by Jana DeLeon
She pulled out her cell phone and walked several feet away.
“Hey,” I said and looked over at Gertie. “What are we going to do with those fish, anyway?”
Gertie gave the ice chest a wistful glance, then sighed. “Those are some really nice trout, but I suppose we should put them back in Walter’s stock tank.”
“You stole the fish from Walter?”
“No. We borrowed the fish from Walter. Besides, we’re bringing back an extra. That seems fair.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but couldn’t come up with anything.
Ida Belle slipped her phone back in her pocket and walked back over to our chairs. “She’s going to call the funeral director first thing tomorrow.”
“Are you sure we should involve more people in this? Ally is already sticking her neck out trying to get in Pansy’s closet tomorrow. I don’t want anyone getting into trouble on my account.”
“Genesis is happy to do it,” Ida Belle said. “Hell, if she still lived in Sinful, she’d be as big a suspect as you. Those two have a seriously checkered past.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Pansy slept with Genesis’ boyfriend?”
“Boyfriends,” Gertie said. “Plural.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Are there any men under the age of forty that Pansy didn’t sleep with?”
Gertie’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “There was…no, prom night…what about…never mind, I forgot about that fiasco at the funeral. No, not that I know of.”
“I can’t think of anyone,” Ida Belle said then frowned. “Except maybe Carter.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “You’re right. Pansy starting chasing him in the crib, but he always steered clear of her. Some of us thought he went into the service to get away from Pansy as much as to get away from Sinful.”
I frowned. “Doesn’t that seem odd to you? I mean, I barely knew the woman and I’m certain I didn’t like her, but she had that look that most men go for—at least for one night.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Men do love a skank.”
Gertie gave her a disapproving look. “You really shouldn’t talk that way considering she’s dead. It’s not polite.”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “I stopped being polite back in the fifties, and I’m not interested in rewriting history, especially when Fortune is on the hook for this unless we can figure out which of the many people who hated Pansy finally had the nerve to kill her.”
“Politeness is overrated and in high supply here,” I said. “What we don’t have enough of is the truth.”
“Preach,” Ida Belle said.
“So back to my original question,” I continued. “Why would a teenage Carter avoid a sure thing?”
“He had a girlfriend,” Gertie said.
“He did not,” Ida Belle argued. “I think I’d remember if he did. My mind is in excellent shape.”
“She didn’t live here,” Gertie said. “Remember, when he was in high school, he made those trips into New Orleans every weekends.”
“He was working construction,” Ida Belle said. “He always came back with money.”
Gertie nodded. “Yes, but construction jobs don’t require you to show up with a newly washed truck. He had that old truck of his in the driveway every Friday afternoon, hosing it down and polishing it until it shined.”
Ida Belle frowned. “You may be right. I wonder what happened?”
“Young love ends for hundreds of different reasons,” Gertie said and sighed.
Ida Belle nodded. “But usually, life strangles it to death.”
I slumped back down in my chair and stared out over the bayou, Ida Belle’s comment making me wonder. Had she loved someone years ago? Perhaps someone in Sinful who wanted the traditional wife that Ida Belle was never going to be? Or maybe a soldier who didn’t make it out of Vietnam, or returned to his own life back home?
And as much as I hated to admit it, I wondered about Carter and his secret love. Had she broken his heart? Had he enlisted to escape the painful memories of what could have been?
It was all so hard for me to understand. I’d never been in love—wasn’t even sure I knew what it felt like. I’d loved my mother and she died. I’d loved my father, but he didn’t love me. Had I written off love in my childhood? Had I let my father’s failings cloud my future?
I picked up the fishing pole and cast the line in the bayou.
I had plenty of questions, but I wasn’t ready for some of the answers.
Chapter Thirteen
I’d already been up and pacing for two hours before my cell phone rang. I checked the display—the General Store. Ida Belle or Gertie must have given Walter my number.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Walter said when I answered.
I smiled. I really liked Walter, and it was hard not to smile when a man you liked called you Sunshine. “Good morning, Walter. What can I do for you?”
“It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. Guess what came in first thing this morning on my delivery truck?”
“The battery for the Jeep?”
“You got it. If you aren’t busy, I can send Scooter to tow the Jeep in and get that battery installed this morning. Since the Jeep hasn’t moved in a while, I’d like to do an oil change and have Scooter give it a once-over. He’s available now if you’re ready.”
“Absolutely.”
I was already dressed in shorts and a tank top, so I tossed the phone on the kitchen counter and reached for my tennis shoes, still smiling with excitement. Part of Marge’s estate included an older model Jeep—one of those from back when Jeeps were rugged, manly vehicles and not hip commuters for urban yuppies. Because it had sat so long, the battery was dead, but Walter had ordered one as soon as I arrived in Sinful. I couldn’t wait to get my own set of wheels. Between Ida Belle’s five million rules surrounding her Corvette and Gertie’s refusal to wear glasses, transportation had been a sketchy proposition.
I watched out the front window as the tow truck circled the block three times. As giant iron house numbers hung above the garage door and the door was already open, displaying the Jeep needing a tow, it was a little disconcerting. But I was willing to give him a pass for sunlight glare or perhaps dyslexia. Finally, on the fourth trip around, I walked out the front door and waved my arms to get his attention. He slammed on the brakes, then backed the tow truck in the driveway before getting out to greet me.
Five foot ten. A hundred forty pounds—maybe. Early twenties. Decent muscle tone in the arms. Legs like a chicken. Threat level one…if he were driving the truck.
My assessment put Scooter somewhere just about the twenty-year mark, but he looked fifteen and acted twelve. His jaw dropped so much when I introduced myself that I was afraid a small bird might nest in it. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo on required manners in Sinful, because he spent the entire time we shook hands staring at my chest. When he started to shake harder, I figured it was time to cease with the pleasantries.
“You need any help?” I asked, thinking it was a loaded question as soon as it left my mouth.
He peered inside at the Jeep. “Nope. Since you backed it in the garage, it will be easy to tow.”
He returned to his truck to position it in front of the Jeep. I didn’t bother explaining that if the Jeep had been drivable enough for me to back it in, I wouldn’t need a tow. He didn’t seem capable of processing a lot of information at once, and as he would have my only shot at private transportation hanging by a hook, I figured it was best to let him direct all two brain cells to that activity alone.
I watched as he made quick work of lifting the Jeep, somewhat surprised at his speed and dexterity. Apparently, all of Scooter’s skill set was concentrated around motor vehicles.
“If you aren’t busy, ma’am,” Scooter said when he’d gotten the Jeep in position, “Walter would like to see you. He said to tell you he has fresh-baked coffee cake.”
He had me at “Walter would like t
o see you,” but the coffee cake definitely sweetened the deal. Aside from this morning, Walter had never contacted me, and certainly hadn’t asked for a meeting. My curiosity was definitely piqued.
“I can give you a lift to the store,” Scooter said, looking entirely too hopeful.
What the hell. The guy probably didn’t get a lot of thrills in Sinful. If staring at my cleavage for a couple of blocks made his day, it was my good deed for the day. Besides, it wasn’t like the rest of Sinful was clamoring to see me, so even the adoration of this clearly juvenile male was a bit of an ego boost.
“Sure. Give me a minute to lock up.”
Scooter was still grinning from ear to ear when I returned from retrieving my purse and locking up. He fell all over himself rushing in front of me to open the passenger door of the tow truck. I knew he was going to look at my rear when I climbed up into the cab, but short of climbing up backward, I didn’t see that it was avoidable.
He was still standing there, grinning and starstruck, when I finished buckling my seat belt. I waved a hand in front of his face. “Coffee cake is waiting. Let’s move.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and raced around the truck, then scrambled inside.
For a moment, I was worried he’d tear out of the driveway and drag-race to the General Store, but he eased across the dip where the driveway met the street, then started toward Main Street at a moderate speed. He stopped in front of the store to let me out, then headed for the corner where the service bay was located. I noticed he waited until I was all the way inside the store before turning.
Walter was at his usual seat behind the counter and waved as I walked inside. He gave me a broad smile and gestured to a stool on the other side of the counter.
“Perfect timing,” he said and pointed to the coffeepot at the end of the counter next to the cash register. “It just finished brewing.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I asked as I slid onto the stool. “Break out the cake.”
He went into the back room and came back with two huge slices of coffee cake. Unable to wait any longer, I took a bite of the cake while he poured the coffee. The perfect blend of light cake with a hint of cinnamon had me sighing with pleasure.
Walter slid my coffee across the counter. “I take it you like it?”
“This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and that’s saying a lot given the food I’ve consumed since I’ve been in Sinful.”
He smiled. “You’re so much easier to please than the other women in this town.”
“Don’t let word of my weakness get back to Scooter. I have a feeling he’d be standing on my doorstep every day with a coffee cake.”
Walter laughed. “Scooter may be a little dim on some things but he’s hell with engines, and in this case, I’d have to agree with his taste in women. He’s a nice guy. You could do a lot worse…especially in Sinful.”
I took a sip of coffee and shook my head. “No matter how nice, I’m not interested.”
“Why? You have a problem dating nice guys?”
“I do if I can beat them up—general rule.”
“Well, I guess that leaves me out.”
“For you, I’d make an exception.”
“Ha. I’ve been chasing a woman like you for over forty years. All it’s gotten me is callouses.”
I studied him for a minute. He wasn’t Sean Connery, but Walter was a nice-looking man. I think it had something to do with his smile and his easy manner with people. So he was nice-looking, had a dry sense of humor that I immensely appreciated, and owned one of the mainstay businesses in town. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Ida Belle kept turning him down. Surely, giving up the helm of the Sinful Ladies Society wasn’t enough to keep her from having a relationship with an attractive, available man. Was it?
“I don’t get it,” I said, deciding I couldn’t keep my opinion to myself. “Why do you keep chasing her if she’s not interested?”
“Who said she wasn’t interested?” He grinned. “She’s interested all right. Ida Belle’s just stubborn is all.”
“Well, not to offend either of you, but I hope she loosens up before you both die.”
Walter choked on his coffee, wheezing and laughing at the same time. “You are quite the breath of fresh air in a town of hidden agendas and hypocritical politeness.”
“Is that why you invited me for coffee cake?”
He sobered and shook his head. “I’m afraid my reasons for that weren’t near as pleasant as discussing our potential for dating in this town.”
I felt my heart drop. If Walter had plied me with sweets as an opener, what he had to say couldn’t possibly be good.
“Lay it on me,” I said, hoping to ease the discomfort he clearly felt. “Nothing you say could surprise me at this point.”
He nodded. “I suppose that’s true.” He took a deep breath and leaned across the counter, even though we were the only people in the store.
“Friday night about ten, me and Shorty, the butcher, were standing around the side street at the mechanic’s bay, watching a couple of bull gators that were scrapping in the bayou behind the shops. I heard heels click across the wooden entry mat that Shorty has in front of his shop, then I heard Pansy talking.”
“Who was she talking to?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Wasn’t no one else there, so I guess she was talking to herself. Pansy always did like the sound of her own voice.”
“I assume she was talking about me?”
“She didn’t name any names, but she was ranting. Said, ‘That bitch isn’t going to ruin this for me. By the time I’m done, her and her fake blond hair will be crawling back under whatever rock she came out from under.’”
Okay. It wasn’t the nicest thing someone could say about me, but it wasn’t exactly damning. “Is that it?”
“No. I heard her dialing, then the next thing she said was, ‘Meet me at my house tonight at midnight. We have a business matter to discuss.’ Then the heels went clicking away.”
I perked up. “That’s great news! All they have to do is check Pansy’s cell phone and see who she called. That lets me out of it.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” Walter said. “I overheard Carter talking to the forensics team. They’re looking for Pansy’s cell phone, but I don’t think they’ve found it.”
Shit! As Ida Belle would say—this was not good.
I looked across the counter at Walter, who looked absolutely miserable. “Please don’t feel bad about this, Walter. You didn’t have any choice but to tell Carter. This is a murder investigation and he’s your nephew.”
Walter straightened up and frowned. “Oh, hell, I didn’t tell Carter anything and won’t. I think I’m smart enough to know a murderer when I see one, and you don’t fit the bill.”
“Thank you,” I said and smiled. If he only knew.
“But that idiot Shorty is feeling guilty and I think he’s going to cave. He tried to convince me to say something, but I played dumb and told him I didn’t hear anything as my right ear’s been clogged. He wants to be a snitch, that’s all on him.”
“I imagine most people don’t like being involved in something like this.”
“Talking to the police is what will involve him. Keeping his mouth shut doesn’t hurt anyone.”
I frowned, thinking about the conversation that Walter had overheard. “I don’t get it. I mean, the first part of it, clearly she’s bitching about me. But then she shifted gears and made the phone call. So who did she want to meet at midnight for a business discussion? And what kind of business?”
“I been racking my brain on that one for days. I just don’t know.”
“But we have to assume that it was the murderer.”
Walter nodded. “Seems to be the case.”
“Pansy has been gone from Sinful for years. What kind of business would she have with someone here?”
“Blackmail was the first thing that came to my mind, but
then I’ve never thought all that highly of the girl or her mother.”
Considering what I knew about Pansy’s little IRS problem, blackmail sounded like a really good bet. “Any ideas who she had on the hook?”
He shook his head. “It could be anybody male. Most every man in Sinful’s been looking over his shoulder and holding onto his wife a little tighter since Pansy got back into town. She probably had the juice to cause problems with any number of them.”
“Do any of them have the money to pay?”
“I’d say several of them do. Not LA kind of money, but some of the guys Pansy ran with in high school work construction in New Orleans. Others work on oil rigs. They make enough to afford nice houses, pickup trucks, and bass boats, and none of their wives work.”
“So she might not get rich off of any one of them, but if she hit up all of them, she might be able to leave Sinful with quite a nest egg.”
Walter nodded. “You got it.”
I blew out a breath. “But how do I prove it?”
“That is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
The bells above the front door jangled. Walter glanced at the front of the store, then frowned. “It’s the mayor’s wife,” he said, his voice low.
It took every ounce of self-control for me not to whip my head around and get a look at the woman who had been worth half of the mayor’s money. I was willing to bet anything that she wasn’t worth it.
I heard heels clicking on the hardwood floor and finally, they came to a stop beside me. I looked up into the disapproving stare of an attempted-and-failed Marilyn Monroe look-alike.
A very worn mid-forties. A hundred forty pounds, but she probably lies and says one hundred ten. Fake hair, nails, eye color, nose, boobs, and God only knows what else.
What the hell was the mayor thinking?
“How unfortunate,” she said and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t shop with trash, so if you’ll just be on your way, then I can handle my business.”
I didn’t bother moving from my stool. I was afraid if I stood up, I’d hit her. “You’ve got some nerve swinging that trash label around, Wife Number Two.”
