The Vanishing Victim: Miss Fortune World: The Mary-Alice Files, #3

By Frankie Bow

Sinful's newest resident, Mary-Alice Arceneaux, is starting to catch on to the fact that the Sinful Ladies' Society does more than brew 100-proof cough syrup to sell at the church bazaar. So when Ida Belle gets into serious trouble, Mary-Alice wants to help the SLS in their quest for justice. But this means that the sweet-natured Mary-Alice will have to endure a visit to the Swamp Bar (where decent ladies don't go) and go up against her vindictive cousin, Mayor Celia Arceneaux. Will Mary-Alice's sweet nature and unshakable faith in humanityendure?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J&R Fan Fiction
• Release date: Aug 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386065289

Frankie Bow

Frankie Bow teaches at a public university and writes two mystery series: The Professor Molly Mysteries, and licensed works in the Miss Fortune World. Unlike Professor Molly, Frankie is blessed with delightful students, sane colleagues, and a perfectly nice office chair. She thinks if life can’t be fair, at least it can be entertaining. From the author: Thank you for taking the time to read this book. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Sign up for Island Confidential, Frankie's mystery newsletter, at subscribepage.com/ProfessorMolly

Book preview

Chapter One

MARY-ALICE ARCENEAUX picked at her strawberry waffle and stared out the window of Francine’s Diner. There was nothing wrong with Francine’s strawberry waffle. It was crisp and fluffy, soaked with sweet strawberry syrup and crowned with real cream, whisked with vanilla and a sprinkling of powdered sugar. But Mary-Alice’s mind wasn’t on breakfast. She was thinking about Boon St. Clair.

Mary-Alice liked Boon a lot. But the handsome widower happened to be working for Mary-Alice, supervising her kitchen remodel. Getting involved with a hired man—well, it simply wasn't done. Worse, ever since Boon had begun to call on Mary-Alice, he hadn’t charged her for any work. They had never discussed it; the bills simply stopped coming. Mary-Alice believed Boon’s intentions were good (Mary-Alice generally believed the best of everyone). But accepting the free work put her in an awkward situation. Not only was she was in Boon's debt, but if something went wrong, she couldn't complain. Not that the work had been anything but impeccable so far, but what if a problem did come up?

Neither could Mary-Alice imagine confronting Boon to insist on paying. That would be throwing his gift back in his face. She would rather die.

More tea, Aunt Mary-Alice? Mary-Alice hadn't heard Ally approach her table. The young waitress stood over her holding a sweating pitcher of iced tea. Can I box up that waffle for you?

No thank you, darling. I'm just taking my time. Enjoying a nice, leisurely breakfast.

I can’t possibly tell anyone back in Mudbug about Boon, she thought. They wouldn’t understand. I hardly understand it myself.

Mary-Alice gazed out the window, across the white, crushed-shell road off toward the General Store. Had she possessed x-ray vision, she could have seen her own house farther down, through the trees. The old Cooper Place was at the end of a long drive, its back porch jutting out over the bayou. Boon and his crew were there now, scraping up yellowed linoleum and pulling down termite-eaten cupboards.

Mary-Alice loved her new home in the heart of Sinful, steps from Francine's Diner.

I should be looking forward to getting my new kitchen, Mary-Alice thought. But here I am, so vexed that I can scarcely stomach Francine's strawberry waffle. Ida Belle would scold me for letting myself get muddle-headed about a man, and she would be right. But Gertie? Now I believe Gertie might understand.

Mary-Alice took out her phone and dialed Gertie Hebert’s number. Keep your voice down, she reminded herself. People that shouted into their phones in restaurants reminded her of old Marceau Mirande, who paced the streets of Mudbug yelling out orders to his banker. The only difference was that poor Mister Mirande didn't have a phone.

Just as Gertie picked up, a crash reverberated from the kitchen.

Mary-Alice? Gertie called out. Is this you? Are you okay? What's going on?

I’m fine, Mary-Alice whispered. The dining room had gone quiet. I’m at Francine’s.

A large, disheveled man stumbled out into the dining room. Mary-Alice thought he might be in his fifties, and judged he might once have been handsome. Right behind him was Francine, red-faced and brandishing a long wooden spoon. Mary-Alice had never seen Francine so angry.

Victorin Lowery, Francine hissed, so help me, if you made my soufflés collapse you are a dead man.

But Francine, honey, he slurred, I was just looking for a li’l drink, that’s all—

"A dead man, Victorin. Feet pue tan!"

Francine shook the spoon and glared as the man staggered out toward the front door. A wave of boozy body odor assailed Mary-Alice as he lurched past her table.

"Cooyon!" Francine muttered as the glass door swung shut. Then she turned and strode back into the kitchen.

Mary-Alice. Mary-Alice! What happened?

As the hum of conversation resumed, Mary-Alice told Gertie about Francine’s intruder.

Who was he? Gertie asked.

Victor, I believe his name was? The poor man was in just awful shape, I can tell you that. He absolutely reeked of liquor.

I believe you’ve just seen Victorin Lowery, Gertie said.

Do you know him?

He’s our town drunk. One of 'em, anyway. It’s strange that he’s decided to bother Francine. What’s he hoping to find in a diner in the middle of a dry town?

Well, there’s cooking sherry, Mary-Alice said. When he went past I saw he was holding a bottle, hidden halfway up the sleeve of his jacket. Francine was behind him, so she couldn’t see. I didn’t believe it would have been right for me to get involved, so I didn’t say anything at the time.

Well, that’s a step up for him. Walter had to ban him from the General Store. He was shoplifting bottles of Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup. After Walter locked those away, Victorin started stealing mouthwash.

What a terrible thing to be a slave to drink. Oh, Gertie, I remember what I was calling about now. I wanted your opinion on a personal matter. If it's not too much trouble, of course.

Sounds like it’s something we should sit down over. I'm at Fortune's. Come on over.

Mary-Alice pulled up to Fortune Morrow’s dark blue Victorian house, the one that had belonged to Fortune’s late Aunt Marge.  Mary-Alice knew Marge Boudreaux by reputation. She had been a founding member of the Sinful Ladies’ Society. People spoke of Marge as being ahead of her time, which was more polite than coming right out and calling her crazy.

Fortune herself was a little ahead of her time, Mary-Alice mused as she climbed the porch steps. Fortune was a former beauty queen, who could act a perfect lady one minute, and cuss like a soldier the next. She worked as a children’s librarian and was still unmarried at 28. But Fortune had a good heart, and that, Mary-Alice believed, was what mattered.

And to be fair, Fortune was a Yankee, which probably explained everything.

Gertie answered the door.

Is that what I think it is? Gertie cast a greedy look at the pink bakery box Mary-Alice was holding. Come on in, and let's get that box open.

Is Fortune here? Mary-Alice asked as she followed Gertie into the house.

She had to take a call. It might be a while. Gertie set the box on the kitchen table and opened it. Francine's blueberry cheesecake squares. These are just my favorite. I'll get some plates. Oh, Mary-Alice, honey, your blouse!

Mary-Alice looked down to see a purple smear of blueberry topping on her flowered shirt.

Oh, mercy. Do you think Fortune has any club soda to hand?

Marge used to keep her cleaning supplies in the closet at the end of the hall. You might find some stain remover there.

Mary-Alice went down the hallway in her usual quiet way. As she passed a closed door, she heard Fortune's voice. Mary-Alice didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help but hear.

Well, of course I hated it at first, Fortune was saying. I mean, a whole summer in Stinkhole, Louisiana with a bunch of—no, I wasn’t going to say that. Look, Harrison, I was wrong, okay? I’ll admit it.

Mary-Alice wondered what Fortune was talking about. She had lived in the state all her life, and had never heard of a town called Stinkhole. Mary-Alice opened the closet at the end of the hallway. Amidst bleach bottles and tins of brass polish, Mary-Alice found a package of stain wipes. She pulled one out and headed back to the kitchen, scrubbing at the stain.

I’ve made real friends here, Harrison, Mary-Alice heard as she passed the closed door again. Yeah, I just met an Arceneaux who's not pure evil, believe it or not. Name’s Mary-Alice. I don’t know, some kind of distant cousin. No, she doesn’t know.

Mary-Alice hurried back to the kitchen before she could hear any more. She felt embarrassed at her