by Jana DeLeon
“Not a debate,” Gertie said. “Just their promises.”
I frowned, not really understanding, when Ida Belle cleared her throat and said, “I promise to add lights to the playground.”
All the women cheered.
Ted gave her a nod and said, “I promise to resurface the public dock.”
All the men cheered.
“I get it now,” I said. “Can they actually do all those things, though? I mean, don’t they need the money?”
Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “They can’t do any of it, truth be known. Hasn’t been extra in the Sinful till in a hundred years. But people like to know what would happen if Sinful hit the equivalent of the lottery.”
I shook my head. So the crux of Sinful’s battle for mayor rested on who could produce the best fiction that impressed the most residents. I mean, if a politician’s mouth was open, they were probably spouting fiction, but in this case, they weren’t even trying to hide it.
“I promise to make alcohol legal in the city limits,” Ted said.
An uneasy lull fell over the crowd and Gertie broke into a huge smile. “He screwed the pooch,” she whispered to me.
I frowned. I could see why the women didn’t want legalized alcohol in town. That meant bars, which meant the potential of husbands behaving badly, and besides, they all had the Sinful Ladies cough syrup. But I didn’t get why the men were oddly silent.
“Why wouldn’t the men want alcohol legalized?” I asked.
Gertie snorted. “You think they want their bad behavior advertised right here in the middle of town? They all head to the Swamp Bar or to New Orleans to act like children. That way, their wives can pretend they don’t know about it, and as long as it doesn’t happen in front of Sinful residents, everyone else goes along with the lie.”
“Ah.” It made sense in a Sinful, Louisiana, sort of way.
Ida Belle leaned closer to the microphone, grinning from ear to ear, and clearly moving in for the kill. “I promise to create a town bond to pay for the installation of an additional cooler at Francine’s. That way, everyone in Sinful can enjoy a serving of banana pudding on Sunday.”
The crowd went ballistic and Gertie lifted her hand for a high five. “Kill shot,” she said.
I slapped her hand and laughed. Only in Sinful could someone win a mayoral election on the strength of a banana pudding cooler.
###
It was almost dark by the time I dragged myself out of my Jeep and into the shower. Gertie left Main Street a couple of minutes before I did, and Ida Belle was still sitting on the stage, having a chat with her competition. His wife, Paulette, had long since abandoned her supportive role, claiming her hair spray couldn’t hold up to the humidity. Most of the town residents had wandered off home, leaving a big cleanup for tomorrow—something I was certain I’d get roped into and wasn’t looking forward to in the least, especially not in this heat.
I stood under the spray of water until my skin shriveled, then called myself done. I’d grabbed the occasional finger food during the rally but hadn’t had what I’d call a decent meal since breakfast. When I stepped out of the shower, my stomach launched a full protest. I pulled my long extensions back in the standard ponytail they’d grown to expect, threw on shorts and a T-shirt, and headed downstairs to rustle up a sandwich, chips, and the latest dessert concoction my friend Ally had asked me to test for potential sale in the bakery she wanted to open.
It didn’t take me twenty minutes to polish off the roast beef sandwich, chips, and something heavenly that Ally referred to as a summer tart, and then I headed back upstairs where I fell into bed and managed to go right to sleep without even putting on my noise-canceling headphones.
Banging on my front door woke me and I bolted straight out of bed, grabbing my pistol as I leaped. I landed in firing position, aiming at the door. It took a second for my mind to catch up to my body, and I realized the banging sound was downstairs at the front door and not an intruder.
One glance outside at the still-pitch-black sky and I knew this couldn’t be good. Still clutching my pistol, I hurried downstairs, trying not to remember that the last time I’d been awakened at an indecent hour, I’d been accused of murder.
I eased the door open and the momentary relief when I realized it wasn’t Carter standing there disappeared in an instant when I saw the look on Gertie’s face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I motioned her inside.
She clutched the bottom of her sweater, twisting it into a knot, and I noticed that her hands shook as she twisted. In the short time I’d known Gertie, we’d been in some hairy situations, but I’d never seen her this worried. And that scared the crap out of me.
“Gertie, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Marie called me. She lives catty-corner to the Williamses. I don’t have all the facts, but the paramedics showed up about an hour ago and carried out a body bag.”
I sucked in a breath. “Which one?”
“Marie says Paulette ran out of the house and threw herself over the gurney, screaming and crying. The paramedics sedated her and put her in the ambulance with the body before they took off.”
I absorbed everything Gertie told me, trying to figure out what part of this story had her so vexed. So far, it seemed straightforward. “So Ted died. Why all the worry?”
“Carter sealed the house. Marie walked outside and heard him calling a forensics lab. He was holding a Baggie with a bottle in it.”
“He overdosed?” I asked, still not certain why Gertie was so stressed. “The coroner should be able to determine that.”
Gertie shook her head. “Marie said it was one of our cough syrup bottles in the Baggie. Marie said Paulette screamed ‘she killed him’ right before the paramedics dosed her.”
A flashback of Ida Belle, taking my last bottle of cough syrup…Ida Belle sitting on the makeshift stage, joking with Ted after everyone had left the rally…cycled through my mind on fast forward, and an enormous feeling of dread washed over me.
“Where did he get the bottle?”
Gertie’s lower lip trembled. “I’m afraid he got it from Ida Belle. She was holding one when I left.”
I nodded. “I gave it to her. It was my last one.”
I didn’t think it possible for Gertie to look even more depressed, but she managed it anyway. “I was hoping for another explanation, even though I figured that’s what you were going to say.”
“Did you call Ida Belle and warn her?”
“I called, but she didn’t answer, so I drove by but Carter’s truck was already parked outside her house. I knocked, but he wouldn’t let me in the house. Told me to go home and mind my own business.”
Gertie’s face flushed with anger. “Ida Belle is my oldest and dearest friend. Since when is she not my business?”
I patted Gertie’s arm in an awkward attempt to comfort her. This sort of thing was definitely outside my skill set. “Carter’s in cop mode right now. I’m sure he didn’t mean to imply that you had no stake in things.”
“Maybe,” Gertie said, refusing to be mollified, “but this isn’t some big city where we’re all strangers. Carter has known Ida Belle his entire life. You and I both know from experience that Ida Belle’s capable of killing someone, but Carter doesn’t know that side of her. And we know she wouldn’t move to lethal unless someone was creating a life-threatening situation. We were soldiers, not sociopaths.”
“I know.” And then it clicked with me that those two simple words I’d uttered, I meant 100 percent. Despite the fact that I’d known Ida Belle for less than two weeks, I was absolutely certain that she hadn’t killed Ted. I would have bet my cover on it.
One look at Gertie’s agonized expression, and I wondered if it might come down to that.
Chapter Two
I left Gertie with a cup of coffee and a bottle of cough syrup while I threw on jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. It took a couple cups of the mix before she’d calmed down enough to venture out. The
n we headed for Ida Belle’s house. Carter couldn’t put us off forever, and unless Ida Belle was straight-out telling him she’d killed Ted, Carter didn’t have any cause to arrest her.
Yet.
Carter’s truck was still parked in front of Ida Belle’s house when Gertie pulled her ancient Cadillac to the curb. All up and down the block, I saw blinds and curtains move from nosy neighbors trying to figure out what was going on.
As Gertie and I made our way up the sidewalk, Carter stepped out of the house and gave us a frowning nod before continuing past to his truck. He climbed inside and shut the door, and without uttering a single word, pulled away from the curb and down the street. We both stood in front of the porch steps, watching him drive away. I don’t know what was running through Gertie’s mind, but I wasn’t feeling overly confident as we walked up the steps and knocked on the door.
Ida Belle, hair in curlers and still wearing her robe, flung open the door and glared. When she realized it was me and Gertie and not Carter, her expression went from exasperated to relieved and she waved us inside.
“Hurry up about it,” she said, rushing us to the kitchen. “Damn man wouldn’t let me brew a pot of coffee. Like anyone is alert at three a.m. It’s not like I’m old people or something with one of those bladders that’s all worn out and gets you up at ungodly hours.”
I looked over at Gertie, who gave me a slight shake of her head. Clearly, when Ida Belle was on a tear, Gertie thought it best to let her get it all out. I slid into a chair at the back of the kitchen table and figured I’d wait on Gertie to give me a talking cue. Gertie took the chair next to me, still silently observing.
“Then Carter stomps in here,” Ida Belle continued to rant, “and starts quizzing me like he’s the gestapo, and all because that idiot Ted doesn’t take care of himself and dropped dead of a heart attack or something. What the hell do I have to do with his lifestyle choices? Every time I see the man, he’s holding a beer and some form of red meat. Hell, that wife alone would give most people a heart attack, if only as an opportunity to get away from her.”
She shoved the coffeepot under the filter basket and poked the on switch so hard the entire coffee machine scooted back a couple of inches on the counter.
“And to top it all off,” Ida Belle said as she plopped into a chair across from me, “Carter wouldn’t even give me a good reason for this intrusion. I’ve always liked the boy, but if he’s going to start acting irrationally, then I’ll be damned if I see him promoted to sheriff once I’m elected mayor.”
I looked over at Gertie, who raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Ida Belle asked, catching Gertie’s expression. “If you two know something, spill it, because I’m tired and cranky and more than a little pissed off.”
Gertie took a breath and filled Ida Belle in on what Marie had witnessed.
Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “Poisoned? And that fool of a wife thinks I did it? Why in the world would I waste a good murder on that idiot?”
“Got me,” I said, in complete agreement.
Gertie frowned at me. “Yes, well, the three of us tend to approach human extermination from a different viewpoint than most. So while we all know it’s the most ridiculous thing to even suggest, much less consider, it doesn’t mean the rest of Sinful will feel the same.”
Ida Belle sighed. “Which means Carter doesn’t have the option to treat it as nonsense either. I get it, but I don’t have to like it.”
“Me either,” I said.
Gertie shook her head. “I swear, sometimes it’s like you two are the same person.”
I grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Under normal circumstances,” Gertie said, “it could be, but given the situations we’ve found ourselves in lately, I suppose it’s an asset.”
“So what now?” Ida Belle asked.
“Given that it’s a suspicious death, they’ll rush the autopsy and drug tox,” I said. “They should be able to screen for common poisons in a matter of hours. The rest could take longer.”
Ida Belle nodded. “So maybe a couple of days of getting the squint-eye from some people and then this latest shitstorm will pass over.”
I shrugged. “Probably, but in my limited experience, the passing of one shitstorm seems only to bring another.”
Ida Belle sighed. “I swear, things were quiet before you got here.”
“Yeah, that’s what Carter keeps telling me.”
Ida Belle rose from the table and grabbed the coffeepot. “Well, I guess there’s nothing else to do but have some coffee and muffins and wait.”
I nodded, the smell of the coffee and the prospect of a homemade muffin improving my mood despite the complete lack of sleep I’d gotten since I’d been here. But even given my certainty that Ida Belle hadn’t killed Ted, I couldn’t escape that niggle in the back of my mind that said this was all far from over.
###
The knock on Ida Belle’s door came sooner than any of us expected. I froze, coffee cup dangling in midair like an incomplete sentence. Gertie’s eyes widened and she sucked in a breath as she dropped the last bite of her muffin on her plate and stared at Ida Belle.
I have to give it to her—Ida Belle remained cool as a cucumber.
“It’s probably someone being nosy,” Ida Belle said. “They couldn’t possibly know anything already.”
She rose from the table and headed to the front door.
“Do you think she’s right?” Gertie asked, the hope clear in her voice.
I wanted to say she was right. Logically, what she said made sense. But somehow, that knock had sounded different—ominous, even. And I thought Ida Belle had felt it, too, even though she’d tried to mask it with optimism, most likely for Gertie’s benefit.
I rose from my chair and hurried after Ida Belle, Gertie scurrying behind me, and arrived at the front door just as Ida Belle pulled it open. My worst fears were confirmed.
Carter stood on Ida Belle’s front porch and his expression left no doubt where the conversation was headed. He handed Ida Belle a folded piece of paper.
“I’m really sorry about this,” he said, “but that’s a warrant to search your property. I’m going to have to ask you to take a seat in the kitchen. Deputy Breaux will stay with you until I’ve completed my search.”
He looked at Gertie and me. “I’m not even going to bother telling you to leave, but if you want to stay, you have to sit in the kitchen with Ida Belle and can’t move until this is over. Are we clear?”
We both gave him a nod, then followed Ida Belle to the kitchen where we slipped back into our chairs at the breakfast table. Gertie grabbed her napkin and began to pull it apart in pieces. Her face was flushed and her breathing more rapid.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“I think it means Ted was poisoned,” I said.
Ida Belle nodded. “I’m afraid she’s right. Carter wouldn’t have bothered Judge Aubry for a warrant without a reason. For one, he can’t stand the man, and two, he would never risk his own reputation over something like this.”
I heard Carter talking to someone at the front door and a couple of seconds later, a short, squatty man wearing a deputy badge walked into the kitchen.
Five feet eight, two hundred forty pounds, probably couldn’t run to the kitchen counter without collapsing.
He gave us a nod as he entered the room, a blush running up his neck and onto his face as he stood awkwardly next to the counter, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. His insecurity combined with one of those boyish, round faces was enough to generate a flicker of my sympathy. I hadn’t seen someone that uncomfortable in a long time—except for myself, of course, if one took into account most of my time in Sinful.
“Well, don’t just stand there lurking over us, Kyle,” Ida Belle said and waved at the deputy. “There’s a stool under the counter and a half a pot of coffee behind you. Cups are in the cabinet above.”
Kyle froze, clearly uncerta
in what protocol was in this situation. “I don’t know, ma’am…”
Ida Belle shrugged. “Carter could be hours. Are you really planning to stand there the whole time? First off, I don’t think you’re in any shape to manage it, which is something you need to address given your age. Second, what do you think we’re going to do if you’re sitting—make a break for the back door and head off to Mexico?”
Kyle’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “No, ma’am. I just…well, I feel bad making myself comfortable given the circumstances.”
“Whether you’re sitting or standing, the circumstances aren’t going to change.”
Ida Belle turned around in her chair to face me. Deputy Kyle stared at the side of her head for a moment, then glanced back at the coffeepot. Finally, common sense, bad physical conditioning, or maybe just a slight fear of Ida Belle won out and he turned around to pour a cup of coffee.
It briefly crossed my mind to jump out of my chair and run for the back door, just to see his reaction, but I decided that was probably mean, even though I was certain the results would have been hilarious. I glanced over at Gertie, who was also casing the distance between her chair and the door, and barely held in a smile.
Great minds.
“So Kyle,” I said after he hefted himself onto a stool and lifted the coffee to his lips, “I guess this means someone bumped off Ted, right?”
He sucked in a breath, which included a mouthful of hot coffee, then snorted, blowing it through his nose and across the kitchen floor.
Ida Belle sighed. “I just mopped yesterday.”
I grinned. “I didn’t mean to choke you up there, Kyle. But really, it doesn’t take a genius to know what’s going on.”
Kyle grabbed a paper towel and coughed into it a couple of times before throwing it away. “I can’t talk about an investigation. Deputy LeBlanc would kill me.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” I said. “One murder a week really should be the town limit.”
As the last sentence left my mouth, Carter walked through the kitchen, headed for the back door. He paused, and for a split second, I thought I had bought myself an escort to the sidewalk, but he continued on through the back door without even glancing at us.