by Shari Hearn
She and Ida Belle began walking toward the door.
“You’re leaving?” Marge’s mother called out, her tone reminiscent of when Marge was a teenager and would leave the dinner table to go meet her friends. “We still have an hour left of our club meeting, young lady. I made your favorite cookies.”
“And I mixed up a batch of Ida Belle’s favorite lemon-limeade,” Beatrice chimed in, the same level of motherly annoyance in her voice.
“Oh, crap,” Ida Belle whispered to Marge. “I was hoping we could get Gertie and go search for the hat tonight.”
“Let me handle it,” Marge whispered. “I came prepared.” She smiled at her mother. “Of course we’ll stay to the end. And over cookies and lemon-limeade,” she added, pulling out a sheet of paper from her purse, “I was hoping I could get y’all to sign my petition to our legislators regarding voting on the Equal Rights Amendment.”
Several of the women gasped in horror, many showing disgust on their faces.
“Oh, hell,” Millie cried out to Acadia, “your daughter’s a women’s liberator? Is she a hippie too?”
“Of course not, she’s joking,” Acadia said. She rushed over and opened the front door and shoved Ida Belle and Marge outside. “You two have a nice evening,” she said sweetly, although her glower didn’t match her voice.
“I don’t suppose we can borrow your car?” Marge asked her, getting a door slammed in her face as the answer. “Could you at least call Gertie and have her pick us up in her granny’s car?” she shouted through the door.
THE MOOD IN THE RAMBLER wagon was somber as Granny Magoo drove at a snail’s pace to the rental house. The news that Gertie’s granny had seen a woman with a white dog had sent the three girls’ spirits plummeting. To make the situation worse, the mystery woman also smoked, as did Louanne Boudreaux.
Gertie, seated next to her grandmother in the front seat, stared at the speedometer. “Granny, do you think you could go a little faster?”
Her granny turned toward her. “Did I ask you to crawl faster when you were a baby? Hm? Did I?”
While her focus was on Gertie, the car drifted to the left, in the lane of an oncoming car.
“Granny Magoo!” Ida Belle yelled. “Watch that car!”
Granny Magoo swerved to the right and hit the brakes. She stuck her head out the window and yelled as the opposing car passed. “Long-haired hippie! Stay in your own lane!”
“Granny! That was Sheriff Lee’s wife.”
“Are you sure? She looked like one of them long-haired hippie boys to me.”
“Yes, I’m positive,” Gertie said, pursing her lips. She picked up her granny’s purse, which sat between them on the bench seat, and pulled out her granny’s glasses. “Maybe if you would wear your glasses, you’d have been able to see the difference between a forty-something-year-old woman and a young hippie boy.”
“Do I ask you to get married and give me grandbabies? Hm? Do I?”
“In fact, yes.”
Marge leaned into the front seat, between Gertie and her grandmother. “Are you sure you were wearing your glasses last night when you saw that woman?”
Granny Magoo nodded glumly. “For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think it was your aunt. Could have been any number of tall, slender gals who smoke and have white dogs. And there was no convertible. That I’m positive about. There was no car parked on the street except for Wade Guillory’s car.”
“Millie said she saw a man running from the house. You didn’t see that?” Ida Belle asked.
Granny Magoo shook her head. “But Millie and I were going in opposite directions. We passed each other a few minutes before I got to Wade’s street and parked. Even blinked our lights at one another. She would have seen the man running away before I got there.”
Gertie pointed to a road ahead. “Okay, turn right at the corner.”
Granny swerved to the right.
“Not yet!” Gertie screamed. “That’s someone’s front yard. Wait till the street.”
When Granny Magoo finally reached the street and turned right, Gertie pointed to a clear spot along the curb to park. “Okay, you can park here. We’re a few houses away, but we need to be discreet. We don’t want to attract attention. So if you have an urge to yell at something, please don’t.”
Gertie, Ida Belle and Marge exited the car and carefully closed the doors.
Her granny frowned and whispered out the window, “And if you have an urge to give me some grandkids anytime soon, please do.”
When the three were several houses away from the car, they came upon a wooded lot that led into a thick grove of Southern Live Oak. The rental house was situated on property next to the empty lot. Gertie put her arm around Marge’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry. We’re going to find proof that Louanne wasn’t involved.”
Marge nodded and managed a slight smile. “It would be easier if she’d just let Gabby be her alibi.”
Ida Belle stopped and nodded toward the rental they’d hoped to live in for the next three months. Crime-scene tape, wrapped loosely around the porch and forbidding entrance to the house, flapped like ghosts in the breeze.
“It looks sad,” Marge whispered.
They stood silently for a few moments and stared at it, each lost in their thoughts of what might have been.
“That Mr. Guillory didn’t sound like a nice guy, but he didn’t deserve to die,” Gertie whispered.
“Hopefully we can at least give him some peace and help find his killer,” Ida Belle said. “All that other stuff is between him and his maker.”
They agreed to split up and comb the area for a baseball cap that was possibly left by the killer.
Ida Belle disappeared deep into the woods near where the killer would have emerged on Poitier Street, which ran parallel to the street where the rental stood. Marge headed for the midsection of the wooded area. Gertie concentrated on the area nearest the street where Millie had said the man tripped on something before disappearing into the dense thicket. Gertie flashed her light across the lawn and spotted a tree stump, which could have been the reason for the man’s tumble.
After spending a good thirty minutes carefully scanning the area around the tree stump and coming up empty, Gertie flashed her light away from the grassy yard and toward the woods, noticing a downed tree limb. Her Granny Magoo had mentioned that the woman and dog she’d spotted had been standing behind a downed limb. Though the mystery woman could have been just sneaking a cigarette, this area seemed a strange place to do that, though her granny had seen the woman the week prior as well, standing in the same spot.
A snap of a twig brought her attention to her left. A small beam of light danced through the copse. Though it could have come from Marge’s flashlight, instinct told Gertie to remain silent and turn off her light. She watched as the beam came closer. Finally, the figure holding the flashlight emerged from behind a thick oak tree. Although the person had now turned away from her, she could tell the tall, thin individual was a man. And from the look of his skinny frame, he could be Buster Bussey.
It had been more than an hour since she’d left Buster’s house, certainly enough time, Gertie figured, for Buster to drive over to the rental. And the way he was slowly scanning the ground with his flashlight indicated he was looking for something. A hat perhaps?
Lifting her gun gingerly from inside her scarf belt, Gertie moved quietly toward Buster, hoping he would discover the hat and she could catch him in the act. Apparently, Buster had the hearing of a dog, because he shot his head up and froze. Gertie froze as well.
He spun around. Gertie’s eyes focused on the weapon in his hand.
Chapter Ten
GERTIE POINTED HER pistol at the man. It took her a moment to realize the weapon he held was a stun gun. “I wouldn’t do anything with that if I were you,” she warned.
“Gertie?”
She then realized it wasn’t Buster she had her pistol trained on.
“Gill the poop guy?”
“Gill Girard, the scatologist,” he said, his voice rising a few octaves. He took several deep breaths and asked in a much deeper, albeit quivering voice, “What are you doing here? And pointing a weapon at my face?”
“I thought you were someone else.” She brought her pistol down to her side.
“Do you always walk around with a gun hidden in your slacks?”
“Do you always walk around with a stun gun?”
“In fact I do.” His hand shook as he slipped the weapon inside a leather holder connected to his belt. “My work takes me around wild animals. I have to be prepared to defend myself.”
Gertie shook her head. “The only thing that stun gun will do is make ‘em mad. So what are you doing here?”
He took a moment and pulled in a breath. “I... uh...” He pulled in several more deep breaths. “Well... my office received a report of a gray short-tailed possum in these woods, which is rare for Louisiana.” His breathing began returning to a calmer rhythm. “I wanted to see if I could find any scat to confirm it was here.” He folded his arms. “May I ask why you’re roaming the woods so late at night? Do you know how dangerous that is for a girl? Especially a girl as pretty as you?”
“As I recall,” Gertie said, lifting her pistol, which caused Gill to back away, “I was the one who had the upper hand. Besides, Ida Belle and Marge are close by. They’re just as armed as I am and slightly better shots.”
“But why are you three out here?” He shined his flashlight on her black stretch pants and black pullover. “And why are you dressed like a burglar?” His eyes widened. “You’re not...”
He began to hyperventilate, so Gertie stepped closer and reached over and patted him on the shoulder, reassuring him that robbing a home was not on her agenda tonight. “It has to do with the murder last night in that rental house.” She flicked her head toward what would have been her home away from her mother.
His brows shot up. “That’s the house? Oh, dear Lord, I thought it was... well, certainly not here. Mother started to talk about it, but I asked her to stop. I know you women love to gather together and exchange rumors, but gossip is one thing I detest.” He took a quick glance back at the house. “That’s where it happened? What a shame.”
Gertie nodded. She sighed and zipped through all the events that had transpired since he left her house the previous night. The murder. The three of them finding the body. Marge’s Aunt Louanne being under suspicion. And, finally, the baseball cap. “And that’s why we’re here. To find the baseball cap.”
Gertie figured it was okay to reveal these things to Gill. He’d made it clear he wasn’t the gossipy sort.
So it took her by surprise when Gill’s face blanched.
“Are you okay?” Gertie asked. “You didn’t find a baseball cap tonight, did you”
Gill’s eyes blinked a few times and he swallowed hard before mumbling something unintelligible.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “I’m back at ‘you found the body.’” He looked over at the house. “Certainly, the perpetrator is long gone.”
Gertie shrugged. “Who knows? Whoever did it could live close by. Most criminals operate close to home.”
“Close by?” He held a hand to his mouth.
And to think her mother thought he was her type. She moved toward him again. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”
He took several deep breaths. “No, it’s just... a shock, that’s all.”
Another snap of a twig followed by sounds of rustling leaves. Gill emitted a high-pitched yelp and whipped out his stun gun. Gertie her pistol.
Marge appeared first. Ida Belle close behind her. Marge took one look at Gill and brought her weapon out from the waistband of her dark slacks.
“It’s okay,” Gertie said. “It’s Gill, the guy you met last night. He’s looking for poop.”
With shaky hands, Gill returned his stun gun to his belt holster. “Scat samples. My office received a report about a gray short-tailed possum in this area.”
Gertie signaled for Marge to lower her weapon. “He doesn’t like it when you point a gun at him.”
Marge slipped her gun back in her waistband.
Ida Belle stepped out from behind Marge. “Odd place to be searching for scat samples. So close to the scene of a murder.”
“Trust me,” Gill said, “had I known I was this close to it, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I can vouch for that,” Gertie said. “You two find anything?”
Marge shook her head as did Ida Belle.
Gill folded his arms, trying to contain his shaking. “Perhaps you’d better leave this search for the baseball cap to the law. It’s really none of your concern.”
“It’s okay,” said Gertie in answer to Marge’s questioning look, “he detests gossip.”
Marge glared at Gill. “It’s my concern when the sheriff is looking at my aunt for the crime and ignoring reports of a man fleeing the area. We aim to find out who he is.”
Gill sighed. “These woods are swarming with men delivering and receiving moonshine. I run into them all the time when I’m scat hunting in these parts. No wonder the sheriff isn’t taking any such report seriously.”
Ida Belle flashed her light at the tree with the broken limb resting on the ground. “Isn’t that the tree your granny said she saw a woman standing near? The one with the white dog and smoking a cigarette?”
Gertie nodded. Marge directed her flashlight along the ground near the fallen limb and then stopped. “Hmmmm.” She walked toward the limb and knelt down. “Here’s a cigarette.” Marge picked it up. “Looks like someone started smoking it, then put it out right here in the dirt. Virginia Slims.”
“Granny Magoo said the dog dropped to the ground to sleep and the woman picked it up. Maybe the woman extinguished her cigarette when she tended to the dog.”
Marge shone her light at the branches of the tree that had fallen. And that’s when they all spotted it.
A small pile of white hair on the ground.
“Would you look at that,” Marge said.
Gertie directed her gaze at Gill. “Would there be a way to test those hairs to see if they’re from a dog? And if we had a sample from another dog, could the tests determine whether they were from the same dog?”
Gill shook his head. “That’s not my area of expertise.”
Gertie worked up a teary face.
“But I have a friend who might be able to do that,” Gill said quickly. “I mean, he could put the hairs under a microscope and see if one was curly, one wasn’t. And he could determine the coarseness.” Gill knelt down and picked up one of the hairs. “This hair is straight and coarse. Probably not a Maltese or a poodle. But a powerful microscope can tell us so much more.”
Gertie turned to Marge. “Did you hear that? We might be able to rule out Louanne’s dog.”
Marge nodded. “Or rule in another dog.” She got up and scanned the area with her light. “Come take a look at this, Gill.”
He strode over, followed by Ida Belle and Gertie. He knelt next to Marge and shook his head. “In my opinion, it’s garden-variety dog doo.”
“Yes, even I know that. But can you tell what specific dog this came from?”
Gill laughed. “Well, maybe labs of the future could do that. We’re not that advanced at this point, I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing you can tell us about it? Not even if you examined it in your lab?” Gertie knelt down next to him and stared into his eyes and could tell he would crumble easily.
Gill smiled. “I’m not saying there’s nothing I could tell you about it. I could possibly tell you the health of the dog and perhaps his diet. I could also give you a ballpark amount of time that the droppings were exposed to the elements.”
Marge’s face brightened. “Aunt Louanne said her dog got ahold of a blackberry pie that day. Would you be able to see that?”
Ida Belle held up her hand. “Hold on. Just because we’d rule out Louanne’s dog as depositin
g that particular... sample, doesn’t mean a thing. It may not have anything to do with last night.”
“I know,” Marge said. “But it couldn’t hurt.”
Gertie smiled at Gill. “Well, it would be a shame to waste such a brilliant mind as Gill’s. This is his area of expertise.”
He puffed up his skinny chest. “I’m always here to help a woman in need. Consider it done.”
He unzipped a pouch connected to his belt and took out three small canisters for evidence collecting. “Now, it may take several days for me and my buddy to get some results.”
“And we can also get a couple of samples from another dog tomorrow for comparison,” Gertie said.
Gill frowned. “Oh.” He took a deep breath and swung his fist in the air as if he’d just offered Gertie one of his kidneys. “But for three beautiful women, what’s another two additional tests?”
The three stood off to the side as Gill collected his samples.
“If we’re lucky, the samples from Bonnie’s dog will match these samples. At least they would show she was standing right here with her dog, at the same spot as the mystery woman from last night,” Marge whispered. “Because Bonnie’s hiding something, and I think it’s murder.”
“Okay, so tomorrow we need to find out what brand of cigarette Bonnie smokes, as well as take samples from her dog to compare,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle sighed. Coupled with a frown. Gertie knew that combo. While Gertie was more of a “charge ahead” type of gal, Ida Belle was more deliberate. A sigh and a frown were never a good sign.
“Lay it on me,” Gertie said. “You think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.”
“I just want to be more certain before we go traipsing around Bonnie’s backyard collecting dog poo and trying to cut a hunk out of her dog’s fur.”
“If you ask me, all the signs point to Bonnie,” Marge said. “Granny Magoo saw a woman that looked like she could be Bonnie Cotton. That woman was smoking and has a white dog. Bonnie Cotton smokes and has a dog named Whitey. I’m assuming Whitey is white. Bonnie has a motive and visited Mr. Guillory at the rental earlier last night yet lied to us about being there.”