by Jana DeLeon
She gave Ida Belle and Gertie both a hug, which mostly consisted of smashing them into her quite generous chest, and then turned her attention to me. I cringed inwardly, certain she was about to pummel me with her breasts, but instead, she narrowed her eyes and scanned me head to toe. I got the impression she was taking a mental inventory of weaknesses, like I did everyone, but with a completely different list of requirements.
Finally, she looked back at Ida Belle and Gertie. “Not bad.”
Gertie beamed. “I told you.”
Genesis looked back at me and nodded. “I can work with this.”
“Her,” I inserted. “I’m not a ‘this.’ And what’s not bad? Does that mean it’s good? It doesn’t feel good.”
Genesis narrowed her eyes at me. “How is it exactly that someone who ran the pageant circuit got so far off-field from beauty?”
“We always figured her mother was an awful liar.” Ida Belle jumped in with the story she and Gertie had cooked up on the way to New Orleans. “Apparently, we were right.”
I nodded. “She spent a lot of time talking about what she wanted me to be, not what I was.”
Gertie added her two cents: “We just never realized how true that liar thing was until Sandy-Sue arrived and we got to know the real person, but we’d appreciate it if you keep all that on the down-low. We don’t want to lose our edge against the GWs.”
“Of course.” Genesis blanched. “Sandy-Sue? She saddled you with Sandy-Sue?”
“Yes, but everyone calls me Fortune.”
Genesis nodded. “I like Fortune. I can work with Fortune.”
“Then you’d better hop to it,” Ida Belle said, “because you’ve got a lot of work to do.”
I couldn’t even work up a decent glare. Ida Belle was right.
###
Ten hours later, I slumped in the back of Gertie’s ancient Cadillac, desperately wishing for a strong drink or death—maybe both, but in that order. I’d had more useless information thrown at me that afternoon than any one person should have to absorb in a lifetime. Lip gloss, eye pencils, eyelash glue, and an array of hair implements ran through my mind like a horror movie. Military weaponry was so much easier than this.
I closed my eyes, praying I could clear my mind enough to nap on the way home, when Ida Belle yelled over the seat.
“Wake up! We have work to do.”
I opened one eye. “I’ve been working all day. I’ve conquered entire dictatorships with less effort.”
“I’m not going to disagree with the sentiment,” Ida Belle agreed, “as I’ve gone through an entire roll of Tums listening to that mess, but Gertie’s been busy while you were being fluffed to death.”
I felt a sliver of fear run through me. “Busy with what?”
Ida Belle held a handful of photos over the seat. “Making flash cards. We can work on your vocabulary on the way home.”
She held up a photo of something long, thin, and metal that looked like a medieval torture weapon. “What’s this?”
“Branding iron.”
Ida Belle drew the card closer to her face, apparently reading something on the back. “Close. It’s a clipless curling iron. How the hell do you hold your hair in that?”
“I have no earthly idea.”
“Oh, I remember now,” Ida Belle said. “You wear that Michael Jackson glove.”
Gertie frowned. “I don’t remember Michael Jackson being mentioned.”
I closed my eyes again. It was going to be a very long ride home.
###
“This is not good,” Ida Belle grumbled as we approached my house.
“You’re going to wear out that expression.” I didn’t even bother to rise from my prone position on the backseat. “I don’t care what it is. Just kill me and shove me in the bayou. No matter what, death will be easier.”
“I hate to agree with her,” Gertie said, “but in this case, she’s probably right.”
Since Gertie rarely agreed that death was the best alternative, I pushed up on one elbow and peered over the back seat as Gertie slowed to a crawl. “What is it?”
“Celia and Pansy just pulled into your driveway,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle glared at Gertie. “Why is Pansy here already? I thought you said we had a couple of days.”
Gertie looked as stressed as I felt. “We’ve got to move forward with bugging their meeting room. Our intel is getting sketchy.”
I groaned. “Well, drive away or something. They can’t see me back here, so it’s not like they’ll know I’m avoiding them.”
“Yes, they will,” Gertie said. “Francine knows we all went to Genesis’ shop today. I picked her up some conditioner.”
“Great,” Ida Belle grumbled. “Ten minutes after we left town, everyone who ate at Francine’s Café knew, then they went home and told everyone who didn’t eat at Francine’s Café.”
I shook my head, still marveling at small-town happenings. “A trip to the hairdresser is big news? Really?”
“Word of the beauty pageant has probably made it around Sinful by now,” Gertie explained. “Everyone will be wondering what we’re going to do to counter Pansy’s involvement. You’re the natural choice, so yes, a trip to the hairdresser is big news.”
“You people really need to get some hobbies.”
“The murder investigation didn’t help,” Gertie added. “Especially since Ida Belle and I kinda pulled you into the middle of it. The spotlight was already on us. Now, it’s just worse with the whole beauty pageant thing.”
“Then let’s get it over with,” I said and pushed myself completely upright as Gertie pulled up to the curb in front of the house.
I recognized Celia immediately from the banana pudding race last Sunday, but wouldn’t have pegged the woman standing beside her as her daughter by looks alone.
Five-foot-ten, thin but no muscle tone, the expected fake boobs, enough hair for five women.
Seriously, there must have been ten pounds of massive blond curls piled on top of her head. Between the hair and the enormous breasts, I was surprised she could stand without tilting forward. Maybe she had a little more muscle tone than I’d originally thought—at least in her neck and shoulders.
Celia stood right next to her, a short, dark-haired, flat-chested woman who didn’t seem to share a single attractive feature with her daughter. Maybe Pansy was adopted. As we got out of the car and approached them, Pansy looked me up and down, then smirked. That expression exactly matched the one her mother had been wearing since we pulled in the drive. Definitely related.
“Gertie, Ida Belle,” Celia nodded as we approached. “I heard you were off in New Orleans for a day of beauty. I guess that didn’t include the two of you.”
“Beauty goes much deeper than skin,” Ida Belle said, “but then, you wouldn’t know that.”
I shook my head. “Do you people actually listen in church or just go there so that you have the right to eat lunch at Francine’s?”
“I listen in church,” Gertie said, “and I still have my manners.” She waved a hand at Pansy. “This is Pansy Arceneaux. Pansy, this is Sandy-Sue Morrow, but everyone calls her Fortune.”
I took a step forward and stuck my hand out, anxious to get it over with. “Nice to meet you.”
Pansy stared down at my hand as if it were a snake. I looked down, wondering what the problem was. All those horrible fake nails I’d pulled off when I’d arrived in Sinful were back in place, no thanks to Genesis, and were painted Sunshine Tangerine. I understood if I grimaced while looking at my hands, but didn’t see what Pansy had a problem with.
“Ladies don’t shake hands,” she said finally.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I drew my hand back. “No one told me you were a lady.”
“Ha!” Ida Belle let out a single cry and Gertie kicked her in the shin.
Celia drew herself up to her full five foot two inches and stuck out her flat chest. Her belly still beat it by a good two inches. “I should have known not to expect any ma
nners or culture from someone who hangs around with the two of you.”
“Is that the culture part you’re showing me?” I asked. “Because I’m pretty sure it isn’t manners.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Gertie said, “will everyone just be quiet. The reality is, both societies have to work together to pull off the event. This town needs the festival to be a success and the pageant is a big part of that. Fortune is our representative and I expect even the two of you can manage to be polite if you tried really hard.”
Pansy looked me up and down, then glanced over at her mother. “She’s not as bad as I expected. With Marge being such a manly sort, I thought it would be much worse. She’s wearing extensions, but I guess that will have to do.”
“At least I’m a natural blonde,” I said. “And that’s not the only thing on me that’s natural.” I looked down at her ridiculously large chest.
A flush crept up Pansy’s face and she struggled to maintain her cool. “I’m an actress. We’re expected to maintain a certain image.”
“An actress,” I feigned surprise. “No one told me that. I’ll have to look you up on Internet Movie Database.”
Ida Belle emitted a strangled cry, but before she could let it out completely, Gertie’s shoe came right down on her foot.
Pansy’s put on a fake smile. “I do mostly industrial work.”
“You clean movie sets?” I asked.
“You pedestrian bitch. Industrial acting is usually for private businesses, for internal training and such.”
“Oh, like when the library needed a video on the new filing system and the receptionist recorded me explaining it with her cell phone?” I grinned. “What do you know, I’m an actress too.”
“Mother,” Pansy said, “we’ve wasted enough time here. The first meeting is tomorrow night. Seven o’clock at the Catholic Church auditorium. Please be on time. I’ve got my work cut out for me considering the assistance I’ve been given.”
She flounced across the driveway and flopped into her mother’s sedan. I figured she’d been standing too long already and her legs were starting to give. Celia shot one last dirty look at all of us and stalked over to her car.
“Remember your running shoes on Sunday!” I yelled.
She slammed her car door, then launched her car back out of my driveway, tires squealing.
“That went well,” Ida Belle said.
I shook my head. “You’re sure we can’t just kill her?”
Both of them were silent for several seconds, then finally Gertie cleared her throat.
“I guess we really shouldn’t,” she said.
“Hmmm,” I stared at the sedan as it screeched around the corner. “Hey, is there a Mr. Celia? I mean, I guess there has to be or Pansy wouldn’t exist, but I never hear you say anything about him.”
“Maxwell Arceneaux,” Gertie said. “A fancy name for such a common man, but he was the only man in Sinful who would put up with Celia.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Celia was never nice, but after they married, I’m afraid poor old Max became doormat number one in Sinful. The way she barked at and belittled that man…we always thought one day we’d wake up and hear that he’d smothered her in her sleep or pitched himself into the bayou.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
Gertie shrugged. “One day, he simply wasn’t here—all his clothes gone from the closet, his truck gone from the garage. That was over twenty years ago, but Celia still refuses to talk about it.”
“And no one knows?” I asked. “I find that hard to believe given how people here talk.”
“Celia’s cousin let out that they divorced, and I’m sure Celia knows what happened to Max after he left Sinful,” Ida Belle said, “but my guess is she finds the whole truth too humiliating or too scandalous. Either way, she’s never breathed a word about it.”
“But he would show up for Pansy’s funeral, right?” I mused.
Gertie brightened. “Now, that could be very interesting.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Remind me to get a new battery for my video camera.”
I was just about to suggest we move our meeting inside when I heard a car engine race around the street corner. We all turned to stare as my friend Ally, a waitress at Francine’s Café, screeched to a stop at the curb.
I’d met Ally due to my less-than-stellar domestic habits, which led me to eat at Francine’s often and well. In fact, despite my busy murder-solving schedule, I’d managed to pack on two pounds in the past five days. Ally had dropped out of college and returned to Sinful to care for her sick mother, but had remained after her mother moved to an assisted living facility in New Orleans. She still wasn’t sure what direction she wanted to take with her career.
Right now, she was leaning toward becoming a pastry chef, which had likely been responsible for at least one of my gained pounds. I had no problem being a test monkey when it came to sweets.
Ally jumped out of her car and raced over to us, then took a couple of seconds to catch her breath.
Gertie gripped her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She held up one finger, then bent over and took in a deep breath before rising back up to face us. “Good Lord, I’m out of shape. I left my cell phone at home, so couldn’t call, and I walked to work this morning. So as soon as my shift ended, I ran home and grabbed my phone, which was dead, of course, as I never remember to charge it, so I jumped in my car and raced over.”
I looked over at Gertie and Ida Belle, but they appeared to be as lost as I was.
“So,” I said, “the reason for you running yourself into heart attack mode is…”
“Oh, right. Pansy Arceneaux came to town early. I heard all about the pageant and knew Ida Belle and Gertie took you to New Orleans for a day of beauty, but Pansy came early and I wanted to warn you—”
Ally broke off and stared at them, then groaned. “I’m too late. I have got to do a better job with my cell phone.”
Gertie patted her arm. “It’s okay, dear. We appreciate the effort, especially as it involved running in Louisiana summer heat and humidity.”
As I was already feeling sticky from the aforementioned heat and humidity, I waved a hand at the house. “Let’s get inside before we all melt.”
We all trailed into the kitchen and I poured everyone a glass of iced tea and placed Ally’s latest creation—brownies that should be illegal—on the breakfast table. Ida Belle snagged a brownie and bit off a huge chunk, then sighed.
“You have a terrific career ahead,” she mumbled, still chewing on the brownie.
Gertie sighed. “Stop talking with your mouth full. I swear, sometimes it’s like you’ve regressed right back to high school.”
Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “High school is aiming too high.” She looked over at Ally. “Pansy and Celia left right before you arrived.”
Ally bit her lip. “Was it terrible? Never mind. Of course it was terrible.”
I slid into the chair next to Ally and snagged one of the brownies. At the rate Ida Belle was scarfing hers down, I was afraid they’d all be gone soon.
“I suggested killing her,” I said.
For a split second, a hopeful look passed over Ally’s face and I grinned.
Then she sighed. “I suppose that wouldn’t be polite.”
Ida Belle snorted and pieces of brownie shot out her nose. “You’ve got a great future with the Sinful Ladies Society,” she said as she grabbed a napkin for her nose and the table. “Just don’t hook up with a man, and let us know when you turn forty.”
Ally frowned. “Being as every boy I dated in high school ended up sleeping with Pansy—while I was dating them no less—it’s sorta turned me off men for the time being.”
Gertie patted her arm. “High school was five years ago, dear.”
“I have a vivid memory,” Ally said. “And six really good reasons to want to see Pansy Arceneaux run out of Sinful with her tail tucked between her legs. Whatever you guys are up to, I’m in.”
&n
bsp; I looked over at Ida Belle and Gertie to get their take. Ally wasn’t “in” on the real me, and it would take some shuffling to dodge things if she was included, but her job at Francine’s also offered advantages of hearing the first line of gossip.
Ida Belle and Gertie glanced at each other in that silent communication mode they’d perfected over decades, then Ida Belle looked over at Ally and nodded.
“You will be an excellent asset,” Ida Belle said. “Given your position at the café, you’ll hear all the buzz.”
Gertie piped in, “And if we need to spread something around ourselves, you’re the perfect person to get it started.” She clapped her hands. “It’s like having a covert radio broadcast.”
“I don’t suppose Celia ever tells you anything?” Ida Belle asked.
“That’s right!” I said. “I had completely forgotten that Celia’s your aunt. Wow. That means Pansy is your cousin. And she slept with all your boyfriends? That’s a whole other level of lousy.”
“Got that right,” Ida Belle grumbled.
“Aunt Celia doesn’t trust me,” Ally said. “She’s well aware of Pansy’s high school shenanigans but wants to pretend that Pansy is perfect. I tend to remind her that she’s not, something Aunt Celia doesn’t appreciate.”
“Good girl.” Gertie nodded.
“I have to admit, it does give me pleasure, but the downside is that Aunt Celia won’t be sharing her secrets with me.”
“That’s okay, dear. Celia’s secrets aren’t all that secure. We usually find everything out.”
I swallowed a bite of brownie. “Why did Pansy come early? Was that one of Celia’s tactics?”
Ally frowned. “I don’t think so. They were in the café this morning and I mentioned that I thought Pansy wasn’t coming for a couple more days. Celia got that guarded look that she gets when she’s hiding something. Pansy said the film she was working on had wrapped up early, so she’d left since she was so anxious to see her mother.”
“Horseshit!” Ida Belle exclaimed.
Gertie sighed. “It’s not the best of language, but I’m afraid I have to concur.”
“Oh, I know she was lying,” Ally agreed. “Pansy’s a horrible liar and everyone with a clue and the Internet knows she’s not getting film work.”
