by Shari Hearn
“No,” Elder Sheriff said. “Because I know she didn’t do it. I caught her and Broussard out on Island Number Three on my way to my still that night.”
“Are you sure?” Marge asked, stunned.
He nodded. “Shined my light right on ‘em. And they was in a most compromised position. It was 10:00. Around that time Wade Guillory was being murdered. Between ten and ten fifteen, a man was seen running from the direction of the house. And Buster saw a woman leave the scene in a convertible.”
“He was paid to come up with that story,” Marge said.
Elder Sheriff swatted at the air. “Probably so, but even Buster can be honest once in a while. I’m sure Buster’s reputation is something my son is taking into consideration. My point is, Bonnie wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene when Wade Guillory was murdered. And neither was Deputy Broussard. They couldn’t have been in two places at once. Neither one of them had anything to do with it.” He jabbed his finger at them. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t go around barking about Broussard and Bonnie. Broussard’s divorce isn’t final yet. If his wife finds out, she’ll raise a stink.”
Marge took a breath. She glanced back at her Aunt Louanne, who had since settled back in the bunk, sipping her coffee. “That still doesn’t mean my aunt did it.”
Walter handed the last mug of coffee to Marge. “I don’t think I want it anymore,” she said with a defeated tone in her voice, handing it back.
“We’ll find who did it,” Ida Belle said to her.
“You should stay out of it,” Elder Sheriff said.
“Why?” Marge asked. “So your son and Deputy Broussard can pin it on my aunt?”
Louanne sighed deeply. “He’s not trying to pin it on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t even think it’s me.”
That was news to Ida Belle and based on the looks on Marge’s and Gertie’s faces, it was news to them as well.
“Is that true?” Ida Belle asked Elder Sheriff.
He glared at Louanne. “What were you really doing that night you paid Wade Guillory a visit?”
“Last I checked, Elder Sheriff, you are no longer a lawman,” Louanne said, picking up the romance novel.
“Humor me,” he said. “I won’t tell. And young Walter was just leaving, weren’t you, son?”
“I guess I was,” he said, scooting outside the cell door and past Elder Sheriff, holding Marge’s cup of coffee and tucking the tray under his arm.
Once Walter had exited the cell block, Louanne stood and walked over to the bars. Her face was now several inches away from his. “If you must know, I was there to blackmail him.”
Elder Sheriff pursed his lips. “According to the case file, you said you were there extolling the virtues of your niece and her friends so he would rent to them.”
“Blackmail was just the part I left out,” Louanne said. “I had photos of Wade gambling at the Swamp Bar, something he told Philomena he’d stopped doing. I said I’d share those photos with her unless he rented to the three girls. Of course, I had no intention of doing so, but it worked. He agreed. So why would I go back and kill him?”
“Where were you at ten o’clock? Do you have an alibi?”
“No. I was alone.
“That’s not true!” Marge said. “You weren’t alone.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Alone?” he asked. “Or were you with your prisoner?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sandra is not my prisoner.”
He rolled his eyes, his lazy eye taking the scenic route. That eye of his always gave Ida Belle the willies. “Louanne, you may not know this, but I like you.” He glanced at Ida Belle and her friends. “And I like them too when they’re not spouting off about women’s lib. But I do not like the career path you’ve chosen.”
“I can’t help that,” Louanne said.
“Your boat was spotted on the bayou that night, Louanne.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Is it? Not only did I see Deputy Broussard that night sowing his oats with Bonnie Cotton, but I also saw your boat. I saw a lady and a white dog. I didn’t get a good look at you. Coulda been you, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Yes. That was me, and I was bringing in a derelict crab trap I spotted earlier in the evening. I didn’t have time to get it during the day, so I took the boat out that night.”
Ida Belle could tell Louanne was lying.
He sighed and shook his head. “Y’all are free to go,” he said, gesturing with his hand toward the opened cell door.
Ida Belle threw up her hands. “Says who? You’re no longer sheriff.”
“No, but I’m the father of the sheriff and I said so. Now, git before I change my mind.”
The four filed out of the cell and started walking toward the exit.
“And, Louanne?” Elder Sheriff said, stopping them. “I don’t think you’re the murdering type and if I had to guess I’d say it wasn’t you in your boat. But I probably wasn’t the only one to see your boat and your dog out that night. I’d think long and hard before protecting a criminal.”
Louanne stared at Elder Sheriff. “I did not kill Wade Guillory. And there is no proof I did. And any attorney I hire will rip your department to shreds.”
He nodded. “You’re probably right. But why put yourself through having to hire a lawyer and proving yourself innocent?”
“Goodnight, Elder Sheriff.”
Once outside the three descended on Louanne, demanding to know what the sheriff was talking about.
“Are you under suspicion, or not?” Marge asked.
She shook her head. “Sheriff Lee Jr. is just trying to pressure me to turn on Gabby, that’s all. He suspects she’s wanted for something, so why not try to pin another crime on her?”
“Hm,” Ida Belle said, nodding.
“And before you say it, no, Gabby did not take my boat and Patton and go kill Wade Guillory.”
“Well, what was she doing in that boat?” Marge asked.
Louanne sighed. “She took Patton out on the boat and was pulling in several of the crab traps. I had fully intended on doing it, but The Birds was the Tuesday Night Movie of the week. My favorite movie. So Gabby said she’d go out. Truthfully, I was hoping she’d take the opportunity to escape, although I was looking forward to crab cakes the next morning. She makes the best crab cakes. But Patton followed her out and jumped from the dock into the boat. I knew she’d never abandon my dog somewhere and take off.”
“How long did it take her to check the traps?” Ida Belle asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I was involved in the movie. But she didn’t do it. She didn’t even know Wade. What would be her motive?”
“Did you mention to Gabby that you were blackmailing Guillory because he was lying to his wife, gambling and cheating behind her back?” Marge asked. “She might have wanted to hurt someone who reminded her of her husband.”
Louanne smiled. “Nice try. But Gabby’s just not that type of person. Yes, she knew about my dealings with Wade Guillory that night. In fact, she was with me when I went to his place at six. She stayed out of sight.”
Ida Belle blew out a breath. “She knew where to find him.”
“Again, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It was Gabby in my boat that night with Patton, but she didn’t kill Guillory.”
“But unless you admit to the sheriff it was her in that boat and not you,” Marge said, “you’re still suspect number one.”
“I can’t turn on her,” Louanne said. “She put up with a monster husband for twenty years. I just won’t do it. Tomorrow I’ll call a lawyer in New Orleans. Former Army buddy. He’ll take care of the Sinful Sheriff’s Department. As for you three, take some time to just relax, would you?”
Marge watched as Louanne took off in her Mustang convertible. “I hope she’s right about Gabby.” She turned to Ida Belle and Gertie. “With Bonnie out of the picture, I guess Gill is now out as a suspect.”
Ida Belle shoo
k her head. “Not necessarily. It just means Bonnie wasn’t involved. Gill could have still done it. Maybe he found out about Bonnie’s affair with Broussard and was enraged with her. So he goes over and kills Guillory and tries to pin it on her by getting Buster to lie about seeing a woman and a convertible. Only, he realizes that Bonnie sold her convertible and now has to get Buster to change his story.”
Gertie nodded. “I think that could be likely. Gill’s hiding something.”
“Okay,” Marge agreed, “but remember, Buster thought I was the woman who called him to change his story. If Gill’s involved, then he’s working with another woman. One who was outside the rental that night smoking and with a big, white dog. If not Bonnie or Gabby, who is that woman?”
“There must be a ton of white dogs around Sinful,” said Ida Belle. “Tomorrow we’ll go down every alley, look in every backyard and knock on every door until we find it.”
“Well...” Gertie began.
Ida Belle lifted her brows at her friend. She’d known Gertie long enough to know she had a wacky theory brewing in her head. “Out with it.”
“Gill’s mother... she really hates Bonnie.”
“Are you insinuating Gill’s mother is the woman Granny Magoo saw with the dog?” Marge asked. “Mother/son partners in crime?”
Gertie chewed on her bottom lip. “My first thought is no. I mean, Gill’s mom is short and the woman Granny Magoo saw was tall, like Louanne and Bonnie. And I never saw a dog at Gill’s house. But, then again, maybe from a distance she looked tall to Granny Magoo. And just because I didn’t see a dog at Mrs. Girard’s house tonight, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. It could have been sleeping in the backyard.”
Ida Belle considered it. It was a little farfetched, but it wouldn’t be the first time that a mother and son committed a crime together. Ma Barker for starters. “What would be good is if one of us cozied up to Gill and got him talking about his true feelings for Bonnie Cotton. I mean, really talking. Get through his defenses.”
“And by ‘one of us,’ you mean me,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle grinned. “He is taken with you.”
“Fine, I’ll call him tomorrow and ask to see him.”
“When you do, go armed,” Marge said. “If he’s the type of man we think he is, he doesn’t take rejection well.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
IT WAS 11:00 PM WHEN Gertie finally arrived at her parents’ home from their outing at the Swamp Bar. If anything confirmed that the three of them needed a place of their own, it was the sight of her father and mother sitting in the living room when she came through the door. Fortunately, she was able to wash the streaked makeup off her face at Marge’s house once they’d snuck in through the window into Marge’s room.
“Thank goodness you’re home,” her mother said, making a show of glancing at the time just before the annoying grandfather clock made it official. What made it even worse was the way her mother counted along with the chimes. “My goodness,” Mom said, her voice tinged with exasperation, “I could probably count with one hand how often we’ve been awake to hear the clock chime that many times at night. We’re usually deep in sleep at this hour. The world is usually asleep by eleven o’clock at night. Nice young women are usually asleep by then as well.” Her mother turned to her father. “Wouldn’t you say, dear?”
Her dad cut to the chase. “What the heck you been doin’ this late at night?”
“I did say I would be late,” Gertie said, trying not to let her own exasperation show. “Remember, I told you the girls and I went to visit Babs Babineaux. Well, we haven’t seen her in forever, and lost all track of time. And are you aware I’m almost thirty?”
Her mother patted at the curlers in her hair. “That’s right. Old enough to tell time. Didn’t you have lights out by eight o’clock every night in the Army?”
Gertie edged toward the staircase. “No, Mama, sometimes we worked late hours. The war didn’t punch a time clock.”
“Don’t get fresh,” her dad said half-heartedly as her parents followed her up the stairs. But his wink told her he appreciated her efforts.
Her mom came up beside her. “This will make you happy. Mrs. Girard called tonight after you’d left with the girls. She went on and on what a wonderful young lady you were.”
Dear Lord, Gertie thought, was that horrible dinner just tonight? She and her friends could sure pack a lot in one day. “That’s nice, Mama, but I’m tired.”
Mom stopped and crossed her arms. “Of course you’re tired. It’s eleven oh-so-late o’clock. Hopefully you’ll think about that the next time you and your friends go out. But back to Mrs. Girard. She thought maybe we could all get together and have dinner sometime next week since you and Gill are destined to become close.”
Gertie arrived at her door. “We’re not, Mama.”
Mom dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “She said it appeared you and Gill hit it off.”
Gertie looked at her father. “Daddy, tell her we didn’t hit it off.”
“I’m staying out of this,” he said, kissing her on the cheek and shuffling off to his own bedroom. “Next time, don’t stay out so late.”
“Mrs. Girard would like to invite her sister, if that’s okay,” Mom said.
Gertie smiled. “You all have a nice dinner without me.”
“It will be a nice opportunity for you to show off your cooking skills,” her mother said as Gertie leaned in and kissed her cheek, said goodnight and closed the door before her mother could invoke Jesus. The closed door didn’t stop her mother from continuing to talk. “And don’t stay up reading. Even if it is the Bible. Jesus wouldn’t want you to get bags under your eyes before your dinner with Gill’s family.”
Damn.
It was no wonder that Gertie’s dreams that night found her signing rental papers for a new house far away from her parents.
“By the way, where is this house?” Gertie said in her dream as she handed the contract to a woman who closely resembled Bonnie Cotton. The Bonnie look-alike pointed toward a window and Gertie went to take a look. She found herself on a spaceship looking down at the Earth.
“Not far enough,” Gertie said as she turned around to find Gill, dressed in a tuxedo and holding a jiggly, gelatin ring box. Jesus stood beside him and smiled broadly before saying, “In the name of me, I now pronounce you, Mrs. Gill Girard.”
Gill held the jiggling box out to her and opened it. Inside was a gelatin mold of Mrs. Girard’s head.
“The three of us will be very happy together,” the head said.
In the dream she screamed, but then stopped when she heard a noise coming from the outside of the spaceship. It sounded like crunching leaves.
Gertie shot up in bed. Her heart pounded, and she had a momentary flash of being in her quarters in Vietnam. But as her eyes scanned the room that was lit by moonlight outside her window, she realized she was back in her childhood bedroom. The sound of crunching leaves continued, and it was coming directly below her opened second-story window. Could be a cat or a raccoon, she thought. Could be Louanne Boudreaux making a night-time visit as she had the previous night at Marge’s house. Could be absolutely nothing.
But, with a murderer on the loose, why take chances?
Gertie slid out of bed, grabbed a pistol she’d hid in her dresser away from the prying eyes of her mother and tiptoed to the window. Her room was located in the back of the house, overlooking the wide porch where she, Marge and Ida Belle had spent many a summer day in their youth reading their Nancy Drew books. At the moment, however, that porch was being approached by a mystery man dressed in dark pants and dark hooded sweatshirt. The figure climbed up the steps, disappearing under the awning.
Gertie tore out of the room and raced for the stairs, almost colliding with Granny Magoo who held a shotgun and was herself racing for the stairs.
“Did you hear that?” Granny Magoo whispered.
Gertie nodded and sped past her grandmother, tore down the st
airs and headed for the kitchen. Padding through the archway into the kitchen, she could see the shadow of the hooded man through the sheer curtains covering the window at the back door.
The man was bending over and picking something up from one of the wooden chairs. As he turned to leave, Gertie unlocked the door, hoping the sound wouldn’t alert him. In the silence of the early hour, the click of the lock was amplified. The man started to run from the porch.
Gertie pushed the door open and ran after him. He scrambled down the porch stairs. She leapt off the porch and landed inches from him, grabbing his hand and pulling him face-down to the ground. She reached for his other hand to grab whatever he had taken from the porch, but his hand was empty. He kicked her onto her back and sprang up from the ground.
“I’m armed,” Gertie yelled as she recovered from the kick and stood. “Drop to the—”
Her warning was interrupted by a screaming body slamming against her from the back, knocking her to the ground.
The man bolted away, running away into the darkness of the early morning.
Gertie turned to confront her attacker, coming face to face with Granny Magoo.
“Oh, crap,” Granny Magoo said as she pulled herself off Gertie. “I tripped.”
Without answering her, Gertie shot up from the ground and ran in the direction where the intruder had fled. She rounded the house and saw the man racing up the street, disappearing between two parked cars. She gave chase, but after several minutes of searching, realized she’d lost him.
When she returned to the house, she found her parents on the now-lighted porch flanking Granny Magoo, who sat in a rocker rubbing her knee.
“Did you catch him?” Granny Magoo asked.
Gertie shook her head.
“You ran after the prowler?” her father asked. Her mother stood speechless, holding her hand over her mouth.
“Of course I went after him,” Gertie said. “And he wasn’t a prowler, he was a thief. He was trying to steal something from our porch.”