by bow, frankie
Carter looked right at me. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
Did he just say that to me? I don’t want to have to tell you again?
Okay, Carter didn’t know that I was a trained CIA field operative. I was posing as a retired beauty queen turned school librarian. But with that scolding tone, he sounded just like my father. I felt a hot flush creep up my neck.
“You look a little peaked, Deputy,” Gertie said. “Would you like to pull up a chair and join us for breakfast? Celia, I’d invite you too, but I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your busy schedule.”
“He can have my place.” I stood up and grabbed my bag. The blood rushing in my ears drowned out most of the conversation around me. I heard Celia take a parting shot at “outsiders,” probably intended for both Justin and me. Then Ida Belle replied with that Bible verse about being kind to the strangers in your midst.
“Sorry, Celia,” Ida Belle taunted. “I forgot you’re Catholic, so you got no idea what’s in the Bible. Heck, I could start making stuff up right now and you’d have no choice but to believe me.”
I made my way out of Francine’s as the sounds of escalating holy war faded out behind me.
Chapter Two
I marched from Francine’s all the way back to my house, which was actually the home of the late Marge Boudreaux, whose niece I was impersonating. I hoped the long walk would give me a chance to cool down. There’s no room for anger, or any strong emotion, when you’re undercover. I was comfortably attired for my morning jog, in athletic shoes, sweats, and a cool cotton t-shirt. Fortunately, retired beauty queens are allowed to dress down for exercise.
“I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
I felt myself getting more, not less, infuriated as I thought about it. It was bad enough when my father used to tell me that I was stupid, or incompetent, or just a general disappointment for not having been born male. But my father was gone now. And I definitely didn’t have to tolerate that treatment from Carter LeBlanc.
I paused at the front porch of the house and took a deep breath. I had to monitor my emotional reactions closely. They go over this during training, and at every post-assignment debriefing. Undercover work is “physically, emotionally and intellectually demanding,” they tell us, and field operatives can be affected in unexpected ways. Case in point: the fact that I’d become romantically involved with that total Neanderthal.
No, I take that back. Comparing Carter LeBlanc to a Neanderthal wasn’t fair to Neanderthals, who (according to a documentary that I just watched over at Ida Belle’s house) were actually pretty advanced. Carter was more like some thick-skulled and not-very-evolved hominid. What was that one they just discovered? The one with the tiny brain? That one.
I let myself into the house, showered, changed into clean sweats and t-shirt, and went to unwind in Marge’s library. The late Marge Boudreaux had a magnificent library. The more I learned about Marge, the more I wished she’d really been my great-aunt.
I pulled down a book on Celtic weaponry, curled up in the chair by the window, and dozed off with the book open to the chapter about shillelaghs.
Loud banging on the door jolted me awake. I took my time getting to the door. If it was Carter, I figured he could stand to wait a bit.
It wasn’t Carter. Ida Belle and Gertie pushed their way in as soon as I cracked the door open. Justin trailed in after them.
“I’m going to make coffee,” Gertie announced, and then headed to the kitchen without waiting for my permission.
“More coffee?” Ida Belle complained. “We just had a bunch of coffee at Francine’s. What about your bowels?”
“You don’t have to have any if you don’t want it,” Gertie called from the kitchen.
“No, I’ll have some. “
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked.
“Ah, we’re wondering what to do about Celia,” Ida Belle said. “We thought you or Ally might have some ideas. I swear, we’ve known that woman fifty years--”
“We've known her lot longer than that,” Gertie called over from the kitchen.
“And in fifty years,” Ida Belle continued, “I still haven’t figured out what’s crawled up that woman’s—”
“You know what I used to tell my students,” Gertie interrupted. “It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice. That’s something Celia could stand to remember. Justin, sit down, dear. Standing there by the front door makes it look like you’re thinking about escaping”
“Gertie used to be a schoolteacher,” Ida Belle explained.
Justin nodded and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Gertie, what did you put in the coffee maker?” I reflexively wrinkled my nose. “Something smells awful.”
My roommate Ally came rushing in to the kitchen, tying her long brown hair into a knot as she ran.
“Sorry!” she lunged at the oven. “I shouldn't have left it at 375.”
Gertie stood by the coffee machine and watched as Ally yanked the oven open and waved at the billowing smoke.
“Still working on your swamp rat pie, dear?” Gertie asked.
Ally pulled on a pair of thick-knit safety mitts, snatched the smoldering pie out of the oven, and twisted the temperature dial to “off.” There was no door to protect us from the odor of the pie now. It smelled like someone was having a barbecue in the middle of a landfill. Ally turned around, with her back to the oven, and wiped her forehead with her sleeve.
“I shouldn't have tried cooking it on high heat,” she panted. “This isn't something I'd usually try. I'm more, you know, pastries, and pork ribs and stuff with more...mainstream appeal. But Aunt Celia's going to make my life miserable if I don't enter something in this cooking contest…oh, hello. I’m Ally.”
“Sorry, Ally, this is Justin, Ida Belle’s new roommate. He’s visiting from Hawaii. Justin, this is Ally, my roommate.”
“Howzit?” Justin grinned.
Ally beamed and gave him a little wave.
“Ally, you're the best chef in Sinful,” Ida Belle said. “What’s the matter?”
“I guess my heart's not in it.” Ally came over to the table and sat down in the chair next to Justin. “It's easy to get passionate about making the best barbecue ribs in town. It's been kinda hard to drum up the same enthusiasm over swamp rat pie.”
“Why on earth is that woman making such a big deal about the swamp rat festival?” Ida Belle pulled up a fifth chair to the kitchen table. Marge’s furniture was simple, sturdy, and tasteful. I was grateful for that. My stint in Sinful would have been a lot less bearable if I'd had to be surrounded by twee knickknacks and floral chintz.
“Oh, Aunt Celia’s got it in her head that Sinful needs to be on the map.”
Gertie poured out five mugs of her good, strong coffee and brought them over, three in one hand, two in the other, dribbling a trail of coffee behind her on my floor. Gertie needed glasses, and refused to get them. There was no use arguing with her about it.
I stood up, but Ally was quicker. She grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the spilled coffee without Gertie even noticing.
“I like Sinful the way it is,” I took a cup of Gertie’s coffee, even though I’d had several cups at Francine’s and was already sloshing like a hot water bottle. “There are advantages to not being on the map.”
“Eh, Aunty Fortune, where’s the lua?”
“Justin, please don’t call me Aunty. Just ‘Fortune’ is fine. What’s a lua?”
“Bathroom,” Ida Belle said. “There’s one right around the corner there.”
Ally watched Justin saunter down the hallway, and then she turned her big eyes to me.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Fortune, but in a way I almost agree with Aunt Celia. I mean, I do love Sinful, but it truly is a small town. How am I ever gonna meet someone? I mean you all are great friends, but as far as someone to be with? The guys around here, some of 'em are nice enough, but they’re just not…I don’t k
now how to say it without sounding like a snob.”
“You don't need a man, Ally,” Ida Belle said.
“But if you want someone who's seen the big wide world,” Gertie added, “how about Ida Belle’s new friend? He's a graduate student, so he’s smart.”
“And poor,” Ida Belle added.
“I guess he seems nice. I’d love to spend some time with a man who's been somewhere and done something outside of fishing and shooting things. Sorry, Fortune, I know you and Carter… I didn't mean any offense.”
“None taken, I promise.”
Justin returned to the table.
“Eh got all quiet all of a sudden.”
“We were just discussing adjusting to life in Sinful,” I said. “I’m a pretty recent newcomer myself.”
“So what’s the scoops? What else I gotta know besides watch out for all the wild animals?”
“I’ll tell you what you need to know,” Ida Belle said. “That Celia Arceneaux is a cast-iron—ouch!”
Ida Belle glared at Gertie.
“Ally,” Gertie said, “Ida Belle apologizes if she said anything unkind about your aunt. Now Justin, has anyone told you about the Rougarou?”
“Honestly Gertie,” Ida Belle groused, “ever since you started that creative writing class—”
“Gertie,” I interrupted, “I didn’t know you were taking a writing class. Where?”
“Online,” Ida Belle said.
“Ooh, I haven’t heard about the Rougarou since I was a little girl.” Ally smiled. “My mama used to tell me the Rougarou was going to get me if I broke Lent. But then my classmate Stella Guidry said no, they can only get you if you break Lent seven years in a row.”
“Not quite, dear. If you break Lent seven years in a row you become one.”
“The Lent rule doesn’t apply to Baptists though,” Ida Belle said.
“What are you all talking about?”
“I’m talking about a man that turns into a terrible beast.” Gertie widened her eyes and cast a dramatic look around the table. “He stalks the swamps and bayous by night, and gorges on human flesh, leaving behind mangled corpses with their throats torn out and their entrails chewed away. And those few who survive have a fate even worse than grisly death…they become a Rougarou themselves.”
“You told this to third graders?” I asked.
“Oh sure. As long as I didn’t teach evolution, I was fine. Anyway, most of the kids already knew about the Rougaroufrom their parents. But did you know that different cultures the world over have their own stories about people who can transform into animals? Anubis, the ancient Egyptian god of the underworld, was depicted as a man with a wolf’s head. The Navajo skin walkers could turn into any animal they pleased. And of course the Hồtinh, Hanoi’s nine tailed fox. I was thinking I might write a story about the Hồ tinh.”
“Gertie, that’s so great that you’re doing that,” Ally said. “Are you going to write children’s books?”
“Oh, my goodness no. There’s no money in children’s books. I’m writing erotica.”
“Are there any stories about Hawaiian shape shifters?” I quickly asked Justin.
“Aw, sure. We get Kamapua'a, who’s half man half boar.”
“Can he change from one to the other?” Ally asked. “Or is he just half and half?”
“Depends on what version of the story you got. But in all of ‘em he’s all grumpy and bitter, ah? Cause his father never wanted him, that’s why.”
“How sad,” Ally said.
“One day he fell in love wit’ Pele, the fire goddess, but she saw his ugly nature and ran away from him. So he could never find love.”
“I don’t like that story,” I said.
“That sounds so interesting.” Ally smiled at him. “I’d love to hear more.”
Next thing I knew, Justin Lao was a fixture in my house. At least when Ally was home. They spent most of their time cooking together, which I thought was sweet. Especially since I got to sample the results.
Justin taught Ally how to make lau laus, pork wrapped in taro leaves and encased in a ti leaf for long, slow cooking. Ally adapted the recipe to use locally available ingredients like collards and salt pork.
They seemed so chummy that I assumed they had a love connection. I was happy for Ally, who up until now had not had great luck with guys. Imagine my surprise, then, when one morning, as I was sitting in Francine's Diner with Ida Belle and Gertie, I saw Justin Lao walk in with a woman who most definitely was not Ally.
Childlike facial morphology –full cheeks, high forehead, large eyes--makes age estimation difficult. Somewhere between mid-twenties and early forties. Dark blonde hair, apparently natural, and light eyes, consistent with Acadian, (Cajun) ancestry. Movement and muscularity indicate high levels of strength and flexibility, consistent with a dancer or gymnast. Threat level: moderate, if she ever takes her eyes off her prey.
Justin glanced over at our table and gave us a nod, but made no move to join us. He and the blonde kept walking toward a distant back booth, where they sat side by side.
“Well how do you like that?” Ida Belle complained. “They don’t even want to sit with us.”
I was glad Ally’s shift hadn’t started yet. Poor Ally—yet another disappointment in the romance department.
“Well there are three of us, and two of them,” Gertie said, “and the booth only seats four. Unless you want them to drag a chair over and block the walkway.”
The blonde was looking at Justin like he was her next meal. He'd only been in Sinful a couple of days and already his love life was orders of magnitude more exciting than mine and Ally’s put together.
Grow up, I scolded myself. I wasn't here to have fun. Unless it's explicitly part of our assignment, undercover operatives are not supposed to become intimately involved with the locals. It's emotionally and physically risky for us, and it can expose the agency to legal action.
I guess I should have thought of all that before I got involved with Carter LeBlanc. What was I thinking?
No need to answer that. Stupid hormones.
“One of the Roche girls,” Gertie whispered. “Has to be. She's the very image.”
“You know who she is?”
“Not her personally,” Gertie said. “But her people are well known around here.”
“I've never heard of them,” I said.
“When Gertie says well known, she's being nice,” Ida Belle said. “What she really means to say is notorious.”
I looked from one to the other.
“Let me guess. This notorious family has something to do with that thing you were talking about earlier.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ida Belle said.
“Perd’ Espoir, was that it?”
Gertie and Ida Belle exchanged a look.
“If memory serves, that's French for lost hope, isn't it?”
“Gracious, aren't you the smart one?” Gertie said sweetly.
“So what's the story with this Roche family?” I studied Justin's companion from across the crowded diner. Her teeth were white and even, and her round face radiated health. She didn’t look like a meth addict. “And how do you know this woman is one of them if you haven’t seen her before?”
Ida Belle swallowed a mouthful of biscuits and gravy. “We know her people. Not hard to spot 'em. Gene pool's about as deep as a birdbath, if you get my drift.”
“Their family tree looks like a braid,” Gertie added helpfully.
“Good looking clan,” Ida Belle said, “but trouble, all of 'em, and no more morals than tomcats.”
“You don't want Justin getting killed by a jealous boyfriend,” Gertie said. “Not before you’ve got the down payment for your car.”
I held my hands up. “Just leave me out of it. This is not any of my business. I'll buy Ally ice cream and watch Lifetime movies with her, if she needs consoling. But other than that, I’m not getting involved.”
“Well, Fortune my dear,” Gertie pat
ted my hand, “it’s nice that you’re so optimistic.”
Chapter Three
After breakfast, the three of us walked across the street to The General Store. I had to buy some of that special shampoo that was supposed to be gentle on hair extensions, and believe it or not, the General Store carried it. I couldn't buy a decent pair of athletic shoes, a plate of sushi, or a drop of wine inside Sinful's city limits. But stuffed deer heads, 9 millimeter ammo, or special hair-extension-compliant shampoo? All three were available for purchase within easy walking distance of my house.
“I really hate these hair extensions,” I said as we approached the General Store. “Especially now they’re growing out. They look trashy. When is a former beauty queen turned school librarian allowed to cut her hair to a more practical length, anyway?”
“No, trashy’s a good look for you,” Ida Belle said. “Helps you blend in. You don’t want to go around dressing like you think you’re too good for us or anything.”
“Remember Celia’s daughter Pansy?” Gertie said. “Compared to her, Fortune looks like Grace Kelly.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Well speak of the devil.” Ida Belle paused with her hand on the General Store’s glass door. She bent down, and peered between handbills announcing used boats and trucks for sale and the sun-faded poster advertising Mister Twister fishing lures. “There’s our mayor-elect herself.”
“What’s she doing?” Gertie asked.
Ida Belle raised her finger to her lips and pushed the door open slowly. The three of us slipped in and stood quietly by the General Store’s entrance. Walter saw us but quickly flicked his glance away. He was going to let Celia keep going.
“Look at that empty space over there.” Celia swept her bangle-laden arm toward a wall jam packed with shelves of waders, boots, breath mints, flashlights, jumper cables, maps, and pet food. “You could display at least fifty festival t-shirts there, and you could put a shelf of the snow globes right underneath. And you’d get three percent of every sale. It’s a sure thing, Walter. I don’t see why you’re acting so stubborn about it.”