by Hearn, Shari
She glared at me. The look in her eyes could be seen as fury by Millie. I could see the worry.
Come on, Gertie. Hit me. Smack in the face. We have to start manipulating these people. Get them to choose sides.
I hoped she could pick up what I was thinking.
Don’t think about it. Do it!
I turned my face and smirked at Brittany.
Smack!
Gertie’s flat hand slapped against the side of my face. She could have hit me much harder, but the way Brittany clenched tighter on her weapon, I could see it achieved its intended effect.
I glanced at Gertie. She blinked away the moisture forming in her eyes. I hoped Millie didn’t notice.
“What’d you do that for?” I asked, rubbing the side of my face.
“Because you were disrespectful,” Millie said, taking Gertie’s side, exactly what we wanted her to do. “Why is she here with us?” she asked Gertie. “What does she bring to the table?”
Gertie shrugged. “I partly raised her. She’s almost like kin.” Gertie’s hand rested next to mine on the sofa. At one point, when Millie turned to look at Jenny, she gave my hand a squeeze.
“Being kin doesn’t give a kid a pass,” Millie said, directing her remark at Brittany. As she turned to direct her attention back to us, Gertie let go of my hand.
I glanced at Jenny and Brittany, noticing the shared look of contempt these two women exchanged. They could definitely turn on Millie if given a nudge. Hopefully I’d be able to provide one before the rest of the crew arrived.
Gertie flapped her tongue against her lips, much like a dog after eating peanut butter. “I could use a beverage, y’aaaall. Maybe your girls could make themselves useful and get me one.”
Millie snapped her fingers at her granddaughters. They had been standing casually in the entryway to the kitchen. At the sound of Millie’s snaps, they stiffened. How horribly could Millie have treated her granddaughters throughout their lives that they were so conditioned to please her? They might need way more than a nudge to turn against their grandmother.
“Don’t stand there. Miss Gertrude needs a beverage.”
Jenny flicked her head at Brittany, who rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.
“And I do my best decoding after a good breakfast,” Gertie said. “I don’t know if you caught that little squirrely noise my stomach made, but if I don’t get something soon it’ll start digesting itself and all you’ll get from me is gibberish.” She turned to me and threw up her hands. “Well? Breakfast doesn’t just magically appear. I could use some toast.”
“There’s a gun pointed at me.”
Gertie shrugged at Millie. “Your girls can watch her while she makes me something. I mean, Millie, at some point we’ve got to trust one another.”
Millie nodded, then peered at me. “Sure. Go ahead. Make Gertrude some toast.”
I ambled past Jenny, and could feel her following my movements with her pistol as I headed into the kitchen, where Brittany had just finished pouring Gertie a glass of water from the sink. Her gun sat on the counter. I could easily have gone for it, but then what? Jenny could shoot me. Even if I managed to grab the gun and get myself behind Brittany, holding her hostage, they could hurt Gertie. So, instead, I made myself useful to my ultimate plan.
“You left your gun on the counter,” I told Brittany.
“Oh, crap!” Brittany whipped around and grabbed the gun. With the glass of water in the other hand, she pointed the gun at me. “Thanks. Grandma woulda given birth to a wild pack of dogs if she knew I did that.”
I waved her off. “It’s okay. Though, to be honest, I was tempted to take the gun and pop a few in old Gertrude.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really? You don’t like her?”
“She hit me,” I said, touching my cheek. “That’s not right.”
Brittany cast her eyes downward. What memories swirled through her mind?
I shrugged. “She provided food and shelter when I was a kid, but she still acts like she’s the Queen Mother.”
Brittany pulled her gaze back up at me.
“So… she’s really Miss Gertrude? The notorious bank robber?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“That’s what she told you?”
“I don’t have any reason to doubt her. Do you?”
Brittany was radiating a weird vibe that I couldn’t decipher.
“Do you mind if I make a piece of toast for Her Highness?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Go ahead. There’s a loaf of bread in the fridge. Butter too.”
I opened the refrigerator, surprised to see it packed with a wide assortment of food, soda, beer and a couple bottles of white wine. Sancerre. From France. I studied wines, knowledge that had proved helpful in the past on CIA business when I would meet with rich arms dealers who would only drink the finest. The two bottles in the refrigerator weren’t cheap. Why would a vacation rental include a stocked fridge? With not one, but two bottles of pricey wine?
“Wow, a stocked fridge,” I said. “Are you sure people aren’t renting this now?”
“Positive,” Brittany said. “I bought a few things at the grocery store along the highway before breaking in this place.”
I nodded. I didn’t think for one minute that Brittany picked out the wine. Nor did I think any store on the highway would carry it.
“Hey, maybe later tonight we can all chill with a glass of wine.”
Brittany shrugged. “I don’t drink wine. More a beer drinker. But you’re welcome to what’s in there.”
I reached for the bread and noticed a collection of Hefeweizen-style beers from Germany. Again, not cheap, and certainly not sold in a market on the highway. “What’s your favorite beer?” I asked Brittany before setting the bread on the counter.
She shrugged. “Usually what’s on tap,” she laughed. “My favorite’s Mexican, though.”
“Yeah, I like Mexican beers.” There were no Mexican beers in the fridge. Brittany didn’t do the shopping. Why was she lying? Who really owned this place?
After dropping a couple slices of bread in the toaster, I put the bread back into the fridge and scanned the shelves for butter, found a tub and pulled it out. The heart-healthy kind, with added plant sterols to lower cholesterol, another indication Brittany, in her midtwenties, hadn’t done the shopping. People my age don’t usually buy heart-healthy butters. I supposed Millie could have requested Brittany buy heart-healthy brands, but the way Millie had devoured the lunch meats and slathered the mayo on her bread during last night’s dinner, I didn’t think it likely.
After the bread popped from the toaster, I buttered it and set it on a plate I found in the cupboard. A big, heavy dinner plate that would pack a wallop if Gertie used it like a Frisbee aimed at Millie’s face.
“You mind if I take a drink back for me?”
Brittany shrugged. “Sure.”
I put the butter back in the fridge and chose a bottle of lemonade. The bottle would make another good weapon, especially if I broke it and used it for cutting. I tucked the bottle under my arm and grabbed the plate. “I’ll take Gertrude’s water to her.”
Brittany handed it to me and I headed back into the living room, greeted with the sight of Gertie’s hands waving in the air while she railed about the younger generation to Millie, whose head bobbed in agreement. Gertie winked at me. She was winning Millie over. I set the plate on the coffee table in front of Gertie, then set her water down.
“No ice cubes?” Gertie said. “Fine, I’ll drink it lukewarm.”
I opened the lemonade and took a few sips while Gertie inspected the toast.
“You burned it,” she said.
“Sorry.” I made sure I flinched, as if expecting a whack. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jenny watching intently. I hoped she’d see herself in me. “I could go toast you a new piece.”
“And have you burn it again? Forget it.” She rolled her eyes at Millie, who returned a know
ing nod. “So, Millie,” Gertie said, “when’s the rest of your crew showing up? We’ve got some planning to do.”
“They should have been here by now,” Millie said.
“Did you say they worked for me?” Gertie asked.
She nodded. “Dot and Sandy. They responded to my feelers seeking out your former associates.”
Gertie nodded. “Oh, them. Good women.”
More worry appeared in Gertie’s face. How recently had these women worked for Miss Gertrude? So recent that they’d recognize Gertie as a fraud?
Millie shot a look over at Jenny. “Call Dot. See what’s taking her so long.”
Brittany stepped out of the kitchen.
“And you call Sandy.”
“We can’t get a good cell signal inside. We’ll have to go outside to the end of the drive,” Brittany said.
“Then go outside.”
Jenny pointed her weapon at us. “What about them?”
“I can handle them,” Millie said, rolling her eyes.
Bingo.
Millie was lowering her guard; she and Gertie were bonding. Soon she’d be ready to give Gertie a gun and ask her to guard herself.
Brittany came over and grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table.
“When Dot and Sandy get here I want you to take the boat back to Camp Happy Frog and get Jenny’s car outta there,” Millie said.
Brittany nodded and joined Jenny outside. Through the large picture window I could see them walking toward the end of the drive.
“I don’t know why I haven’t heard from Dot or Sandy. They were prompt when I met them before.”
Gertie pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “I guess all we can do is wait. Even though I’m certainly ready for action.”
Jenny and Brittany walked out of view of the picture window. Gertie was right. Now was the time.
“Don’t you agree, Fortune?”
“I sure do, Gertie.”
Gertie lifted her plate, holding it as she took a bite of toast.
“I don’t think either one texted me.” Millie grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table, still pointing her gun at us. “Oh, for the love of… That Brittany couldn’t rub two brain cells together. This is her phone. She took mine by mistake.”
She examined it closely. Her facial expression reflected confusion. “Gertrude, why are texting my granddaughter?”
I had no idea what she meant, but while leaning in to look at the message on the phone, her weapon drooped. Gertie swung her plate and knocked it into Millie’s hand. I threw the lemonade bottle into her head.
Millie fell back and cursed. She clutched her gun and shot, hitting the ceiling. I grabbed the edge of the table and hoisted it over Millie, leaning into the table and pinning Millie against the back of the sofa, her arm the only part of her body sticking out. Millie still held onto the gun, but she now suffered from limited range of motion, so couldn’t swing her arm around to shoot us. Gertie let out a guttural scream, something I’d never heard come out of her mouth. She leaned into Millie’s arm and latched onto it with her mouth, biting into the woman’s flesh as if it were a grilled hot dog. Millie screamed and let go of the gun. Gertie grabbed it and pulled herself up.
“Jenny and Brittany will be here soon. We gotta get out of here. You keep her pinned down. I’ll open the back patio door.”
I pinned Millie down while Gertie flung open the door. “Now!” she screamed.
I let go of the table and climbed over the loveseat, joining Gertie outside.
“Take this,” she said, handing me the gun. “You’re a better shot.”
We ran toward the protection of a grouping of bushes and trees. That’s when we saw her running toward us on the path from the bayou.
Our angel.
“Ida Belle!” Gertie yelled.
“I heard shots. Are you okay?” Ida Belle asked as we caught up with one another.
“Those came from Millie,” Gertie said between deep breaths. “She shot the ceiling. I managed to get her gun.”
“Millie? The sweet, old grandmother?”
“If by sweet you mean cold-blooded killer, then yes.” I looked back at the house. “She has two granddaughters. With guns. Jenny’s one of them.”
Ida Belle explained how she’d arrived in time to see us take off in the boats, so she hopped in another one and followed us. “I anchored my boat to a tree a little ways up the bayou and hiked back. I tried calling the local sheriff’s office, but couldn’t get a signal. Then I heard gunfire and came running.”
A shot rang out. A bullet whizzed past us, hitting the side of a tree a few feet away. I pushed Gertie and Ida Belle behind a nearby Cypress and dove behind a tangle of roots from a live oak uprooted during a previous storm.
Millie crouched behind another clumping of roots about thirty yards away, clutching a handgun. “You think I didn’t have a backup weapon?”
Ida Belle caught my eye, signaling she was going to move out from behind the tree to draw Millie’s fire, allowing me to get a clear hit once Millie stood to shoot. I knew the move would be the best one tactically because Ida Belle couldn’t get a good shot from her vantage point, but I couldn’t let her take the risk. I shook my head. She ignored me and stepped away from the tree. Millie stood to fire and I lifted my gun to shoot, but a second before I squeezed the trigger, I heard a pop and Millie dropped onto the dirt.
Moments later a voice called out.
“Hold your fire, ladies.”
It was a woman’s voice. I glanced over at Ida Belle and Gertie. They shrugged.
An older woman with white wavy hair and wearing khaki crops and sleeveless red top came into view, edging toward Millie with a pistol pointed at her. She kicked at Millie’s body. Blood spurted from the wound in her back.
Seconds later Jenny appeared. “Is she finally dead?”
“Looks like it,” the older woman said. She lifted her head and peered over at us. “Why don’t y’aaaall come on back to the house. We need to chat.”
I glanced at Gertie. Her eyes grew large. She stepped out from behind the tree and stared at the older woman standing over Millie’s body. “Gertrude Roy?”
“Call me Miss Gertrude.” She stared at Gertie. Other than Gertrude Roy being a little more muscular and tanned than Gertie, the two could have been sisters they looked so much alike.
“I haven’t worn spiked hair in over a decade,” Miss Gertrude said in a heavy drawl. “Dear Lord. I wish someone had told me how stupid it looked.” She shook her head. “Well, come on, we don’t have all day. I need to know what the hell you ladies are up to.”
Ida Belle and I continued pointing our weapons at Jenny and Miss Gertrude.
Miss Gertrude shook her head and smiled. “You’re outgunned, ladies. Jenny and Brittany work for me. So do the two gentlemen now behind you.”
I glanced behind me. Two younger men in their thirties stood with high-powered rifles trained on us.
“Miss Gertrude would like to have a word with you inside,” said one of the men.
“Best not to disappoint Miss Gertrude,” said the other.
“Oh, shit,” said Ida Belle.
“Word,” said Gertie.
Chapter Ten
Gertrude Roy leaned back in her recliner and studied the three of us. I could feel Gertie shifting next to me on the sofa. It must have been surreal having someone who looked like she could be your twin sitting across from you and shooting you daggers.
Jenny and Brittany sat in the loveseat to our right. I’d been wrong about them. They weren’t the scared girls I thought originally, having betrayed their abusive grandmother. Good for them. But it gave Gertrude two more guards with weapons. Bad for us.
The coffee table had since been uprighted, the broken plate swept up by one of Miss Gertrude’s “boys,” as she called them.
“That was quite a mess y’aall made in here,” Miss Gertrude said. “I shoulda made you clean up that lemonade spill.” She craned her neck to loo
k back at the kitchen. “Davy, honey, how’s it coming with our coffee?”
Davy, who could have easily been a model for GQ Magazine, stepped out of the kitchen carrying a tray filled with cups, a carafe, milk and a sugar bowl. “I have it right here, Miss Gertrude.” His voice silky smooth. He set the tray on the table and poured a cup for her.
Miss Gertrude flicked her thumb toward another of her men standing a few feet behind her with his weapon pointed our way. He topped the hotness charts as well, more California surfer dude than Davy’s smooth, corporate look. “Lance back there is my chauffer-slash-masseuse. Gives the best foot massage you’ll ever find. Pouring our coffee is Davy, my principal chef. When he’s not whomping up something for me in the kitchen, his fingers are working their magic on my neck muscles.”
“And they say crime doesn’t pay,” Gertie whispered.
Miss Gertrude flashed a dirty look Gertie’s way, before smiling at Davy. “Davy makes the best chicory coffee in all the South, just the right blend. Can I interest y’aaaall in some?”
“Pour away, Davy,” Gertie said.
Davy poured a cup for Gertie. “Cream and sugar?” he asked in a deep, soft drawl.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Can I take you home with me?”
Davy didn’t answer, but smiled while adding sugar and cream to her coffee. He handed Gertie her cup.
“I’m afraid Davy’s spoken for,” Miss Gertrude said.
Davy raised his eyebrows at Ida Belle. “Ma’am?”
“Sure, I’d love some. Cream and sugar.”
He poured Ida Belle a cup and handed it to her. He lifted his eyebrows at me. “Miss?”
I shook my head. “I don’t drink chicory.”
Miss Gertrude pulled in a deep breath and I could feel the energy being sucked out of the room. I must have violated Southern Manners 101.
“Of course you like chicory,” Gertie said. “You have it all the time at my house. That’s what makes my coffee better than yours.”
“Oh.” I nodded at Davy. “Sure.”
All this time I just thought I made crappy coffee. But she was right, her coffee always tasted better than mine.