Read Online The Miss Fortune Series: Nearly Departed (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Shari Hearn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shari Hearn
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squeezed one of them. “Can’t feel a thing.”
Gertie
reached over and gave them a squeeze. Ida Belle slapped at her hand. “Do that
again and I’ll have to have my eyeballs removed.”
The aroma
wafting in from the kitchen beckoned me. “Did you cook something?”
“Hmm-hmm.
We thought you’d be hungry after all this,” Gertie said, walking into the
kitchen. I trailed after her in the wheelchair.
She went to
the stove and lifted the lid off the dutch oven. “I remembered Delphine saying
this was her mom’s favorite. Cabbage soup. It’s actually the recipe that caused
the gas that killed poor Missy LeFort ten years ago.”
“We’re
hoping it’ll give you that I’ve got gas face that Cookie’s known for,”
Ida Belle said.
“Why don’t
I just fake it?”
Ida Belle
placed her hands on her hips and stared down at me. “This is Mission Next-to-Impossible.
If you’re going to survive another outing at the Swamp Bar you have to make a
believable Cookie.”
“And no
amount of latex is going to fake that sour face,” Gertie said as she scooped a
ladle full of soup into a bowl. “When you’re done with this bowl, I’m feeding
you another. I hope to get a few bowls down you before tonight.”
I opened my
mouth to protest, but then stopped. An operative needs to do everything
possible to pass while in enemy territory. And I was definitely going into
enemy territory.
If I wanted
to return home alive from my mission, I had to be Cookie—warts, gas-face and
all.
CHAPTER SIX
The sun bid goodbye to another day
in Sinful. An hour to go before I would wheel myself into the Swamp Bar in an
effort to find a potential killer.
I’d been
living in Cookie’s chair all day. Eating the foods Cookie ate. Watching old Hee
Haw reruns that Cookie watched. I even made a call to Walter’s store
pretending to be Cookie, complaining about a bottle of fizz-less Coke he sold
me.
“Where are
the little bubbles in my Coke?” I had screamed at him when he picked up. “If I
wanted to drink something brown with no bubbles I’d go out and get me a glass
of swamp water. You want me to drink swamp water?”
“No, Miss Cookie,”
Walter said to me.
Gertie had listened
while I made my prank call, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from
laughing. I must have been convincing because Walter apologized, offering to
comp me a brand, spanking new two-liter bottle of Coke the next time I came
into the store.
I was
ready.
Eighty-thirty
finally arrived. Gertie left the house first, in order to scout for any nosy
neighbors lurking about. Luckily there were only a couple of teenage girls
sitting on my neighbor’s low brick wall surrounding his yard. They were
engrossed in some emotionally charged discussion about some guy named Wyatt who
was found sucking face with some girl named Ashley. They wouldn’t be a threat.
At least to me. Couldn’t say the same for Wyatt and Ashley.
I wheeled
myself down my walkway to a van Ida Belle had borrowed for the night from one
of the Sinful Ladies; it was equipped with a wheelchair lift. A cane rested on
my lap. Ida Belle said Cookie could walk with a cane, but that after her
daughter, Delphine, started whizzing around in her mobility scooter, Cookie
insisted on wheels of her own. She would still get up and walk if the occasion
called for it, like a square dance at the senior center, or, Ida Belle was told
by an informant, a game of pool at the Swamp Bar.
We were a
few feet away from the van when Ida Belle, who walked by my side, whispered,
“Uh-oh, we’ve got trouble.”
Following
her gaze, I saw the sheriff’s department SUV pull up in front of the neighbor’s
house and stop.
Carter
stepped out and shut the door.
My pulse raced.
My hour of reckoning was coming sooner than I thought. It was one thing to fool
a drunk in the Swamp Bar. But, Carter?
“Ladies,”
Carter said, walking toward us. But his focus was totally on me. “Miss Cookie?”
He arched an eyebrow.
Gertie
reached over and gave them a squeeze. Ida Belle slapped at her hand. “Do that
again and I’ll have to have my eyeballs removed.”
The aroma
wafting in from the kitchen beckoned me. “Did you cook something?”
“Hmm-hmm.
We thought you’d be hungry after all this,” Gertie said, walking into the
kitchen. I trailed after her in the wheelchair.
She went to
the stove and lifted the lid off the dutch oven. “I remembered Delphine saying
this was her mom’s favorite. Cabbage soup. It’s actually the recipe that caused
the gas that killed poor Missy LeFort ten years ago.”
“We’re
hoping it’ll give you that I’ve got gas face that Cookie’s known for,”
Ida Belle said.
“Why don’t
I just fake it?”
Ida Belle
placed her hands on her hips and stared down at me. “This is Mission Next-to-Impossible.
If you’re going to survive another outing at the Swamp Bar you have to make a
believable Cookie.”
“And no
amount of latex is going to fake that sour face,” Gertie said as she scooped a
ladle full of soup into a bowl. “When you’re done with this bowl, I’m feeding
you another. I hope to get a few bowls down you before tonight.”
I opened my
mouth to protest, but then stopped. An operative needs to do everything
possible to pass while in enemy territory. And I was definitely going into
enemy territory.
If I wanted
to return home alive from my mission, I had to be Cookie—warts, gas-face and
all.
CHAPTER SIX
The sun bid goodbye to another day
in Sinful. An hour to go before I would wheel myself into the Swamp Bar in an
effort to find a potential killer.
I’d been
living in Cookie’s chair all day. Eating the foods Cookie ate. Watching old Hee
Haw reruns that Cookie watched. I even made a call to Walter’s store
pretending to be Cookie, complaining about a bottle of fizz-less Coke he sold
me.
“Where are
the little bubbles in my Coke?” I had screamed at him when he picked up. “If I
wanted to drink something brown with no bubbles I’d go out and get me a glass
of swamp water. You want me to drink swamp water?”
“No, Miss Cookie,”
Walter said to me.
Gertie had listened
while I made my prank call, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from
laughing. I must have been convincing because Walter apologized, offering to
comp me a brand, spanking new two-liter bottle of Coke the next time I came
into the store.
I was
ready.
Eighty-thirty
finally arrived. Gertie left the house first, in order to scout for any nosy
neighbors lurking about. Luckily there were only a couple of teenage girls
sitting on my neighbor’s low brick wall surrounding his yard. They were
engrossed in some emotionally charged discussion about some guy named Wyatt who
was found sucking face with some girl named Ashley. They wouldn’t be a threat.
At least to me. Couldn’t say the same for Wyatt and Ashley.
I wheeled
myself down my walkway to a van Ida Belle had borrowed for the night from one
of the Sinful Ladies; it was equipped with a wheelchair lift. A cane rested on
my lap. Ida Belle said Cookie could walk with a cane, but that after her
daughter, Delphine, started whizzing around in her mobility scooter, Cookie
insisted on wheels of her own. She would still get up and walk if the occasion
called for it, like a square dance at the senior center, or, Ida Belle was told
by an informant, a game of pool at the Swamp Bar.
We were a
few feet away from the van when Ida Belle, who walked by my side, whispered,
“Uh-oh, we’ve got trouble.”
Following
her gaze, I saw the sheriff’s department SUV pull up in front of the neighbor’s
house and stop.
Carter
stepped out and shut the door.
My pulse raced.
My hour of reckoning was coming sooner than I thought. It was one thing to fool
a drunk in the Swamp Bar. But, Carter?
“Ladies,”
Carter said, walking toward us. But his focus was totally on me. “Miss Cookie?”
He arched an eyebrow.
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