Bullets and Beads

by Jana DeLeon

  “You don’t need to hide it,” Ida Belle said. “But this town is full of people who are supposed to be avoiding all that fat and sugar. And since our local doctors are all in attendance, along with watchful spouses, there’s lot of powdered sugar shaming that goes on at Mardi Gras.”

  “That sucks,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” Gertie said. “Everyone’s afraid to say anything to you. Besides, you don’t need the admonishment. How you manage to stay in that shape with all the goodies you consume is a mystery to me, especially over the holiday. I automatically switch to everything elastic waist on November 1.”

  “Well, technically, I’m usually wearing yoga pants, so I’m already observing that rule,” I said. “But I have had to up my workouts since I moved here. I thought CIA missions were tough, but they’ve got nothing on an attack of Sinful’s baked goods.”

  “So you’re running more?” Ida Belle asked.

  I nodded. “Ten miles, five days a week, and I’m using Carter’s weight set for lifting three times a week. And I throw in some squats, push-ups, lunges, and other stuff while I’m watching television.”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll just stick with the elastic-waist pants. That sounds like entirely too much work. Although I will say that working up a sweat at Carter’s house can’t be all bad.”

  “You’re impossible,” Ida Belle said.

  “It’s been a while,” Gertie said. “I’m living vicariously.”

  “You’ve been living vicariously since cable came to Sinful,” Ida Belle said.

  “I can’t help it if there are no available men in this town who can keep up with me,” Gertie said.

  “I guess that’s one way of putting it,” Ida Belle said as she pointed to a crate of the mouth-on-fire cough syrup and motioned to me. “Can you and your finely honed muscles please haul that one to the front of the booth? They were running low.”

  “Sure.” I hefted the crate up and wove my way through the Sinful Ladies who were busy peddling their wares and stuck it in an empty slot under the front counter. Ida Belle was close behind me with a second crate.

  “People are buying them in bulk,” she said. “This cinnamon flavor is a huge success. We might have to put it into regular rotation.”

  “Well, don’t rotate any to my house,” I said. “Me and my taste buds—assuming they ever return—will stick with the old boring one.”

  “Did I hear you say cinnamon?” A woman’s voice sounded in front of us and I looked up to see two women approaching.

  Speaking woman, midthirties. Five foot ten. Trim body and good muscle content. Facial features and accent indicated Russian heritage. Blond hair in ponytail. Threat level high if I had a man with a roving eye. She was a looker.

  Friend also midthirties. Five foot nine. Slim but not as toned as her friend. Scar near her temple. Right arm broken previously. Same blond hair in ponytail. Might be related. Threat level low given that she was holding the hand of a child around five years old. However, jury was still out on the child. They were sneaky.

  “I had a sip of something wonderful and tasting of cinnamon, and the lady said it was cough syrup.” The woman winked. “So is this where I can get my prescription filled?”

  Ida Belle smiled. “You must be related to Natalia.”

  “Not technically,” the woman said. “I’m Katia, an old childhood friend, but we’re like sisters. I surprised Natalia with a visit. And apparently, I came at the right time. This is so much fun.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ida Belle said. “I’m Ida Belle and this is Fortune.”

  I extended my hand to Katia, then to Natalia. “I don’t think we’ve met yet, either.”

  “Not officially,” she said, “but I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “That’s because you’re Catholic and Celia is always flapping her gums over there,” Ida Belle said. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

  Natalia frowned. “So you’re not CIA?”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “Now I’m a small-town private detective and part-time illegal booze salesman.”

  Katia laughed.

  “It’s cough syrup,” Ida Belle corrected. “Which is why it’s not illegal.”

  “Of course,” I said and smiled. “Hey, if you’re Catholic, why aren’t you toting around the real thing?”

  “Because this had a great taste,” Katia said. “Give me two bottles, please. I want to take some home with me. It’s perfect for shots.”

  I nodded. “And probably for cleaning cancer out of your esophagus. Maybe removing a bit of stomach lining.”

  Katia laughed. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

  “I’ll let you know when my taste buds return,” I said.

  Ida Belle handed her two bottles of the death syrup and as I went to take her money, bursts of loud sound echoed around us.

  “Is someone shooting, Mommy?” the little girl asked, clearly spooked.

  “No, baby,” Natalia said. “It’s just fireworks.”

  “I don’t see any fireworks,” the little girl said.

  “They’re not close by,” Natalia said.

  “They have fireworks at this?” I asked Ida Belle. “I thought you said there were horses at the end of this parade. Has this town not learned anything about horses and fireworks?”

  “The horses for the end of parade are selected based on their noise tolerance,” Ida Belle said. “And the official fireworks are at the end of the parade and shot over the bayou, but some people like to do their own thing even though they’re not supposed to.”

  “What is it with the South and fireworks?” I asked. “It’s as big an obsession as fishing and hunting.”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “Fishing is religion. Fireworks are just addiction.”

  “Well, maybe you should stuff cotton in those horses’ ears,” I said. “Just in case.”

  “Sounds like you guys know how to party,” Katia said. “And here I thought Natalia was crazy for giving up the whole career and big city thing to do the small-town mommy gig. But maybe she won’t grow stagnant after all.”

  I saw the slight downturn of Natalia’s lips and figured the subject was a sore one between the friends. Katia had every appearance of loving the fast-paced life. She probably wouldn’t ever be able to wrap her mind around how her friend could prefer living in a place like Sinful. A year ago, I would have had the same disbelief. Until I moved here, I thought small towns were where everyone went when they’d given up on life. I had no idea just how much went on in tiny communities, but when you ruffled the pretty quilts that seemed to cover them, there were all sorts of things hiding beneath. Good and bad. The amount of bad had been somewhat eye-opening.

  “It’s impossible to stagnate when you’re chasing a five-year-old all day long,” Natalia said. “We should get back before the parade starts. Larry is holding us a spot up front so Lina will have a good view.”

  Katia rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t want to keep Larry waiting. Thanks, ladies. It was nice to meet you.”

  They headed off into the crowd and Gertie popped up beside me. “What’s in those crates in front of you is the last of the hooch, and Walter wants it all if we can do it. I tried to convince Pastor Don to take a case but he still won’t bite.”

  “Why Pastor Don?” I asked.

  Ida Belle shook her head. “She wants him to use it for the Lord’s Supper.”

  “Don’t Baptists use grape juice to avoid the whole wine thing?” I asked.

  “Boorrriiinnngggg,” Gertie said. “I’m trying to give Southern Baptist an updated look.”

  “I’m not sure a drunken congregation is the look you should go for,” I said.

  “You might be right,” Gertie said. “Some of the older gentlemen like to run around in their boxers when they’re relaxing at home with some cough syrup. I don’t imagine the congregation or the Lord needs to witness that much of an individual.”

  “Especially when we all have to witness
Celia’s butt so much,” I said, and we all laughed.

  “Speak of the devil,” Gertie said.

  I turned around and saw our least favorite citizen stomping toward us.

  “Look,” Gertie said. “It’s the Butt of Sinful. How will you be showing your rear tonight, Celia? Hope you wore your good drawers.”

  “I will not discuss my undergarments with you,” Celia said as she stopped in front of us, hands on her hips.

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “We usually get a full view at some point.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “One would think you’d have learned to wear pants instead of dresses.”

  “Ladies wear dresses,” Celia said in her haughtiest voice.

  “Good thing I’m not a lady,” I said. “I hate dresses.”

  “I think a lot of problems in this town could be solved if we banned dresses and made everyone wear pants,” Ida Belle said.

  Celia’s face flushed with anger. “The only problem this town has with too much exposure is a group of Baptist young adults who’ve taken up spots in front of the General Store.”

  “Are they standing there naked?” Gertie asked and pulled out her phone.

  “Of course not,” Celia said. “You’re always so extreme. But they are causing a disturbance.”

  “Why are you telling us about it?” I said. “We’re not their parents or the cops.”

  “You’re Baptists,” Celia said and pointed to Gertie. “And this one is responsible for all the bad examples given to our youth in this town. Look at her shirt. Disgraceful.”

  “That’s some odd logic you have,” I said. “So what exactly are these arch-criminals doing?”

  “The group of young adults—I can’t refer to them as young ladies—are flashing the young men for beads,” Celia said.

  I glanced down the street but didn’t see any sign of disturbance. I looked back at Celia and narrowed my eyes. “You’re telling me there’s college-aged boob-flashing going on down Main Street, and yet all the male members of Sinful aren’t crowded around? I call foul.”

  Celia pulled herself board straight. “Every male in Sinful is not interested in such behavior.”

  “They are unless they’re dead,” Gertie said.

  Celia stamped her feet. “I demand that you do something.”

  “What are they wearing?” I asked. “Because there’s no way bare boobs are making an appearance or there would be a stampede.”

  “They’re wearing their undergarments,” Celia said.

  “So they’re flashing bras?” I asked.

  Celia hesitated. “Bikini tops.”

  I stared. “The same bikini tops they wear on the bayou in the summer?”

  “That’s not the point,” Celia said. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

  “The principle of the matter being that if you wore one, the entire town would turn into a pillar of salt?” Gertie asked.

  “This is not about me,” Celia said.

  “Sure it is,” I said. “They’re doing it to piss off you and other stiff necks like you, and it’s working. Same as Gertie’s T-shirt, which you keep glaring at. Why don’t you drink a bottle of cough syrup and take a night off, Celia? For once in your life, try not to be a butthole.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Celia said, sputtering.

  “Everyone would like that,” Ida Belle said. “Now get out of the way. We’ve got a booth to shut down. Go see your niece reign as queen. Maybe that will improve your attitude.”

  “As long as Ally insists on being tight with this one,” Celia said and inclined her head toward me, “she’s not my family.”

  “I’ll let her know that,” I said. “It will probably make her day. Bye, Celia.”

  I flicked my fingers at her in dismissal. She stood, openmouthed for a couple seconds, then finally whirled around and stalked away.

  “That woman is like a vacuum cleaner designed only to suck joy,” Ida Belle said.

  “That’s because she’s hasn’t gotten lucky since she got pregnant with Pansy,” Gertie said. “And since it was with that horrible husband of hers, I’m still sketchy on the ‘lucky’ aspect of it. She must be harboring resentment about the whole injustice of it.”

  “Injustice? Really?” Ida Belle asked.

  Gertie nodded at her. “I mean, look at you. You haven’t gotten lucky since fire was invented, but I don’t see you marching around with a stick up your butt. Not most of the time. No resentment.”

  Ida Belle raised one eyebrow. “I think you and your calendar might be a bit surprised by my ‘lucky’ status.”

  I grinned. “Ida Belle and Walter on the sly. No white wedding.”

  “Premarital activity?” Gertie pretended to be outraged. “I’m shocked.”

  “I’m shocked you waited until you were engaged,” I said.

  “Who says we did?” Ida Belle grabbed some empty cartons and headed off, leaving Gertie and me standing there gaping.

  “Am I reading that one correctly?” I asked. “Is Ida Belle saying she and Walter have had a standing booty call prior to the engagement? I wonder how long? Back to the beginning?”

  “Might be why he never stopped asking her to marry him,” Gertie said. “What I’d like to know is how she managed that without anyone catching on. This is Sinful, after all.”

  “And I was a spy,” Ida Belle said as she walked up behind us. “Are you two going to stand there and speculate about my potential love life all night or are we going to see the parade?”

  “I’m thinking the whole love life discussion might be more interesting,” I said.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Chapter Three

  After closing up the cough syrup booth, Ida Belle, Gertie, and I wandered around downtown for a bit, checking out the other booths and chatting with people along the way. Eventually, we got separated and I spotted someone I never expected to see in the crowd.

  Little Hebert.

  He gave me a huge smile and a wave as soon as he saw me, and I crossed the street to greet him.

  “I’m a bit surprised to see you here,” I said. “I figured this sort of thing was outside of your decorum requirements.”

  Little smiled. “I do have my standards, but blood wins out when it comes to certain things. The Cajun part of me can no more fail to celebrate Mardi Gras than my Italian roots can ignore Columbus Day.”

  “Makes sense. What about your father? Is he here?”

  “Of course. He never misses. The sheriff saves him a spot near the beginning of the parade route complete with a love seat. He’s over there now and he’d love to see you. In fact, I was looking for you, hoping you could say hello before the parade got started.”

  “I’d love to!”

  We headed toward the far end of Main Street and sure enough, on one side of the street was a love seat at the curb with Big resting on it, holding a funnel cake. Mannie stood off to the side, giving the “get lost” eye to anyone who might think about conducting business while the boss was relaxing. He gave me a nod as I approached.

  “It’s great to see you,” I said as I stepped up.

  Big gave me a huge smile and motioned to a folding chair next to the love seat. I pulled it around to face him and sat down.

  “It’s been a long time,” Big said. “I haven’t seen anything on YouTube. Haven’t even heard a whisper of trouble with your name contained in it. Have you gone pedestrian on me?”

  I laughed. “Heck, no. I’m not even sure that’s possible. It’s just been fairly quiet around here lately. I mean, when it comes to big issues. I’ve been doing small jobs—the usual sort of thing. Cheating husbands, missing cats, petty theft, and one particularly interesting case of a woman who claimed she was being haunted.”

  “And she thought a private investigator was the person to handle that?” Big asked.

  “Well, the ghost was stealing.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t a ghost at all,” Big said.

&
nbsp; “Nope. Just a nephew with a creative bent and drug habit. But the nephew is in rehab now and all her jewelry has been collected from the pawnshops, so another successful case closed.”

  “And this is interesting enough for you?” Big asked. “You’re not going to get bored?”

  I shrugged. “I like the figuring-stuff-out part. My previous job was a lot of action but not a lot of thinking. At least not about the target or the details.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Your energy was spent on the actual physical requirements and the mental acuity it took to pull off the mission. But now you’re having to do a different kind of thinking than before so it balances out.”

  “The thrill factor is a lot less, but then so is the potential death end of things.”

  “I’m sure those who care about you consider that a good trade. I know that I do. But I wanted to make sure you’re satisfied with your day-to-day journey. I don’t think it’s any secret that I enjoy having you around. Making sure you’re happy serves my own selfish interest, but I make no apologies for attempting to arrange things the way that I want them. If you ever need a challenge or more of a thrill, let me know. There’s always something in my line of work that needs looking into.”

  “Thanks.”

  It was one simple word but it conveyed a lot. I was touched that Big liked me so much he wanted to keep me around. The fact that he’d come right out and admitted it was surprising but it made my night. He was an important man in these parts—at least with the questionable legal element—and he had no use for most people. Being “in” with Big Hebert was not a position most could claim. And plenty wanted it.

  “And how is your personal life going?” Big asked. “Have you and the good deputy made moves toward anything permanent?”

  I laughed. “Lord, no. Until last year, the only thing consistent in my life was that nothing stayed the same. Now I’ve got a new job, I’m living in a tiny bayou town that’s so far removed from DC I can’t even begin to explain, and I own a house and a cat. I’ve had a huge influx of permanent in a short amount of time. I’m not interested in adding anything else to that list just yet.”