Mischief in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #2)(69)

Raissa shrugged. “So go about your normal business and wonder if today is the day, or if it’s going to happen in Sabine’s apartment, or her shop, or this hotel. Since Sabine’s poisoning never got out and Sabine herself hasn’t mentioned it to the family, whoever took that shot at her probably thinks the entire thing was dismissed as accidental. Same with Mildred’s accident in Sabine’s car.”

“Great,” Beau said. “So he’s not on the defensive. Instead, he’s looking for another opportunity to strike.”

Raissa shook her head. “If it is a Fortescue behind this, do you really think he will take a shot at Sabine while she’s on the family estate? Talk about bringing down the house of cards, unless of course he is insane, but then it’s not going to matter where you are or what you’re doing, he’s going to keep trying. And most likely get more desperate. This dinner might be an opportunity to do a little spy work. Especially if one of you could get out of the Fortescues’ sight long enough to do a little snooping.”

Beau blew out a breath and looked at Sabine. “I still don’t like it, but Raissa’s right. We can’t lock you up in this hotel room and wait for another bomb escapade. And at least I was included in the invitation so you don’t have to make up some excuse to bring me along. Not to mention that I’m guessing they won’t be put off forever.”

Sabine nodded and glanced over at Raissa. The psychic mouthed the word “Helena,” and all of a sudden Sabine understood exactly why Raissa was suggesting this was a great opportunity to snoop. And what could possibly be a better weapon than the spy no one could hear or see?



It was inching toward evening and Helena Henry sat propped up on the bed in Sabine’s hotel room, eating her third moon pie since arriving ten minutes before. Sabine wasn’t sure whether she should be amazed or disgusted. However, a critical review of Helena’s current outfit—some leather/spandex, studded combination reminiscent of eighties hair bands—gave Sabine pause. Despite eating the gross national product in carbs, fat, and sugar, the ghost was right. She hadn’t gained a single pound.

Maybe jealousy was a more appropriate emotion, although Sabine wasn’t quite ready to trade in her life for a permanent, calorie-free binge. She looked over at her half-eaten lunch of plain turkey sandwich on the dresser. Yet.

“So are you clear on what I need, Helena?”

“Yepfft…marphmellows sticking…wait.” She chewed a couple of seconds more, then swallowed twice and took a huge breath. “Man, that’s good. I haven’t eaten moon pies in forever.”

Sabine narrowed her eyes at Helena. “Where exactly did you get…no, never mind. It’s better if I don’t know. Do you understand the plan?”

“I’m a bitch, not a moron. I hitch a ride with you and that sexy detective to the nutso house, then take a look around and see if I can find any skeletons in their closets.” Helena straightened up. “Hey, do you think they really have a skeleton in the closet?”

“I hope not. But anything you find that looks suspect, you report immediately back to me. Just no yelling, and for God’s sake, no eating while you’re there.”

Helena frowned. “No one said anything about not eating. Damn. Rich people always have fancy food when they have important company. What could be more important than a long-lost granddaughter? Maybe I could sneak a dessert or a dinner roll?” She gave Sabine an expectant look.

“Absolutely not! I am not going to play distract-people-from-the-floating-roll all evening. You will sneak and snoop and get dirt on these people as if you’re searching for a bottomless pot of red beans and rice. I don’t think I should have to remind you that this is a matter of life or death. And you of all people ought to know what an iffy thing death is.”

Helena sighed. “Fine. You don’t have to go all guilt trip on me. It’s not like I want you stuck here with me. Now, that detective would be a whole other story.” Helena’s expression brightened. “Hey, I don’t suppose there will be a little truck hanky-panky?”

“You don’t suppose right,” Sabine shot back, but the disappointed look on Helena’s face was too comical for her to maintain her stern stance. Finally, she smiled. “But if you’re really good, I might see what I can do about a big pot of gumbo when we get back.”

Helena clapped her hands. “Whoohoo! Can we have beer, too?”

“I don’t know. Can you get drunk?”

“I can try.”

Sabine grimaced. “That’s what I was afraid of.” She was about to follow that up with the no alcohol rule when Beau knocked on the connecting door and poked his head in.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “I thought you were talking to someone on the phone.”

Sabine forced a smile. “Just hung up. Give me a sec and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Everything okay with Mildred?” Beau asked.

Sabine nodded. “It’s all settled. Maryse is going to stay with her tonight, for which I will officially owe her a trip to New Orleans for a manicure and pedicure because she has to sleep in the stinky hospital in a lumpy recliner.”

“Not exactly a bad deal. I thought you women loved a pedicure.”

“I love pedicures, and if I wasn’t having one with Maryse it would be a good deal, but she takes picky to a whole new level. There was this incident a couple of years ago with a bottle of Purple Passion polish and the local police…” Sabine shook her head. “No, I don’t even have time to explain. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”