by Jana DeLeon
“Good Lord, are they trying to cause a riot?”
“Celia thinks so. She petitions every year to ban them from the parade.”
“Of course she does. I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten her way.”
“The Swamp Bar produces more volunteers for cleanup than the Catholic church, so they get to stay.”
“How do they manage that? More free beer?”
“You got it. When the Catholics are only offering to light a candle, you can see why the bar gets the bigger draw.” She pointed at a shiny new black metallic bass boat, all done up with Mardi Gras decorations. “Here they come. Looks like Buck finally got a new boat.”
I nodded. Buck was a friend of Whiskey’s, the owner of the Swamp Bar. In one of our many investigations, Gertie had managed to total Buck’s boat, although he never knew who the culprit was. The new one looked much spiffier and I imagined Buck was no longer grousing over the loss of his old one. A couple of guys I recognized as Swamp Bar regulars were on the boat seats, holding beers in one hand and tossing doubloons with the other. I wondered how many of those free beer coins they already had stuffed in their pockets.
“Who’s that behind them?” I asked.
There was a somewhat beat-up truck pulling an even more beat-up boat behind the Swamp Bar entry. A guy in overalls and no shirt was driving the pickup. The woman in the boat was every bit of seventy and had on an outfit that would rival some of Gertie’s—leopard tights and a halter. She had no business wearing either, and the halter top must have thought so as well because it appeared to be straining against its cargo to get away.
“That’s Dolores Cormier and her boobs,” Ida Belle said.
“Was she supposed to leave them at home? I mean, her top thinks so, but I’m not sure how that would work as they sort of come attached.”
“They weren’t attached until a year ago. She’s seventy-two years old and those are double-Ds. Show me anything on your body that hasn’t succumbed to gravity by age seventy-two and I’ll sign over my retirement to you.”
“Wow! A boob job at seventy-two? That’s really progressive for Sinful. I’m surprised Gertie hasn’t collected the name of her surgeon.”
“She can’t stand Dolores. The woman has a bad habit of batting her eyes at other women’s husbands. Fortunately for the wives, the husbands are either young enough to be grossed out or too old to see her doing it.”
The roar went up in front of us as the Swamp Bar float pulled up and Gertie yelled, “I’m going in!”
I cringed as she launched into the fray, shoving and stumbling her way toward the coins. She was bested every time until the boat was almost past, then she managed to snag a coin by putting a hockey check on the nun.
But the nun was not ready to leave the game.
Chapter Four
I could see the nun’s red Nike running shoes glowing under her habit and knew it was on. She hopped up from the ground and ran straight at Gertie, grabbed her wrist, and attempted to wrestle the coin from her hand. Gertie pulled a spin move and stumbled backward into one of the local fishermen, who lost control of his beer can and sent it flying right at the truck hauling Dolores and her boobs.
As if guided by remote control, the beer can went right through the driver’s open window and hit him square in the middle of his eyes. The driver yelped and involuntarily yanked the steering wheel toward the crowd while simultaneously pressing the accelerator. The truck launched forward and the crowd scrambled to get out of the way. Ida Belle and I dived off the bench just before the truck ran it over.
I hopped up in time to see the truck careen into the funnel cake booth and strike the vat of batter. I watched in dismay as the impact sent the heavenly batter into the air and onto Celia and her minions, who had been standing nearby. A squirrel shot out from under the collapsed booth and ran straight up Celia’s dress. She screamed as if she had the starring role in a horror movie and spun around as though she’d been possessed.
“Stop, drop, and roll!” a man yelled.
Another man whacked him on the back of the head. “She’s got a squirrel in her drawers, you idiot. She’s not on fire!”
“She should change her drawers more often then, if squirrels have moved in.”
The squirrel must have realized he’d miscalculated his risk factor and climbed out of Celia’s dress and ran straight up the front, using her head as a launch pad into a nearby tree. Celia collapsed and I turned my attention back to the truck, which was still out of control.
The driver had finally corrected the steering somewhat but was still skirting the side of the street. Unfortunately, he hadn’t corrected his speed.
Then amid the roar of the crowd I heard his frantic cry—no brakes.
Ida Belle and I ran for the truck, which was now headed straight for the bayou, but there was no way we were going to catch it before it hit the water. And even if we managed to catch up, I had no idea how to stop it from a downhill roll with no brakes unless Celia was handy to throw in front of it. The truck took a bounce through a dip in the grass and the bass boat took an even bigger one. Dolores and her boobs went careening off the seat and into the bottom of the boat. I was about twenty feet from the boat when the truck flew off the embankment and into the water.
I ran up to the edge of the embankment, a crowd of people only steps behind me. The bass boat was now floating and had disconnected from the trailer. Dolores crawled her way up from the bottom and the crowd gasped.
“Wardrobe malfunction!” someone yelled. “My eyes! My eyes!”
The halter had officially fallen down on the job.
Or ripped in two on the job.
“She’s no Janet Jackson!”
“For Christ’s sake, someone throw her a tarp!”
“Or someone hotter offer her your shirt!”
Dolores either heard the crowd’s comments or the breeze had finally gotten through the scar tissue, and she grabbed a life jacket and pulled it over her head. It stuck out a mile but at least all the things that could get her arrested were covered. Then she hopped into the driver’s seat, started the boat, and took off down the bayou. A couple of people cheered and threw beads at her as she left.
The driver of the truck had finally managed to crawl out the window of his sinking vehicle and stared in dismay as he watched his boat disappear.
“She’s stealing my boat,” he yelled.
Carter and Walter stepped up beside me.
“You know where to find her,” Carter said.
The driver looked over at us. “Aren’t you going to help me out of here?”
Walter shook his head. “Scooter told you those brakes were shot a month ago. You shouldn’t have even been driving that thing. I suggest you start swimming.”
“And pray there’s not a lawsuit forthcoming,” Gertie said. “Everyone who saw that halter malfunction might sue for damages.”
“I’m more upset over the funnel cake,” I said.
A low rumble of agreement went through the crowd.
“I want that woman arrested!” Celia stomped up, covered with funnel cake batter and pointing at Gertie.
Carter rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. And I don’t care any more this time than I have the last ten thousand times you’ve made that declaration.”
“She caused all of this,” Celia continued to rant. “Running into the street like a hoodlum. Shoving people like this is some sort of wrestling event.”
“Or a Black Friday sale,” one lady said. “There’s some serious shoving then. People don’t get arrested there either, though. It’s a thing called ‘fair play.’ You should get a clue, Celia.”
People nodded and Celia’s face turned red. “You have ignored her shenanigans for far too long. She’s making a mockery of this town.”
“No,” Carter said. “You’re doing a fine job of that all on your own.”
“He’s right,” the nun said. “Put a sock in it, Celia. You’re ruining my buzz.”
Celia gasped. �
��How in the world can you side with this…this woman-child?”
“Because she’s not the one flashing her goods, for one,” the nun said. “The woman with the unfortunate halter incident is Catholic, if I’m not mistaken. So maybe we should clean up our own doorstep before we just pin all the problems in this town on the Baptists.”
Carter raised his hands. “The Lord has spoken through his servant. And since he has more clout than the sheriff, I’m going back to the parade.”
Celia stood there, slack-jawed and staring at the nun, clearly dumbfounded that her religion had forsaken her. I really hoped someone bothered to explain that it was because she was a joy-sucking butthole. But then, I also didn’t figure it would do any good.
Carter turned to the crowd. “Show’s over. Here, anyway. Let’s all head back to the parade route and I’ll radio Sheriff Lee to let the parade continue.”
“What about me?” the driver yelled as we all started walking away.
“Should have fixed your brakes, you cheapwad,” a woman yelled.
“I can’t believe there’s no more funnel cake,” another man groused.
“Should we do anything?” I asked as we started to walk away.
“Heck no,” Ida Belle said. “He can swim just like everyone else. Not like he’s far from the bank, and all that racket likely sent the gators away. They’ll tow his truck out tomorrow but I’m sure it’s totaled.”
“The boat trailer is probably good though,” Gertie said. “And his boat.”
I laughed. “Well, since a boat appears to be the most important mode of transportation in Sinful, I guess he’ll be fine.”
We all collected back on Main Street and the parade started again. Only five or so more floats remained, and they were mostly locals who had done up their boats so their friends or wife and kids could have some fun flinging beads to the excited crowd. The last float contained Sinful’s mayor, Marie Chicoron, who was also one of Ida Belle and Gertie’s best friends.
Marie looked smart in her purple suit and mask and thrilled the crowd by throwing doubloons with interesting options like dismissal of a parking ticket or one drunk-and-disorderly excused. I assumed Carter and the sheriff had been in on the design of the offerings, as they would be the ones to implement them if anyone cashed in. And I had a feeling that every single one of those doubloons would be cashed in before summer even hit. This was Sinful, after all.
As soon as Marie’s float got through downtown, everyone shuffled a bit toward the bayou at the beginning of Main Street where Walter and Scooter were ready to go with the fireworks display. When the first shot went off, Ida Belle looked over at me, probably waiting for me to dive behind the nearest structure with my weapon drawn, but I was firmly planted.
“See? You’re improving,” she said.
“Fireworks sound different,” I said. “God knows, I’ve heard enough of them since I’ve been in Sinful. And it helps when I know they’re coming and I’m looking directly at them. But it would be the ideal time to commit a crime, the noise level is so high.”
“Let’s not give anyone ideas,” Ida Belle said.
I laughed as a huge shower of green, gold, and purple spread out over the sky. It really was pretty. Sometimes, I had moments when I was surprised with myself, like standing there with a bunch of other people, on a grassy bank, late at night, watching fireworks explode over a large swatch of mostly dirty water.
And I was enjoying the heck out of it.
If anyone had told me this would be my life a year ago, I would have had them sent up for mental assessment. But there I was, wearing jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, and only a single weapon on my body. Well, besides my actual body, which was a pretty darn good weapon. But still. I had come a long, long way from the day I’d arrived in this patch of marsh.
“The finale is coming,” Gertie said and clapped.
And then it started. Shot after shot, a split second apart, lighting up the entire bayou with their showers of color. Then a couple of men pulled out their pistols and fired a few shots over the water. My hand twitched when the first shot went off, but I managed to keep myself in check and cheered along with everyone else when the last of the burning embers disappeared from the night sky.
And that’s when I heard screaming.
I pulled out my pistol and ran straight for the sound. It was almost an involuntary reaction and obviously the popular one as I wasn’t the only person running with a drawn weapon. It was rather scary when you thought about it, especially as most of them were probably drunk. Even the nun had gotten in on the action and had hauled a shotgun out from under her habit.
I’d have to process that one later.
A small crowd had already formed at the source of the screaming, and I pushed through them and saw Katia, the woman who’d bought the hot cough syrup, lying on the ground with a pool of red running down her side. Natalia was bent over her, pressing a small jacket against the center of her chest, and it was clear where the blood was coming from. She was yelling for someone to call 911 and to help, and I ran over and dropped down next to her, then lifted the edge of the jacket and took a look at the wound.
It was a single bullet hole, right through the center of her chest, which explained all the blood loss. I felt my heart drop. There was no way she would survive this. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at us, her expression filled with confusion and fear. She tried to talk but it was only a gurgle, then a couple seconds later, she went limp and her eyes went vacant, staring up into the night sky.
Natalia let out a choked cry and collapsed, sobbing. A second later, an older man ran up and gazed wildly around.
Early fifties. Six feet even. A hundred seventy-five pounds. Lean build. Huge widow’s peak. Wire-rimmed glasses with fairly thick lenses. Zero threat as soon as I kicked the glasses off.
“Where’s Lina?” he yelled, completely panicked.
A woman standing in the crowd came forward, holding the little girl I’d seen with Natalia earlier. She had her face buried in the woman’s neck and was weeping loudly. The man gathered the girl in his arms and stared, dumbfounded, at the situation in front of him.
Carter burst through the crowd and dropped down next to me, took one glance at the dead woman, and his expression immediately tightened. He rose and waved his arms for attention and the crowd quieted.
“What the hell happened?” the man holding the child demanded. “Katia was standing here with my daughter. Did she see this happen? Someone answer me! Natalia?”
The woman who’d been holding Lina stepped forward and I recognized her as one of the locals who frequented Francine’s Café.
“I heard Lina scream,” she said. “I turned around and the lady was on the ground with blood coming out of her chest. Natalia ran up and tried to help her, and I picked up Lina and backed away so she wouldn’t see what was happening.”
“You didn’t see the shot?” Carter asked.
“No,” the woman said. “They were standing a bit behind the rest of us.”
Carter eased over to Natalia and squatted next to her. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her expression full of fear. “I don’t know,” she said. “Lina left her jacket on Main Street so I went back to look for it. When I returned, I saw Katia…”
Her voice broke and she started sobbing again.
“I’ve lost everyone,” she cried.
The man holding Lina, who I now assumed was Natalia’s husband, reached down with his free hand and helped his wife stand. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.
“You have your family,” he said. “I’m so sorry about Katia.”
If I hadn’t been watching closely, I might have missed the flash of anger that passed over his face. It was so quick, but I knew I’d seen it correctly. The man was upset and he’d been panicked when he couldn’t find Lina. But something about Katia’s death also made him mad and that was odd.
“I’m sorry, Larry,” Carter said to the man. “But I’m going to have to get statements from all three of you.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Larry asked, casting concerned looks at his wife and daughter.
“That will be fine,” Carter said. “But I’ll need your cell number in case I have to reach you about anything tonight. I’m sorry, but once the forensics team is here, I might need answers right away.”
“Of course,” Larry said and gave Carter his number.
“I’ll contact you tomorrow morning,” Carter said. “Do you need medical attention or can I call anyone to come help you?”
“No,” Larry said. “We’ll be fine. We’ve dealt with worse.”
I looked over at Ida Belle and she shook her head. Apparently, she didn’t know what Larry was talking about. It was just as well. The situation in front of us was far more pressing than something that had happened in the past.
Carter motioned to Walter, who’d been standing nearby, and he and Scooter began moving the crowd away. People shuffled off, mostly in shock and almost completely silent. This was not the way a festive occasion was supposed to end.
“Do you think it was a stray bullet?” Gertie asked. “Several people were firing during the finale.”
I squatted next to the body and leaned over to get a closer look at the entry wound. “I don’t suppose I could lift her shirt for a better look.”
“No.” Carter’s voice sounded over me. “I don’t suppose you could. I need you ladies to clear the crime scene.”
I sighed. I hadn’t expected that Carter would ask us to get in the middle of his investigation, but I had hoped I wouldn’t be dismissed along with the rest of the Sinful residents. But Carter took his job and the law seriously, and in a case of a death in the middle of a public event, he couldn’t afford to be accused of not handling the scene correctly.
I rose from the ground and we shuffled off, some distance behind the crowd.
“My place?” I asked.
“Definitely,” Ida Belle said.
I might not have gotten the look at that bullet wound that I would have liked, but I’d gotten a good enough one.