Miss Fortune 02 - Lethal Bayou Beauty by Jana Deleon

Author:Jana Deleon [Deleon, Jana]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Cozy, Mystery & Detective, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9780985003777
Publisher: Jana DeLeon
Published: 2014-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

I’d already been up and pacing for two hours before my cell phone rang. I checked the display—the General Store. Ida Belle or Gertie must have given Walter my number.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Walter said when I answered.

I smiled. I really liked Walter, and it was hard not to smile when a man you liked called you Sunshine. “Good morning, Walter. What can I do for you?”

“It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. Guess what came in first thing this morning on my delivery truck?”

“The battery for the Jeep?”

“You got it. If you aren’t busy, I can send Scooter to tow the Jeep in and get that battery installed this morning. Since the Jeep hasn’t moved in a while, I’d like to do an oil change and have Scooter give it a once-over. He’s available now if you’re ready.”

“Absolutely.”

I was already dressed in shorts and a tank top, so I tossed the phone on the kitchen counter and reached for my tennis shoes, still smiling with excitement. Part of Marge’s estate included an older model Jeep—one of those from back when Jeeps were rugged, manly vehicles and not hip commuters for urban yuppies. Because it had sat so long, the battery was dead, but Walter had ordered one as soon as I arrived in Sinful. I couldn’t wait to get my own set of wheels. Between Ida Belle’s five million rules surrounding her Corvette and Gertie’s refusal to wear glasses, transportation had been a sketchy proposition.

I watched out the front window as the tow truck circled the block three times. As giant iron house numbers hung above the garage door and the door was already open, displaying the Jeep needing a tow, it was a little disconcerting. But I was willing to give him a pass for sunlight glare or perhaps dyslexia. Finally, on the fourth trip around, I walked out the front door and waved my arms to get his attention. He slammed on the brakes, then backed the tow truck in the driveway before getting out to greet me.

Five foot ten. A hundred forty pounds—maybe. Early twenties. Decent muscle tone in the arms. Legs like a chicken. Threat level one…if he were driving the truck.

My assessment put Scooter somewhere just about the twenty-year mark, but he looked fifteen and acted twelve. His jaw dropped so much when I introduced myself that I was afraid a small bird might nest in it. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo on required manners in Sinful, because he spent the entire time we shook hands staring at my chest. When he started to shake harder, I figured it was time to cease with the pleasantries.

“You need any help?” I asked, thinking it was a loaded question as soon as it left my mouth.

He peered inside at the Jeep. “Nope. Since you backed it in the garage, it will be easy to tow.”

He returned to his truck to position it in front of the Jeep.

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