The Miss Fortune Series: Summer in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Miss Prim & Proper Mystery Book 1) Read online

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  Summer in the Bayou

  A Miss Fortune Novella

  Caroline Mickelson

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Newsletter

  Chapter One

  "Next stop, Sinful." The bus driver's voice rang through the crowded bus. "Anyone crazy enough to want to get off here?"

  A wave of laughter rippled through the bus. Clearly the joke was something only my fellow passengers would understand. Seeing as I was from Boston, and had never been further south than Philadelphia, the humor was lost on me.

  Encouraged by the response to his little joke, the bus driver looked up into his rear-view mirror and grinned. "Because I'm not crazy enough to stop here if I don't have to."

  I stood up, remembering at the last minute to duck so I didn't hit my head on the overhead luggage racks. "Please stop, sir," I called out, somehow managing to be heard despite two days worth of thirst and dust lodged in my throat. "Sinful is my final destination."

  A howl of laughter escaped an elderly man with a wizened face. "I hope it's not, for your sake." He grinned, exposing a mouth that lacked more than a few teeth. "You're too pretty a little filly to be facing your last stop in life."

  I forced myself to smile, despite not finding his comments the least bit humorous. The man had to be sixty to seventy years my senior at the very least. Decorum dictated that I respect the elderly. But Sinful, a place I'd never visited, couldn't possibly be a worse place to spend my time than this bus had been for the past few days.

  I'd just reached up into the overhead bin for my red vintage Samsonite suitcase when the driver slammed on the brakes. The bus came to a shuddering halt and I pitched forward, landing rather inelegantly in the lap of a gentleman who resembled a seedy Santa Claus.

  With a startled cry, I jumped to my feet and apologized profusely while he got my suitcase down for me.

  I'm Stephanie St. James, known to gentle readers of a Boston newspaper as "Miss Prim and Proper". I prided myself on my strict adherence to proper etiquette at all times.

  With as much as élan as I could muster under the circumstances, I shuffled toward the front of the bus, my suitcase thumping each seat as I passed it. Despite offering a "pardon me" and an "excuse me, please" as I moved forward, I was given nothing but the stink-eye from my fellow passengers.

  I stopped beside the driver's seat. "Thank you, sir, for ensuring our safe delivery to--"

  He reached past me and jerked the lever that opened the door. "Lady, you want to thank me? Get off my bus."

  Stunned, I lifted my chin, grabbed hold of my suitcase, and alighted. Once I had my two feet planted squarely on the ground, I turned back for one last look at the driver. Never one to end any conversation in a contentious manner, I bid him a good day. In answer, he drew the bus door shut and peeled away, leaving me standing in a whirling dervish of dust and dirt.

  I held a white lace trimmed handkerchief over my mouth as the dust settled, grateful that I was where I needed to be at long last. I didn't know much about the town I'd just arrived in, but I knew that compared to that filthy bus, Sinful was going to feel like heaven.

  ***

  I heard my great-aunt Ida Belle's voice before I saw her.

  "Lord above, I think that preppy little gal is my niece."

  Two elderly ladies and a much younger blonde materialized in front of me. "Aunt Ida Belle?" I was only ninety percent sure that the taller of the two older women was my aunt. Truth told, I'd never met her in person. But, boy oh boy, had I heard stories. Most of them so wild I knew they couldn't possibly be true.

  "Stephanie?" she said, confirming that my guess about which one she was had been correct. "Child, you're covered in dirt."

  I picked up my suitcase and headed toward the gawking trio. I could only imagine how disheveled I looked. I held out my hand to my aunt. "It's lovely to finally meet you, Aunt Ida Belle."

  Her eyes wide, she reached out and gripped my hand. "Welcome to Sinful."

  "Thank you. I appreciate you and your friends meeting my bus." I waited for her to introduce me to her companions, but when she stayed silent I turned my attention to the other woman. This senior was much shorter than my aunt, although as far as wrinkles went, the two appeared to be in a virtual tie for who had the most. I smiled brightly. "Hello, I'm Stephanie St. James."

  A wide grin stretched across her face. "I reckon we're in for a good 'ole time." She elbowed my aunt in the ribs. "Your niece looks like a cross between Mary Poppins and Jackie O."

  I looked down at my shirtwaist dress, knowing that it boasted almost as many wrinkles as the ladies in front of me did. I reached up and smoothed my hair back. "I certainly would like to freshen up."

  The younger woman held out her hand. "I'm Fortune. You'll have to pardon Gertie here. Not too many new people our age pass through Sinful." She cast a sideways glance at Gertie, who was still staring. "Let me take your bag and we'll head back to my house so you can get cleaned up. It's closer than Gertie's or your aunt's."

  I smiled my gratitude and gratefully handed her my suitcase. Despite her lack of a Louisiana accent, her gracious manner was certainly southern. "Thank you. Your hospitality is much appreciated."

  My aunt shook her head. "Well, my word, you're sure grown up, aren't you? I haven't seen your father since he was about five years old. How old is he now?"

  I tried to hide my surprise. "Daddy passed on about a year and a half ago."

  Embarrassment flitted over Ida Belle's face. "Sorry. I didn't know."

  I followed the ladies through the parking lot until we stopped in front of a Cadillac that had not only seen better days, it had probably seen better decades. My eyes traveled over the length of it. I'd wager my last five dollars that rubber bands held it together. I watched in shock as Fortune slung my suitcase in the trunk. Was that pavement I could see through the bottom of the trunk?

  "Don't worry." Fortune smiled knowingly. "The hole is too small for your luggage to fall through." She held open the rear passenger door. "Hop in and, whatever you do, hold on."

  I got into the backseat at the same time Gertie slid in the driver's seat, but I'd barely shut the door before the engine roared to life and the Cadillac peeled away from the curb, its tires squealing loud enough to wake three generations of the dead.

  "Hold on like I told you," Fortune shouted over the sound of the muffler.

  I grabbed onto the side door handle just in time. Gertie peeled around the corner as if she were driving a stunt car in an old seventi
es movie. To avoid screaming out in sheer terror, I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

  "I heard you're in some kind of trouble, Stephanie," Gertie shouted. She caught my gaze in the rear-view mirror. "Ida Bella said--"

  "Ida Belle says to keep your eyes on the road, you old fool," my aunt shouted. She shot an apologetic glance over her shoulder at me.

  I did my best to muster a reassuring smile, no easy task when traveling at ninety miles an hour down a dirt road with Louisiana size mosquitoes making a beeline for my face through the open window.

  Yes, I was in trouble. Deep trouble. And if I managed to live through Gertie's driving, I'd tell Aunt Ida Belle and her friends all about it.

  After all, I'd come to Sinful to hide. And I was going to need their help.

  Chapter Two

  "So when's the blessed event?"

  I took a dainty sip from the mason jar of sweet tea in front of me. All three women stared at me with wide eyes that reflected sheer terror. Fortune clung to the edge of the kitchen table, her knuckles white.

  In my entire twenty-four years of life, I've never had trouble keeping up with a conversation, until this one. These ladies were a whole world unto themselves, and I was still reeling from Gertie's wild car ride to Fortune's house. After I'd showered and changed into a clean black linen skirt and powder blue cashmere sweater set, and once my pearls were clasped around my neck, I'd settled down for what I'd hoped was going to be a proper tea party. But it appeared that the word "proper" wasn't one I was going to be often using to refer to these three ladies. "I'm not sure," I hedged.

  "We don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies," Gertie said.

  "And we don't particularly want to find out either," Fortune said. She shot me an apologetic glance. "No offense or anything."

  I looked to my aunt for an explanation, but she appeared to still be stuck somewhere between horrified and petrified. "Aunt Ida Belle? What are they talking about?"

  It took her three attempts before her words were coherent enough to understand. "The growing problem you've been carrying around."

  "Oh, I see. Unfortunately, it isn't going away, you're right."

  "Cousin Mabel said you've got a little trouble on your hands. Is that right?"

  I blushed. "Well, yes, but I'm not so sure it's going to stay little for long."

  My aunt emitted a sound somewhere between a low moan and a groan just before her eyes rolled back in her head.

  "She's going to faint," Fortune cried. "Gertie, do something."

  I watched in horror as Gertie grabbed a pitcher of iced tea and hurled its contents straight into Ida Belle's face.

  "What the hell did you do that for, you fool?" Aunt Ida Belle shook her head like a wet dog, sending a spray of sticky sweet tea everywhere.

  A wave of foreboding crashed over me. I'd come to Sinful to hide with my elderly maiden aunt, but suddenly I realized that things here weren't going to turn out the way I'd imagined. Yes, Aunt Ida Belle was elderly, and an old maid to boot, but she wasn't at all what I'd expected. Right now she looked more like a prickly cactus than a shrinking violet.

  We sat in a painfully awkward silence for several minutes as Ida Belle mopped her face with a wet towel while Fortune wiped down the kitchen table. Once order was restored, my aunt turned her attention to me. "Now, listen, young lady. While we're all women here, none of us has traveled the road that you're about to head down," she said, her voice stern.

  "Well, that's a relief. I wouldn't wish this mess on anyone." I took another sip of my tea, grateful that it hadn't spilled in the earlier melee. I wouldn't say no to a cucumber sandwich, but none had been offered. Frankly, I'd expected a bit more from southern hospitality but, then again, an ideal guest shouldn't expect refreshments. I turned my attention back to the conversation at hand. "It all happened so quickly. When I first met Nikolai he seemed like such a gentleman. I never expected to end up in this situation."

  "Ha!" Gertie slammed her hands on the table, causing us all to jump. "Isn't that the way men are? Tale as old as time." She shook her head so violently I was afraid it was going to fall off and roll across the room.

  "Hush," Aunt Ida Belle chided. "Let the child tell her story."

  Fortune leaned forward and looked at me, her gaze every bit as solemn as my great-aunt's. "So Nikolai is the man who's responsible for the trouble you're in?"

  I shrugged. "I think so. But it might easily be Ivan, Vladimir, or even Mikhail."

  "Stop!" Aunt Ida Belle pushed her chair away from the table and got to her feet. "I can't listen to any more of this."

  "Sit down." Fortune pointed to the recently vacated seat. "We can't run from this. And you know as well as I do that we need all the facts so we can handle whatever's going to happen."

  Aunt Ida Belle sank into her chair. "You're right. Go ahead, Stephanie. How many more men are out there who could be involved in this?"

  "Well, it's hard to be precise. But I think Sergei might be the only other one that could have been involved."

  "You think?" Gertie gave a low whistle. "You don't know for sure?"

  Again, I shrugged. "I can't be quite certain, I'm sorry. It all happened so quickly and I was enjoying myself so much that I didn't quite calculate the risks as carefully as I should have. I see that now. But it's too late to change anything."

  "So you've considered all your options?" Fortune asked, putting an especially heavy emphasis on the word "all".

  "Yes, and it seemed to me that the best way to handle the situation was to leave town and hide somewhere where no one knows me. Does that make sense?"

  All three women nodded.

  "So, cousin Mabel suggested that I look you up, Aunt Ida Belle."

  "I just bet she did, the old cow." She scowled. "But you're here now. We'll help you. Won't we, girls?"

  Gertie and Fortune nodded in unison. But neither spoke. Frankly, they looked shell-shocked.

  Not that I blamed them. The conversation was bewildering. "Thank you. I'll do my best not to be a burden."

  We sat in silence for several more minutes. The only sound in the room was my growling stomach.

  "So when's the baby due?" Gertie asked.

  "What baby?" I frowned.

  She nodded sagely. "I've heard of that. I think they call it pregnancy brain."

  "What?" And then slowly all of the strange fragments of conversation began to slot into place. "Wait, you think I'm pregnant?"

  "Aren't you?" Aunt Ida Belle asked.

  "No, of course not. Good heavens, Aunt Ida Belle, where would you get such a far- fetched notion?"

  "Well, Mabel said you were in trouble. In my day, when a girl was 'in trouble' it only meant one thing."

  "That she was knocked up," Gertie added. "So you're not? Knocked up, I mean?"

  "No!" And even if I were, I'd never use an expression as tacky as that to describe my delicate condition. I shuddered.

  "So exactly what sort of trouble are you in?" Fortune asked. "And who are those men who you were just listing?"

  "They're, well, I'm not sure how to delicately put this--"

  "We don't have time for delicate," Fortune interrupted me. "Give it to us straight up. We can't help you out if we don't know what kind of trouble you're in."

  I opened my mouth to explain but my words were cut off by the sound of shattering glass and a spray of bullets whizzing overhead.

  Chapter Three

  "Get down," Fortune yelled.

  At least, I think it was Fortune. It was hard to make out whose voice it was over the sound of my own high-pitched screams. Aunt Ida Belle grabbed my arm and shoved me under the table. When I opened my mouth to scream again, she clamped her hand over the lower half of my face.

  "Hush, child," she hissed. But it wasn't her whispered warning that silenced me. It was the sight of a gun in her free hand. My eyes widened until it felt like they were going to pop right out. Frantically, I looked at Fortune and Gertie to judge their reaction to the fact that
my aunt was brandishing a weapon like some sort of common criminal.

  But I quickly saw that if they cared at all, they'd be impressed. Her gun was almost twice the size of the ones they were holding.

  I strained against her hold on me.

  "I'll let you go, Stephanie," she whispered in my ear, "but if you so much as blink twice, you're going to be sorry. Got it?"

  I nodded, careful to only blink once. I didn't know this woman well but the intensity in her eyes and the vise-like grip she had on my wrist told me she was serious.

  "Gertie, call the police." Fortune glanced first at Aunt Ida Belle and then at me. "You both okay here?"

  "We're fine. Just be careful," Aunt Ida Belle said.

  Fortune nodded and crept out from under the table. By now the volley of bullets had let up, but who knew for how long? I opened my mouth to ask where on earth Fortune thought she was going, but one glance at my aunt made me think better of it. I could wait to find out.

  I watched Fortune crawl along the floor toward the staircase as I heard Gertie murmuring into the phone. Nothing made any sense. Why was Fortune going upstairs? And why weren't Gertie and my aunt having an attack of the vapors right about now? If this wasn't an appropriate time for one, I couldn't imagine when would be.

  The sound of shattering glass stopped, but that might have been because all of the kitchen windows had already been blown out. I wasn't about to stick my head out and count. Instead, I held my breath. Was this a cease-fire or was someone reloading? But the silence stretched on for several minutes until finally all we heard was the sound of our labored breathing.

  "Looks like they've cleared off," Gertie said. "I'm heading out."

  "Right behind you," Aunt Ida Belle said. She gave me a gentle shove and I crawled out from under the table, although I'd have preferred to stay right where I was.

  "Mind the glass. We've got more important things to do than play triage tonight." Gertie held out a hand to help me up, which I gratefully accepted. My knees were shaking as badly as my hands, we're talking Richter scale trembling. I'd have gladly plopped down on a kitchen chair, but they were all covered in shards of glass.