Release Blitz for The Miss Fortune Series: The Stiletto Scandal (Kindle Worlds Novella)

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Most people call their local law enforcement agencies when a dead body appears in their yard, but in Sinful, Louisiana? Folks turn to the Geritol Mafia.

Gators, local bad guys, and contract killers keep former CIA agent Fortune Redding on edge but with trustworthy sidekicks and an impossible deputy in her corner, what could go wrong?

Unlikely Suspects…

When a former Sinful resident turns up dead in Fortune Redding’s backyard, Deputy Carter LeBlanc springs into action, but Fortune can’t help but wonder about his motives. Is he afraid a killer will strike again and she’ll become the next victim or is he trying to keep her away from the new man in town? 

Motivated Killers…

Now considered an assassin-in-hiding thanks to an unfortunate stiletto scandal, Fortune has a nice price on her head and unlikely hitmen are in the killing game. With a borrowed identity and new place to call home, Fortune soon discovers Sinful isn’t as it seems. Since her Louisiana arrival, the former agent has been involved in one murder investigation right after the next. And things are about to get a lot worse for Fortune and a few of her closest friends. 

Excerpt 

Dragging tail wasn’t an option.

As soon as I spotted the floater, I tossed aside my binoculars, wiggled my toes into a double layer of warm fuzzy socks—compliments of my good friend Ally—and hurriedly grabbed a tacky pair of wading boots, recently purchased from Walter at the local general store.

After a minute’s worth of hobbles, boots were in place and I was raring to go. First stop, my kitchen table. Scooping up the barely-charged cell phone, I punched Gertie’s contact number and waited. Under normal circumstances, Ida Belle would’ve been the logical first call, but it wasn’t quite six yet. She probably hadn’t unrolled her hair curlers, much less made it out of bed.

“What and where?” Gertie asked. A simple “hello” wasn’t dramatic enough.

Fueling her enthusiasm for mysterious happenings, I said, “My house. Down by the bayou. Emergency meeting. Call it.”

Until the others arrived, I needed to figure out how to secure a body. It wouldn’t be an easy feat thanks to fast-moving rapids. After recent storms, the bayou swirled with the muddiest swamp waters I’d ever seen, not that I was a professional slough-watcher, but I paid close attention to my backyard.

Thanks to a recent dead body discovered there, my place was somewhat of a landmark. Jeanine from Sinful Sightings even pointed it out on her haunted ghost tours, which was disconcerting when I stopped to think about it. With a body count now standing at two and only a couple of months in residency, I was beginning to think that the Louisiana Bayou wasn’t exactly the safest place to lay low and hide.

I entered the back shed, steps away from the slight incline leading to the bayou. Second stop—a supply-gathering mission. 

Thanks to the former homeowner Marge Boudreaux, I’d soon have my hands wrapped around a few body-fishing supplies. Marge and I were kindred spirits, but we never officially met.

Prior to my arrival in Sinful, Marge went on to a better place. Since the Baptist women often said as much, I assumed they meant heaven. Then again, any place beyond Sinful’s city lines might have been considered a ‘better’ place.

At present, I was in Sinful hiding from those who wanted my head on a spike. In order to avoid a painful end, I assumed the identity of Marge’s niece, Sandy-Sue Morrow.

As I rummaged through Marge’s dilapidated shed, I thought of how she might handle towing a body from the bayou. The outbuilding housed an assortment of items that a former CIA assassin could use on the job. Not that I was in the mood to kill, but it was always helpful to have access to the necessary tools of the trade. Goals and situations could change on a dime out here in bayou towns.

As luck would have it, I was about to accept the role of a fisherwoman. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be casting nets in an effort to catch lobster or crab. Tucking rope under my arm and holding fast to garden supplies, I gave Marge two-thumbs up and hurried to the swamp.

From where I stood, the mission was already set in stone, or rather leaning against a cypress. The poor guy had seen better days. Gunk, also known as bog moss, covered his face. A five o’clock shadow and cold, set eyes were barely visible. I couldn’t tell much about his external characteristics. Locals might be able to identify him if I could save him before he became gator bait. 

Shuddering at the thought, I secured the coiled rope against my shoulder and fastened a good grip around the shovel handle. It was the same shovel that I often used to carry wandering frogs back to the bayou. My stomach lurched at the thought of employing the same frog-toting tool to fetch a man. In these parts, women often used extreme measures to reel in a fellow, or so I’d been told. Maybe the old saying derived from situations such as these.

Pushing aside local folklore, I focused on the deceased. With limited resources and a fear of alligators, I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down to save a dead guy. If only Ida Belle were here. I could hand off the rope and see if she had any experience lassoing a corpse.

Walter came to mind. If he stood as living proof, Ida Belle possessed ability but lacked practice.

In any case, until my elderly companions showed up to lend a helping hand, digging was the best course of action, assuming this fellow’s feet were planted in shallow waters. Fortunately, I had a close relationship with this shovel which basically meant I knew how to use it.

Curving my fingers around the wide handle, I cast the triangular end into the water and scooped up the fellow’s heel. Unable to budge it, I opted to go deep and aim for the arch. Maybe I could lift his foot then hook a knee and drag the body to shore. After fruitless attempts, I stepped back and studied the subject.

A crane might do the trick.

If Gertie and company didn’t arrive shortly, I could always phone a friend with connections. Since I didn’t have a lot of those, I’d probably buzz Walter. He knew people and could probably locate a hoist, but he was also Deputy Carter LeBlanc’s uncle. An alerted Walter meant Carter would know about the incident before I had a chance to drag the man ashore and search for some identification. 

Glancing back at the house that had become my Louisiana home, I debated on whether or not my Jeep—Marge’s jalopy—would prove useful in this situation. It was four-wheel drive. Muddy wheels slipping and sliding wouldn’t present a problem.

Then again, I was a DC girl. What did I know about mudding in the bayou? The cowgirl’s rope came to mind once more. What were my options? What was I supposed to do first? Tie off at the dead guy’s neck? If the wrong person saw what I was doing, they might jump to conclusions.

The last thing I needed was to look like an accessory after the fact, if a crime had been committed. Based on an early assessment and my record for stumbling upon bodies, foul play was a given.

Catching movement in my periphery, I slung the shovel over my shoulder and prepared to assault any alligator that dared an approach. On a positive note, the victim didn’t seem too concerned about undesirable critters. On a negative one, I didn’t want to deal with said critters. I rather liked the idea of keeping all limbs attached.

Returning focus to the man in the mud, I made an assessment: Five foot eleven. Maybe a tad taller—or shorter—hard to tell in potty-like waters. Five o’clock shadow—or was that… “Ugh.” I couldn’t think about it. Ice-blue eyes, much like a killer’s. I’d met a few in my time. Well over two hundred pounds. Threat level zero, unless his ghost loitered nearby and then we might have a problem.

He wore a noticeable frown which was to be expected. Dead guys generally didn’t have anything to smile about.

Given his present circumstances, I’d frown too if I had someone like yours truly trying to save my corpse for the coroner. I hadn’t exactly taken care of this poor guy’s body. My goal was to fish it out of the swamp before a gator came along and left behind bits of flesh and slivers of muscle.  

So far, things weren’t going as well as planned.

“Fortune! Where are you?” Gertie’s voice rang out like a trumpet.

As weird as it seemed, given my professional training, I heaved a sigh of relief. The Calvary had arrived. 

About the Author 

Riley Blake writes mysteries, thrillers, and suspense. In addition to writing her own novels slated for release in 2017, Riley enjoys writing for Amazon's Kindle Worlds. When Riley isn't writing, she enjoys cooking, going to garage sales, and redecorating her home with thrifty items. An animal lover, the author has a potbelly pig, a few dogs, a couple of horses, and a chicken named Lord Wings.

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Also written by Riley Blake for Jana Deleon's Miss Fortune Series at Amazon Kindle Worlds

Bayou Babes
Hiding in the Bayou
Christmas in the Bayou
Bayou Valentine
The Stiletto Scandal

Available now at Amazon