Marsh Mystics (Miss Fortune Mysteries #30)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

At the sound of metal clanking, I halfway opened one eye to see why my afternoon hammock nap was being interrupted.

A couple minutes ago, I’d heard footsteps walking across the lawn and knew it was Carter.

That wasn’t exactly a spectacular feat as he wasn’t trying to sneak, but recognizing his exact footfall among the number of people who might come tromping into my backyard probably wasn’t attributable to most people.

And while I could have ignored his letting the back door slam and his heavy-footed walk, the metal clanking was disrupting my sleep.

And since the muttering had started up as well, I knew peace was not likely to be restored anytime soon.

Deciding the situation needed serious assessment, I lifted my head and opened both eyes.

If he only had a couple tools, the situation might call merely for earbuds and a short waiting period.

The small toolbox probably indicated a relocation inside until he was done swearing and banging.

When I caught sight of the small toolbox in the bottom of the boat, I frowned.

Then I glanced back at the house and realized he’d wheeled his mammoth toolbox from inside the garage and it was now sitting next to the deck.

Good Lord, this might call for listing the house and leaving in the middle of the night.

Carter rarely stayed frustrated for a long time, but if that giant toolbox was any indication, he was in this one for the long haul.

“Problem?” I asked.

“Sorry. Was I too loud?”

I raised one eyebrow and he sighed. Not as if he hadn’t already known the answer.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the afternoon anyway?” he asked. “I figured you’d be off with Trouble 1 and Trouble 2.”

“Gertie and Ronald are at that new spa retreat that opened in Mudbug. They’re having a restorative five days of contemplation and yoga.”

“And you and Ida Belle didn’t want to go? Shocking.”

“My restoration consists of a shower and a beer. And taking time to contemplate things usually gets you killed.”

“It scares me just a little that I almost agree with that. What about the yoga part?” he asked, continuing to goad me. “That’s supposed to be great for physical fitness, balance, flexibility, and all.”

In one fluid move, I flipped forward and out of the hammock while pulling my knife out of my pocket and launching it directly at his hand, which was on the side of the boat. He yanked it back just before the knife bounced off the metal and onto the ground.

“I’m good,” I said and climbed back into the hammock.

He shook his head. “What if I hadn’t moved my hand in time?”

“Then I would have to cook the steaks tonight, given that it was your right hand.”

“Sometimes you scare me.”

I grinned. “You asked me to marry you… Which one of us should have our sanity called into question?”

“All men proposing should have their sanity called into question. Just some more than others.”

“Touché. Want to go shoot some stuff?”

It always made me feel better.

“No. It’s illegal to shoot the things I’ve got issue with.”

“Hmmmm. Got some names?”

“We can start with Celia.”

“That’s a good place to start…or finish. You know if you were tried locally, a jury would probably let you off.”

“Unfortunately, she’s already set the wheels in motion, so killing her now would be obvious and futile.”

“What has she done?”

“She’s convinced the state police to conduct an audit of the sheriff’s department.”

“Let me guess—she started this campaign after you proposed and moved in with me.”

“You got it.”

I sighed. “What is it she’s claiming you’re guilty of? Having a life? Not being a miserable excuse for a human being?”

“Providing civilians with information concerning open police investigations. And ignoring complaints of illegal activity due to my personal connections with the perpetrators.”

“So me, Gertie, and Ida Belle.”

He nodded.

“But we haven’t done anything illegal.”

He stared at me.

“Let me rephrase that,” I said. “The illegal things we’ve done are not known to Celia. Or you for that matter. I’m dedicated to keeping things from you for your own good, and lying is definitely my strong suit. Well, maybe after killing people.”

“And I appreciate your conviction, but Celia is certain that I’m the only thing standing in the way of the three of you rotting in a jail cell.”

I shrugged. “Let them look. I’ve been watched by the CIA, FBI, DEA, Mossad, MI6, a creepy neighbor with a weird obsession back in DC, and more terrorists than I can count. If they couldn’t get anything on me, I hardly think the state police are going to come up with anything.”

“I don’t either, but that’s not the point. An audit alone can call my competence and loyalty into question.”

“No one who knows you would question your loyalty or competence.”

“That gets me the vote of most of Sinful, but the sheriff’s territory is a lot bigger than that. Plenty of people keep to themselves and you know that bad news outpaces good news every time.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nothing besides what you’re already doing—stay under the radar and keep me out of it,” he said, and went back to banging.

I nodded as my cell phone rang. I checked the display and held in a sigh. Time to put that promise into action. It was Gertie.

“I thought you were ditching your cell phone to decompress at that retreat,” I said as I answered.

“A woman’s dead.”

“Did you kill her?”

The banging stopped.

“No. I didn’t kill her,” Gertie said.

“Is the dead person someone I like? Because I’m totally up for a vengeance thing.”

Carter stared at me in dismay.

“You don’t know her,” Gertie said.

“Did someone I like kill her? Is this a tarp-and-shovels call or one to work-up-alibis?”

Carter dropped his hammer and stalked off.

“It looks like a suicide.”

“Then why are you calling me? My skill set has zero to contribute to a suicide situation.”

“Because something isn’t right, and no one ferrets out when something stinks better than you.”

“Hmmmmm. I’ll grab Ida Belle and head out there. Since there’s a body, I assume Carter will be dispatched for duty as well. You’ll have to claim you called me to come get you and Ronald because you’re distraught or something.”

“Just to have you show up at the retreat?”

“There’s a new Celia thing.” I hopped out of the hammock and headed for the house.

“Say no more. And I wouldn’t be lying anyway. Ronald is having a complete meltdown. You’d think he’s never been close to a dead body before—outside of a funeral, I mean.”

“Maybe he hasn’t.”

“He lives next door to you.”

“I try not to kill people here, and I definitely don’t invite Ronald over to judge my efficiency or their wardrobe when I do.”

“Just hurry. All that Zen crap disappears completely when a corpse turns up. People are getting paranoid. I need you to get a read on this before the cops secure it and we’re all sent packing.”

“On it.”

Carter wasn’t in the house when I headed inside, but I saw a sticky note next to my keys on the kitchen table.

Caught a situation. Lie low.

I shook my head, knowing good and well his ‘situation’ was what I was about to drive into.

I’m certain he knew it too, hence the ‘lie low’ comment.

Fortunately, I also knew that he knew I was going to ignore it completely.

And since that was entirely too much inferred thought in a matter of seconds, I grabbed my keys and hurried out to my Jeep, calling Ida Belle on the way.

Ida Belle was at the curb when I pulled up, looking as though she’d been waiting there all day.

She was dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a tank top with a short-sleeved flannel shirt layered over it.

I caught a glimpse of her nine at her waist as she climbed in and knew that bulge in her right boot held a backup piece.

“How do you manage to get outfitted for a case in less than a minute?” I asked.

She stared at me, obviously confused. “I was working on my boat engine. How else are you supposed to dress for that?”

“You were working on your boat engine with two pieces strapped?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

I shrugged. Given that I showered with my gun on the shampoo ledge, it was a valid point.

“So what’s Gertie done now?” she asked.

“Hopefully nothing, since there’s a dead woman.”

I filled her in on the call and the Celia situation and she shook her head.

“That’s not a lot of information. She didn’t even tell you who died.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It might have been someone I liked.”

“At a yoga retreat?”

“Touché. But Gertie and Ronald are there.”

“And you like them?”

She grinned. “You’re on fire this morning. I’ll go with ‘most days.’”

“Well, Gertie didn’t sound all that upset, so I’m going with it’s not someone the two of you were close to. She had potential-case voice.”

“So excited, but it’s too rude to phrase it that way since someone died.”

“Ronald is upset, if that makes a difference.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “Ronald is upset if you don’t moisturize enough or wear summer plaids after Labor Day.”

“Well, it’s a thirty-minute drive to the retreat, so give me the background on the retreat location, the owner…whatever I need to know to frame what we’re headed into.”

“The owner is Eleanor Matte-Stout, midforties, born and raised in Mudbug and never left. She has one sibling a year younger. Mildred went off to college and never came back until this past April. Their mother died three months earlier and Eleanor’s husband just a week before their mother.”

“That’s a lot of death in one family in a short time.”

“It’s the South. Their mother, Dora, had been ill for a long time, but I heard doctors couldn’t figure it out. Eleanor had taken on her care. Eleanor’s husband, Jasper, died when his boat engine exploded. Eleanor said she’d been on him to make the repairs, but he didn’t listen.”

“That ‘South’ thing makes more sense now. What about their father?”

“Been six feet under for ten years at least.”