by Shari Hearn
“I just got off the phone with Gertie. She said they found a magician for your party.”
Marge nodded. “Yeah, and he’s up to no good, so I have to—”
Marie talked over her. “I hope you have a good party, Marge.”
“It’ll be a good party if I can figure out how to get back to the magician and see what he’s up to.”
“Remember last year’s party?” Marie asked the pouch. “Of course, it didn’t go off as we had expected. Your parties never did. But at least the macarons were good. Gertie drove all the way to Sucré in New Orleans to pick them up.”
Marge did remember those macarons. Divine. The last time she tasted them was last Easter. After a day of visiting cemeteries, she, Ida Belle and Gertie had driven to New Orleans and had an early dinner. They’d stopped in at Sucré to pick up a box of eight macarons for the drive back home. Her favorites were the double chocolate macarons filled with a milk chocolate caramel ganache. She turned to tell Marie she could almost taste them when she realized she was no longer sitting at the airport. She was now sitting at her favorite little table at Sucré. The emotions surrounding all the good times she’d had there was enough to propel her to this table.
A man and a woman sat opposite her. The woman turned her head toward Marge, took one look at her and screamed. Crap. She just had to appear at a table with someone who could sense ghosts.
“What’s wrong?” the man asked.
The woman pointed to Marge. “Her.”
“Who?”
The woman turned to him. “The woman sitting across from us.”
“There’s no one there,” he said.
She turned back and looked in Marge’s direction. “Yes she is, right there. A shimmering mist, but I can see her face.”
The man touched her hand. “You’re tired.”
“You never believe me,” she said, her voice rising. Others in the shop glanced in the couple’s direction.
“Stop making a scene,” he said.
“I’m not crazy. I do see her.”
“I never said you were.”
“No, but I can tell that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Well, I hate to haunt and run,” Marge said to the woman as she stood from the table, “but I have somewhere to be.” Marge slipped out the door as the couple’s argument began to escalate.
There was no way Marge could locate the magician now. It had taken a lot of energy to bounce around the way she had. Until her energy was up to snuff to do more “traveling,” she’d have to hoof it back to Sinful.
Chapter Five
GERTIE AND I SCORED in Mudbug, leaving the party store with a piñata that looked just like Marge’s Jeep, as well as balloons, a helium tank, goofy-looking hats, and a magician.
“Just for the record,” I said as we turned onto Main Street in Sinful, “I’m not wearing a party hat.”
“Yes, you are. Everyone at the party will be wearing a hat. If you don’t, you’ll just end up looking silly.”
I cut my speed as we approached the sheriff’s station, scanning the parking lot for Carter’s truck.
“Didn’t you have a date with Carter last night?” Gertie asked.
“Yeah. We went to dinner in Mudbug.” And made out in his truck like teenagers. Just seeing it parked in his space gave me a tingling sensation. We’d picked up a picnic dinner from a little diner and then drove to a clearing outside Mudbug to observe a meteor shower after it had gotten dark. I didn’t remember much of the meteor shower, but damn, I did remember the making out.
“Did you stay at his place or did he stay at your place?”
“Neither. We went to watch the meteor shower and it was late when we got home.”
Gertie sighed and shook her head. “I’m going to have to pick someone else to live vicariously through, because you are becoming one big disappointment. I think even Ally sees more action than you, and I can’t remember the last time I saw her with a guy.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t get any action.”
She followed my gaze to Carter’s truck. A big grin formed on her face. “Okay, I’ll keep you. You’re starting to show some promise. Should we invite Carter to the party?”
“Not if I’m wearing a Hawaiian shirt and goofy party hat, we’re not.” I hit the gas and sped up as we passed the station.
“It’s not like you go all out to dress for him anyway. If you ask me, a party hat should be the least of your fashion concerns.”
She opened her mouth to launch into one of her ‘you need to sex it up for him’ lectures, when her words became a gasp.
“Stop the car!”
I gave a quick peek in the rear-view mirror, saw that no one would plow into me, then hit the brakes, pitching us both in our seats. Gertie sat staring at City Hall as a group of people descended the building’s steps.
“What’s wrong?”
“The City Council meeting is letting out. Our friends on the council were supposed to let me know when we could install Marge’s memorial bench.” She dug her phone from her purse and checked her messages. From the look on her face, I’d say we’d run into a snag. “What the hell?”
An ear-splitting honk came from behind. I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Ida Belle in her killer SUV waving at us.
“Pull over and park,” Gertie said, her eyes planted on her cell phone.
Ida Belle pulled into the spot next to us as Gertie raced out of the car and toward the steps of City Hall.
“Is it official?” Ida Belle asked as I joined her in front of her SUV. “Can we put up Marge’s bench now?”
Before I could answer, we heard Gertie curse as she began flailing her arms.
“I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” I said.
Now it was Ida Belle cursing. “They can’t do this to us! We had assurances from four of the six members!” We rushed to where Gertie was being consoled by a gray-haired woman who had an arm draped around her shoulder.
“What happened?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie looked up, rage in her eyes. “Celia postponed the vote.”
Ida Belle clenched her jaw. “Again? We told her we needed the vote before Marge’s birthday tomorrow.”
Gertie gestured to the gray-haired woman. “Flora said they couldn’t vote because Alice Bernard’s daughter is giving birth today and Alice couldn’t attend the meeting.”
“Can’t she just vote by phone?”
Flora pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, there’s some old law that states that a council member must be physically present to vote.”
“Which Flora said has never been invoked until today,” Gertie said.
Flora nodded. “We always allow a phone-in vote if the member can’t make it, except today Celia suddenly remembers the statute.”
Gertie’s nostrils flared as she pulled in a few deep breaths. “That’s why Celia kept putting off the vote until now. She knew when Alice’s daughter was due.”
The door to City Hall opened and Celia stepped out with two other older women, her lapdogs on the City Council, as well as her new real dog, a Maltese, which she held in her arms like a baby. Gertie pointed her finger at Celia. “You planned this all along.”
Celia descended the steps while her two lackeys slithered behind. She smirked as she approached. “I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”
Ida Belle jabbed her finger in Celia’s face. “You kept putting off the vote until you knew Alice wouldn’t be around to vote our way.”
Celia swatted Ida Belle’s finger away. “You’ll get your vote next month. And stop jabbing your finger at us. Coco doesn’t like it.” Celia looked at the dog. “Do you, baby? No you don’t. No you don’t.” He let out a couple of bored yaps at Ida Belle.
One of the lackeys held her hands out to Celia. “Let me take him, Mayor. You never know what those two will do.”
Celia gently handed Coco to her lackey, who then stepped several feet away from Celia and cradled the dog.
Gertie br
oke away from Flora and joined Ida Belle and me, slapping her hands on her hips and glaring at Celia. “Next month will be too late. We’ve been trying for two months to get Marge’s bench approved. We wanted it in the park so we could scatter some of her ashes next to it on her birthday. Tomorrow. Not next month. On. Her. Birthday.”
“Scattering of ashes is against Sinful law.”
“Since when?” Ida Belle hissed. “There’s no public ordinance against it.”
“No, but there is an ordinance against disposing of trash on public property.”
Gertie’s eyes popped. “Trash?”
I reached one hand over and prevented Ida Belle from slapping Celia’s face, using my other hand to grab Gertie’s hand as she tried to flip Celia the bird. I should have known better. When it comes to the fine art of flipping someone off, Gertie is ambidextrous. Her other hand shot up in a three-finger salute, causing Celia and her cronies to back away with exaggerated gasps.
Several of the other City Council members cheered Gertie on.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Carter rushing over from the sheriff’s station. Celia noticed as well.
“Deputy! Over here!” she cried out, holding her hands in a defensive position in front of her face.
“Okay, break it up,” Carter said as he gently moved the council members aside. He spotted us and sighed.
“They threatened me,” Celia said to Carter. “Arrest them.”
“We didn’t threaten you,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle glared at Celia. Her hand shook as I held on tight. “But nobody would have blamed us if we did. Marge is not trash.”
Celia dropped her hands. “I never said she was, though I wasn’t as enamored with her as you two were. She was peculiar. But the law is broadly written and open to interpretation. And, as mayor, I’m the one doing the interpreting. If I say sprinkling ashes is akin to dumping trash, then it is.” She looked up at Carter. “If they so much as sprinkle one speck of anything on public property, I want you to do your job for once and arrest them.”
Gertie folded her arms and glared at Carter. “Marge wanted a part of her sprinkled in the park.”
“Well, too bad,” Celia shot back. “I want you two to move away and I’ve never gotten my wish.”
Carter placed his hand on Gertie’s shoulder. “How about sprinkling a little of Marge under her hammock? She liked it out there.”
“Or maybe at Marie’s place,” Celia said, flashing a smile smeared with sneer. “Marge always seemed unusually attentive of Marie, bless her heart.”
Gertie let her purse slide down her shoulder, catching it with her free hand. “That does it. I don’t care if I go to jail. A whack on the side of your head will do us all some good.”
Carter grabbed Gertie’s wrist. “Why don’t we all take a breath?”
Celia glanced at the members who stood on the side of Ida Belle and Gertie. “You all realize a new bench for the park is not in the city’s budget.”
“We bought the bench,” Gertie said. “And I’ll come out there every month to trim the grass around it. Sinful won’t have to put any money into it.”
Celia shook her head. “And what if every Tom, Dick and Harry wanted a memorial bench in the park? We’d run out of grass space.”
Ida Belle’s voice shook as she spoke. “Marge was no Tom, Dick or Harry. She was a valuable member of our community. That park was an overgrown, neglected plot of land before Marge helped transform it into a nice place for Sinful families to sit and have a little picnic. The swing set? Marge paid for that. And constructed it.”
“Teeter-totter, too,” Gertie added. “That she built from a tree she cut down on her property. And she and the Sinful Ladies held bake sales to buy the sod because the City Council was too stingy to put up the money. We lay that sod and took turns tending to it as it took hold. That park was Marge’s baby. She deserves that bench.”
“And she’ll have a chance to get that bench next month,” Celia shot back. “This discussion is now closed. If you don’t mind, Coco has a hair appointment.”
Celia motioned to her lackeys standing behind her, and the three muscled their way past us.
Flora touched Gertie on the shoulder. “Sorry, Gertie. We did try. Marge deserves that bench and we’ll see to it that she gets it.”
The other two members added their words of encouragement before the three of them said their goodbyes and left. Gertie spun on her heel and opened her mouth. Carter raised his hand and cut her off.
“No no. I can’t get in the middle of this. I’m up to my eyeballs with a couple of burglaries.”
“Burglaries?” Ida Belle asked. “How come we haven’t heard of them?”
Carter smiled. “Maybe because Myrtle is in Lafayette training on new software so hasn’t been able to read my reports and pass them on to you.”
“Myrtle?” Gertie asked, scratching her head. “Myrtle who?”
Myrtle was our “spy” in the sheriff’s department as well as a Sinful Lady. If there was anything criminal related going on in Sinful, Gertie and Ida Belle would be notified as soon as Myrtle found out about it.
Carter snorted. “You expect me to believe this little innocent routine?”
“Who got robbed?” I asked.
“Well, first were Scott and Audrey Hoover. They were working a convention in New Orleans and came home to find they’d been broken into.”
Gertie’s brows lifted. “Scott sells guns. Any of his inventory stolen?”
Carter shook his head. “He keeps his guns in a gun vault and they weren’t disturbed. His wife’s jewelry box was taken though. They’re still going through their house and taking inventory.”
“That’s good news. What about the other robbery?” I asked.
“Barb Geroux had her place robbed early this morning, about two. She was awakened by a man dressed in black, his face hidden by a clown mask. He held a sword to her chest as an accomplice gathered up her jewelry.”
“A sword?” Even for Sinful that sounded odd. “That sounds like a strange weapon to carry around.”
Carter nodded. “He asked where she kept her jewelry. She told him.”
Ida Belle drew her head back, skeptical. “And you believe her?”
Carter shrugged.
Gertie cleared her throat. “And would this man wielding a sword be one of her invisible friends she’s been seen talking to?”
“Her fantasy world has been part of Sinful lore for as long as I can remember,” Ida Belle said.
“I actually think this might not be a figment of her imagination,” said Carter. “This isn’t the first time a sword’s been used in a crime in this area. Over in Lake Charles a man was killed by a rapier blade. Police there said it was probably during a burglary. That happened two weeks ago. And he was a gun dealer as well, specializing in older guns and antiques.”
Gertie cocked her head. “Gus Westerfield? I read about him in the paper last week. They didn’t give much details.” She blew out a breath. “I sometimes listen to his podcasts on Louisiana history.”
“So Barb Geroux really had a blade pointed to her chest and we didn’t hear about it?” Ida Belle said. “It’s not like she’s shy about playing the victim. We’re still hearing about how Marge cheated her out of being senior class president.”
We pumped him for more information and discovered that the burglar took a few necklaces, which struck me as odd. Why go to all that trouble for just a few necklaces?
“Now that’s the big mystery,” Carter said. “After we finished processing her house, Miss Geroux threw some clothes in her suitcases and headed on over to her sister’s in Mudbug. We think the perps have moved on because there was another burglary over in Pollard on the way to the Texas border. Same as Miss Geroux, awakened with a man and a sword. But, just in case, Deputy Breaux and I are increasing our patrols and going door to door to dispense safety tips.”
Gertie reached into her purse and pulled out a pistol. “I have your safe
ty tip right here.”
Carter shrugged. “Didn’t help Barb. She has her daddy’s old Remington revolver in the drawer of her nightstand.”
He passed his gaze over the three of us, paying particular attention to me. “I want you all to remember to lock your doors and windows. Just stay vigilant.”
I shrugged. “Vigilance is my natural state. I’d actually like to wake up with this guy in my room with a sword to my chest. I trained for scenarios like that. It would help me keep my skills up. So if you find out who he is, send him my way.”
“Hmmm.” Carter seemed distracted. Normally, he’d be lecturing me about not getting involved and letting the law handle things.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something just doesn’t fit. Why Barb Geroux? Gus Westerfield is an antique gun dealer. Scott Hoover is an antique gun dealer. Miss Geroux...”
“Is the local crackpot,” I said.
Carter sighed. “And the victim in Pollard has no connection to weapons. I’m thinking the burglaries at Barb Geroux’s house and the one in Pollard were to throw us off the track. To make it look like someone’s robbing houses for jewelry.”
“You think there’s a reason two gun dealers’ homes were hit.”
Carter nodded.
Gertie rubbed her chin. “Remember, though, that Barb Geroux tried to sue Gus.”
Carter shrugged. “Nothing came of it.”
“What was the suit about?” I asked.
“Gus Westerfield was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades,” said Carter. “A local historian. He taught at the community college and led history tours all over the state. Miss Geroux took one of his plantation tours and sued because he didn’t inform the group that one of the plantations was haunted. She claimed emotional distress, but her suit was thrown out. It was several years ago. I think the connection is coincidental.” Carter looked at Ida Belle, then Gertie. “But Gus would often send gun customers to Scott, so they had a connection. Have either of you ever bought pistols from Scott or Gus?”
The ladies shook their heads.
“They both deal in pricey antiques,” Gertie said. “I have a few collectibles but mostly cheapies I’ve bought at estate sales. Scott does have a Colt Dragoon from the 1850s that I’d love to have, but it’s more than five thousand dollars. Not on my pension and Social Security.”