Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Although it cost her immeasurable dignity, and I had no doubt that kick for Gertie was coming, we managed to get Ida Belle in for a bathroom visit and changed into sleeping clothes before putting her to bed. She was able to balance some on her legs, which definitely helped, but she didn’t have the strength yet to walk or stand on her own. I was pleased she’d made that much improvement in a matter of hours, so the next morning looked good. If she wasn’t back to normal, I was going to make her go to the ER, an argument I was really hoping not to have.

Ida Belle and Gertie had a connected room with double beds, and I had the one with a queen, so after I picked up some of the dinner stuff, I grabbed my laptop and headed for my room. It was late, but I wanted to give Carter a call and see if he had any thoughts on my case. I hoped he hadn’t dozed off already. He picked up on the first ring, which answered my dozing question, and I could hear the TV in the background.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked.

“I’m watching an old movie, but I’m getting there. ”

“If you moved to your bed, you might get there easier. Your furniture isn’t good for sleeping.”

“I know. That’s why I’m in your recliner. One day, you’re going to come home from one of your jaunts and this recliner is going to be gone.”

“You know they made more than one, right?”

“Hmmm… I was thinking if I moved in with you, I’d have a place to tie off my boat and a new chair.”

“Then you’d be wrong, because it would still be my chair.”

He laughed. “How’s the case going? You dig up any dirt today?”

“Today was all about mudslinging. Thick, slimy, bottom-of-the-bayou mudslinging.”

I filled him in on everything we’d discovered.

“If Alexander is representing Corndog, can he require an autopsy?” I asked when I was finished.

“To be honest, the DA would be a fool to pursue charges on this. Which means no charges for Corndog but also no proof of a potential crime.”

“I figured Bryce was lying about the charges, trying to let his buddy convince them to sell the house at a huge discount, which ought to be illegal.”

“Well, it’s fraud, so it is illegal. And a case could be made for coercion and corruption as well.”

“So how do I take him down for it?”

“You don’t. If you see the DA with those claims, Bryce will just say it was an ongoing investigation that was ultimately deemed an accidental death from an unknown source and there will be no charges filed.”

“So he’ll be able to weasel out of everything.”

“It’s the only skill he has and the only thing he puts effort into.”

“But in the meantime, Corndog and Petunia’s reputation goes to crap even if there are no charges. People won’t stay at a B and B where the owners are killing the guests. And without proof of how it actually happened, you know what the Louisiana gossip mills will do to them.”

“Unfortunately, I do. And I agree that you’ve got plenty of motive and opportunity among the friends given that anyone could have slipped something into his room figuring he’d eat it without checking. Quite frankly, given the guy’s history with substance abuse, I’m a little surprised something like this hasn’t happened already.”

“Maybe it has and someone was there to inject him or call 911.”

“That’s true enough. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you’ve done everything you can. Unless you can locate a family member who is willing to raise a stink about an autopsy—which sounds highly unlikely for a lot of reasons—I don’t think you have any options left.”

“I know, but I’m still going to be angry and stew on it.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. It’s hard, Fortune. It’s hard to do what we do when you care and you know the system is letting someone slip through the cracks. But the alternatives are worse.”

I sighed. I knew exactly what he was saying. I could not care at all, which would make me a horrible person assuming I could even manage it. Or I could stop this line of work, which wasn’t an option.

“You coming back tomorrow?” he asked.

“Why? You miss me?”

“Always.”

“Unless I come up with something while I’m sleeping, probably so. Might be later in the day though. Ida Belle is kind of paralyzed from the waist down at the moment, and you know she’s not going to let me drive her vehicle. ”

“Paralyzed?”

“Trust me, you do not want to know. And I wouldn’t pass that one on to Walter either. Not unless I’m forced to take her to the ER tomorrow.”

“Oh, no way I’m talking. I smell Gertie all over this one. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hung up and decided I should probably close my laptop and attempt sleep when my PI email signaled an incoming message. Figuring it was probably an insurance job, I clicked over, but my pulse quickened when I saw the ‘re.’

Justin Barbet Autopsy

I clicked on the email but there was no message. Just an attached file. I clicked on the file to open it and stared in shock as Justin’s autopsy report flashed onto my screen. An autopsy had been done. Which begged the question—why was Bryce hiding that fact?

And who had sent me the email?

I copied the sender’s email address and started a trace, but it bounced off a server in India. My PI email was no mystery. It was on my business cards and my website, but only a handful of people knew I was here investigating Justin’s death. One of them had to have sent me the file.

It wasn’t Carter. He wouldn’t have taken the risk, especially with Bryce already aware that I was involved. But the only other person who knew I wanted an autopsy and could have managed access was Detective Casey. She’d gotten me files before that I wasn’t supposed to have, so maybe she’d figured out a way to do it again.

But the real stunner here was that there had been an autopsy.

I was dying to dig into the report, but knew if I did so without telling Ida Belle and Gertie, I might be second on the kicking list in the morning. So I jumped out of bed and hurried into their room, flipping on the light as I entered.

“Wake up,” I said.

Ida Belle bolted upright and twisted for the nightstand, probably going for her gun. That’s what I would have done. But her legs still weren’t back to normal, so she got as far as her side and then lost her balance and flipped onto the floor.

“This is your fault, Gertie!” she yelled.

Gertie hobbled over to look at her. “How is this my fault? Fortune came in yelling and flicking on lights.”

“I didn’t yell,” I said. “But I should have. You’re not going to believe what I have.”

“A forklift, I hope,” Ida Belle said.

I bent over and stuck my arms under Ida Belle’s armpits and hoisted her back up and onto the bed. Gertie whistled.

“That was impressive,” she said. “Ida Belle is no lightweight.”

Ida Belle glared at her. “You do know my legs are going to go back to normal, right?”

I waved one hand in the air. “Later. I have Justin’s autopsy.”

They both stared, jaws dropped, eyes wide.

“No way!”

“What the heck?—”

“How?”

“I thought they didn’t do one.”

I nodded. “Yes, way. Someone sent it anonymously, and I can only think of one reason Bryce would lie about it.”

Ida Belle’s face flushed with anger. “He wanted to scare Corndog and Petunia into selling their house to his buddy. That’s a whole new form of low.”

“So it wasn’t the fish that killed him?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I just tried to trace the sender and couldn’t, then came in here and here we are. ”

Gertie plopped down on the bed next to Ida Belle and waved her hands at me. “What the heck are you waiting for?”

I sat down next to Ida Belle, who was propped against the headboard, and opened the file.

“All the signs of anaphylactic shock,” I said as I scanned the document. “And here we go. Stomach contents—fish, potatoes, bananas, and whoa, what have we here—chocolate.”

“Nothing with chocolate was served at dinner,” Ida Belle said.

“But we already know he could have gotten it from one of the others,” Gertie said. “No peanuts?”

I shook my head. “But the presence of chocolate proves that he ingested something other than what Corndog served. So unless they can prove the peanut oil was on the fish, Bryce can’t pin this on Corndog.”

“So his buddy was trying to rush in and get a quick deal on the house before Bryce was forced to let the truth out,” Gertie said. “What a scumbag.”

I nodded and scrolled down to the pictures of his face. “Look at this. It’s petechial hemorrhaging. Common with asphyxiation.”

“So he might have really died accidentally,” Ida Belle said. “I mean, assuming he got a hold of the chocolates on his own or your theory about Tyler wanting to make him sick is accurate.”

“That’s what it looks like…”

“But it still doesn’t feel right,” Ida Belle said.

I shook my head as I continued to look at the autopsy photos. The whole time we’d been investigating, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was more to it than an accident. And even reading the autopsy hadn’t changed that.

When I reached the picture of his back, I knew why.

“He was murdered,” I said and pointed to the photo .

“It’s a bruise,” Gertie said.

I nodded, excited. “If you dosed someone with a peanut allergy and wanted to ensure they died, what would you do?”

“Smother them with a pillow when they went into shock,” Ida Belle said.

“Bingo. The more they resisted, the more petechial hemorrhaging, and I’d bet anything that big bruise in the middle of his back was a knee.”

Ida Belle stared at it again. “Can you tell anything about the size of the person by the bruise?”

“Not really,” I said. “All of them have similar enough knee size except Daniel, and it’s impossible to judge weight from this.”

Gertie stared at the image and shook her head. “So he passed out face down in bed and someone put a pillow over his head and knelt on him to keep him there when he went into shock… If there was a struggle, that might have been when lipstick got on the pillow.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or the lipstick wearer and the killer could still be two different people.”

Ida Belle frowned. “You realize what the problem is here, right?”

“We don’t know if Tyler wears lipstick?” Gertie asked.

“No,” Ida Belle said. “If someone murdered Justin, then how did they get out of the room and lock the door behind them?”

I blew out a breath. “Exactly.”

“The window?” Gertie suggested.

I shook my head. “The window was latched. Petunia said so. And the key was next to the nightstand. The door was definitely locked because Corndog checked it himself and Daniel and Tyler had to break it down. Corndog said each key was individual and there is no master or duplicates. ”

“Even if there were, how would any of the friends have gotten their hands on them?” Ida Belle asked. “And I don’t know that you could pick a lock to close it, much less those ancient locks.”

“I have to say, it’s something I’ve never had a reason to try,” I said. “It doesn’t seem likely under any circumstances, but especially for our suspects. They’re not exactly art thieves or locksmiths.”

“Or spies,” Ida Belle said.

Gertie huffed. “We’ve just traded one set of unanswered questions for another.”

I nodded. “And the biggest question here is why this death wasn’t ruled a homicide. I don’t care how crappy that ME is, there’s no way he didn’t see this bruise on his back and know exactly what it meant. This should have been ruled a suspicious death.”

“No one—not even Bryce—does that kind of favor just so his buddy can buy a house for cheap,” Gertie said. “What’s really going on here?”

“My best guess—Bryce paves the way for the cheap purchase, then they flip it for double and split the profit, and the ME gets a cut. No way this works without him in on it.”

“What do we do now?” Ida Belle asked. “We have the proof but can’t use it. Not really.”

“I’ll figure something out. But no way in hell Bryce is getting away with this.”

I briefly thought about calling Carter, but quickly decided putting him in the position of knowing that I’d received confidential information wouldn’t do him any favors. And there was nothing he could do about any of it without admitting that he’d seen the documents. So I needed to come up with a plan, and part of that plan was to get enough rest to think straight.

I tried to sleep, but mostly flopped around, dreaming about locked doors, earrings, pillows, catfish, and chocolates. In the movies, all of that would mean something, and I would have awakened refreshed and with the answers to everything. Instead, I woke tired, with a headache, and more confused than ever.

But there was one thing I did know and had the proof for—Justin was murdered. The problem was I wasn’t supposed to have the proof and the only person who could utilize the proof to pursue a murderer was burying it for his own gain. Since Justin’s body would go for cremation as soon as the crematory got hold of someone’s credit card, I had to do something fast. The autopsy was great, but there was more that could be checked. Just not without a body.

I finally gave up around 5:00 a.m. and put on a pot of coffee. I sat at the table drinking it and staring out into the parking lot, trying to figure out a plan to take Bryce down and get Corndog and Petunia completely cleared. It took me two cups until a thought crept in. It wasn’t the greatest idea, and it was also illegal, but at that point, I no longer cared. I was ready to roll the dice to make this right.

I opened my laptop and did a quick search, then made note of my research in my phone and headed for the shower. Ida Belle was sitting at the table drinking coffee when I finished dressing, and I felt a surge of relief seeing her sitting there.

“The legs are back to normal?” I asked.

“Good as new. In fact, my right knee had been giving me a little trouble and now it doesn’t. But don’t you dare tell Gertie that. I’ll never be able to drink out of an open container again. She’ll be trying to share her discoveries with me. ”

“I notice she didn’t have any after your legs went numb.”

“So did I. And I won’t be letting her forget it. Did you figure out the Bryce situation?”

“I have a plan. Well, it’s more of a really bad idea, but I think I’m going to run with it.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll go hop in the shower.”

Thirty minutes later, we were dressed and ready to head out.

“Let’s stop and grab some breakfast at the diner across the street,” I said.

“Lord, you must have read my mind,” Gertie said. “I’m all for the PI stuff but not on an empty stomach. And coffee does not count as food.”

“Are we checking out?” Ida Belle asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “According to people at the dance last night, there’s a barbecue and tag football game today at the high school—one of those bring-the-family deals. I got a look at the sign-up list, and it looked like all the friends are going to be there.”

“Maybe they’ll all be at the hotel another night,” Ida Belle said.

I nodded. “That’s what I figured. So if they’re staying, we’re staying.”

“We can’t do any investigating at the barbecue,” Gertie said.

“No, but they’ll come back to the hotel at some point. I’d love another chance to chat with some of them. It seems like Corndog and Petunia’s plight is weighing on Morgan. I think he knows something, or at minimum, suspects.”

“You think that’s why he was pushing Daniel about the autopsy last night?” Gertie asked.

“Fat lot of good it will do him,” Ida Belle said. “If Brittany is the one who killed Justin, no way Daniel is going to pursue this any further.”

“But there was an autopsy,” Gertie said.

“Neither Daniel nor Morgan knows that,” I said. “So someone thinks they’ve gotten away with it. They don’t know Bryce is hijacking their murder for his own con.”

“If anyone has figured out what happened, it’s Amanda or Morgan,” Ida Belle said.

“Unless it was Amanda who did it,” Gertie said. “She was outside. Maybe she’s telling everyone to shut up because she’s afraid if motive crops up then there might be an investigation and they’d take a harder look at her. Control makes the best killers. You just don’t hear about them because they got away with it.”

“At this point, anything is possible,” I said. “But we still have the locked door problem. It’s possible that Justin managed to let someone into the room, but there’s still no way they could have gotten out and locked the door from the inside unless they can walk through walls.”

“Could they have locked it from the outside, then slid the key under the door?” Gertie asked.

I shook my head. “No way to get it in between the nightstand and the bed from the door. It would have had to do a ninety-degree turn around the nightstand and jumped onto the rug that’s under the bedroom furniture.”

“Crap,” Gertie said.

“There has to be something we’re missing,” Ida Belle said.

“I’m working on it,” I said. “Let’s grab breakfast, and I’ll tell you my plan on the autopsy.”

And hopefully, everything else would start to make sense soon.