Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  “She’s having the sheriff check in on her illegal pet?”

  I kicked my feet up on the dash and rolled my eyes. “She’s had Sheriff Tucker wrapped around her pinky finger forever. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d been gumming his dick for years.”

  Addie made a gagging noise as she turned the bend and Babs’ house came into view. “Did you seriously have to go there? I just got over puking every five minutes. I’d like to avoid vomiting again for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

  Pulling my feet down, I leaned forward to squint through the windshield at the small form standing on the porch. “Is that Babs?”

  Addie mirrored my expression as she slowed the truck, making the final forty feet at a snail’s pace. “Oh God, why is she smiling like that?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, feeling the cold chill of something terrible creep up my spine. Babs stood on her slanted porch, bags in hand, and a giant smile spread wide across her lips.

  As a rule, Babs didn’t smile unless she was plotting something exceedingly terrible. She may smirk or laugh, hell she might even grin, but she did not smile, ever. Our grandmother was a lot of things, but terrifying was at the top of the list. In fact, I wasn’t entirely convinced our grandfather had died of a heart attack. It was quite possible he’d pissed Babs off for the last time, and she’d snapped.

  Neither of us moved when the truck finally groaned to a stop. Without prompting, Babs lumbered down the steps and straight for us, dragging her suitcases behind her the whole way. I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed open the rusty door, moving to get out and help my beloved, crazy ass grandmother with her bags.

  Babs’ hand shot up, and she pointed a crooked finger at me. “Stay! I get bag. We get to sky bus faster.”

  “Babs, they don’t call them sky buses anymore. It’s called an airplane. And I can help you with your bag. We have plenty of time.”

  She just glared, and with a strength I wasn’t aware she possessed, she heaved her two suitcases up and over the side and into the bed of the truck. Shuffling over to my door, she made a shooing motion with her wrinkled hands. “Move, slot calling my name.”

  Exchanging a look with Addie, I complied, scooting into the middle of the bench seat. I had a feeling that I might have underestimated the trouble Babs could get into in a place like Vegas. But as Addie put the truck back into gear and pointed it in the direction of the highway, I realized it was too late for regrets. We would just have to deal with it. Traveling with one little old homicidal grandmother with a drinking problem couldn’t be too difficult, could it?

  57

  Frequent Flier

  Adelaide

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Savannah lumbered beside me, loaded down with her own bag on one shoulder and lugging my paisley print overnight bag on her other. Huffing out a few overly dramatic wheezes, she threw it by her feet and scowled. “Addie, what the hell do you have in there, a bomb?”

  The entire security checkpoint at Louis Armstrong International Airport came to a dead stop, and every eye laser locked on my innocent little bag. Tucking my hair nervously behind my ear, I smiled, shrugging at the security guard’s hardened face. “It’s not really a bomb,” I assured him, slipping a side-eyed glare at my sister. “Obviously, I’m pregnant, and I need my books, and snacks, and heartburn medication…”

  “You say heartworm?” Babs interrupted, hip checking me while maneuvering her way between us. “Why you have heartworm?”

  “Heartburn, Babs.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “I told you many year ago. You sleep with dog, you get flea. Now you have worm and baby. Close leg, miloshka.”

  Oh God, please let the universe swallow me up right now.

  “Not now, Babs,” I begged her. Wrinkling her nose, she just grinned and pushed ahead of us in line, her massive red bag slapping the TSA guard across the shoulder on her way in.

  Savannah nodded at her back. “What do you think she has in that thing?”

  I swallowed hard as an inconceivable thought crossed my mind. “You don’t think she would’ve tried to bring Fluffy, do you?” The idea of my grandmother’s four-foot long pet alligator curled up in her oversized shoulder bag set off a sequence of images too horrible to imagine. I’d heard of Snakes On A Plane, but I was pretty sure an alligator would ensure I’d leave this airport either in handcuffs or a body bag.

  “No, she wouldn’t be that stupid.” Pausing, Savannah shifted her eyes toward the merciless hold Babs had on the bag and added, “Would she?”

  “Do you not remember Thanksgiving 1999?”

  That was all I had to say for Savannah’s face to blanch. Everyone in Terrebonne Parish remembered Thanksgiving 1999. Most families in the parish celebrated the holiday with a family gathering, complete with turkey dinner and all the pie you could eat.

  Not Babs.

  That year, our grandmother decided that instead of buying the turkey, she wanted to shoot and pluck her own. Normal people understood that you didn’t bring a wild turkey inside the house to do it. Then again, normal people didn’t have Babs Dubois as a grandmother.

  Most of us got stitches that year. It took mine almost three weeks to heal.

  As I handed my license and boarding pass to the ticket agent, I heard a clicking sound, and my spine straightened.

  It was the sound of teeth popping out of place.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to put the bag through the security scanner.”

  Pop. Click. Pop.

  “I have to ask you to fuck off.”

  Horrified, I lifted my chin to see the TSA agent and my grandmother in a tug-of-war over her handbag. While fighting like a rabid cougar with one hand, Babs held her teeth in the other like a baseball pitcher ready to throw a strike.

  “Ma’am, please.”

  “Babs, stop it!” I hissed, glaring at her from five feet away. Grumbling, she finally relinquished her death grip and shoved her teeth back in her mouth. Savannah and I both held our breath as she tossed a menacing stare toward each TSA agent while tucking the crimson bag in a tray and shoving it through the scanner.

  And this is where we all die.

  I loved my grandmother, but I didn’t trust any woman who walked around with a dinosaur on a leash. As her bag made its way down the conveyor belt, I watched it for signs of wiggling or eyes peeking through the opening. After it disappeared inside the main scanner, I relaxed and focused on the ridiculous amount of energy it required to remove my shoes, when I heard it.

  The scanner siren.

  I whipped around, ready to mount the conveyer belt in hopes of avoiding becoming Fluffy’s two-for-one meal deal. However, before I could straddle the top of the scanner, Savannah grabbed my arm and nodded toward the walk-through metal scanner.

  Oh shit.

  Babs stood in the middle of the scanner, legs hip width apart, arms up, and fingers spread like she was about to get frisked. She had her head thrown back, shouting what I assumed to be Russian curses at the agent who’d stopped her.

  Literal curses. Like ancient-fuck-your-world-up-voodoo shit.

  “Ma’am we’re going to need you to step over here for a moment.”

  Wiggling her jaw, Babs tilted her head back and spat by her feet. “Fuck your father.”

  Damn. Teeth in. That’s a first.

  The guard took everything in stride, shaking her shoe while never taking her eyes off the elderly firecracker in front of her. “Ma’am, please.”

  “Babs!” Savannah called out, panic starting to form on her face as she wrung her hands. “Do what they say, please. For me?”

  I watched carefully, the worst possible scenario forming in my head as my eyes followed the agent’s hand as she reached for a long rectangular wand behind her. “Oh God, you don’t think it’s possible she brought a joint inside the airport, do you?”

  Savannah chewed on the inside of her lip and sighed. “I think it’s less possible that she didn’t bring
a joint inside the airport.”

  An angry mob of delayed passengers formed behind us as the female TSA agent scanned my grandmother with the magnetic wand, stopping at her pocket. “Ma’am, can you please empty your pocket?”

  “Oh fuck,” Savannah groaned, palming her forehead. “This is it. They’re going to bring out the K-9s, and we’re all going to jail.”

  “Will you shut up! Nobody’s going to jail.” The problem was, I didn’t believe anything I was saying. Visions of orange jumpsuits and thoughts of becoming someone’s bitch rolled through my mind as I grabbed my chest with both hands.

  Unfazed by the entire situation, Babs reached into her pocket and pulled out a mini bottle of vodka. Handing it over to the agent, she rolled her eyes and motioned toward the terminal. “Fine, I go now, super sky bus spy lady?”

  “Not yet.” Just as the agent waved the wand across Babs’ chest, the alarm sounded twice as loud.

  This was not happening.

  “What the hell?” I groaned.

  Babs gave zero fucks. “Plane charge eight dollars for drink. Cheap sky bus try to rob old lady.”

  “Ma’am, you can’t bring this much alcohol on an airplane. It’s against federal aviation regulations. I’m going to need you to remove what you have hidden inside of your shirt.” The agent seemed eerily patient with a woman who’d not only spat on her shoes but who was also about to be solely responsible for causing a mass riot.

  “You want? Come get.”

  My mouth dropped open in pure shock. “Babs!”

  “Fine!” Reaching into her bra, Babs pulled out two mini bottles from each cup and flung them at the agent. As the plastic bottles bounced off the shiny patent leather shoes of the bewildered agent, my grandmother reached for her teeth again.

  Anticipating her move, Savannah grabbed her arm and shoved her away from the agent before she could throw them on the ground. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Snagging her huge red purse from the end of the conveyor belt, Babs pointed a gnarled finger at my sister. “This party already suck.” Turning on her too-big-for-her red pumps, she stomped off in the opposite direction with her middle finger in the air.

  The moment we stepped onto the plane, Babs was in rare form. There were a total of five babies and toddlers on board, but my eighty-five-year old grandmother was the most vocal of them all. Sandwiching her in between us didn’t work. She’d already tried to make a break for it three times within the first five minutes. It was bad when mothers with screaming infants tilted their chins at us in pity, thankful it wasn’t them dealing with the crazy old lady.

  A vodka-less Babs was an unpredictable Babs, so I turned the other cheek when Savannah crushed up a Benadryl and slipped it in her cranberry juice. Within twenty minutes, our now docile old grandmother was drooling in la-la land like the rest of the toddlers on the plane. Content we were going to have an uneventful flight, I’d just pulled out my pregnancy bible when Savannah slipped her credit card out of her purse and started punching the numbers into her phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t bother to look up as she clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Purchasing the airline Wi-Fi. I need to text Patrick. I’m still in contact with a mutual friend, and she sent me his number just before we took off.”

  “Do you know how expensive that shit is? Why don’t you just wait until we land?”

  “I can’t, Ads. The sooner I get him to Vegas, the sooner this whole thing can be over.”

  It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t care. I mean, she got herself into this mess, and she could get herself out. However, the big sister in me couldn’t help but lean over and watch as she furiously typed. As I read her text, instinct took over, and I ripped the phone out of her hand, holding it into the aisle and away from her grasp.

  “You cannot send this.”

  “And why the hell not?”

  “Why, you ask?” Smirking, I read it aloud. “Hey Patrick, Guess what? That chapel was real, our wedding was real, and we’re married, you piece of shit. Get your fucking ass to Vegas today and give me an annulment, or I’ll feed your dick to my pig.”

  Flashing me a smile that showed all her teeth, Savannah’s expression was anything but amused. “You’re right. Kevin would never eat his dick. Even pigs have standards.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You haven’t spoken to the man in three years, Sav! Do you really think this is going to entice him to haul his ass from LA to Vegas to give you want you want? He’s lived this long married to you without caring. I highly doubt it’ll matter to him.”

  “He didn’t respond to my simple ‘hey can we talk’ message on Facebook, so I need to do something to get his attention. Do you have a better idea?”

  “Actually, I do.” Erasing her vile message, I retyped it and handed it back to her.

  Clearing her throat, Savannah read aloud, “Patrick, unfortunately, the union we shared while intoxicated three years ago is a valid and legally binding document. Please clear your schedule and join me in Las Vegas tomorrow to rectify the situation.” She cocked an eyebrow. “You expect me to send this?”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing, if I’m inviting him to a debutante ball. This is so formal, Addie. This isn’t me.”

  I waved a hand, dismissing her objection. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  “Letting him near my honey is what got me into this mess,” she said with a snort, flopping back in her seat.

  I covered my eyes, my face heating. “Oh my God, Sav. Ew, that’s just—”

  Before I could finish, Babs popped an eye open and jerked the phone out of Savannah’s hand. With reflexes I had no idea she possessed, she erased my message, typed her own, and pressed send. Tossing the phone back in Savannah’s lap, she sat back with a shit-eating grin on her face.

  With shaky fingers, Savannah turned the phone over and held it out for both of us to read. The words registered in my head but all my ears heard was, “we’re fucked.”

  Come to Vegas and give me a divorce, cockhole. McHottie put a ring on it. PS. Bring vodka.

  “You heard.” Closing her eyes, Savannah let out a breath, knowing the ruse was over.

  “It take more than one Benadryl to knock old lady out. Babs learn long time ago if you play dead, you learn secret. Besides, I knew this not just bride party. No bride bring grandmother on sexy naked man weekend.”

  For some reason, Babs’ confession seemed to knock my sister off balance, causing her twist her fingers repetitively in her lap. “You can’t tell Pope.”

  As the drink cart passed by for the final run, Babs grinned and nodded toward the credit card still resting in Savannah’s lap. “How much is worth to you?”

  58

  Vegas, Baby

  Adelaide

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Once we landed, Savannah called Uber. We’d waited for more than half an hour for Billy to arrive in his late model Monte Carlo like he’d just driven straight out of some 70s porno. Now, the three of us sat in the backseat with Savannah perched in the middle on some weird seat hump, while a song about slapping someone’s hoe blared in the background.

  This was how women get kidnapped and murdered. Yep, we were going to end up a Dateline special, and Bam-Bam would end up running DuBlanc.

  Which honestly was the most frightening thought of the entire scenario.

  If we all made it out of this car alive, I swore I’d crawl out on my hands and knees and kiss the sidewalk, right after I punched the driver in the face. However, between our driver’s Indy 500 style lane changes and the overpowering stench of weed, I wasn’t sure we’d live that long.

  Pulling out her phone again, Savannah began typing furiously, her face scrunched up in concentration. Without offering me so much as a glance, she heaved an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know why you look so pissed off. You got your divorce.”

  “It smells like weed in here,” I muttered, ignoring her comment.<
br />
  Pausing her typing, she sniffed the air before returning her attention to her phone. “Patchouli.”

  “Right, which is used to mask the smell of weed.” Slightly perturbed that my sister didn’t care about my well-being, I punched her arm. “Savannah! My baby is gonna come out high, listening to The Grateful Dead and wearing Birkenstocks.”

  “I wear Birkenstocks.”

  Crossing my arms in a huff, I pressed the side of my head against the foggy window. “I rest my case.”

  “Calm down,” she said, apparently finding what she was looking for on her phone and lifting it to her ear. “It wasn’t too long ago that you sparked one up on Babs’ porch, princess.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Patrick.”

  “Why? Didn’t you already text him?”

  “No, she did, remember?” Hooking a thumb to her left, she rolled her eyes at Babs then tapped her nail to the part of her phone resting next to her chin. “I need to do some damage control.”

  I waited, wondering what kind of threats were going to spew out of my sister’s mouth next. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Damn, voice mail.” Clearing her voice, she tried as best she could to sound calm. “Hey, Patrick, it’s Savannah Dubois. Listen, about that text message—that wasn’t me. My grandmother stole my phone, and she was a little drunk on the airplane. I need you to call me back as soon as possible. No, you know what? Scratch that. I need you to get your ass to Vegas, ASAP. Apparently, those vows we took were real, and we have to get this marriage annulled so we can both put it behind us. I know you don’t want it hanging over your head either.” Moving the phone from her ear, she brought it back at the last minute and added, “For the record, I’m broke, so there’s no money in this for you if you’re thinking of trying to fuck me over.”