Mistaken identity murder, p.1
Mistaken Identity Murder, page 1
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MISTAKEN IDENTITY MURDER
a Merry Wrath Mystery
by
LESLIE LANGTRY
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Copyright © 2024 by Leslie Langtry
Cover design by Janet Holmes
Gemma Halliday Publishing
http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
CHAPTER ONE
"The woman assassinating the Deputy Auditor General sure looks like you." Hilly squinted at her cell phone screen then at me. "When did you get blonde hair?"
"I've always had blonde hair," I muttered as I took the phone from her.
The woman's face in the video was most definitely mine. The problem was, I didn't assassinate the Deputy Auditor General of Myanmar.
"Why didn't they assign that to me?" Hilly whined. "I mean, you're retired!"
"I didn't do it, Hilly," I explained with a sigh for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Well, this was a bit of a nightmare. Hilly had dropped by out of the blue, as she always did. She said she was between gigs at the moment and decided to stop by Who's There, Iowa, the moment she saw the video. Hilly was a CIA assassin, who wasn't an assassin because assassination is illegal and the CIA doesn't do anything illegal—but totally was (because they totally do). She'd spotted the video on social media. It had gone viral—I suspect because Hilly shared it multiple times to her followers.
"How did you get two million followers on Instagram?" I gasped. "The CIA allows you to do that?"
"Of course!" Hilly rolled her eyes. "I have it set up to look like I'm a conspiracy theorist opposed to the agency. They think it's funny."
"Until you post something like this…" I mused. "When did this alleged hit happen, anyway?"
"December fourth," Hilly replied quickly.
I let out a sigh of relief, which was silly since I knew I hadn't done it. "I was here that day." I pointed across the street at my old house. "Running a Girl Scout meeting. With at least nine witnesses."
"We could say we didn't see you," Betty said at my elbow, making me jump.
How did she get into my house? I'd had the locks changed after the last time she barged in. I looked around to see if any of the other girls were with her.
"But you did," I pointed out. "We were outside learning how to make a fire in the snow."
How could she have forgotten that? I never would. Where most people would have trouble starting a fire in the snow, my troop took to it like hardcore pyromaniacs working with highly flammable snow. They nearly burned down the tree in my backyard, and the firefighters showed up. It wasn't very helpful of the fire marshal to suggest that the girls needed "help." He didn't know it, but he got added to Betty's list that day. I hoped she wouldn't use her massive influence with the mayor to get him fired. So far, she hadn't, but Betty was the queen of the long game, so who knew?
Betty looked at me thoughtfully. "Being a witness isn't cheap, you know."
My jaw dropped open. "You're extorting money from me to be my witness?"
I wasn't going to say anything, but it was kind of smart. Had I taught them that?
Betty sat down on the couch. "Is this about that Myanmar hit?"
I glared at Hilly, who didn't seem to catch my drift because she smiled and waved back. "How did you know about that?"
The kid threw her hands up. "How could I not know?"
"I hate this new deepfake thing," I sighed. "Obviously, I can prove I didn't do it…"
"How are you going to do that without our monetized testimony?" Betty started cleaning her fingernails with a switchblade.
"Because it's on my doorbell cam across the street and here," I said smugly.
The girl shrugged. "Those can be faked. I fake mine all the time so my parents will think I'm home when actually I…" She paused and thought for a moment. "Forget I said that, and we'll back you up on the assassination that you didn't do."
I held out my hand. "Deal."
Oh sure, I shouldn't negotiate with terrorists, and Betty clearly was one, but I decided to take my win where I could get it.
"That takes care of that." I brushed my hands together. The look on Hilly's face stopped me. "What?"
"Why doesn't anyone do any deepfakes like that for me?" she complained with an air of disappointment.
Betty jumped off the couch and consulted her phone. "I'll do it. What do you want? Corporate scandal? Political hit job—either real—" she made a gun with her fingers "—or journalistic? Oh, and this month I'm running a special on fighting bears. I found a bunch of videos online of people wrestling them."
"Oooh!" Hilly jumped up and down. "The bear one! Can I win?"
"Sure." Betty shrugged. "It's super easy. I'd say anyone can do it, but obviously it isn't since I'm so good at this."
"Betty," I said evenly. "You weren't the one who made this deepfake of me, were you?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"
I waved my arms around. "I'm asking. I'm literally right here, in front of you, asking."
It was as if I could see the gears grinding behind her eyes. "It was a mistake. I just did it as a joke to show the girls. I didn't know anyone was going to upload it."
"Something like this could get me in trouble!" I explained in my leader's voice.
"With the Myanmar government?" the kid asked.
"No, not with them. They're the last people I'd fear. No, with the US government."
"But your dad's, like, a big deal," Betty said.
"Not that big a deal that he could rescue me from an international incident."
"Fine! I'll take it off and print a statement saying it was faked." The girl stomped over to the door. "You happy?"
"No." I folded my arms over my chest. "I'd have been happy if you hadn't done it in the first place."
Betty shook her head. "After all I do for you!" She slammed the door behind her.
"How did she get in here?" I looked around.
Hilly shrugged. "Do you think I should win in the fake video or let the bear win? I don't know which is more politically correct."
Just when I thought things were dying down from the whole Museum of Murder fiasco… Now I was being pegged for an assassination I didn't commit. My name is Merry Wrath, and I'm a former CIA agent who was "accidentally" outed by the vice president, who was on a mission to get even with my dad. Retiring before thirty isn't for everyone, and I'd wanted to at least stay in the spy biz until fifty. Instead, I came home to my small town in Iowa and started the Girl Scout troop that spawned Betty the Hellion.
Hilly and I were just about to head to the kitchen when the front door opened and Ron and Ivan, my idiot Chechen brothers-in-law, burst in.
"Has anyone ever heard of knocking?" I complained.
"I have heard of knocking," Ron said slowly, as if this was a trap. "But back home it would be confusing."
"No one has heard of knocking there," Ivan added. "You are supposed to howl outside door, like wolf, and then they let you in."
"What if it's really a wolf?" I wondered.
"That is problem," Ron nodded. "One of three times is wolf and homeowner is eaten. Very sad. Is even worse if wolf eats goats."
"Also, since most houses are made of sticks held together with mud," Ivan said brightly, "knocking on door can make house collapse."
"Why are you guys here?" I pressed them.
"Oh!" Ron got excited. "Babies are now performing miracles!"
Ivan spoke up. "Blasto Blasto is sending Holy Mud Man to confirm. We need the Great Pook Snork to be there!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. Wally and Azlan, Ron's and Ivan's newborn sons (who both shared the first name of Blasto), were apparently prophets at the ripe old age of six weeks and had, in their creepy, unblinking way, designated me to be the Great Pook Snork, Defender of Injustice Against Goats.
I'd kind of forgotten about it because I wanted to forget about it. I was already a Bird Goddess with the four angsty teens in the Cult of NicoDerm. I didn't need another imaginary thing on my resume.
"Is big deal," Ivan gushed as his huge muscles swelled with pride. "Holy Mud Man coming here at this time of year!"
"Takes him away from duties!" Ron said solemnly.
Hilly literally could not help herself. "What does a Holy Mud Man do?"
Ron and Ivan rolled their eyes as if it was a stupid question. I was glad the assassin asked it, because I wanted to know myself but d
"Holy Mud Man is most religious person!" Ron bowed for some reason. "He must bless the mud every year, and this time is busy."
I decided to throw my reputation to the wind. "Why does he need to bless the mud?"
The Chechens stared at me before Ivan said, "If mud not blessed, anything used for will not work."
"Houses of sticks will not stick together." Ron nodded. "Grass will not grow for goats, and they will eat stick houses. They might start with toilet room!" The big man shuddered.
The gist seemed to stem from a problem with building materials and the goat threat to such things. How did this affect the Great Pook Snork, I wondered?
"What kind of miracles are the babies doing?" Hilly asked.
"Giant miracles!" Ron waved his arms around as if that proved it. "Enormous!"
"Wally found missing mitten," Ivan said proudly. "And Azlan made ball float through the air!"
Hilly's eyebrows went up. "A mitten? That's impressive!"
Most people would think she was saying that ironically. Let me be the first to tell you, she wasn't.
"He levitated a ball in the air?" My question was full of skepticism that was probably lost on these three.
"Yes!" Ron started bouncing up and down. "He threw ball, and it went through the air!"
"Like it would with anyone throwing a ball?" I asked for clarity and to kind of be a jerk about it.
"Was amazing!" Ivan looked starstruck. "And he sang Chechen national anthem!"
"He can't even talk yet!" I argued.
Ron and Ivan lost their enthusiasm and glared at me.
"Some the Great Pook Snork you are!" Ron said as he stormed out.
Ivan went to the door to follow him but turned back. "But you will be here for confirmation of miracles, yes?"
"Yes," I said. "Of course I will."
Who'd want to miss the Holy Mud Man blessing two infants as they located a lost mitten?
CHAPTER TWO
The next day, things seemed to quiet down on the deepfake assassination. True to her word, Betty posted a retraction. Mrs. Wrath didn't kill this guy…but she probably killed others, so it could've been true. Because I was forced to issue this stupid statement, deepfake videos are 10% off this week only, with an extra 5% if your name is Betty—the awesomest name in the world.
Not to be outdone, the government of Myanmar also sent out a statement: The Deputy Auditor General is very much alive, and no, you can't see him because he's very busy at the moment and will likely be busy for the foreseeable future. We insist that you stop leaving flowers at the deputy's residence, or you will be shot. Have a nice day.
"Glad to see you're out of the woods on that international assassination," Rex, my husband and the town's detective, said. The town's only detective was home for lunch.
"I don't know how these deepfakes can be so real." I pushed away from the table. "My head was on that body seamlessly. Much better than the faked Lee Harvey Oswald photo."
Rex looked at me. "I thought the research team at Dartmouth determined it was authentic." He went back to clearing the dishes. "If you say it was faked, then I owe one of the Hamlets five bucks."
Uh-oh. I'd signed a confidentiality clause when I started at the CIA after the orientation where certain secrets were revealed.
"I didn't say that," I lied. "Of course it is totally real." I winked. "Wait, you said you owe a hamster money?"
There were four Officer Hamlets unofficially on the police force, and they were all hamsters, owned by the resident paste-eater, Officer Kevin Dooley. Rex humored the village idiot by letting him bring the Hamlets to work, where they had actual uniforms and were training to be drug seizure hamsters. They weren't too bad at marking things with crime scene tape—as long as you watched where you were walking.
"One of them is a conspiracy junkie." Rex stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. "I've got to get back to the office. Should I bring home pizza tonight?"
That got my attention. "Yes please!"
My cell rang as I kissed my husband goodbye. It was Kelly Albers, my best friend since elementary school and my co-leader for the troop. It was Kelly who usually kept things on an even keel, which was good since sometimes—and I rarely admitted this—I could be a bit of a bad influence.
"Tell me I didn't forget a troop meeting today…again," I groaned.
"It's worse than that," she replied. "I need your help chaperoning the school dance tonight."
Like so many things with the CIA, it sounded innocent enough but was sure to be a thousand times worse. "What are you talking about? You were signed up to help without me?" It seemed like a bit of a betrayal.
"A friend of mine at church teaches at the middle school and asked if I could help out since I'm the most responsible person she knows."
That stung. My dream was for Kelly to call me responsible…just once!
Kelly continued. "But she's sick and the dance is tonight…"
"And your first thought was to ask me!" I tried to spin it.
"Actually, no. My first thought was my husband. My second thought was my pastor. My third thought was you when they turned me down."
"Third huh? I guess that's not too bad," I lied, because it wasn't great. "What do I have to do?"
Kelly sighed as if she wasn't 100% thrilled that I'd taken her up on her offer. "Be at the gym by seven. Wear a dress. Be ready for anything." She hung up.
Hilly blew through the door. "Hey! Are you going to the dance tonight?"
I shoved my cell into my pocket. "Of course. Kelly invited me." An idea popped into my head. "Why don't you come along and help?"
Hilly punched her fist in the air and started squealing. "Yay! I've got the perfect dress! I'll pick you up at 6:45!"
"Wait!" I grabbed her arm before she could leave. "How did you know about the dance?"
"Betty told me. See ya later!"
We got there a little earlier than that. Hilly and I both wore plain but elegant little black dresses. You might think we were fashionable, but the CIA required us to pack one wherever we went because it could be dressed up for a gala at an embassy, dressed down for a meetup in a Russian dive bar, or worn for any unexpected funerals. We also had cute but comfortable dress shoes just in case a shootout broke out at the aforementioned funeral. That actually happened at half the funerals I attended when I was a spy, especially after the first spring thaw in Chechnya, when the ground was soft enough to dig and people brought out bodies they'd stored in their ice houses all winter.
"This looks nice!" Hilly said. "I didn't go to any school dances."
I didn't respond because my memories were taking me back to my middle school days. Kelly and I went to every dance and always had a great time. I even remembered Kevin Dooley in the corner, eating the crepe streamers when the food ran out.
"Is this a date thing?" I gasped as I saw kids coming in in pairs. "It never used to be!"
A girl and boy stopped in front of us as he fixed her corsage. Corsages? At a middle-of-the-week middle school dance?
And where was Kelly? I was here before her! That made me more responsible, right?
"I wonder who the girls will bring as dates?" Hilly asked. "I mean, there's Betty and Conrad, but what about the others?"
I turned to follow her finger. Betty was wearing a hot pink dress with poufy sleeves and red Converse tennis shoes. Conrad, the first boy to ever turn the head of someone who seemed to hate boys before, was dressed in a suit and tie.
"Hey," Betty said as they stopped to talk to us. "What's up?"
"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Ferguson," Conrad said. "And Ms. Vinton too."
Hilly turned to me. "Should I pat them down for weapons?"
"Not if you want to stay out of jail for molesting kids," I warned. "You two have a nice time!" As they started to walk away, my spy-dy senses kicked out a warning. I pulled Betty's purse out of her hands, found a bottle of a nondescript substance, and confiscated it.
