Rematch Read online

  Rematch

  Miss Fortune World: Sinful Stories, Volume 5

  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

  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

  Author Bio

  Sign up for Shari Hearn's Mailing List

  Also By Shari Hearn

  Acknowledgements

  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.

  Thank you, Carla and Kathleen for your fabulous notes.

  I’d also like to acknowledge my cat, Reilly, who passed on during the writing of this novella. Still missing you terribly, Reilly. Lead the parade.

  Cover design by Susan Coils at coverkicks.com

  Chapter One

  A CIA ASSASSIN’S LIFE isn’t ruled by a clock or a calendar. She has to be ready at a moment’s notice to drop into enemy territory and wait for that perfect moment to pull the trigger, shoot the arrow, flip the switch.

  A CIA assassin’s life while hiding out in Sinful, Louisiana? Well, that’s another story. Aside from the occasional crisis that pops up (okay, more than occasional), my life in Sinful is pretty much routine. Sunday means banana pudding races. If it’s Monday, it’s pot roast at Gertie’s at six. Tuesday wouldn’t be Tuesday without Francine’s Fish Fry. Thursday is trash pickup morning and hang-out-with-Ally night. Friday was date-night-with-Carter night (before we broke up), then it became movie night at Ida Belle’s. Since Carter and I are now testing the get-back-together waters, it may soon go back to date night. Saturday night is pretty much a repeat of Friday.

  Today, however, was Wednesday, and if you run with Ida Belle and Gertie as I do, then Wednesday is perhaps one of the most important days of the week. Because if it’s Wednesday, it’s Beer Run to Mudbug day.

  Something about living in a dry town makes people want to drink more.

  The Mudbug General Store welcomed us with open arms. Okay, maybe not open arms, but it felt like that as the automatic doors slid apart and a little chime announced our arrival. We marched into the store, each of us grabbing a cart, armed with shopping lists given to us by Sinful residents. As usual, we were greeted by Jeff, one of the part-time cashiers. He was a few years older than me, my height and average build, had only lived in Mudbug a month, and, if my radar was working properly, had a thing for me.

  He looked up while depositing money in the cash register and got so flustered that he shut his hand in the drawer. “Ahhh!” He yanked his hand away. “Is it Wednesday already?” He acted as if it had slipped his mind that we’d be in today, when I knew damn well he’d worn his tightest T-shirt for my benefit. “We just got in a shipment this morning of a nice honey wheat beer. You’re into wheat beers, am I right?”

  I tossed him a thumbs-up. In truth, I wasn’t a picky beer drinker. I stopped being picky about what I drank when I came to Sinful.

  Gertie and Ida Belle on the other hand...

  “I hope you have plenty of Pelican Lite,” Gertie said as a worried look crossed her face. “That’s our new favorite.”

  Jeff flashed them a wink. “Yup. I ordered fifteen six-packs and they came in the morning shipment. There should be plenty for you.”

  “You’re a good man,” Ida Belle said.

  “I hear that a lot,” he responded, directing the comment to me.

  We pushed our wobbly carts into the liquor aisle on our way to the cold cases at the back of the store, grabbing bottles of wine, spirits and mixers included on our lists.

  “Carter has some competition,” Ida Belle said.

  “You’re joking.”

  “Yes she is,” Gertie said. “Still, you might want to wear something sexy next time we’re here. Who knows, maybe he’ll give us a cleavage discount.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

  Ida Belle reached the cold cases first. She came to a dead stop, her head darting to the left, then the right.

  Gertie rushed to Ida Belle’s side. “What’s wrong?” Her head darted as well. “I thought Jeff said there was plenty.”

  I joined them. A sign stating, “Pelican Lite $9.99/6pk.” was taped to the door of the cold case. A large, empty space stared back at us.

  “I guess you’ll have to pick a different beer.” Judging from Ida Belle’s deathly glare, that was the wrong thing to say.

  “I had my heart set on Pelican Lite.” Gertie wore the pout of a twelve-year-old. “It’s the hottest craft beer out of New Orleans. I did the happy dance when it started being sold in Mudbug.”

  “She actually did.” Ida Belle cringed. “With hip thrusts. I had to turn away.”

  “You ladies looking for this?”

  We turned around as a gang of six older women approached, each one pushing a shopping cart. All the colors of the senior-hair rainbow were represented: white, gray, ashy, salt-and-pepper and fawn, with peach and purple to mix things up. Each cart held six-packs of Pelican Lite.

  “Bunny LeBeau,” Gertie hissed.

  Purple Hair smirked. I then remembered who she was. A former Roller Derby queen and rival of Ida Belle and Gertie’s when they skated for the Sinful Sliders. Bunny had rolled for the Mudbuggers. I glanced over at the woman with white hair and recognized her as well.

  “And Sadie Sanford,” Ida Belle said, her voice dripping with disdain.

  Gertie glanced at me. “You remember these two, don’t you, Fortune? Misery Mama and Princess Pain? They used to roll for the Cheatin’ Chicks. We wiped the floor with them last week at the Mudbug Roller World.”

  We’d been on surveillance, spying on our mailman, Andy, who was taking a skating lesson that night. While there we’d run into Sadie and Bunny, and their old feud about which team had really won the final championship of 1982 was reignited, resulting in a near-brawl on the skating floor.

  “The only one kissing the floor was—”

  A woman next to Bunny cleared her throat and Bunny stopped midsentence. The woman said, “Don’t waste your breath, Bunny.” Her bony fingers gripped her cart. “They’re Sinful trash, not worth your energy.”

  Five-foot, five inches of entitlement, crowned by a head of wavy, peach-colored hair. Wearing crisp white cotton crops and a royal blue knit top to match her royal attitude. A silver cross dangled from a silver chain draped around her neck, matching her silver-cross earrings. Threat Level: High.

  “You’re probably wondering why we’re all here,” she said.

  “You’re stealing our beer, that’s what you’re doing here, Tilma Canac,” Gertie said. “And Bunny and I weren’t through with our discussion. Or should I just call her what
everyone else does—the Husband Stealer.”

  Bunny’s eyes widened, and she cursed.

  “Bunny, please,” Tilma said.

  Bunny cast a sideways glance toward Tilma. “She’s attacking my reputation.”

  Ida Belle chuckled. “Oh, I’d say your reputation was shot long ago.”

  Tilma lifted her chin and scowled at Ida Belle. “An attack on one is an attack on us all. Especially when it comes from the likes of Duchess Danger and Ida Give’EmHell.” A droplet of saliva plopped on my cheek as she spat Gertie and Ida Belle’s Derby names. “I heard you put on quite a show last week, blabbering and lying about how we won the 1982 Louisiana championship by cheating.”

  “We weren’t lying,” Ida Belle said. “That year Bunny was chummy with the ref, a guy who was number four on the rotation list but who shot up to number one for that last bout. Makes me think you had one of the officials in your pocket.”

  Gertie snickered. “More like up Bunny’s skirt.”

  Gasps arose among the former Mudbuggers. Several tossed insults back at Ida Belle.

  Tilma quieted them with a loud, “Shhhhh.” She pointed at Ida Belle. “That ref’s last call was a good one.”

  Ida Belle folded her arms. “No it wasn’t. And it wasn’t just the last call that doomed it for us. There were several bad calls that night. If everything had been on the up-and-up, the Sliders would have won that year and you know it.”

  “Well, here’s what I know,” Tilma said. “You have been spreading lies about that game and us for years and I’m tired of it. Word has it you’re ga-ga over Pelican Lite. The store orders fifteen six-packs per week, delivered every Wednesday. Therefore, every Wednesday, at the crack of dawn, five former Mudbuggers will be here buying them up. If you’d like to enjoy any of this tasty brew, you’ll have to drive to New Orleans to get it.”

  Several former Mudbuggers let loose a few whoops of victory. This brought Jeff, my not-so-secret admirer, rushing to the back of the store.

  “Is everything okay back here?” Jeff asked.

  “No, everything’s not okay,” Gertie said. “They’re denying us the right to purchase beer.”

  “The early bird gets the worm,” Tilma said, smirking.

  “It’s okay, Miss Gertie.” Jeff opened one of the cold case doors. He moved several six-packs of soda and pulled out one six-pack of Pelican Lite. “I hid one for you, in case we sold out before you got here.” He smiled. “Any friend of Fortune’s is a friend of mine.”

  He held out the six-pack to her.

  “Don’t you dare give that to her,” Tilma said.

  “Too late. It’s mine,” Gertie said as she grabbed the six-pack and held it to her chest.

  Tilma’s eyes narrowed. “Young man, I know your boss. And Fred is certainly going to hear from me. And if I’m not mistaken, you also work part-time at the roller rink. I may have to have a chat with the new manager.”

  Jeff shook his head. “I don’t know what the big deal is. But if you feel you need to speak with him, please do. He lives in New Orleans and doesn’t really care about Mudbug politics.”

  Tilma’s eyes widened from squinty slits to circles. “You haven’t lived here long—” she leaned in and looked at his name tag, “Jeff, but those who’ve lived in Mudbug for a period of time know that I hold some sway around here. As the mayor’s wife, I know all the movers and shakers. That will be the last time you set aside anything for them.”

  “Mrs. Canac,” Jeff said, “I just set aside a six-pack of beer for a valued customer. I’m sorry if that upsets you.” He pointed to the silver cross resting on her chest. “It just seems the Christian thing to do.”

  Gertie nodded. “Well said, Jeff. If Jesus were here, I think he’d thank you for setting aside this six-pack.” She cradled the beer in her arms. “Thank you, Jeff. And, Jesus.”

  Tilma’s jaw dropped. “First you distort what happened during our last championship game and now you insult Jesus.”

  “We did not distort what happened during the championship,” Ida Belle said. “Eighty-two was Sinful’s win!”

  “You’re nothing but losers,” Bunny said. The other former Mudbuggers chanted, “losers, losers, losers,” prompting Jeff to stick his fingers in his mouth and whistle, putting an end to the sniping. All eyes were on him.

  “Seems there’s some dispute about that last game.”

  “There’s no dispute. We won,” Tilma said.

  “We won,” Ida Belle countered.

  Jeff shook his head. “I’ve heard this same argument every Wednesday since I started working here a month ago. Why not just settle it once and for all with a rematch?”

  “Why would we have a rematch?” Tilma asked. “We were declared the winners.”

  “Cheatin’ Chicks,” Gertie said. “That’s all you’ll ever be.”

  Ida Belle looked at Jeff. “We’ve been asking for a rematch for years, Jeff. They’re too afraid.”

  Gertie flapped her arms and clucked like a chicken.

  I threw my hands in the air. “Would somebody please agree to a rematch so she doesn’t cluck like a chicken all the way home?”

  Bunny tapped Tilma on the shoulder. “Sadie, Carol and I have kept up our skating, so I know we could beat them. Again.” Bunny’s upper body tensed so tight that the blood vessels in her neck appeared as if they were about to pop. “As our former captain, it’s up to you. Say the word and I’ll get the team back together.”

  Tilma’s irises narrowed to slits again as she addressed Gertie. “I hung up my skates thirty years ago because I decided to use my talents to help my community. However, I won’t allow you to drag my good name and the names of those I led through the mud.” She nudged her cart against Ida Belle. “Challenge accepted.”

  Chapter Two

  IT TOOK IDA BELLE ONE phone call to former Sinful Slider Ginny Nickerson and within 10 minutes of our arrival back from Mudbug, seven former Sliders showed up at Gertie’s door for an emergency meeting. Tilma may have been a mayor’s wife back in Mudbug, but Ida Belle was the grande dame of what the younger residents of Sinful called, “The Geritol Mafia.” When she called a meeting, you were there, no questions asked. I was staying for the free lunch.

  I recognized most of the women. Midge and Babs were Sinful Ladies. Some of the others I’d met when I was with Gertie or Ida Belle. Edilia Cheval was a stylist and nail gal at the Sinful Cuts, a beauty salon. As one of the few African American stylists around, she wasn’t wanting for clients, but I could tell she was dying to get hold of my hands and paint one of her signature designs on my nails. Martha Germain was a well-known gator hunter. Both appeared in pretty good shape. Opal looked as if she were enjoying about eight hours of television a day. Kitty probably spent a few hours perched in front of her computer or TV screen as well and wore a peculiar frozen grin on her face.

  “What’s Kitty smiling at?” I asked Gertie as I helped her bring out a tray of sandwich wraps, plates and utensils from the kitchen.

  “She can’t help it. It’s her latest facelift. She’s trying to erase the last thirty years.”

  “She needs a bigger eraser.”

  “Poor thing. She has work done every few years. I think if they pull her face back one more time her eyeballs are going to cross in the back of her head.”

  The original Sinful Sliders’ team had consisted of 12 skaters, five of whom skated simultaneously. One woman had moved from Sinful to Florida. Two women had died within the past several years. Marge, a founding member of the Sinful Ladies Society and my pretend great-aunt, was one of them.

  They began their meeting with a minute of silence for Marge and the other deceased team member, Wilma. I glanced over at Ida Belle and Gertie. A tear trickled down Gertie’s face. Ida Belle clenched her jaw. I didn’t know about their relationship with Wilma, but I knew that they both loved Marge deeply. Losing her several months ago had been devastating.

  Marge’s death was the reason that I had met my two elderly partners in crim
e. Many times during the past six weeks I’d felt guilty for pretending to be Marge’s grandniece, living in her house, using her car, shooting her guns, but Gertie said she would have gotten a kick out of it.

  “Are you kidding?” she’d said when I first expressed my guilt about it. “You’re a CIA assassin hiding out from a Middle East arms dealer who has a hit out on you. We don’t get many of those in Sinful. She’s probably in Heaven right now kicking herself for dying so early and missing all the fun.”

  The minute was up. Gertie wiped the tears from her face as Ida Belle began.

  “Was Ginny able to catch you up to speed about why I called this meeting?”

  The women nodded.

  “Tilma Canac, aka Queenie de Nile of the Mudbuggers, has pushed the bounds of common decency,” Ida Belle said.

  “She won’t let us buy any more Pelican Lite Beer in Mudbug,” Gertie added, prompting a few murmurs of displeasure.

  Ida Belle nodded. “She did this because we humiliated Bunny and Sadie at the roller rink last week.”

  Gertie flicked her hand and made the sound of a cracking whip.

  “Did you remind her that they cheated that last match in eighty-two?” Kitty asked, grinning widely.

  Ida Belle nodded. “We did. So a challenge was presented. A rematch, to decide once and for all which team deserves the right to call themselves the Champions of Eighty-Two. And if we win, we get to buy whatever beer we want in Mudbug. On behalf of the Sinful Sliders, I accepted the challenge.”

  Opal straightened the floral hair clip in her perfectly coifed, teased white hair, then raised her hand.

  “Opal?”

  Opal pulled herself up from the middle of Gertie’s sofa. “I’m not sure whether you realize this, Ida Belle, but we’ve aged since the championship of eighty-two. I can barely keep my balance in yoga class, much less get back on skates and throw my body in front of another gal to keep her from scoring.”

  Kitty raised her hand. “What Opal said.”