Clue Krewe

Copyright © 2023 by Jana DeLeon All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Design and composite cover art by Janet Holmes using images from Shutterstock. Created with Vellum CONTENTS Miss Fortune Series Information Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 MISS FORTUNE SERIES INFORMATION If you’ve never read a Miss Fortune mystery, you can start with LOUISIANA LONGSHOT, the first book in the series. If you prefer to start with this book, here are a few things you need to know. Fortune Redding – a CIA assassin with a price on her head from one of the world’s most deadly arms dealers. Because her boss suspects that a leak at the CIA blew her cover, he sends her to hide out in Sinful, Louisiana, posing as his niece, a librarian and ex–beauty queen named Sandy-Sue Morrow. The situation was resolved in Change of Fortune and Fortune is now a full-time resident of Sinful and has opened her own detective agency. Ida Belle and Gertie – served in the military in Vietnam as spies, but no one in the town is aware of that fact except Fortune and Deputy LeBlanc. Sinful Ladies Society – local group founded by Ida Belle, Gertie, and deceased member Marge. In order to gain membership, women must never have married or if widowed, their husband must have been deceased for at least ten years. Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup – sold as an herbal medicine in Sinful, which is dry, but it’s actually moonshine manufactured by the Sinful Ladies Society. CHAPTER ONE I leaned forward in the pew and studied Pastor Don. He’d been hoarse before church when he’d greeted me, and one of the ladies who was helping set up the trays for the Lord’s Supper had passed him a coffee mug of the grape juice that Baptists use as a substitute for wine—because of that whole no drinking rule. He’d sipped at it while continuing to greet until the congregation was in and it was time to get the church show on the road…or the altar. He’d gotten a refill on the grape juice before he’d headed for the pulpit, and I’d hoped his voice would hold out. Now, over halfway into the service, I was praying for something entirely different. “And so God spoke to Moses from a burning bush,” Pastor Don said. “Apparently no consideration given to wildfires or that s’mores wouldn’t be invented for thousands of years.” And that wasn’t even the first odd thing he’d said. I looked at Gertie, who had suddenly developed a coughing fit. I leaned over and whispered, “You swapped out the grape juice for Sinful Ladies booze, didn’t you?” The day before, I’d spent hours helping Ida Belle and Gertie bottle up Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup—street name High Octane Moonshine—in preparation for the Mardi Gras festivities coming next weekend. We’d tested so much of the product while flavoring and bottling that Walter and Carter had taken one look at us and left us all sleeping on Gertie’s kitchen floor. We’d barely made it up in time for church and I was feeling sketchy on running afterward, especially since at the moment, banana pudding didn’t sound all that great. Gertie glanced at me before doubling over, her shoulders shaking from the laughter she was holding in, and I held back a groan. The new flavor of ‘cough syrup’ they were introducing this year at their Mardi Gras booth was grape. And while just a little of it packed an alcohol-induced stupor, it was smooth and sneaky, catching you by surprise. Hence our sleeping on the kitchen floor. “Bottoms up with the blood!” Pastor Don yelled, then tossed back the rest of his ‘grape juice’ and slammed the glass upside down on the pulpit. The rest of the congregation looked confused, but drank. Then the coughing began and everyone sitting at the ends of the pews grabbed the remaining shots from the deacons’ trays and started passing them around as if we were at a fraternity party. Ida Belle, who was in the loft with the choir, sniffed her glass, then looked at the ceiling. I figured she was praying there wasn’t a lightning storm headed our way. “And the Lord Jesus said,” Pastor Don continued, “this is my body. Eat it in remembrance of me. Hmm, that sounds really bad. Too many episodes of The Walking Dead, probably. Hey, Jesus was sort of the first zombie, right?” He popped the unleavened bread into his mouth and started to munch. “These are pretty good, actually,” he said and took another. “And more blood to wash it down.” He hurried down to the altar and grabbed the last remaining shot of ‘grape juice’ from the tray, barely beating out Old Mrs. Cline for it. She gave him a good whack with her cane, but he ignored her and downed the shot as though he was at the Swamp Bar. “Okay, I’m calling it,” Pastor Don said. “I’ve got the munchies and these bits of crackers aren’t going to cut it. Thanks, God, for everything. Amen. You can all sing the last hymn on the way home. It’s ‘Nothing but the Blood of Jesus’—naturally.” And with that, he headed out the side door, humming. I checked my watch and saw we were finishing up ten minutes early, which wasn’t allowed, per se, at least not in relation to the banana pudding race. The rules were both churches had to dismiss at the same time, or the race was null and