Lethal Bayou Beauty

by Jana DeLeon

  “I got the hemorrhoids and didn’t bring that doughnut thing that lets ’em hang,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll just stand here unless you got a problem with that.”

  The desk clerk blanched. “No, ma’am,” she said, clearly resigned to an afternoon of dealing with crazy people.

  I looked over at the elevators, where Gertie was positioned behind a giant banana plant. Thank God her dark green dress blended in with the leaves, because it was a suspicious place to hang out. The desk clerk’s gaze began to wander in that direction. I looked over at Ida Belle, hoping she’d notice the clerk’s wandering eye and Gertie’s stalkerish hiding choice and come up with a distraction, but she was busy reading something on her cell phone.

  I was just about to head over to the desk myself, when an older couple came through the front entrance, a valet following them with a cart that contained so much luggage I wondered if they were moving into the hotel. The woman started ordering the clerk around before she even got to the desk, waving her hands in the air as if conducting a symphony. Every finger on her hands sported a very large and extremely tacky piece of jewelry, and I would have bet anything it was all real, just like the strip of fur hanging around her neck—in June.

  Something large and white flickered at the edge of my vision range and I turned to the left to see a man shuffling across the lobby wearing a fluffy white spa robe and matching slippers. When my eyes ventured up from the wardrobe and to his face, I knew we were in trouble.

  It was Dr. Ryan.

  I started to bolt out the front door, but somehow that didn’t seem fair as Ida Belle and Gertie hadn’t even noticed that our plan had gone awry. As he walked toward Gertie’s hiding place, she peered out from behind the banana plant and even from across the lobby I could see her eyes widen in panic.

  I started a mental prayer that she didn’t do anything stupid, but I didn’t make it past “Please” before she’d made the point moot.

  I wasn’t sure if she tried to signal us that he was in the lobby or slow him down long enough for me to escape, but she managed to accomplish both. She bolted out from behind the banana plant—at least, she attempted to. Her ever-present, incredibly large handbag got caught on an edge of the planter, which normally would have stopped her in her tracks, but since she’d launched out as if she were on fire, she managed to pull the entire plant over as she bolted.

  The plant and Gertie crashed to the ground in a sea of flying leaves, dirt, and some random cursing, coming to a stop at Dr. Ryan’s feet. I should have taken that opportunity to flee, but I stood frozen, clutching the empty box. One glance at Ida Belle, who was stiff as a post, told me no ideas were racing to her mind, either. The clerk stared for several seconds, then hurried from behind the desk.

  Immediately, Dr. Ryan bent over to help up Gertie, who was flailing, scattering the mass of leaves and potting soil like a cartoon character. Her eyes were clenched shut, probably full of dirt. As the doctor bent over, Gertie, who was grasping for anything solid, caught on to the sash of his robe and attempted to pull herself up. Unfortunately, the sash loops on the robe weren’t designed to bear the weight of panicking seniors with forty-pound handbags, and they tore completely off the robe, exposing much more of Dr. Ryan than we’d come to see.

  The desk clerk emitted a strangled cry and the older woman at the front desk, who’d turned around to see what all the commotion was about, screamed and fell onto the marble floor in a dead faint.

  Ida Belle and I broke out of our trances at the same time and ran across the lobby to help up Gertie, who now had the bottom of the doctor’s robe in a death grip and refused to release it. Clearly panicked, Dr. Ryan pulled on the robe, desperately trying to cover himself, yelling at Gertie to let go. When I reached down for her, she blinked several times and opened her eyes on the way up. Unfortunately, the way up was straight up Dr. Ryan’s full frontal and she followed the desk clerk’s example and let out a startled cry.

  Finally free of Gertie, Dr. Ryan pulled the robe around himself and sprinted for the elevators. The desk clerk recovered some of her composure and glared at Gertie. “I ought to call the police,” she said.

  “And I ought to sue,” Gertie countered. “That’s a horrible place for a plant. I could have broken a hip.”

  Ida Belle stepped over to Gertie. “Are you all right? I didn’t know you’d checked in already.”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not staying in a hotel that allows attack plants and naked men in the lobby. Take me to a Hilton.”

  Ida Belle nodded and pulled Gertie, whose vision still appeared to be off, across the lobby and out the entrance. The desk clerk looked over at me, her frustration and disgust clear.

  “I’ll just come back later,” I said. “Naked men aren’t part of my job description. I may file a sexual harassment complaint over this.”

  I gave one final glance at the front desk, where the older man was trying to help Mrs. Liberace up from the floor, then hustled out of the hotel before the desk clerk made good on her word and called the police.

  Outside the hotel, I immediately crossed the street away from Ida Belle and Gertie, just in case anyone from the hotel was watching, and hurried between the buildings until I was a block over. Then I walked the rest of the block and doubled back to the parking garage. Because I’d taken the long route, Ida Belle and Gertie had beat me to the car, where Gertie was blowing through an entire container of baby wipes, trying to get the dirt off her face. She’d started with her eyes and now looked like a raccoon with a reverse mask. At least Ida Belle had insisted on driving.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here before someone sees us,” I said.

  Ida Belle put the car in gear and punched it, tires squealing as we exited the parking garage. I sank down in the backseat so that no one could see me until we merged onto the highway. Between the potting soil and the baby wipes, Gertie’s face was now so streaked with mud she looked like she’d been on a three-day jungle tour.

  “Well, it didn’t exactly go as planned, but at least we know that the good Dr. Ryan could have strangled Pansy. His hands were big enough and in a rage, his strength would have been doubled or tripled.”

  “I didn’t see his hands,” Gertie said, “but he had small feet. I don’t even have to tell you what they say about small feet.”

  “No, you don’t have to tell us,” Ida Belle agreed. “We saw that firsthand.”

  “I guess that’s something even plastic surgery can’t fix,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle nodded. “But on the upside, at least that was one thing that wasn’t in your grasp.”

  Gertie fanned herself with her hand. “Lord, just the thought makes me blush! It’s bad enough I got a full-face view of the thing. Even with dirt in my eyes, it was quite startling.”

  My eyes widened. Given my profession, I was hardly up for a sexual prowess award, but given the number of years Gertie had on me, I couldn’t imagine something so unimpressive being startling.

  “But, ah….surely,” I said, “you’ve…um, seen one before?”

  Gertie shot me an indignant look. “I’ve seen plenty in my day, but it’s been a number of years since I’ve had one so close to my face. You’ve been around Sinful long enough to see the male population selection.”

  I smiled. It was a valid point.

  “All discussion of full-face frontals aside,” Ida Belle said, “we have a problem.”

  My smile vanished. “Yeah. We have to make sure Carter gets this information, and preferably before Dr. Ryan and his big hands leave town.”

  Gertie’s eyes widened. “You’re going to tell him about today?”

  “No!” I couldn’t even imagine the horror. “If there’s a God, only the three of us, Dr. Ryan, the desk clerk—who is quite possibly scarred for life—and that woman who passed out and her husband will ever know about today.”

  “The whole thing was almost worth it,” Ida Belle said, “just to see that old bitty hit the floor. But you’re right. C
arter needs to know about the journal and about Dr. Ryan’s suspicious proximity.”

  “We could leave the journal in his truck or mailbox with a note,” Gertie suggested.

  I sighed. “It’s not that simple. In order for the journal to be introduced into evidence at a trial, someone has to testify as to how they obtained it and from where. In this case, Ally would have to admit to knowing about the hiding place and taking the journal.”

  Gertie raised her eyebrows. “You really have been watching a lot of television.”

  “I wish that were the case, but unfortunately, that little bit of legal requirement has prevented the Justice Department from pursuing certain cases, especially when people like me gathered the evidence.”

  “Certainly you’re allowed to testify, right?” Ida Belle asked.

  “No. The agency can’t afford to lose capable agents every time we run across evidence of a crime, especially when it’s usually not pertaining to the mission I’m on. We turn over what we have, hoping they can find another way to prove it, but there’s not much more we can do.”

  “That blows,” Gertie said.

  “And it puts Ally in a position I didn’t want her in.” I sighed. “I guess I didn’t think this through very well.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Gertie said. “We’ll figure something out.”

  I nodded, but I knew that the only way for Dr. Ryan to show up on Carter’s radar was if Ally confessed to petty theft.

  Not exactly the kind of thing great friendships were made of.

  ###

  About five miles outside of Sinful, Ida Belle pulled over to the side of the road and I assumed my reentry position—in the trunk. Not wanting to risk someone seeing me leaving town, we’d agreed that on the way out of town and back in, it would be best for me to hide in the trunk. It was only seven miles or so, which you’d think wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, especially for someone in my shape. Unfortunately, Gertie’s ancient Cadillac had more battle wounds than a Roman gladiator, and presented some unique challenges.

  For starters, half of the trunk bottom was rusted out, and I had to stay on one side of the car or risk falling through onto the street. Then there was the small matter of the trunk lid…which wouldn’t stay closed. At first, Gertie held it down by securing it to the bumper with a bungee cord. But sometime between the squirrel incident that took out the front bumper and this morning, something had transpired that had eliminated the back bumper completely.

  When she’d arrived, the trunk had been taped shut with duct tape, but for the sake of simplicity, I was now scrunched into one side of the trunk, clutching a rope that held down the trunk. Every time Ida Belle hit a bump on the crappy road leading to Sinful, the trunk, the rope, and I flew up about a foot.

  It felt like I’d been bumping around in the trunk for hours when I heard a police siren. I prayed that it wasn’t for us, but every second that passed, the sound got louder. Finally, the car swerved to the right and I heard the crunch of gravel, indicating that Ida Belle had pulled over on the shoulder of the road.

  “Just stay cool!” Gertie yelled.

  “Stop yelling! Ida Belle yelled.

  Carefully, I inched forward and peered through the broken keyhole. It was my worst nightmare confirmed—Carter climbed out of his truck and walked toward the Cadillac.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “You want to tell me where you’ve been?”

  “Not particularly,” Ida Belle said.

  “Let’s try again,” he said. “Tell me where you’ve been.”

  “I can’t see that it’s any of your business,” Ida Belle said.

  “Yeah,” Gertie threw in. “We’re not breaking the law.”

  “Now, that’s debatable, because this car is probably in violation of something, but I pulled you over because I suspect you know and/or are involved in the disappearance of Miss Morrow.”

  “Fortune’s disappeared?” Ida Belle’s pretend shock was impressive.

  “Maybe she was kidnapped by aliens,” Gertie threw in.

  “If anything,” Deputy LeBlanc said, “she was confiscated by two old ladies who seem to take pleasure in causing me grief.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ida Belle said.

  “Who are you calling old?” Gertie retorted.

  I shook my head.

  “Then if you two aren’t up to anything,” Deputy LeBlanc continued, “You won’t have any problem opening the trunk.”

  “Do you have a warrant?” Ida Belle asked.

  Good girl!

  “Do I need one?” Deputy LeBlanc asked. “Because I can keep you sitting here on the side of the road while I get one. It might take a couple of hours, and I imagine we’d all be pretty hungry by then, not to mention needing to use the restroom, but if that’s the way you want to play it...”

  “Okay,” Ida Belle said. “But Judge Poteet is having liposuction and telling everyone he’s in Cancun. He’ll come back white as a sheet and jiggling a bit less, so I doubt anyone’s going to buy it. And Judge Aubry is at his mistress’s house in Mississippi, but he told his wife he’s going to a law conference in Baton Rouge.”

  Nice!

  For several seconds, only silence carried back to the trunk, and I smiled, imaging the look of aggravation and dismay that Deputy LeBlanc was likely wearing.

  “Fine,” Deputy LeBlanc said finally. “I want the two of you to go home, but you haven’t heard the last of this. If I find out that you transported Miss Morrow outside of Sinful, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ida Belle said and started up the car.

  I let out a sigh of relief, but it came a second too soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The weak floorboard gave way and I dropped out of the trunk and onto the shoulder of the road, collapsed in a heap. Ida Belle, completely unaware that the trunk had finally given way, tore off from the shoulder of the road, scattering a wave of gravel and dirt over me.

  I covered my head with my arms to protect myself from the onslaught, then a shadow fell over me. I looked up at the clearly angry Deputy LeBlanc.

  “I don’t know whether to throw you in jail or a mental institution.”

  At the moment, I wasn’t sure about the correct choice, either.

  “Is this multiple choice?” I asked. “If so, is there a third option?”

  He extended his hand down to me and pulled me upright. “Yeah, option three is where I arrest all three of you and let you sit in jail until Judge Poteet is recovered from his secret liposuction or Judge Aubry’s mistress gets bored and makes him leave.”

  A screech of brakes echoed back at us, and we looked over to see the Cadillac slide to a stop, then begin backing up.

  Deputy LeBlanc shook his head. “I’ll say this for them—they won’t desert a sinking ship.”

  Ida Belle stopped the car a couple feet away from me, then she and Gertie jumped out and rushed over. Deputy LeBlanc glanced at them, then did a double-take at Gertie’s dirt-streaked face.

  “Are you hurt?” Ida Belle asked as Gertie walked around me, lifting my arms and inspecting me for injuries.

  “I’m fine—just a little dusty.”

  “Your hands are bleeding,” Gertie said and turned my palms up where I could see.

  “It’s just a couple of nicks. I’ll be fine.”

  “You could have been killed!” Deputy LeBlanc exploded. “What would have happened if you’d fallen through that trunk when Ida Belle was doing sixty down this highway?”

  “Oh,” Gertie said, “my car hasn’t done sixty in well over a decade.”

  Deputy LeBlanc glared. “Even at twenty miles an hour, she could have been seriously hurt.” He pointed his finger at Ida Belle and Gertie. “Now, I’ve already determined that the two of you either have a death wish or have lost all good sense, but what floors me is how you’ve managed to convince someone new in town to go along with your shenanigans.”

  “Oh, well,
that was easy,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle elbowed her. “We didn’t convince her to do anything but take a ride to the antique shops in Mudbug.”

  “Uh-huh.” Deputy LeBlanc didn’t look the least bit convinced. “Then why is her face so dirty?” He pointed at Gertie.

  “Those shops are filthy,” Gertie said. “I reached for a pillow on top of a shelf and brought a whole stack of old quilts along with their dust down on me. I tried to clean it off with baby wipes, but it streaked.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re not up to something, then why was Miss Morrow hiding in the trunk?”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Because you told me not to leave town, but I’m tired of being physically assaulted with iced tea and verbally assaulted by every dimwit in this town. There are a lot of dimwits.”

  “That’s true.”

  “She has a point.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie spoke at once.

  “The truth is,” Gertie said to Deputy LeBlanc, “we knew you’d get your panties in a wad if you found out Fortune left town, especially with us. But she needed a break from this place and by God, we saw that she got it.”

  Deputy LeBlanc raised his eyebrows. “Panties?”

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “Boxers, briefs…heck, you may go commando for all we know. Apparently, that’s popular these days.”

  “Uh-huh. So if I call these antique shops, they’ll verify that you were there today?”

  “How the heck should we know?” Ida Belle asked. “The clerks in those stores are as old as their merchandise. I can’t vouch for their memory.”

  “Are you going to arrest us, or what?” Gertie asked. “If so, I need to call Marie and tell her to record the movie on Lifetime for me.”

  He stared at each of us, taking several seconds apiece to study our faces, but he was up against a trained professional and two of the best retired liars I’d ever met. We weren’t giving up a thing.

  Finally he blew out a breath. “It would be better on you to tell me what you’re up to, because I’m going to find out.”