Fortune Hunter (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 8)

“Not optimum,” Ida Belle said, “but if the night clerk is really a sleeper then we might be able to sneak by without him noticing.”


“I’m more concerned about security cameras than the clerk,” I said.

“Why would someone look at the security footage?” Gertie asked.

“They wouldn’t,” I said, “unless something goes wrong, and something always seems to go wrong.”

“That’s why I brought disguises,” Gertie said. She went to the trunk of her car. “I ordered some last week. I figured they might come in handy sometime and sure enough…”

I looked over at Ida Belle, but she looked as nervous as I felt. Clearly, she hadn’t been consulted on the disguise purchase. Gertie pulled three boxes out of the trunk of her car and tossed one each at Ida Belle and me. I took one look at the picture on the box and shook my head.

“No way,” I said. “I’m not dressing like a hooker. I always have to dress like a hooker.”

“I wanted the hooker costume for myself,” Gertie said, pouting, “but the spandex put my thighs in a bind.”

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” Ida Belle asked, holding up a flannel shirt and giant black ball cap.

“It’s a truck driver costume,” Gertie said. “If you pull the hat down and keep your chin tucked in, no one will be able to see your face.”

“I could have used my own wardrobe for this,” Ida Belle said. “Am I supposed to be the guy who hired the hooker?”

Gertie frowned. “Hmmmm. I was concentrating on costumes that would prevent us from being recognized. I guess I hadn’t thought about how they’d look together.”

“What’s your costume?” I asked.

She held up her box and Ida Belle sighed.

“A hooker, a truck driver, and a nun walk into a hotel,” Ida Belle said. “There’s the start of a bad joke.”

“A nun?” I asked. “Really?”

“It’s the perfect disguise,” Gertie said. “Who would suspect a nun of doing something illegal?”

“The police?” I said. “They suspect everyone. Besides, you’re Baptist. Won’t you burst into flames or something if you do this?”

“I don’t think so,” Gertie said. “We’re doing charity work, after all.”

I supposed if one used skewed logic, it made sense. As much sense as a trucker, a hooker, and a nun walking into a hotel together, anyway.

“Maybe one of us should go in first and see if the clerk is asleep,” I said.

Gertie nodded. “Which one of us would draw the least amount of attention?”

Ida Belle pointed at me. “Hooker girl, here.”

“Why am I always first choice?” I asked.

“This place doesn’t rent by the hour,” Gertie said, “but I agree that a hooker probably wouldn’t stick out as much.”

I stared at the two of them. “A truck driver would be more glaring than a hooker? Really?”

Ida Belle nodded. “In a hotel, sure. This isn’t seedy, but it’s not the Ritz, either. Most truck drivers sleep in their cabs.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go check it out.”

“Let’s suit up,” Gertie said.

“I’m not changing in the parking lot,” I said. “Especially into that. I’m pretty sure I can’t have undergarments.”

“Oh, stop whining,” Gertie said and grabbed my costume bag from me. She pulled out the dress and handed it to me. “Take off your T-shirt and slip that over, then take off your jeans. A bra is no different than a bathing suit.”

“Except that people can’t usually drive by and see a bra in the parking lot of a hotel,” I said.

“Mardi Gras.” Ida Belle and Gertie both spoke at once.

I shook my head and shrugged off my T-shirt. Next year, assuming I wasn’t on assignment, I was coming back to Louisiana to see this Mardi Gras spectacle. I pulled the dress over my head and yanked and tugged until it was at my hips. I shrugged off my jeans and pulled some more until it was down over my previously exposed rear.

“It would look better with a push-up bra,” Gertie said.

“I doubt there’s one in the vending machine.” I held out my hand. “Give me those ridiculous shoes and that wig. This dress itches. I don’t want to be in it any longer than I have to be.”

Gertie passed me the shoes—a ridiculous combination of clear plastic and pink glitter—and I climbed up onto them.

“Can you walk in those?” Ida Belle asked.

I pulled the wig comprising wavy, flaming-red locks over my head. “We’re about to find out.”

I took one step and my ankle wobbled. Gertie grabbed my arm and steadied me. “I’m going to start walking,” I said. “You guys get changed and meet me at the front door. Hide in those potted plants. I’ll signal if it’s safe.”