I frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I figure it’s better on both of us if I’m left in the dark with my own suspicions. If I thought you were some sort of con woman, I’d have handled things differently, but that doesn’t fit. And if you were in witness protection, you would have done a better job of lying low. My best guess is some sort of law enforcement or military. I don’t know why you’re here or why you’re pretending to be someone you’re not, and I don’t want to know. I’m just going to assume that there’s a good reason and hope everything works out for the best for you.”
“There’s a good reason,” I said quietly.
Walter studied me for several seconds, then nodded. “I like you, Fortune. Have from the first time I met you—roped into going to Number Two with the meddling twosome. It was clear then that you weren’t a people person, but your sense of justice had been outraged and it wouldn’t let you hide out like you were supposed to.”
“My desire for fair and equitable has always been a problem.”
“I bet it has.” Walter took a drink of his beer and set it down on the table. “I’m also figuring that whatever secret you’re hiding, Carter finally figured it out, and that’s why the two of you aren’t an item anymore.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say. Walter might like me, but Carter was family. I’d lied to his nephew the same way I’d lied to everyone else, but Carter had feelings for me that no one else did, which made it far worse.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Walter said. “I can see it in that stricken look on your face. I’m sorry it worked itself out that way, but I can’t say that I’m surprised. If I’d thought Carter was going to get hung up on you that quickly, I might have said something. Or maybe I wouldn’t have. A young man rarely listens to what an old man has to say. Likely anything I said would have only caused friction between the two of us, and besides, I didn’t want to give away whatever secret you were hiding. I figured that was for you to say.”
“I appreciate you keeping quiet,” I said, “and I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
“I know you are. If you weren’t, we’d be having a totally different conversation.” Walter downed the rest of his beer and rose from the table. “I best get back to the store. It’s been busy today and Scooter’s bound to make a mess of things. But I couldn’t let any more time go by without saying something.”
I nodded and he put his hand on my shoulder. “Carter’s a stubborn man. Always has been. And I’m sure he has his reasons for the decision he made. But I still have hope that whatever this mess is, it will untangle sooner or later and leave you two considering your options.”
“Me too,” I said, surprising myself because I actually meant it.
Walter smiled. “You hang in there, honey. And if there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”
He started out of the kitchen and I turned around in my chair. “Walter?”
He stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”
“Ida Belle’s crazy not to marry you.”
He gave me a sad smile. “I know.”
*
Ida Belle scooted her chair closer to mine and Gertie leaned over my shoulder and looked at my laptop screen. “That’s the same picture,” Gertie said.
“So are the others,” I said. “See?”
I starting flipping through the photos Beulah had provided and then back to the Facebook page I’d found for Austin Jennings, a young man from Waco, Texas, who had just finished up his last tour in Iraq and was now back home with his wife, two kids, three cats, and a Labrador retriever.
“It can’t be him, right?” Ida Belle said.
“I’m sure it’s not,” I said. “The catfish lifted this guy’s photos because he’s good-looking and several of them are in military dress and clearly in the desert.”
“Should we check?” Gertie asked.
“Check how?” Ida Belle said. “We can’t exactly drive to Austin and accuse the poor man of bilking old ladies out of their retirement. He’s got a wife and kids. Imagine all the trouble that would stir up.”
“It’s not him,” I said. “Everything he’s done has been carefully planned. There’s no way he’d use real photos of himself. The women he’s targeting don’t know what catfishing is, but clearly, he’s well informed.”
Gertie nodded. “What about the mailing address?”
“It’s a post office box in New Orleans,” I said.
Gertie shook her head in disappointment. “Beulah should have known better. She’s sent charity boxes overseas. She knows the military has special addresses for such things.”
I pulled up the Word document with Beulah’s notes and pointed. “She says here that he claimed the box belonged to a friend who collected stuff for several of the men he served with and got it to them through other channels.”