by Jana DeLeon
When I walked into the room, they stopped talking. Gertie looked at me while Ida Belle looked at her coffee. Then Gertie kicked Ida Belle under the table and she lifted her gaze to mine.
“I’m sorry I made you ride naked in my car wearing a trash bag,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
“No, you’re not,” I said. “And furthermore, do you really think a simple apology can make up for Deputy LeBlanc seeing me in that state?”
Gertie sucked in a breath and stared at Ida Belle in horror. “You didn’t tell me that part.”
“Of course she didn’t. That part makes her look really bad, not to mention gives the whole shooting match away to Deputy LeBlanc as, likely, no one else at the Swamp Bar was soaking wet immediately after a boat was stolen.”
Gertie frowned at Ida Belle, shaking her head. “You have got to get over that car or sell it. It makes you crazy.”
“Oh, she’s fine with the car where I’m concerned,” I said. “There could be a Cat 5 hurricane headed this way, and even if it was the only vehicle in town, I wouldn’t set foot in it again.”
“I don’t blame her,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle threw her hands up in the air. “Fine! I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass anyone or get us caught. I’ll work on my car issues.”
Because she finally looked a tiny bit contrite, Gertie nodded and I poured a cup of coffee and sat down.
“I put your clothes in to wash,” Gertie said. “But you’ll need to move them to the dryer. Don’t forget. With the humidity down here, they’ll get to smelling quickly.”
Another glorious trait of Louisiana.
I took a drink of coffee. “Please tell me we got something out of all of this.”
“Oh yes,” Gertie said, her frown vanishing.
“Good. That bartender is a scary-looking guy. I figured he would make a good target for us.”
Gertie shook her head. “Oh, no. Not the bartender.”
I frowned. “The woman?”
“Not just any woman. That’s Marie’s third cousin, Cheryl.”
Ida Belle nodded. “A nasty piece of trash that got run out of Sinful years ago. She was always jealous of Marie.”
“Okay. But assuming she had opportunity and slight motive, we still have to prove means. And how would she have colluded with Melvin while he was locked up?”
“That’s the best part.” Gertie smiled. “She’s a prison guard.”
I stared. “At Melvin’s prison?”
“Yep. How cool is that?”
My mind raced with the possibilities. “Okay, this is good. It’s really good. Please tell me the picture I took is clear.”
“Clear as a bell,” Gertie said. “We’re in business. Well, except for one small thing.”
Ida Belle narrowed her eyes at Gertie. “What small thing?”
“I think Melvin might have seen me. I couldn’t drive the boat with the mask on. The spotlight only hit me for a second, and I ducked, but he was standing on the end of the pier.”
Ida Belle frowned.
“Do you think he’ll retaliate?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ida Belle said. “He’s stupid, that’s certain, but he’s got no reason to suspect we’re trying to frame him for murder. Even if he knows we were there spying on him, what’s the harm from his point of view?”
“True,” I agreed, although I would have felt better if Melvin had remained ignorant of it all.
“We did it!” Gertie said, clapping her hands.
“Sure,” I said, “just as soon as we find Marie, she gets arrested, and we find her an attorney, we can give them our theory and the picture.”
Gertie’s face fell a bit. “Maybe there’s a bit more to do, but this is still a big piece of our plan.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s a big piece.”
“Now,” Ida Belle said, “we just need to find Marie.”
I blew out a breath. Yeah, just.
Chapter Seventeen
After all the excitement, the hot shower, and the pie, I should have been able to drop off to sleep, but no matter how many times I tossed around in the bed, it just didn’t seem to happen. Maybe it had been too much excitement, or more likely, too much coffee, but either way, sleep did not come. Finally, I decided I’d grab my book and read myself into slumber.
I jumped out of bed and headed over to the desk, where I’d left my book that afternoon. As I reached for it, I knocked the stack of envelopes containing Marge’s unmailed letters onto the floor. The rubber band broke against the hardwood floor and they scattered.
Sighing, I bent over to pick them up. As I reached for one that had slid under the edge of the bed, I saw pen marks on the front of the envelope that none of the others had. I straightened up and studied the marks. It was some sort of drawing, but didn’t look like anything recognizable. Then I realized I was holding the envelope upside down. When I turned it around, it was all too clear.
It was a sketch of a woman’s face. Clean simple lines, no bigger than a quarter. And a single tear on the woman’s cheek. I stacked the rest of the envelopes on the desk and crawled in bed with my book and the envelope with the drawing, wondering if this one was different for a reason.
I got my answer as soon as I started to read.
I got the news from Francine. You are to be married. I knew someone like you would not live their life out alone, but it is like a knife through my heart. Why, Harvey? The pain I feel is almost unbearable.
Nothing matters any longer. Not the war or even my return.
In two months, I will be in Sinful for the first time in two years, but I’ll be alone.
At least here in the jungle, I have a purpose. I have people to take care of. I have important work to do.
I fear my reaction when I see you together for the first time on Main Street. I wonder how I’ll live there the rest of my life with you just out of my grasp and in the arms of someone else.
I let out a gasp as I read.
Harvey?
The man that Marge had pined for and written all those unmailed letters to was Harvey Chicoron—the biggest asshole in the state?
Dumbfounded, I flopped back on my pillow. This changed everything. If Marge had carried unrequited love for Harvey all these years, watched him marry Marie, and then seen him take up affairs with most of the women in the parish, God only knows what she’d felt.
What she’d planned.
I sucked in a breath. Could she really have loved him so much she killed him? Surely love didn’t work that way—not real love. But maybe, all the years of being pushed aside for someone prettier or younger or more pliable had turned all that overwhelming love into something else—something dark.
God knows, Marge had the weaponry to take him out, and her military experience had provided the skill to use it. Could she have really taken things that far over a man who beat her friend and slept with everything with a pulse?
And how many other people knew about Marge’s feelings for Harvey? Surely Ida Belle and Gertie didn’t, or they would have suggested Marge as an option for the murder in the first place. They might not like incriminating a friend, but in this case, the friend was long past this world and couldn’t be hurt by the accusation.
Still, if Marge had managed to keep her crush on Harvey a secret from Gertie, Ida Belle, and most importantly, Marie, then she must have been the best actress the world had ever seen.
I stared out the window into the pitch-black night and shook my head. How could such complicated things go on in such a small place? I never would have imagined it could be so. I’d always gone out of my way to streamline my life—removing all potential complication. I suddenly realized that mostly meant not having people around. Clearly, people were the biggest complication life threw at you.
I slipped the letter back in the envelope and placed it on the nightstand. Letting out a sigh, I turned off the lamp and slid down in the cool sheets, trying to redirect my mind’s focus on anythin
g but my own life. Since coming to Sinful, I’d already taken one too many uncomfortable looks inside myself. I wasn’t sure I could take another revelation without a good night’s sleep.
I had just dozed off when I bolted upright.
There was scuffling in the attic!
I hopped out of bed and hurried over to the bag of supplies I’d gotten from the general store. That furry little rodent wasn’t getting the best of me this time. I was prepared with a spotlight and pellet pistol, both acquisitions from the general store. Walter didn’t have to run a background check on those, and they wouldn’t damage the roof.
Armed with my legally acquired weapons, I crept up the attic stairs and paused a minute, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A thin stream of moonlight filtered through the attic window, casting a dim glow across the cluttered room.
I scanned it left and right, but didn’t see any sign of my furry intruder. I heard a faint scratching noise behind a row of boxes at the back of the attic, and eased across the floor, carefully testing and choosing the floorboards that felt less likely to creak. Just a couple more steps and I’d have the varmint in my sights.
One, two, three…
I leapt over the row of boxes, clicking on the spotlight as I jumped. The light pierced through the darkness of the attic and lit it up like an explosion. I blinked once to get a visual in the glaring light, then leveled my pellet pistol at the scraping noise in the corner.
“Don’t shoot!” a female voice sounded in front of me.
Startled, I dropped the spotlight and it crashed to the floor, pointing the beam of light behind me. I looked back into the shadows as a figure emerged, fully expecting one of the Sinful Ladies to fess up to doing God knows what under orders from Ida Belle or Gertie. Then I stared in shock.
“Marie!”
There was no doubt in my mind it was her. Despite her age, her face hadn’t changed one bit from the photographs I’d seen of her as a younger woman. She walked slowly toward me, her hands in the air.
I shoved the pellet pistol in my waistband. “What the hell are you doing in my attic? And put your hands down. I’m not going to shoot you. I’ve been trying to find you.”
She lowered her hands and nodded. “I know. I’ve heard you talking to Ida Belle and Gertie. The kitchen vents come right up into my hiding place.”
“You’ve been hiding here all this time?” I asked, but even as the words left my mouth, I thought about Bones’ constant attempts to walk up the stairs. I’d passed it off as senility or smelling the raccoon, but it had been Marie.
“You must have been miserable,” I said as I lifted the spotlight from the floor.
“It’s not that bad,” she said and motioned to the corner behind me. I turned to find a rocking chair with a stack of knitting and some books next to it. A military cot piled with blankets ran alongside the wall next to the chair.
“The boxes blocked off my cubby hole from clear view. I figured unless you really looked hard, you wouldn’t realize…”
And I hadn’t. Some intelligence agent.
The entire time I’d been traipsing through the swamp trying to find Marie, she’d been knitting right above me while I slept. I could almost feel my father frowning and was infinitely glad Director Morrow would never hear about my total lapse in concentration and ability.
“So, you set all this up when I was running around with Ida Belle and Gertie?”
“Not really. The cot and chair were already here. Marge suffered from a bit of PTSD. Sometimes she’d stay up here. I think it made her feel safe, like when she was in the military camp.”
“Well, it was certainly a good place to hide. No one was looking for you here, that’s for sure.”
“Except for that situation with the raccoon, it’s been fine. I knew all the places everyone would check. That’s why I went to Number Two and left that blanket, hoping to throw people off track. I checked into a motel on the way to New Orleans on Saturday and paid for a week, just in case people were looking harder than Number Two.”
I shook my head, still marveling that Marie had been in my attic the entire time. “But why? Why hide at all when it was only delaying the inevitable?”
Marie sighed. “I don’t know. I know it was cowardly, but I didn’t want to be put on the spot until I had a good story.”
“But Ida Belle and Gertie would have helped you.”
“And gotten themselves in hot water for doing it. No, I needed to figure out a plan myself, and I wasn’t going to be able to do that sitting in jail or being stalked by that idiot Melvin.”
“So, did you come up with something?”
The sadness was apparent in her expression as she shook her head.
“Well, you may as well come downstairs. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and I’m going to have to call Ida Belle and Gertie. They’ve been worried for too long already. I figure all this calls for coffee.”
“And maybe a shot of whiskey?”
“Definitely.”
We tromped downstairs to the living room, where Bones was standing at the bottom of the stairs, wagging his tail. I hadn’t seen him so animated since he’d dug up the bone. Marie stopped to scratch behind his ears, and he licked her arm. He looked up at me, and I swear, there was a clear “I told you so” in his expression. He turned and trudged back to his bed in the kitchen and was snoring before we even walked in behind him.
I laid my weapon on the counter and pulled out coffee. Marie slumped into a chair at the breakfast table and sighed. She looked completely beat and more than a little worried, which made perfect sense given the situation, but I got the impression more was bothering her than what I knew.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me…before we call Gertie and Ida Belle?”
Marie looked at me, trying for a casual expression and failing. “No. Why would there be?”
“Because you have this look like something is wrong besides the obvious.”
“Well, there’s an awful lot wrong. It would be strange if I didn’t look worried.”
I dumped grounds into the coffeemaker, poured in water and flipped the switch, then grabbed plates and forks and put them on the table next to what was left of the chocolate pie. At the rate it was going, it had been a good decision to buy three.
I studied Marie for a couple of seconds, and she shifted uncomfortably under my scrutiny. Finally, I took a seat across from her.
“It’s not worry that I see. It’s guilt.”
Marie’s eyes widened. “I don’t have anything I should feel guilty about.”
I smiled at her words. “I didn’t say you should feel guilty. I said you do. But nice work dancing around that statement.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
I cut off a slice of chocolate pie and placed it in front of Marie. “You didn’t kill your husband, did you?”
“No.”
“But you know who did.”
She sighed. “Not at first, I swear. But as time passed, I began to wonder.”
I got up from the table to pour us both coffee, then slid a cup in front of Marie. I sat down again and cut myself a big slice of pie. I’d earned it.
“Did you ever get proof?”
“No, and I never asked. I didn’t want to know for sure.”
I took a big bite of pie, then washed it down with some coffee. “But you’re sure, anyway.”
She looked down at her plate and nodded.
“It was Marge, wasn’t it?”
“I think so,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry to have to say that to you.”
The sadness in her voice confused me. I dropped my fork on the plate and studied her. “I don’t understand. I mean, I get that Harvey was no prize and your life is better with him gone, but I thought Marge was a friend of yours. She was in love with your husband and resented him for marrying you. That doesn’t make you just a little angry?”
Marie looked up at me, clearly shoc
ked. “That…I don’t…Why in the world would you say that?”
“I found letters in the attic. Marge wrote them to Harvey while she was in Vietnam, but never mailed them. Tonight, I read one that referred to Harvey by name. I didn’t know who she’d written them to before then.”
I ran upstairs and grabbed the stack of letters from the desk in my bedroom, then hurried back downstairs and pulled out the last one I’d read and showed it to Marie as I stood beside her chair.
“See here,” I said, pointing to the only passage I’d found in the letters that identified the object of her affection.
I got the news today that you are to be married. I knew someone like you would not live their life out alone, but it is like a knife through my heart. Why, Harvey? It feels as if you’ve plunged a knife straight through my heart.
“She’s asking him why he married you,” I said. “Even if you never loved the man, it’s got to be insulting on some level that your friend wanted him for herself.”
Marie read the letter and her expression changed from shocked to sad again. “I guess the truth can’t hurt anyone now. All this time I spent hiding and worrying…”
I slid into the chair across from her. “What truth?”
She pointed to the passage I’d identified. “That isn’t a comma after ‘why.’ It’s just a mark on the page from age or an accidental pen stroke.” Marie laid the letter on the table and looked over at me.
“She wasn’t asking Harvey why he’d married me,” she said quietly. “She was asking me why I’d married Harvey.”
“Oh.” I stared at Marie. “Oh!”
Marie nodded. “I know. That sort of thing wasn’t acceptable back then.”
“But did you feel…did you…”
“No. I loved Marge as a friend, but I don’t have those kinds of feelings for her. She knew that and accepted that we’d only ever be friends. I think if I would have married a good man—a kind man—she wouldn’t have been so upset. But Harvey, well…”
