by riley blake
A coincidence? My gut told me there wasn’t any such thing.
The morning slipped away without consequence. Ida Belle had just returned from Francine’s with bagged lunches when Sheriff Lee rode up on his horse. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Perfect timing, Sheriff.” Gertie turned to Ida Belle. “Did you ask Francine what Robert liked on his ham sandwich?”
“Honey mustard,” Ida Belle replied, holding up a brown sack.
The sheriff stared at Ida Belle’s hand. “I can’t accept that.”
“Why not? Are you afraid the hotshot producer will peek outside and see you rubbing shoulders with the enemy?”
The sheriff slowly eased forward in his saddle and snatched the bag from Ida Belle’s hand. “That’s not the problem, Ida Belle. This home is rented for the purposes of providing accommodations and will also be featured on the show.”
“So the truth comes out,” I muttered.
Gertie nodded rapidly. “Robert was in the drama club back in the day.” In a conspiratorial fashion, she leaned closer and whispered, “He always auditioned for the bigger parts but Larry Seymour was more of a leading man.”
Ida Belle eyed the sheriff. “What did Mr. Hollywood promise you? Let me guess—a speaking role and more money if the locals stay away, what?”
The sheriff sat erect in his saddle, staring down at us as if he had already achieved stardom and we were simply the ‘normal’ people. “I’ll have a screen credit for providing the rental home.”
“I knew it!” Gertie took a bite of her sandwich. Around a mouthful of food, she said, “You aren’t charging them rent. Are you?”
Ida Belle narrowed her eyes. “You mean to tell me, you sold us out and you didn’t receive the first dollar for the trouble?”
“This ought to be good,” I muttered.
The sheriff slid away from his horse then. “Look, ladies. There’s more to this than meets the eye.” He swung his gaze at me before focusing on Ida Belle once more. “You of all people should know how that is.”
“Go on,” Ida Belle said, crossing her arms.
Sheriff Lee turned his back to the porch. “The women posing as you and Gertie are trying to hide in plain sight. These women are pretty sharp. They had some modeling and acting experience so they auditioned for the show realizing they could easily dodge their families if they were under Hollywood’s protection. Celia didn’t lie to you about what their children had managed to do.”
“But they aren’t her cousins and they aren’t missing. Are they?” I asked.
“No. They’re appearing on Hollywood’s Evening News tonight,” he said.
“Figures,” Ida Belle muttered.
“So you and Celia are partners in crime now, are you?” Gertie asked.
That wouldn’t sit well with Gertie and Ida Belle.
“I’m looking out for the town’s best interest. That’s all,” he said.
“We need to buy these books.” I set aside my canned cola. “Maybe we could prepare ourselves before they start shooting episodes.”
Gertie nudged me with her elbow. “We aren’t okay with this, Fortune.”
“I’m not condoning what’s happened but we’ll be better prepared if we read the books first. Don’t you think?”
“I’ll go along with that,” Gertie said.
“Well?” Ida Belle studied the sheriff. “What’s the series title? I tried to find Sinful’s Bayou Babes, Babes in the Bayou, and everything in between.”
The sheriff frowned. “Try to keep in mind, I didn’t write this book.”
“But you knew about it,” I pointed out, refusing to let him off the hook.
“Must be a humdinger of a title,” Gertie said, rising to her feet.
“Lonely Ladies League,” the sheriff said, grimacing.
“What?” Gertie grabbed the straw bag hanging on the back of her chair. She changed her stance and flung the darn thing over her shoulder so hard I was surprised she didn’t pull her back out.
The sheriff ducked. Ida Belle moved out of her way. And if I hadn’t grabbed Gertie’s arm as it came down with great force, she would’ve injured the traitorous Sheriff Lee.
“How could you let her do this?”
“Who?” He looked perplexed.
“Celia!” We all chimed in together.
The sheriff looked sheepish then. “It wasn’t Celia.”
“Of course it was Celia,” Ida Belle said.
He shook his head. “No. I’ve read the entire series. Celia didn’t write the books. There are intimate details she wouldn’t know.”
“Like what?” The CIA agent rolled to the fore. “We need specifics.” I kind of liked the agent within so I let her have the floor. “If Celia didn’t write this series, who did?”
“It’s hard to say.” Sheriff Lee unwrapped his sandwich and took a hearty bite. “The article in the town paper was written for deception. There wasn’t a ghostwriter behind the series. The writer used a pseudonym.”
“How many books are there?”
“Ten and counting,” the sheriff replied, limping to the cooler and helping himself to a canned beverage.
“Celia couldn’t have written the books,” Ida Belle muttered. “She’s far too busy meddling in other people’s business.”
“True,” Gertie agreed. “One book, maybe. Ten, never.”
“The writer must’ve been someone in the GW’s group. No one else would disrespect the Sinful Ladies Society with such an awful title.”
Ida Belle had a point. My mind churned with possibilities. I hadn’t read the books but only God’s Wives would have motive.
“You know who wrote those books, Robert,” Gertie said.
“Suspicions maybe but since I’m the sheriff in town, I have to keep a stiff upper lip.” He popped open the cola and lowered his lips to take a drink. “You understand.”
Gertie snatched the can and the sandwich from the sheriff’s hands. “Indeed we do, but understand if we can’t treat you as an ally now.”
The sheriff reached for the sandwich. Ida Belle stepped in front of him with her arms folded over her chest. “This isn’t France. In our world, you choose a side or you stand alone.”
Chapter Seven
We spent the next day and a half reading the scandalous Lonely Ladies League books. Every few pages or so, we’d add someone to the short list of possible suspects.
Gertie finished reading book four and pushed away from the computer. “How many people are on the list so far?”
“Five,” Ida Belle replied. “Fortune, you aren’t close to the situation. Any ideas?”
“A couple.” Only one stood out. Walter from the General Store had carried a torch for Ida Belle. Given the look on her face, she already suspected Walter, too. Trying to soften the blow, I said, “Read that last page again, Gertie.”
“You know who it is,” Gertie mouthed, sliding forward and pushing her face closer to the computer this time.
Ida Belle rose from the sofa and paced. Every few steps, she stopped and took a deep breath. She slowly released the air in her lungs and clenched her fists.
“She knows,” Gertie mouthed.
“Stop acting like I can’t read lips, too, Gertie.”
All things considered, this wasn’t a laughing matter but I couldn’t help but find the situation somewhat comical. If an arms dealer hadn’t put out an APB on my whereabouts, I’d probably get a real hoot out of this whole affair.
Gertie cleared her throat and read, “There on the banks of the bayou stood the women of the Lonely Ladies League. Sporting their binoculars and wearing bifocals, they weren’t your typical Junior League women. On no, these gals had spunk, real fire.” Gertie clucked and sighed. “The fellow has a charming way with words.”
Ida Belle scowled. “Just read, Gertie.”
“The proof is in the print,” Gertie complained.
“Finish,” Ida Belle snapped, irritable enough to suggest the obvious. She knew Walter had written
the book.
“And as we pulled away from the dock, I stretched my neck to see if my sweet Marsha had come to say goodbye. Disappointment washed over me but tears did not fall. I’d seen the last of my sweetheart, the last of my greatest love. My heart wasn’t in it but I still waved farewell, bidding them all goodbye.” Gertie dabbed her eyes. “I remember when this happened.”
“You mean you’re certain now?”
“Of course,” Gertie replied. “Ida Belle probably knew who’d written this nonsense by the beginning of chapter two in book one.”
“Is that true?” I bit back the need to stomp my foot and curse aloud. While I was sure the writer’s—Walter’s—voice appealed to some, I’d found the love story within the books positively boring. Then again, maybe that was the point. Ida Belle had turned down an endless stream of Walter’s marriage proposals.
“I need to go see him.” Ida Belle marched to the table, scooped up her keys, and stared back at us. “What are you waiting for?”
“You want us to go, too?”
“Of course she does,” Gertie said, snickering. “How do you think she’s avoided the wedding march all these years?”
“Clever,” I said, wondering if Ida Belle possessed real feelings for Walter.
“The Sinful Ladies Society members once made Ida Belle a promise. We’d never leave her alone with Walter.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Walter never had a fair shot at pursuing you?”
“Never,” Ida Belle replied, exiting the house. “A woman has a right to remain single. It’s outright sabotage for a man to attempt to intrude upon her independence. I didn’t want him to mess up my goals and dreams.”
Chapter Eight
On the way to Walter’s, I couldn’t help but wonder about the dreams Ida Belle and Walter might have pursued together. Speculation was put to rest as soon as we arrived.
Ida Belle left the car running. “Walter!” She jumped out of her sports car and marched toward that house on an outright mission.
“Now Ida Belle…” Walter slowly rose from his front porch rocker. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“You couldn’t possibly,” she said, stomping up the steps to meet him. “How could you do this?”
“Hang back,” Gertie said, placing her hand on my forearm.
“What do you mean by writing our story so strangers could read it?”
“It’s fiction.”
“It is not fiction!” She threw up her arm. “It’s preposterous is what it is!”
“The truth is preposterous?” he asked.
“I thought he said it was fiction,” I whispered, watching this play out.
“Not really. A few plot points were questionable in books two and three, but overall everything we read was how it happened.”
“Then if you knew this, why did you read all the way to book four pretending you didn’t know who had written it?”
“Ida Belle needed to come to terms with what was happening.” She pointed at Walter’s porch. “Now pay attention. This will be better than daytime soaps.”
“I don’t watch daytime soaps.”
“You should. You might learn something.” Gertie stretched her neck as Ida Belle and Walter sparred. Their bantering bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball.
“How could you, Walter?”
“How could I tell the truth or write our story and sell it?”
“It’s not just our story. You wrote about our friends, our private lives. You made light of the Secret Ladies Society.”
“That’s what bothers her more than anything,” Gertie said.
“What I thought, too.” Wishing I had some popcorn, I paid attention to body language. Walter turned to Ida Belle as he talked to her and Ida Belle looked the other way but didn’t exactly move away from his advances. She was hurt, crushed in fact, but she’d never say as much.
“What will happen to them now?” I asked.
“She’ll pout. She’ll make him pay by avoiding him. He’ll send her flowers, gifts, and candy.”
“I’ll split the profits with you,” Walter offered. “I’ve made a lot of money off the series.”
“This isn’t about the money, Walter. You betrayed me!”
“I told an interesting story.”
“That bit of romance pushed her over the edge,” Gertie whispered. “He has a way with words.”
“You should date him then.” I laughed as soon as her back stiffened.
“Get real.” Gertie shook her head in disgust. “If this had happened to me, I would’ve clobbered Walter.”
If someone else had written the book, Ida Belle would’ve clobbered them, too. “Should we give them time alone?”
“No,” Gertie replied, watching Ida Belle’s every move. “And don’t look away for a second. This could be you and Carter in another fifty years.”
I gasped. Gertie smiled. We both turned our full attention back to the porch.
“Walter, you have to take Fortune out of the book.”
“Does he know the truth about me?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Gertie whispered. “Those two don’t have secrets. She protects herself by hiding behind me or someone else from the Secret Ladies Society but they talk on the phone every single day. He is her first call in the morning. She’s his last one at night.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Made for good reading,” Gertie said. “Show will probably be entertaining, too.”
Walter finally acknowledged us with a wave. Gertie and I returned the gesture.
“Can you talk to the producer or director? Fortune can’t stay here now if she’s included in your television series. Gertie doesn’t want to lose Fortune. It would kill her if she moved away.”
“Read between the lines there,” Gertie said.
That was simple enough. Gertie and Ida Belle had treated me like family. They were tough little women but whenever I had mentioned the possibility of returning to my former life, they looked like they were ready for assisted living and a couple of wobbly canes.
“I’ll take care of it,” Walter said. “You have my word.”
“That word of yours doesn’t mean a lot after what you did, Walter,” Ida Belle said.
“For now, that’s all I have.”
“That and several million dollars in book sales.”
“Don’t forget the television deal!” Gertie called out. “He was paid a handsome penny.”
“More like a beautiful quarter!” Walter hollered back.
“Jackass,” Gertie muttered. “We’ll never see a dime of that money. Not that I’d want it.”
“He offered,” I pointed out, bending an ear since their voices had dropped.
“Will you handle this or not?” Ida Belle asked.
“I will.” Walter walked her across the lawn. “And what about us, Ida Belle?”
“That’s a problem for another day.”
###
Later that evening, I had just climbed in bed when my phone rang. After a full day of readings, I was pretty beat. In fact, I didn’t even say hello.
“Anyone there?”
“Hi Carter.” I probably sounded bored, but I was ticked off more than anything. My heart had raced as soon as I’d checked the caller ID.
“The young actress was fired from the show. I thought you might want to know.”
“Oh?” I played dumb.
“Walter has a good working relationship with the show runners and producers. He made a few calls and a secondary character will soon be yanked from all scripts.”
“Imagine that,” I said.
“Yes. I guess someone is very important to someone who is important to Walter.”
“Was that an intentional riddle or just general rambling?”
“I’m up late.” He stated the obvious. “Since you are, I wondered if you’d like to meet for coffee?”
Where? The local gas station?
It was too late for sarcasm. “For coff
ee?” I pulled the phone away from my ear to check the time. “It’s twelve-thirty, Carter.”
“Yes, but I have…intelligence…and would like to pass it along.”
“Apparently not,” I said, wishing I could eat those words. He was putting his best foot forward and showing interest. I was shooting him down at every turn.
“All right then. I’ll sit on this information.”
“Do that,” I said. “Goodnight, Carter.”
“Goodnight.”
Hours later, I was still awake. Tossing and turning, I couldn’t help but think about Walter and Ida Belle. They’d been friends for years. Apparently that friendship ran deep if Ida Belle talked to him several times a day. I couldn’t help but wonder why she had pushed him away. Independence must’ve been a top priority.
I groaned then as I considered my own situation with Carter. I had gone out of my way to avoid him. To date, he had invited me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He’d mentioned watching the sunrise over the bayou. He’d shown up on my porch at sunset. He’d tried every possible way to have some time alone. Finally, he’d brought up the ridiculous idea of meeting for coffee in the middle of the night.
I had to give the guy props for effort, but I couldn’t lose additional sleep thinking about Carter LeBlanc. We had an undeniable chemistry and that greatly disturbed me. Still, I’d been in Sinful, Louisiana for over a year now. I’d probably stick around another twelve months or so.
The mysterious Deputy Carter LeBlanc was a problem for another day.
The End
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
