Lethal Bayou Beauty

by Jana DeLeon

  I struggled to maintain my cool, even though I was pretty sure I’d just been called a prostitute, or whore. I was a little confused about which. My hands clenched involuntarily and my right leg automatically slid back a couple of inches into striking position.

  Ida Belle, who’d jumped up a second after me, looked at me over the woman’s shoulder and shook her head. A second later, I felt a fork in my back and Gertie peered around me.

  “That’s enough, Dorothy,” Gertie said. “You’re not helping Celia any with your behavior, and we both know that when Carter has a reason to arrest anyone, he will.”

  “Maybe he needs some help pushing him along,” Dorothy said. “Maybe I’ll talk to Mayor Fontleroy about Deputy LeBlanc’s job security.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Gertie said.

  “Not as big as the one you’re making…taking up with murdering trash.”

  She spun around and stalked off toward the front section. Not even the sound of a single clinking fork could be heard in the café. Everyone sat frozen, some still holding their forks in the air. Celia looked over at me as Dorothy took a seat next to her, the faintest hint of a smile on her otherwise putrid face.

  “Here’s a towel,” Ally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  She pulled a rag from her apron pocket and handed it to me.

  “Show’s over,” Ida Belle announced. “Get back to your lunch.”

  Heads whipped around and everyone made a pretense of going back to their meals and previous conversations. Either people were seriously afraid of Ida Belle or they were the most conflict-avoidant group of people I’d ever seen. I leaned toward the first option.

  I wiped my face with the rag, but it was like trying to drain a swimming pool with a sponge.

  “Let me get you something bigger,” Ally said, still looking completely horrified over the entire mess.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “This can’t be fixed with a towel. I’m going to head home and shower. I’m sorry my presence created this mess.”

  Ally’s face clouded in sympathy. “This is not your fault. I’ll send you some lunch home with one of the Sinful Ladies.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “We’ll go with you,” Gertie said.

  “No. Stay and finish your lunch.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “If you’re alone, you don’t have an alibi if anything else were to happen.”

  I shrugged. “Everyone I’d want to kill is in here eating lunch, so I’m good. I’ll see you guys later.”

  I managed to hold in my frustration and embarrassment until I’d left Main Street and stepped into my neighborhood, then I kicked the first thing I saw that wouldn’t break my foot. In this case, it turned out—rather appropriately—to be a wooden sign for Mayor Fontleroy’s reelection campaign.

  The splintering crack of the wood improved my mood, but only by a bit. With Celia’s group gunning for me, I didn’t stand a chance of keeping my cover intact. Once exposed, I’d have no choice but to transfer to whatever Director Morrow could muster up, and the thought of starting over in a new place depressed me.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I kind of liked it here. Sure, I’d dug my heels straight into hell trying to keep from coming, but when you got past the drunks, idiots, and murderers, it wasn’t such a bad place. In Ida Belle and Gertie I’d found comrades who understood my way of thinking and reacting as the average civilian never could. In Ally, I’d begun what could possibly turn out to be my only friendship with a civilian…and a woman to boot.

  In another location, I might be safer, but I probably wouldn’t matter. In Sinful, I finally felt like someone wanted me around for more reasons than earning my paycheck. I hadn’t felt that way since my mother died.

  “I would ticket you for destruction of private property,” Deputy LeBlanc’s voice sounded behind me, “but I can’t stand the son of a bitch, either.”

  I turned around without even making an attempt at a cover story or denial. “We’d probably both be better off if you’d arrest me and lock me up.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Any particular reason why?”

  “Are you blind? Do you think I walk around wearing ten glasses of iced tea because I’m making a fashion statement?”

  “I take it there was an accident at Francine’s?”

  “Oh, it was no accident. Some moose named Dorothy tipped an entire tray of tea onto me, and it’s all your fault.”

  “How the hell is it my fault?”

  “According to Dorothy, the only reason you haven’t arrested me is because I’m paying you off in ways that involve no clothes and probably things that are illegal in the good town of Sinful—a fact that she announced to the entire café, I might add.”

  He grinned. “And that bothers you?”

  “She basically called me a murderer and a whore…or prostitute. I haven’t figured out which applies in this type of situation.”

  “Hmm, I suppose since you’re receiving value for your services that would make you a prostitute.”

  I glared.

  “Hey, at least you’re a businesswoman with a purpose, although the value I’m providing seems high considering the trade.”

  “Excuse me? I am great at everything I do. Not that I’d ever stoop to that level, but if I did, I guarantee you, it would be well worth the cost of your deputy position in glorious Sinful, Louisiana.”

  He stepped closer to me and brushed a damp piece of hair from my chest, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive skin just above the breast-line of my dress.

  “Maybe I should arrest you then. I’m probably destined for bigger things.”

  An unexpected flush started at my center and raced out, making every nerve ending in my body tingle. I forced myself to hold position even though the urge to take a step back was overwhelming.

  “If you’re going to arrest me,” I said, happy that my voice sounded calm, “then I suggest you do it now, while you still have the ability.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Dorothy plans on talking to the good mayor about your qualifications, or lack thereof, for doing your job, and according to the local gossip, she’s not the only one riding that train. So I suggest you find the killer before they start slinging more than iced tea.”

  “Then I guess I better get on with it before both our good names are ruined.”

  I waved a hand in dismissal. “I don’t have a good name to ruin.”

  He leaned closer to me and said in a low voice, “Then maybe you should reconsider bribing me, since you have nothing to lose.”

  He gave me a wink before turning around and heading off toward Main Street. I watched him walk away, unable to help admiring his perfectly proportioned backside. From broad shoulders to long, muscular legs, he was built for action. I bet he’d made a hell of a soldier.

  Before my mind could wander to all the other maneuvers Deputy LeBlanc was likely highly capable of performing, I whirled around and headed home. I needed a cold shower and a new plan to stay visible without becoming an open target for Celia and her friends.

  Chapter Eleven

  “We’ve got a problem,” I said as I peeked out my living room window.

  Dusk was settling over Sinful, and as soon as it turned to dark, Ida Belle, Gertie, and I were going to break into the sheriff’s department and find out what was in Pansy’s file.

  Ida Belle stepped up behind me. “What’s wrong?”

  I lifted a slat on the blinds and pointed to the ancient horse with even older rider standing across the street. “Surveillance.”

  Ida Belle peered outside. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

  She turned and yelled down the hall to Gertie, who was in the kitchen, changing into tennis shoes.

  “Carter’s got Sheriff Lee sitting across the street.”

  Gertie hurried up front, pulling on a black crocheted sweater as she came.

  “I said black hoodie,” Ida Belle said.
“We’re going to a break-in, not a funeral.”

  “This is the best I could do on short notice,” Gertie said. “I have a black hat to match.”

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “Lovely. If we get caught, you’ll have the most fashionable mug shot. Fortune managed to come up with a black hoodie.”

  “Ladies,” I interrupted, not bothering to point out that out of habit, I’d bought every black hoodie in my size at the General Store. “We have bigger issues, remember?”

  Gertie stepped over to the window and took a look. “No problem. Give me a minute.”

  I looked over at Ida Belle, who shrugged as Gertie hustled back to the kitchen. A minute later, I heard the microwave sound off, then seconds later, Gertie came back down the hall carrying a small plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

  “Can someone get the door?” she asked.

  I opened the door for her and she walked across the street to talk with Sheriff Lee.

  “Is she really trying to bribe him with milk and cookies?” I asked.

  “Heck if I know,” Ida Belle said.

  I watched as Gertie motioned to Sheriff Lee to dismount. After several shaky minutes, he managed to arrive upright on my neighbor’s lawn. He took another excruciating couple of minutes to tie the horse to a tree, then even longer to lower himself down to a sitting position with his back against the tree.

  Gertie handed him the milk and cookies, and he gave her a huge smile. She trotted back to my house, waving over her shoulder as she went. Once inside, she slumped against the living room wall, trying to catch her breath.

  Before Ida Belle could say a word, Gertie held up her hand.

  “I know,” she wheezed. “I’ve got to get in better shape.”

  I shook my head. “How in the world did you guys ever win the banana pudding race with Gertie as your representative?” The rest of the Sinful Ladies sang in choir and weren’t available for the dash. Gertie was tone-deaf, so the availability was there but the capability was seriously lacking.

  “Before you came,” Ida Belle explained, “someone would take off from choir duty that day—usually me. I’m thinking of having mandatory PT twice a week. The crew is getting soft.”

  I didn’t bother to point out that most of the crew was well beyond the backside of peak performance. But considering the competition wasn’t in any better shape, I supposed it was all relative.

  “I don’t get it,” I said, returning to the business at hand. “What does giving him milk and cookies accomplish?”

  “Give it a minute to work,” Gertie said and motioned to the window.

  We peered out across the street as the setting sun disappeared over the next row of houses. The streetlights flickered on, illuminating the sheriff as he chugged the last bit of milk and put the glass on the ground next to him on top of the plate.

  “Watch closely,” Gertie said. “One, two three…”

  Before she reached four, Sheriff Lee’s head bobbed once, then fell to his chest as his whole body slumped. The horse, following his rider’s lead, leaned against the tree and closed his eyes.

  A burst of panic shot through me as for an instant, I thought she’d killed him, then I remembered I was in Sinful, not Iraq, and realigned my thinking.

  “Did you slip some cough medicine in the milk?”

  “Of course not! That would be wasteful.”

  “You’re telling me that milk and cookies knocked him out?”

  “Warm milk and cookies. I bring him a plate of cookies every time I make a new batch. His wife’s been gone for a long while and he really misses her homemade cookies. After two or three, he nods off and I let myself out. He went even faster tonight.”

  “Makes sense,” Ida Belle said. “It’s a couple hours past his bedtime.”

  Technically, Sheriff Lee was several decades beyond life expectancy, much less bedtime, but I figured it would be rude to point it out. “How long will he sleep?”

  Gertie shrugged. “Until morning, unless it rains or someone wakes him up.”

  “Well, let’s get out of here before it rains or the neighbor notices his oak tree is holding up a man and a horse.”

  Ida Belle had docked her boat in the bayou behind my house, so we headed out the back door and hopped in the small flat-bottom boat. The bayou ran behind the east side of Main Street, allowing us to dock right behind the sheriff’s department, cutting down our risk of being seen.

  After taking her seat on the middle bench, Gertie pulled on her black crocheted hat. Ida Belle gave the flowered pattern one glance and shook her head. I held in a smile as she started the boat and set off down the bayou toward town.

  The sheriff’s boat was docked at the pier directly behind the building, the floodlight from the back of the building casting a dim glow over the dock. Ida Belle eased her boat up beside the sheriff’s boat where it couldn’t be seen, and we climbed over the sheriff’s boat to the dock.

  “I know we have the security code, but how are we supposed to get in?” I asked. “Did Myrtle give you a key?”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “She only has a key to the front door, and Carter checks the back door before leaving every night, so it wouldn’t do any good for her to leave it unlocked.”

  I looked at the thick set of hedges that ran across the back side of the building. “Please tell me we don’t have to go in through a window.”

  “We don’t have to go in through a window,” Ida Belle said. “You have to lift me up to the window and I’ll let you and Gertie in the back door.”

  Suddenly, Ida Belle’s insistence that they couldn’t do this without me made sense. “I suppose it would have been too much of a stretch to just bring a ladder?”

  “If something goes wrong, a ladder would give us away. Not like we could run with one.”

  I probably could, but I saw her point. If a quick getaway were necessary, leaving the ladder behind would give Carter a clear idea what was going on, and taking it with us presented some logistics problems in the boat.

  “Fine, then let’s get on with it before Father Time wakes up and alerts Carter that we’re gone.”

  Gertie went to the back door and pulled out the piece of paper with the alarm code. I put my hands in front of my face and pushed through the hedge to the back side, glad I’d worn long sleeves and gloves. The sharp branches of the hedge would have shredded my skin.

  Ida Belle stepped beside me and gave Gertie a thumbs-up. Gertie punched in the code and we heard a single beep inside. I leaned over and linked my hands together, creating a stirrup for Ida Belle to step in.

  As soon as she stepped in my hands, I pulled my arms up and tossed her up the side of the building, praying that she had great balance. As soon as her foot left my hands, I spun around and caught her feet as she grabbed hold of the window sill, then held her in place while she lifted the window. One last push by me and she was over the ledge and in the building.

  I heard a loud thump and something breaking on the floor inside. I cringed and hoped it wasn’t Ida Belle that had broken. She peered over the ledge a couple of seconds later and gave me a wave. I pushed back through the hedge, then joined Gertie at the back door, instantly shifting into high alert as if I were on a CIA mission.

  Something rattled next to the steps and I automatically reached for the nine millimeter that wasn’t there. Gertie sucked in a breath and we leaned over the steps in time to see a furry face peek out of the trash can.

  “It’s just a raccoon,” Gertie whispered.

  I’d had a run-in with a raccoon in my attic as soon as I arrived in Sinful. As “know your enemy” was a religion for CIA agents, research was in order. I’d been surprised to find they were kind of cute, in a loud, nuisance sort of way, but their dexterity was even more impressive and exhibited clearly why God hadn’t given opposable thumbs to some of the larger, man-eating creatures.

  Feeling as if we’d been standing there forever, I glanced down at my watch, but only a minute had elapsed since I’d pitched Ida Bel
le up at the window. I heard the door jiggle, and Ida Belle swung open the door and motioned us inside.

  We’d already decided that flashlights were too risky, so we all had glow sticks instead. The soft green light wasn’t bright, but it would provide enough illumination to navigate the office without running into things.

  “What did you break?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t something noticeable or expensive.

  “Just a tea glass,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll pick up the pieces to bring with us when we leave.”

  I nodded. “I guess the file will be in Carter’s office?”

  “That’s my guess,” Ida Belle said. “It’s this way.”

  Gertie and I followed Ida Belle down a short hallway and into an office.

  “Spread out and look for the file,” I said. “I’ll jimmy the file cabinet.”

  I pulled out a knife and went to work on the metal cabinet while Ida Belle and Gertie dug through the desk and credenza. Opening the cabinet was an easy task for someone with my skill set and only seconds later, I was flipping through files.

  It didn’t take long to realize that what we were looking for wasn’t there. “Any luck?” I asked as I pushed the cabinet drawers shut and locked it again.

  “Nothing,” Gertie said.

  “Me, either,” Ida Belle said.

  I reached for the trash can and pulled out an envelope. “It’s from the coroner in New Orleans—delivered by courier.”

  “Then where is the report?” Gertie asked.

  Ida Belle shook her head. “I think we’ve underestimated Carter.”

  “He took it home with him,” I said.

  Ida Belle nodded. “It certainly looks that way.”

  A sliver of fear ran through me. Clearly, Carter expected someone—likely us—to attempt to get information on the case. He’d changed his computer password, required all information be delivered by courier, and had taken the file with him when he left the office.

  “Why didn’t he change the security code?” I asked.