can’t you shoot Celia?” I asked. “It would be a community service.”
He let out a single laugh. “Don’t tempt me. Sorry, but I can’t help Gertie. Tell her they’re fine, and I’ll go ask Quincy if he needs her to handle anything at his house while he’s here.”
“Okay. Thanks for that.”
I hung up the phone and filled them in.
“I guess Carter said no to your shooting request?” Gertie asked.
“Maybe next time,” I said.
“I could get one of you in,” Walter said. “But getting out would be a problem.”
I perked up. I’d gotten out of some of the deadliest places in the world, and that didn’t even include the Swamp Bar.
“Getting out of the building isn’t the problem,” I said. “And once I’m outside the building, they’d have to catch me.”
“My money is on Fortune in a footrace,” Gertie said. “We’ve been eating banana pudding on Sundays ever since she got here.”
“And if it’s Carter who’s chasing her?” Ida Belle pointed out.
“She’s been eluding Carter since she got here as well,” Gertie said. “My money’s still on Fortune.”
“Exactly how would you get me inside?” I asked.
“Let me show you,” he said, and waved us to the door of the stockroom.
Once inside, he pointed to a medium-sized wooden crate.
“It’s small, but you’d fit in it okay. I can pretend to be making a delivery to Carter and drop you off right in the break room.
Given that Quincy and Petey are in the storeroom, that’s probably where he’d have me leave it. ”
“Wouldn’t Carter know whether or not he’s ordered supplies?” Ida Belle said.
“Maybe,” Walter said, “but he’s distracted right now, and even if he thought my old mind had screwed up, he wouldn’t take time out from the rest of what he’s got going on to set me straight.”
Gertie pulled the top off the crate and peered inside. “I could fit in here.”
“If we folded you in half,” Ida Belle said. “But then you’d never get out, and Walter might not be able to stick around to help. It’s not like jumping out of a birthday cake. Fortune will have to push the top off that crate and then do some serious yoga to get out of there.”
“Besides,” I added, “Quincy and Petey are in the storeroom, which I figure Carter has locked. So the only way in is through the ceiling.”
“What’s the smallest space you’ve ever been in?” Gertie asked me.
“Culvert, air ventilation system, steamer trunk, and once, an oven.”
All three of them stared at me.
“You win,” Gertie said, “and when we have time, I want to hear the oven story.”
Walter tipped the crate over and dumped a bunch of shredded paper out, leaving a bit of a cushion in the bottom. “That should help the body parts a little,” he said.
I nodded. “And with sound deadening.”
He tilted the crate back up and I climbed in, tucked myself into fetal position, arms up so that I could break off the top when the time came. Walter slid the top of the crate on and looked down at me before the last sliver of light disappeared.
“You sure you’re okay in there?” he asked.
“This is the most rest I’ve gotten all day.”
He grinned and slid the top in place. I heard him tapping the corners, probably securing the top with small nails, then the crate tilted to one side and I heard the squeaking wheels of a dolly as he slid it underneath.
“You two mind the store while I’m gone,” Walter said as he rolled me out of the stockroom.
“See if you can get anything else out of Carter while you’re there,” Ida Belle said.
“And try to run over Celia’s foot with the dolly,” Gertie said.
I heard the bells from the front door jangle and the crate bumped along a bit, then stopped and went level. Then I heard Celia.
“Where do you think you’re going with that?” she asked.
“I’m going about my business,” Walter said, “and I suggest you do the same.”
“Do you have a copy of the order for this delivery?” Celia asked.
“No, but I’ll tell you what I do have—limited patience. If you don’t get out of my way, I’m running right over those ugly shoes with this dolly. When you fall down, I might go to work on the other end.”
I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. Celia must have decided she didn’t have a leg to stand on, or she was afraid of losing the leg to Walter’s dolly. Either way, we started bumping again, then I heard a door open.
Walter called out. “Got that supply delivery for you.”
“I don’t remember an order,” Carter said.
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me to,” Walter said. “Hold that door open so I can bring this in.”
“Let me get it,” Carter said.
“No need,” Walter said. “It’s not heavy. Just bulky.”
“Must be paper products,” Carter said, “but I swear I stocked up on paper towels and toilet paper a couple weeks ago.”
“So?” Walter said. “Not like it’s going to go to waste. Well, technically, I guess some of it will go to waste.” He laughed. “I’ll leave it in the break room.”
“That’s fine. Can you manage the door? I’ve got a situation I’m trying to deal with.”
“I saw your situation. If I’d been carting something heavier, I might have accidentally bumped into her.”
“No use punishing a perfectly good crate,” Carter said. “Thanks, Walter.”
The bumping ceased and the crate began to glide.
Based on the number of turns we’d made, I figured we were in the hallway going toward the break room.
We stopped again and I heard a door open, then the crate moved once more then went flat.
I heard a muffled yell and strained, trying to make out what was going on.
“That’s Carter calling for me,” Walter said. “I was hoping to help you out of there.”
“Go,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
I heard the break room door open and close again, then waited and listened to make sure no one else was nearby.
As certain as I was ever going to be, I thrust myself up, pushing the top off the crate with my forearms. It flew straight up in the air.
I popped up and grabbed it as it began to descend, then sat it quietly next to the crate as I climbed out.
I took a couple seconds to position the top back in place, pushing the finishing nails back into the original holes, then crept to the door and opened it a crack.
The hallway was empty, and I couldn’t hear anyone talking.
Either Walter had left the building, or they were being very quiet.
I didn’t think the second option likely.
Walter would find a reason to make noise just for my benefit.
I slipped out of the break room and hurried to the storeroom to try the door, but it was locked, just as I’d suspected.
I didn’t want to risk checking the front office to see if Carter was there, so I went back into the break room and climbed on top of the kitchen counter, then pushed one of the ceiling tiles to the side.
I jumped up and grabbed the wall, pulling myself up onto the rafters, then slid the tile back in place.
I crawled along the rafter until I got to where I thought the storeroom would be and lifted one of the ceiling tiles.
I saw Quincy sitting in a chair off to my left, a young man sitting on the floor beside him. I pushed the tile to the side and stuck my head out of the ceiling.
“Quincy,” I said in a loud whisper.
Quincy looked back and forth around the room.
“Up here,” I said.
He glanced up, and his eyes widened when he saw me.
“What in the world are you doing up there?” he asked.
“It’s a long story, but I need to talk to Petey. I’m coming down.”
I pushed the panel all the way over, then lay across the rafter and flipped over it into the storeroom, dropping onto a table in the middle of the room. Petey jumped up from the floor and pointed. He was starting to yell when Quincy put his hand over the boy’s mouth.
“She’s a friend, Petey,” Quincy said as he slowly removed his hand from Petey’s mouth. “Don’t be scared.”
Petey stared at me for a while, then looked up at the ceiling. “Angel,” he whispered.
It took me a minute to realize he thought I was an angel because I’d come from above.
“Sort of,” Quincy said, and smiled.
“That’s probably the first and last time someone calls me that,” I said.
“That was some kind of move,” Quincy said.
“I was a gymnast when I was young.”
Quincy still looked confused but appeared too stressed to focus on the strangeness of the situation. “You said you needed to talk to Petey?” he asked.
“Yes. We tried to get in here the regular way, but Celia and her minions are blocking access to the sheriff’s department, so I had to sneak in. But that’s not important. Let me tell you what we’ve found out.”
I filled him in on our talk with Ramona, what Walter told us about the evidence, and our theory that Petey had seen the poacher.
Quincy ran one hand over his head and plopped back down in the chair. “It’s all so fantastic, but at the same time, it’s the only thing that makes sense. My God, what if he’d simply decided to…” Quincy looked over at Petey, then back at me. “Instead of…”
I nodded. The poacher was taking a risk leaving an eyewitness, but then Petey wouldn’t necessarily be considered reliable, and murder was a way bigger deal than poaching.
It would take someone seriously deranged or someone who was certain they’d get away with it to kill Petey.
Still, Quincy had a point. It wasn’t like deranged hadn’t paid a visit to Sinful a time or two before, and the criminal element had a tendency to react first and think about it later or not at all.
Quincy leaned over to look at Petey, who’d sunk back down into a squatting position on the sleeping bag. “Did you see someone in the bayou hurting alligators?”
Petey’s eyes widened and he shook his head. Quincy looked up at me and mouthed, “He’s lying.”
I nodded. I didn’t have to be Petey’s parent to see that he was scared.
“If you saw someone hurt the alligators,” Quincy said, “I need you to tell me. They can’t hurt you, Petey. I won’t let them.”
Petey shook his head and waved his hands around the room.
“He thinks the bad guy put him in here,” Quincy said.
It wasn’t exactly untrue. It just wasn’t true in the way Petey imagined it.
Quincy put his hands on Petey’s shoulders. “We are here because the police think you hurt the alligators. Do you understand?”
“No!” Petey cried out.
“I know you didn’t do it,” Quincy said, “but the police think you did. If you tell the police who did it, they’ll let you out of here and go find the bad guy.”
Quincy glanced back at me when he said that last sentence, and I could tell that it killed him to tell his son that half-truth, but if we could get a name out of him, then hopefully, it wouldn’t be hard to prove.
Petey stared at Quincy for a bit, and I started to think he was going to offer up a name, but then he shook his head and looked down at the floor. “Alligators bad.”
Quincy sighed and looked up at me. “He thinks the poacher is doing a good thing.”
Petey tucked his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and started humming.
“He won’t talk anymore,” Quincy said. “Not when he’s like this. He goes somewhere else when he’s like this.”
“But you think he saw something?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’ll keep trying to get it out of him. If we weren’t locked up in this place, it would be easier, but with him already on edge…he’s a lot harder to reach when he’s this way.”
“Quincy!” Carter’s voice sounded outside the door. “I heard someone yell. You guys all right in there?”