One Night in the Bayou Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Caroline Mickelson

  All rights reserved.

  This story is based on a series created by Jana DeLeon. The author of this story has the contractual rights to create stories using the Miss Fortune world. Any unauthorized use of the Miss Fortune world for story creation is a violation of copyright law.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author and the publisher, J&R Fan Fiction, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  A Note from Caroline

  Chapter One

  "SANGRIA SUNSET! THIS is my all-time favorite. Oh, and look at this one, I love this color too." I lifted a bottle of nail polish from the box on the counter in front of me and turned it upside down so I could read the name of the shade. "Parisian Pink. How perfect." I held the bottle next to my fingernails and nodded approvingly. The demure shade of pink was genteel, ladylike, refined. Essentially, it was everything I aspired to be. I smiled at Walter. "Thank you for placing this special order for me, Mr. LeBlanc."

  "Call me Walter, please," the owner of Walter's General Store, who was also the uncle of Sinful, Louisiana's, Deputy Sheriff Carter LeBlanc, nodded his head. "I'm glad you're satisfied, young lady. Why don't you finish taking a look through your order and make sure everything you need for your camping trip is here."

  "We're not going camping," I corrected him. "We're going glamping."

  "Glamping?" Walter's brow knit in confusion. "I don't follow."

  "Lucky you." My Aunt Ida Belle tossed a package of beef jerky onto the counter. "Give me plain old "sleeping in a tent, cooking over a fire" style camping over this new fangled glamour camping crap any day."

  "Now, Aunt Ida Belle, you agreed that you were going to keep an open mind," I reminded her. I hadn't known my great-aunt for very long, less than two weeks actually, but it was obvious to anyone with a functioning set of eyeballs that she wasn't a woman who coveted luxury.

  We might well be related by blood, but we were as different as night and day. Take the way we were dressed as the perfect example. Aunt Ida Belle had on a pair of well-worn denim jeans that were probably manufactured in the early nineties, a faded Coors beer t-shirt, and a pair of boots that would have looked far more appropriate on a construction site than on the feet of a woman her age. By contrast, I wore a white cotton blouse with cap sleeves, a multi-colored floral cotton skirt, and a pair of low-heeled lemon yellow sandals.

  Aunt Ida Belle and her friends had not only welcomed me upon my arrival in Sinful, they'd managed to save my life when I'd been kidnapped by members of the Russian mob. This was no small thing, and I was more grateful than I could ever say.

  "So you're Miss Prim and Proper, eh?" Walter asked.

  I looked up and smiled. He seemed like such a pleasant man, by far the most normal person I'd met in this town. "That's right, I am. At least as long as my job at the newspaper holds out."

  "You need to get back to Boston in a real hurry then?"

  "Not just yet," I answered. "My editor said he'd run some of my old columns until I send him some new ones. He suggested I write a series on Southern manners."

  "Well, here's your first tip," Walter said, his eyes darting over to where my aunt was looking at some fishing tackle. "Keeping your elders waiting isn't considered very polite in southern society." When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  "Duly noted, Walter. Thank you." I turned my attention back to the box of supplies. The box held a new makeup kit, several bottles of nail polish, fluffy hand towels, facial masks, and a set of body lotions from my favorite Swiss spa. "It looks like everything is here. Oh, except for the champagne flutes I ordered."

  "Champagne?" Aunt Ida Belle crossed over to the counter and looked between Walter and me with a disgusted expression on her face. "I don't know which one of you is more crazy. You, Stephanie, for thinking that Gertie, Fortune, and I are up for this level of nonsense, or you, Walter, for setting me up like this. You know I don't cotton with all this girly stuff."

  I watched as an amused smile spread across Walter's lined face. Ah, so it was true. Gertie had filled me in on his unrequited feelings for my aunt, but I wasn't sure how fanciful she was being. Now I could quite clearly see a great tenderness in the way he looked at her. I didn't try to hide my smile.

  Maybe this whole glamping adventure was going to be more productive than I thought. We could give Aunt Ida Belle a makeover and then invite Walter over for a candlelit dinner.

  "I have your glasses packed up with the wines you ordered," Walter said. "I'll have Scooter deliver it along with your food order in about an hour. That okay?"

  I opened my mouth to express my gratitude, but my aunt cut me off.

  "No, it's not okay. This is about the most fool thing I've ever been talked into. Wine glasses on a camping trip?" She narrowed her eyes. "And what's this about food? What's wrong with taking some hot dogs and roasting them over a fire, huh?"

  "Nothing is wrong with hot dogs," I hurried to assure her. The last thing I wanted to do was get this trip off on the wrong foot. "You've all been so warm and welcoming to me since I arrived here in Sinful that I wanted to do something special for you."

  Walter's eyes twinkled. "I saw some smoked oysters in your box of goodies. You'll like that, won't you, Ida Belle?"

  She groaned. "Just shoot me now."

  And then, realizing how ironic her word choice was, her eyes met mine and an unspoken understanding passed between us. A shooting, namely mine, was exactly what we were trying to avoid. I'd been walking around Sinful with an invisible target on my back.

  The Russian mob, specifically the Sidorov family, was after me. Based on a tip from an organized crime unit back in Boston, we had every reason to believe that this was the weekend that Boris Sidorov planned to avenge his son's death by taking my life. I reached up and touched my pearl necklace for comfort. As brave a face as I was attempting to put on, I was more than a little scared, so I welcomed the chance to distract myself with a girls-only glamping trip. Although I knew my companions were reluctant participants, I also knew they were willing body guards. And I was grateful. Deeply and desperately grateful.

  "Well, let's work on my order now," Aunt Ida Belle said. "I want some corn chips and cheese dip to go with that jerky. Let's see, how about a twelve pack of beer and some ear plugs to drown out Gertie's snores." She looked around the store as if she was taking a silent inventory of what she'd need for our weekend away. "That ought to about do it, Walter." She opened up her wallet and drew out a small wad of bills, which she handed over to him.

  He counted them out but she'd given him too much. He held out a couple of twenties, but she waved them away.

  "Tell you what, Walter," she said, intentionally not meeting my gaze, "why don't you do me a favor and throw a couple of extra rounds of ammo in that box for me?"

  AS GERTIE'S BEAT-UP, rusted-out old Cadillac bumped over a rutted road somewhere deep in the Louisiana Bayou, I made a mental note to add a chauffeured limousine to my list of glamping must haves for our next trip. During my short time in Sinful, I'd grown accustomed to what I called "Gertie's Wild Rides", but now she was giving speed demon a whole new meaning. As the Caddy hit a rut, I bounced up and hit my head against the roof of the car.
Ouch. Glamping and concussions, not a good mix.

  "No complaining allowed," Gertie called out in a pre-emptive effort to forestall our inevitable protests. "Focus on the bright side, at least no one's riding in the trunk. They'd have fallen out a mile back."

  I looked over at Fortune, who sat beside me in the back seat. "What is she talking about?"

  "You don't want to know." Her smile was rueful. "Seriously."

  If I could tell you how many times I'd heard that since I'd arrived in town, you wouldn't believe me. It was as if Aunt Ida Belle, Gertie, and Fortune had a shared understanding of, well, just about everything that happened in Sinful. The dynamic between my aunt and Gertie, I understood. They'd been friends since before forever. Their relationship to Fortune was a little more difficult to decipher.

  Fortune, aka Sandy Sue Morrow, was the niece of a close friend of theirs who had recently passed away. Fortune, who hadn't arrived much before I had, was spending the summer in Sinful cataloguing her aunt's estate. Which, I figured, she must do in the middle of the night, because I'd never seen her actually work on the massive project. But then, this discrepancy shouldn't surprise me. Fortune was nothing if not a contradiction in terms.

  Fortune was blond with bright blue eyes, beautiful skin, and a trim, athletic figure, so it was easy to believe that she was the former beauty queen she claimed to be. But there was another side to her personality that made me wonder what I wasn't being told about her. She was watchful, wary, and reactive, none of which appeared to concern my aunt and Gertie. Quite the contrary, actually. While they weren't overly obvious about it, I sensed their desire to protect her.

  From just what, I didn't know. And truthfully, it wasn't any of my business. If anything, I should take a page out of Fortune's book and sleep with one eye open too.

  I was shaken from my reverie when Gertie slammed on the brakes and we all pitched forward and then backward in our seats. The seatbelt was no match for Gertie's driving.

  "We're here," she called out. "All in one piece, I'll point out."

  "No thanks to you," Aunt Ida Belle grumbled. "Your driving is so far beyond insane that there are no words to describe it."

  Gertie turned in her seat, an "oh, yeah?" expression clear on her wrinkled face. "If that's true, then why am I the one who's always driving?"

  "Because you're the one who needs the most practice," my aunt shot back.

  Fortune caught my gaze and rolled her eyes. I shared the sentiment in spades.

  I reached for the door handle. "Well, since we're here, let's start unloading our glamping goodies."

  "Hold up," Fortune said. "Let me just take a quick peek around first." Without waiting for anyone to agree or argue, she slid out of the car and approached what was to be our home away from home for the next few days.

  I craned my neck to watch as she approached the cabin. Although it was late afternoon, there was plenty of light left to see by. A quick glance around assured me that my instincts were correct. We were smack out in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana. The cabin in front of us, halfway between semi-disrepair and somewhat maintained, was the only building of any sort in view.

  "Have you been here before?" I asked.

  Gertie and Ida Belle exchanged a quick look before my aunt answered me. "No."

  I resisted the urge to ask more questions because I knew that when Aunt Ida Belle was acting this circumspect, no number of questions would elicit any further information. I'd have to wait and see. I turned my attention back to Fortune, who was now mounting the front porch steps. My eyes widened as I watched her pull a gun from her waistband. She looked in each of the cabin's front windows and then eased open the door, all the while standing with her back to the wall like I'd seen on TV cop shows. I leaned forward. "What's she doing?"

  "Picking daisies," Gertie said. "What does it look like she's doing?"

  I bit the inside of my cheek. It wasn't like her to snap. If fun-loving, easy-going, super-crazy Gertie was on edge, something must be up. I forced myself to remain quiet.

  Just a few minutes later Fortune bounded down the cabin steps and over to the car. She leaned down and looked through the driver's side window. "All clear, let's unpack."

  And so we did. As we carried bags, hampers, and boxes in, I marveled at how we'd managed to fit so much in the Cadillac. Once everything was inside, I managed not to pepper my companions with questions. Instead I took a good look around. To my relief, the cabin was clean. Simple but tidy. Quite obviously, someone had been in to clean before our arrival. Buoyed by this knowledge, I set about turning the cabin into a luxurious sanctuary.

  I insisted that the others have a seat and a cold drink while I worked. A proper hostess would do no less. As I bustled about, I could feel their eyes on me, but that didn't deter me. I'd gone to great lengths to make my plans, and I enjoyed watching my decorative vision unfold.

  "What's all the pink crap you've got over the windows?" Aunt Ida Belle demanded. "And why in the Lord Almighty's name are you putting it up? The cabin already has curtains."

  So it did. Ugly ones. I surveyed my handiwork before answering. "I think the pink tulle adds a feminine touch."

  "It's touched alright," Gertie said.

  "Are you sure you wouldn't like some help?" Fortune asked.

  I smiled my thanks but shook my head. I couldn't be sure, but my gut instinct told me that interior design wasn't her forte. "I'm almost done."

  Not ten minutes later, I set the last crystal candlestick in place on the cabbage rose covered table cloth I'd brought with me. I poured myself a glass of white wine and joined the others.

  "It looks real...nice."

  "Thank you, Aunt Ida Belle." I ignored the skepticism in her voice and acted like she'd complimented me. In her own roundabout way, I'm sure she meant to. "Now, before we begin our pampering, I've just one question for you all." I made eye contact with each of them in turn before I asked what had been on my mind ever since we'd arrived. "Why are the three of you acting like we're sitting ducks on the first day of hunting season?"

  Chapter Two

  MUCH AS I EXPECTED, all three of my companions issued denials that anything was wrong. They ranged from dismissive (Aunt Ida Belle), to confused (Gertie), to evasive (classic Fortune). I sat quietly through their refutations, and only once they'd grown collectively silent did I try again. "How about the truth this time?" I focused my attention on my aunt. "Why don't you start first, Aunt Ida Belle?"

  Her frown was so ferocious that I swear it was etching a new wrinkle onto her face in real time. "I thought we were here to do girly stuff? So let's crack out that nail polish and get to gussying ourselves up." All of this was delivered without her meeting my gaze head-on, which, knowing my aunt, made her evasion tantamount to a full confession.

  I was right. Something was going on.

  "Fortune?" I shifted so I could better see her. "Why would my aunt ask Walter to add a few rounds of ammunition to her order?"

  Fortune shrugged. "Maybe there was a sale on it? How should I know?"

  I shook my head. Why did I bother? Very soon after I met her, I realized the word elusive could well be spelled F-o-r-t-u-n-e. But Gertie was generally an easier nut to crack, so I turned my attention to her. "Gertie? How about you tell me why everyone's so on edge?"

  Her eyes widened and half a dozen expressions flitted across her face as I watched her scramble for something to throw me off track.

  "Okay, here's the truth," she began in what I sensed was the wind-up to a whopper of a lie. "We're all nervous about this mani-pedi thing. We don't have your experience dolling ourselves up. Right girls?" She paused expectantly, but neither Aunt Ida Belle or Fortune rushed in to save her from the verbal quicksand she was floundering around in. "We're simple country girls who don't have your big city ways."

  I cocked my head to the side. "Really? Fortune too? Because I've heard from a few people that she was a beauty queen with an extensive list of pageant wins to her name before she became a libr
arian. It's hard to believe that she doesn't know her way around an eye shadow palette."

  No one said another word in her own defense. I resisted the urge to keep talking, knowing that I'd learn more if I waited them out. But talk about an uncomfortable silence. It was about as awkward as being trapped in an elevator with strangers at a nudist colony.

  Just as I'd expected, Gertie cracked first. "For cryin' out loud, Ida Belle, just tell her. Otherwise she's just going to sit and stare at us like we're in a lineup. I'm too old to waste this much time."

  "Go ahead, Aunt Ida Belle," I prompted her. It didn't escape my notice that she shot a quick glance in Fortune's direction. Fortune's nod was almost imperceptible. Almost.

  "Oh, all right. Here's the deal. Carter shared with us that he got a tip from an organized crime task force in Boston that Boris Sidorov is on the move. Heading south."

  South. Toward me. I shivered.

  "Now, Stephanie, I need you to stay calm," my aunt continued. "Carter merely suggested that if we were going to take a little vacation, this weekend was as good a time as any. Just in case."

  I sat back while her words swirled around in my brain. This was a shock—yet it wasn't. We all knew that the Sidorovs were going to try to avenge Misha's death. Never mind the fact that I didn't kill him. It was Boris' oldest son Vladimir who'd done the dirty deed. He was in custody awaiting a murder trial. How safe he was from his father's wrath, I didn't know. Nor did I care. It was my neck I was interested in saving. I reached up and touched my beloved pearl necklace.

  "Say something, child."

  The worry in Aunt Ida Belle's voice did nothing to make me feel better. Neither did the grave look on Fortune's face. "I guess I'm not surprised."

  Fortune nodded. "No, we knew Boris would want revenge. Maybe it's a good thing that he's making a move so we don't just have to sit and wait."

  Which brought us right back to my earlier assertion that we were sitting ducks. I glanced toward the pink tulle covered windows. Daylight was gone and night had settled in. Somehow that did little to comfort me. I closed my eyes for just a moment in an effort to center myself. A fit of hysteria, however tempting, was not going to be of any help. It certainly wouldn't be well-received by my companions. These women were tough. Reliable. I didn't know how or why they'd become that way, but I didn't want to be the weak link in the chain.