The Miss Fortune Series: Nearly Departed (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

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  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Jana DeLeon. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Miss Fortune Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Jana DeLeon, or their affiliates or licensors.

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  Nearly Departed

  A Miss Fortune Kindle Worlds Novella

  Written by

  Shari Hearn

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cover by Susan Coils at www.coverkicks.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  “We’re gathered here to mourn the passing of Gertie Hebert.”

  Yuck!

  I slammed my pen on the table, ripped the page from the notebook and wadded it up into the size of a golf ball. An hour and two cups of coffee and all I had to show for it was a hundred balled-up wads of drivel that filled my backpack. It didn’t matter that Gertie wasn’t really dead and the eulogy I was writing was fake. It bothered me. And I had no idea why.

  “Care for another refill, Fortune?”

  I looked up. Ally was standing by my table, coffeepot in hand. I was so engrossed in the eulogy I almost forgot I was sitting in Francine’s waiting for Ida Belle and Gertie to show up.

  “Oh, thanks,” I said, sliding my mug over to her. “I could use more caffeine.”

  Ally eyed the forest of paper wads. “How’s the eulogy coming?”

  “Just great. I have a hundred variations of ‘welcome to Gertie’s funeral.’” I rubbed my eyes. “Don’t you think this whole thing’s a little weird?”

  Ally shook her head. “Are you kidding? Gertie’s fake funerals are a Sinful tradition. And they’re fun. She always hires the best entertainment. Last year it was a magician who sawed her in half while she was lying in her coffin. This year Lady Lamé and Her Divas from Down Under are headlining. They’re guys, by the way.”

  “No kidding,” I said, tapping my pen on the notepad.

  Ally shrugged and poured my coffee. “I think everyone should have a fake funeral. Why wait till you’re dead and you can’t hear all the good things people say about you?”

  The bells jangled above the door. A man stepped inside.

  Just over six foot. Early forties. Blonde hair sticking out from under his Sinful Sluggers baseball cap. Hates Yankees. Threat level: High.

  Ally pointed toward a table near the kitchen. “Take the two-top in the back, Fred. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  He glanced at the two-top, then at me. “Why does the Yankee get to have a table for four by the window and I get stuck in the hinterland?” he asked.

  “Because the Yankee got here first and is waiting for someone.” I’d been wanting to take this guy on since I first arrived in Sinful. “Is that okay by you?”

  His eyes were like steel. But it was his hands I was most interested in watching. If it looked like he was going for a gun, I’d have to be ready for mine in my waistband. And no, I wasn’t paranoid. This was Sinful, where it seemed every other resident was packing. But he just shook his head, walked to the back and sat.

  Wimp.

  I poured cream in my coffee, ripped open a packet of sweetener and tapped half the granules in.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Ally said.

  The squeaking suspension of Gertie’s ancient Cadillac outside signaled my breakfast dates had arrived. I watched as they got out of the car, Ida Belle still in curlers, Gertie’s bulging purse causing her body to tilt to the right. The shock of their door slams shook the old Caddy, the front bumper slipping a couple of ticks lower. The car reminded me a little of the one Thelma and Louise drove into the Grand Canyon. After it was plucked off the canyon floor, of course.

  And then I spotted trouble—Celia Arceneaux, Sinful’s temporary mayor, storming from across the street and barreling toward them.

  “This doesn’t look good.”

  Ally turned and glanced out the window, shaking her head. “Celia’s probably trying to shut the funeral down. She does this every year. Tries to find some permit that Gertie didn’t get, or find some loophole to stop it. She just can’t let Gertie have her fun. If you ask me it’s because Celia knows when her time comes, there won’t be many people in this town who’d come up and say something nice about her. So she’ll be damned if people get to come up and say nice things about Gertie.”

  We couldn’t hear everything they were saying through the glass, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be an expert lip reader to decipher some of the most interesting swearword combinations on earth spilling from Gertie’s mouth. And it only intensified when Celia pointed to Gertie’s bumper, held up to the car by a piece of rope.

  “Uh-oh, here comes Gertie’s middle finger,” I said, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Is Celia flipping her back?”

  “Trying to anyway. Has she never flipped a bird before? Looks like one of the wings is clipped.”

  “Ooh, Ida Belle just shook her head so hard a couple curlers flew off.”

  I spotted Sinful’s sexiest deputy, Carter LeBlanc, crossing the street toward them. “Here comes the cavalry.”

  Several of Francine’s customers stood up from their chairs to get better views of the action. There was nothing like a fight between three hot-tempered old ladies to tear people away from their breakfasts. Most were calling out support for Gertie. Fred, the Yankee hater, stood from his chair, craning his neck to see past the people standing in front of him. “Show the Yankee lover who’s boss, Celia!” he shouted, before sneering at me and plopping back in his chair.

  Carter stood between Gertie and Celia and seemed to be doing a good job of calming Gertie down, until he must have said something she didn’t like because she mouthed a word to him that I’d never seen or heard coming from her mouth before. A collective “Oooooh” went up in Francine’s as Gertie turned on her heels and pushed her way inside. Even the jangles above the door sounded angry. Ida Belle was close behind.

  “Honestly,” Gertie hissed as she stormed over to my table, yanking out a chair and dropping into it.

  “You tell her, Gertie!” one of Francine’s customers shouted, prompting a few claps and cheers.

  Ida Belle held up her hands. “Okay, thanks for all your support, but show’s over. Go back to your eggs.” She took her seat next to Gertie. “Damn woman made me lose a few of my curlers.”

  “Do I dare ask if you want coffee?” Ally asked.

  “I want coffee and the biggest, fattiest breakfast you have,” Gertie said. “I deserve it.”

  “Short stack for me,” Ida Belle said.

  I ordered eggs and a side of turkey sausage. After Ally filled Ida Belle’s and Gertie’s mugs she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

  “She tried to shut your funeral down, huh?”

  Ida Belle nodded. “And when she realized she couldn’t do that, she tried to get Carter to arrest Gertie for having her bumper tied with rope.”

  Gertie’s hand shook as she poured cream into her coffee. “Do you know how many Sinful residents have their bumpers tied with rope?”

  “A good seventy-five pe
rcent?”

  “Sounds about right,” Gertie huffed. “But somehow my rope is an eyesore. And I put a new one on just yesterday.” She blew on her coffee, then took a sip. “But the worst part is, she’s making Carter miss my funeral. He has to do some stupid city thing with her.”

  I glanced out the window. Celia was waving a handful of Gertie’s funeral fliers in Carter’s face. It hadn’t been easy for him since Celia became temporary mayor. It hadn’t been easy on the town, either.

  “That new rope does look nice,” I said, trying to calm Gertie down.

  Ida Belle winked at me. “Yep, nothing says high-class ride more than a new white rope holding up the bumper.”

  “Don’t you start,” Gertie said. “My bumper money went into hiring the Divas for my funeral, so the rope will have to do for another month.” Gertie’s eyes landed on my open backpack sitting next to me on the floor, stuffed with paper wads. Her gaze then traveled to the pad and pen on the table in front of me. A pad with no words written on it. “Please tell me you’re writing my eulogy in disappearing ink,” she said, pointing to the empty sheet of paper.

  “Um… about your eulogy…”

  She folded her arms and lifted a brow. As a CIA assassin I had risked my life to get close to some of the most dangerous people on earth. People like Ahmad, the arms dealer who had put a price on my head, causing me to hide out in Sinful in the first place. But that was child’s play compared to getting in Gertie’s way when she was in a bad mood. That I wouldn’t do.

  “I’m trying to get it down from five pages to four,” I lied. I half expected a lightning bolt to crash through Francine’s roof and strike me dead.

  Gertie relaxed. “Five pages?” She clapped her hands. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re doing my eulogy this year, Fortune. Especially since, you know, you might be gone by the end of the summer.”

  My handler at the CIA, Harrison, had assured me Ahmad would be found and neutralized by the end of the summer. When I came to Sinful five weeks ago, the end of summer seemed like an eternity. But that was before I made friends. And had a date with Carter. Now I wasn’t sure what it felt like.

  The bells above the door jangled. Carter stepped inside, a bundle of Gertie’s fliers in his hand. He came to our table and pulled out the fourth chair.

  “Are you coming to apologize?” Gertie asked.

  “For what?” Carter dropped down into the chair. “I stood up for you out there. Despite the fact I’m trying to forge a civil relationship with Celia.”

  Gertie sighed. “I really wish you were coming to my funeral.”

  Ida Belle looked at me. “He’d rather spend the day with Celia showing some Hollywood location scout around Sinful.”

  Carter pointed his finger at Ida Belle. “This could be good for Sinful businesses.” He then cast his gaze on me. “There’s a movie shooting in Mudbug and they’ve added some new scenes. If the location scout can’t find what he wants there, he might want to film some stuff here. Tell them how that’s a good thing for our town.”

  After some of the most incredible kisses Carter and I had shared the past couple of weeks, it was tempting to side with him so he’d have to reward me later. But I knew what I was up against, and shook my head instead. “Don’t flash those sexy eyes at me and expect me to agree with you. In the mood Gertie’s in she’s likely to shoot me.”

  Carter turned back to Gertie. “Look, I talked her down from declaring your funeral a public nuisance. But I had to assure her that it would be uneventful. And we all know how your funerals can get a little out of hand.”

  “That riot last year was not my fault. How was I to know Skinny’s girlfriends would all show up at the same time?”

  “His wife didn’t take it well,” Ida Belle explained.

  Carter held out the bundle of fliers to Gertie. “Oh, and I also promised you wouldn’t staple any more funeral fliers to her fence.”

  Gertie smiled slyly. “I guess she hasn’t been inside her office in City Hall yet, has she?”

  Just then Yankee-hater Fred walked by on his way out. He plucked one of the fliers from Carter’s hand and took a look. “Yankee Doodle there is giving your eulogy this year? Well, maybe I will show up.”

  We locked eyes for a moment as he folded the flier and jammed it in his pocket. Suddenly writing a eulogy was shaping up to be the least of my concerns.

  * * * * *

  “Isn’t she a beaut?”

  After breakfast Ida Belle, Gertie and I stopped in at the Sinful rec center where a few workers were transforming the basketball court into tomorrow’s funeral extravaganza. Gertie’s casket rested on wheeled risers underneath one of the basketball hoops. Camouflage design. The half lid propped open like it was gasping for a breath. I almost felt like I was losing my own breath, so I pulled in a deep lungful of air.

  “You okay?” Ida Belle asked.

  No. But I lied and said I was fine. During my career I had put a good number of people six-feet under. Seeing this casket shouldn’t have bothered me. But it did.

  A voice broke my reverie. “Excuse me.” We all looked over toward the bleachers, where a man sat alone in the front row.

  “Is that Grabby Hands Jo-Jo Martin?” Ida Belle whispered. “He hasn’t been back in over ten years.”

  He stood.

  Early-thirties. Close-cropped yellowish hair, probably due to working outdoors. Muscular, but with a beer belly starting to develop. Threat-level: High, due to his nickname of Grabby Hands.

  “I was hoping I’d find you, Miss Hebert.” Jo-Jo hopped down from the bleachers, stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, and walked toward us. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Jo-Jo Martin. I was a student in your class way back when.”

  Gertie smiled. “Of course I remember you, Jo-Jo.”

  He stood a few feet away, his right foot performing toe circles into the floor, as if something grabbed hold of his insides and wouldn’t let go. Finally, he planted his foot flat on the ground. “You probably didn’t know this at the time, but I kinda had a crush on you.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh, dear God, he made Gertie blush.

  Ida Belle’s bottom lip quivered as we made eye contact. She was trying extra hard not to laugh.

  “So…” Gertie said, forcing a smile. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

  Besides fantasizing having your way with Gertie? The thought now made my bottom lip quiver. I had to think of sad puppies so I wouldn’t burst out laughing.

  “Well, I got me a job on a Hollywood film crew,” he said proudly. “I’m an assistant. I’m working on a movie shooting now in Mudbug.”

  “Isn’t that nice,” she said.

  “But, I still think about you,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh,” Gertie said, her body stiffening.

  “I was visiting old friends and saw the flier about your funeral. Nice picture of you, by the way.”

  “Well… thank you.”

  “I got worried you died. Then I came in here and saw that casket there. Made me so sad, ’cause you was always my favorite teacher.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, Jo-Jo. Nope, I’m alive. The funeral’s a fake one. I figured, why have a celebration in my honor that I’m not here to enjoy?”

  “Yeah, one of the workers said it wasn’t real. I was so happy to find that out.” He looked over at the casket. “Camo. Cool.” His eyes darted around the gym, then down at the ground. “Um… I have to go now, but, um… if I’m not helping with a scene tomorrow, I’d love to attend your fake funeral. Maybe say a few words.” He looked up at her with eager eyes.

  “Well, I certainly hope you’re able to attend.” Gertie nervously ran a hand through her hair. She did that on occasion when she was lying. It was one of her many tells. “Always a pleasure to see you.” Now both hands were running through her hair.

  Jo-Jo smiled. “You too, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” He beat a hasty retreat from the gym.

  As soon as
the door closed Ida Belle and I let out the snorts of laughter we’d been holding in. “Gertie has a boyfriend,” I sang.

  “Oh now stop,” Gertie said. “I always felt sorry for Jo-Jo. I swear, if you opened that boy’s skull you’d find his brain missing and an IOU from God.”

  “Wasn’t he the one who used to leave mirrors on the floor to look up girls’ skirts?” Ida Belle asked.

  Gertie nodded.

  “You mean Miss Gertie’s skirt,” I said, snorting.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s changed since then.” Gertie ran her hand through her hair. “Still, if you see him going for my boobs with his grabby hands while I’m lying in state, you have my permission to shoot him.”

  Great. First a Yankee hater, now a Grabby Hands. I had a sneaking suspicion that Carter wasn’t going to get the uneventful funeral he had hoped for.

  CHAPTER TWO

  T-minus five minutes to Gertie’s fake funeral and the Sinful rec center basketball court resembled a production on opening night.

  Members of Lady Lamé and Her Divas from Down Under, a dozen drag queens dressed in tight, sequined gowns, huddled against one wall, going over the order of musical numbers.

  Ally ran a check of the speakers at her sound table set up between the baskets.

  Gertie, the star attraction, leaned against her metal camouflage casket, receiving a last-minute powdering of her face to remove any glow caused by her still-breathing status.

  “I’m going to cry,” French Fry said as he stood back to admire his work, pushing back a few stray hairs from his jet-black bouffant wig. “You look fabulous! You know, dead trying to look alive is not easy to do if you still have a pulse.”

  French Fry should know. Aside from being one of the Divas, he was one of New Orleans’s top mortuary makeup artists. He handed Gertie a mirror. She pursed her glossy red lips, turning her head this way, then that way, then patted at her hair that looked like a tricked-out Q-tip. “You made me a little over-the-top girlie, didn’t you?”