Happy Birthday, Marge

  Happy Birthday, Marge

  Miss Fortune World: Sinful Spirits, Volume 1

  Shari Hearn

  Published by J&R Fan Fiction, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 by Shari Hearn

  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

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Author Bio

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  Also By Shari Hearn

  Acknowledgements

  THANK YOU TO CARLA, Kathleen and Janet for their wonderful notes.

  MANY THANKS TO JANA DeLeon, first for writing such amazing characters and creating the town of Sinful, and second, for allowing other writers to write our own stories set in the world of Miss Fortune.

  COVER DESIGN BY SUSAN Coils at coverkicks.com

  Prologue

  EASTER SUNDAY – 5 MONTHS Earlier – Sinful Cemetery

  Marge walked among the graves, noting each name etched into headstones as she passed. Clara Bertran. Michael Bertran. Jeanne Rimbault. If the dead could talk, they’d probably tell her where Millie was buried, but they were remaining silent. Marge wasn’t a member of their club. Yet.

  She knew Millie was around here somewhere. Reaching into the canvas bag draped around her shoulder, Marge pulled out the hand-drawn map of all the graves she, Gertie and Ida Belle made a point of visiting each Easter, though she knew the only thing she’d see was the blueberry stain that covered the area of the map indicating Millie’s final resting place.

  She blamed Francine for that one. Easter Sunday was the only Sunday Francine’s famous banana pudding wasn’t served. A banana pudding race on Easter, Francine had always insisted, just seemed undignified. Instead, diners had to “suffer” through with Francine’s famous blueberry pancakes. If Marge had one addiction in life, those pancakes would be it, and she hadn’t been able to resist taking a bite while the three were studying the cemetery map at sunrise service breakfast. One plop of blueberry topping now made the exact location of Millie’s grave a mystery.

  “Do you remember if Millie is two rows up or two rows down from the Bertrans?” she asked Gertie, who was trailing behind her.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, what? Up or down?” Marge turned to find Gertie trudging several feet behind, head down, arms folded, pressing several bouquets of flowers to her chest. “You’re not even looking.”

  Marge shook her head. Coming to the graveyard on Easter had been their tradition for more years than Marge could remember. After an Easter breakfast at Francine’s, she, Ida Belle and Gertie would place flowers not only on their own relatives’ graves, but also on graves of Sinful Ladies Society members who’d passed with no relatives to honor them. And every year Gertie would walk around the graveyard with her arms tightly crossed.

  Gertie lifted her head. “Don’t you shake your head at me, Marge Boudreaux. I’m here every year, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, and every year you walk around like you’re afraid they’re all going to grab you by the hand and pull you down inside their graves.”

  “You know I’m not fond of anything to do with death.”

  “Who is?”

  “Well, you know why. I saw my granddaddy—”

  “Looking in the window at you an hour after he died. You tell that story every year.”

  “Yes I do, because you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you,” Marge said. “I met your granddaddy. If anyone was cantankerous enough to look in your window after dying, it would be him. But that was more than sixty years ago. I just think you should get over it.”

  “That wasn’t the only time I saw someone from the ‘other side.’ Ten years after my grandma passed, I saw her standing at the top of the stairs, her good eye staring right at me. Scared the pants off me.”

  “Maybe you have the gift,” Marge said.

  “I don’t want the gift. Never have.” Gertie looked around at the headstones, hugged herself even tighter. “After I saw my grandma, I said ‘enough,’ and I’ve never seen or heard from any more dead relatives, and that’s just fine with me.” She looked around at the graves. “You know all this doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “I hope you won’t be like this when I pass.”

  Gertie’s eyes met Marge’s. Crap. Marge had said too much.

  “But that won’t happen for a while, right?” Gertie asked.

  “We all die, Gertie.” Marge gazed down a few rows to her right. “Oh wait, I see it now. That hideous LaTour family crypt. Millie’s next-door neighbors. Honestly, why someone didn’t tell the LaTours that a stone toilet as their headstone was inappropriate, I don’t know.”

  “Old Duffy did make his money manufacturing those cushy toilet seats,” Gertie said. “I have one in my master bath. Feels like I’m sitting on a cloud.”

  “Still...” Marge trudged off toward Millie’s grave. “Doesn’t seem right for a graveyard.”

  Gertie followed as Marge made a right at the end of the row of graves and strode down a few more rows, before making another right. “Marge, honey... you aren’t planning on going any time soon, are you?”

  Marge stopped in front of the toilet-shaped headstone chiseled in marble, with its inscription of ‘Duffy LaTour – King of Cush for your Tush’ and shook her head. “Millie’s problem was leaving everything to her sister to decide. I bet if Millie had her say, she’d never want to be buried next to a toilet. Millie’s sister never did like her.”

  Gertie’s voice shook when she asked, “It hasn’t come back, has it?”

  Marge pulled in a deep breath. The word “it” hung in the air as she stepped to her left, to a grave marked with a small, simple headstone, this one bearing the name, “Millie Hansen.” She set her bundle of flower bouquets on the ground, took a rag from the canvas bag and began dusting the headstone.

  “You’re not answering me, Marge,” Gertie said. “Has your cancer come back and you’re not telling us?”

  “No,” Marge said, before calling out to Ida Belle who had been searching for Millie’s grave nearby, “Millie’s over here!” She turned back to continue her dusting.

  “Look at me, Marge,” Gertie said.

  Marge stopped her dusting. Turned her face toward Gertie. “I plan on being here awhile.” Did it sound convincing?

  “You didn’t answer me. Has your cancer come back? Is that why you’ve been going to your doctor the last few months without tel
ling us?”

  Marge jabbed her finger at Gertie. “I knew that was you following me last Thursday. You’ve lost your touch, old girl. Back in the day you could follow a North Vietnamese spy around Saigon without him noticing. For your information, after I gave you the slip outside of Mudbug, I drove on over to the bait shop in Burdette. I bought a few things Walter doesn’t carry.”

  A tear rolled down Gertie’s face. “Then I’m better than you think. You didn’t head on over to Burdette. I followed you all the way to New Orleans, to a parking garage near your old oncologist. I thought maybe it was just a routine visit, but you lying to me just now says it wasn’t.”

  Ida Belle approached them. She looked at the toilet headstone and winced. “Oh that’s right. Millie’s grave is by the LaTours. Someone should tell them that doesn’t look good.”

  Neither of the women responded. Ida Belle glanced at Marge, then Gertie, noticing the tears falling from Gertie’s eyes. “Is this about Millie?”

  Gertie shook her head. “Marge has been seeing her doctor again. The one in New Orleans.”

  Ida Belle shifted her gaze to Marge.

  “She’s been following me,” Marge said. “Can you believe it?”

  “Because she’s not being honest with us.” Gertie looked at Ida Belle. “I told you something was up. She hasn’t been herself lately. Foggy. Same as she was before. And she’s been losing more weight.” Gertie looked back at Marge. “Did you think you could fool me with those baggy clothes?”

  Ida Belle’s face fell. “It hasn’t returned has it?” she asked softly.

  “Can we focus on tidying up Millie’s space? I’m getting a little tired and would like to finish up.” Marge swatted away some leaves from Millie’s grave. “Can one of you get that weed on the side, please?”

  Ida Belle reached down and plucked the weed, shoving it in the canvas bag. She reached down and picked up one of the bouquets of flowers and placed it in the vase in front of the headstone.

  “What did the doctor say?” Ida Belle asked.

  Marge ignored her. “Are we still going over to Dotty Bethune’s place tomorrow to help her move?”

  “Well, not now,” Gertie said. “Marge, the last thing you need is to be helping Dotty move.”

  Marge stopped her cleaning and glared at Gertie. “She needs us. The three of us.”

  “We can get other Sinful Ladies to help Dotty. You need us,” Gertie said. “You need to let us help you. And you need to keep your strength up so you can beat this thing again. I’ll start making you some freezer meals.”

  “And what Gertie doesn’t make I’ll pick up from Francine. And don’t worry about your lawn or washing your Jeep. I’ll take care of it.”

  Marge slapped the rag against Millie’s headstone. “I’m fine. I don’t need help. We promised Dotty the Swamp Team Three would help her. I’m the ‘Three’ in this team.” She pointed to Ida Belle and then to Gertie. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

  Marge turned back to the headstone and absently rubbed the top of it with the rag. “Millie’s sister just had to pick one of the worst spots. Ten to one this plot was half off because no one else would want to be buried here, next to the Cush King. And there’s no good view.” She stopped and looked off into the distance. “Not me. Spread my ashes by my hammock overlooking the bayou. And in the park near my tree.” She thought a moment. “On my birthday.” Then pulled in a deep breath. “A birthday party would be nice. Just like always. If you could hire a magician, that’d be great. But I know they’re hard to find, so if you can’t, that’s okay. I’ll leave instructions.”

  Gertie reached over and touched Marge’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here. With us. We don’t have a Swamp Team Three without you.”

  “What are you getting at, Marge?” Ida Belle asked, the color having drained from her face.

  “She’s not getting at anything,” Gertie said, her voice shaking. “She’s just telling us what she wants for her birthday party. The party she’s going to be at. There will be no ashes to spread, because she’s not going anywhere.”

  Gertie leaned in and touched her forehead to the back of Marge’s neck, her tears sliding down Marge’s back. Without turning around, Marge lifted her hand and patted the top of Gertie’s head. “I don’t think I’ll have any choice in the matter.” With her other hand she patted Millie’s headstone and whispered, “See you, Millie.”

  Chapter One

  PRESENT DAY

  Merlin swiped at Bones’s nose. I scolded him, but inside I felt a burst of pride. My cat was a badass. Okay, so Bones wasn’t the most energetic dog and had to lean against something when he lifted his leg to pee or else tip over. And sure he was old. Okay, ancient. A big, bag of bones, old hound dog that slept ninety percent of the day, but... I could feel my burst of pride fizzling out. My badass cat was nothing more than a bully taking advantage of an elderly dog.

  “Thanks for taking care of Bones while I’m away,” Marie said, handing me his leash. “I could have taken him to the Lamar’s place, but this was his original home. It being near Marge’s birthday, it just seemed right for him to stay here.”

  I nodded. Bones had been Marge’s dog before I came to Sinful two months ago to hide out from Ahmad after the arms dealer had “made me” as a CIA agent and put a $10 million price on my head. Marie had no idea of my true identity. Only Ida Belle, Gertie, Carter and, to some extent, Walter, knew I wasn’t really Sandy-Sue Morrow, grandniece of deceased Marge Boudreaux. I was eagerly awaiting the day when Ahmad would get caught, I was free to be myself, and everyone would know me as Fortune Redding.

  I reached out and touched Marie’s shoulder. “How are you doing, you know, so close to Marge’s birthday?”

  My pretend Great-Aunt Marge had been in love with Marie, something Marie, Gertie, Ida Belle and I found out after reading letters she had stashed away in the attic meant for Marie but never sent. Marie had loved Marge as well, but only as a friend. Still, I would imagine it would be difficult for her, this being the first birthday since Marge’s death months earlier.

  Marie sighed. “It’s hard. There’s a part of me that wants to be here for her birthday party, but... another part, a bigger part, that’s glad she wanted a bit of her ashes scattered on the beach where we all vacationed together. It gives me an excuse not to be here. I’m just not in a partying mood.”

  I nodded.

  Marie looked at Bones. “Well, Bones, you be good for Fortune.” She reached down and petted him. He strolled over to the corner of the kitchen to a dog bed Marie had brought. It was in that same spot that I had first met Bones about two months ago.

  “Maybe he’ll curl up with you in bed while you’re reading.”

  “He can jump up in bed?” I looked over at the old hound. Just maneuvering himself around the dog bed seemed to tire him out.

  “Well, if you pick him up and put him in bed he can,” Marie said. She spotted a mystery novel I had set on the kitchen counter. “Are you into mysteries? I thought you were more of a nonfiction gal.”

  I shrugged. “I’m starting to get into them. That’s the third one I’ve read this week.”

  She read the title out loud. “I read this one. It was good. I’m proud to say I figured out the whodunit part before the detective.”

  I stared at her blankly. With that particular novel the whodunit had completely eluded me. My expression must have given me away. “Oh well,” Marie said, touching my shoulder in pity, “it was a tough one.”

  A tough one that shouldn’t have stumped me. My new career plan was to go into private investigation. I’d been practicing my sleuthing skills by reading mysteries and trying to guess who did it, and the fact that I’d bombed out with that book had annoyed the hell out of me. “I never guessed it was Bo’s wife,” I said.

  “Well, of course not,” said Marie. “That’s because she was an outsider, like you. You probably just identified with her and it colored your thinking.”

&nb
sp; I’d never thought of it that way. But, looking back at how I’d felt while reading the book, I always found myself discounting any clues that had to do with Bo’s wife, who was definitely a fish-out-of-water around Bo’s family. “I think you might be right. Thanks, Marie.”

  The living-room door opened.

  “It’s us!” Gertie called out.

  “Your taxi awaits, Marie,” Ida Belle said.

  I followed Marie into the living room. Ida Belle scanned the pieces of luggage lined up behind the sofa. “How long are you planning on staying?”

  “I’m going to try my hand at scuba lessons,” Marie said. “One of those bags has a suit I bought. Marge always wanted me to go diving with her when we would all visit the timeshare, but I was always too chicken to learn. Even living along the bayou I’ve never been a water person.” Marie shrugged. “But, you know, you only live once, right? Marge always looked as if she had fun when doing it, so for her birthday, I’m taking a diving lesson and I’m even going to jump out of a plane. Who knows, maybe Marge’ll be there with me in spirit.”

  “You have a good time,” Gertie said. “Say ‘hello’ to Marge for me while you’re sprinkling a little of her on the beach.”

  “You’re not coming to the airport with us?” Marie asked.

  Gertie shook her head. “No. I’ll be there to pick you up, though. Fortune and I need to go to the party store in Mudbug.”

  Ida Belle picked up a couple of Marie’s suitcases and looked at Gertie. “You and I can stop at Mudbug on our way home.”

  I nodded my head. “What she said.”

  Gertie gave me the stinkeye before turning back to Ida Belle. “And I want to be here when the City Council votes on Marge’s memorial park bench.”

  “Why?” Ida Belle asked. “Flora said we have the votes. She said it would be the first item on the agenda today.”

  Marie smiled. “Did you get the redwood bench with the wrought-iron hummingbird design?”