Louisiana Longshot

by Jana DeLeon

  I just smiled back and nodded. If he only knew.

  A car door slammed out front, and Deputy LeBlanc went to the door to let in the parade of paramedics. I joined Ida Belle and Gertie to peek out the front window. All over the block, people started coming out of their homes and gathering in front lawns.

  “Everybody’s coming outside now that the cops are here,” Gertie said. “Wasn’t no one coming outside when they heard gunfire, though.”

  “Cowards,” Ida Belle yelled out the front door.

  I grinned. It was hard not to like the old girls.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was long after midnight before Deputy LeBlanc, the coroner, and an assortment of other people finished up at Gertie's house. I knew they'd still have a load of questions to answer and papers to sign in the coming days, but I was confident that we were safe. Deputy LeBlanc hadn't shown any hesitation in buying their story. In fact, I think he was relieved that Marie hadn't killed Harvey as he had been dreading arresting her. Melvin wasn't liked by anyone, so the entire town would probably breathe a sigh of relief and have something to talk about for the next forty years.

  Marie had rushed over after Gertie called, crying like a baby and hugging everyone within an inch of their lives, including Deputy LeBlanc, who seemed a bit embarrassed by all the fuss.

  When she got to me, she'd whispered in my ear, “I wish Marge could have seen you now. She would have loved you.”

  After the last car pulled out of the driveway and Deputy LeBlanc crossed the road to his house, I looked around at the mess in Gertie's living room and shook my head.

  “Grab a change of clothes,” I told Gertie. “You're staying with me tonight.”

  Gertie started to protest, but Ida Belle stopped her. “She's right. We'll all help you deal with this in the daylight. But right now, we need to get out of this house.”

  “I know you two have your own places,” I said to Ida Belle and Marie, “but I have plenty of room if you want to come as well.”

  Gertie clapped her hands. “Slumber party. I haven't had one of those since I was a little girl.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “Grown women do not have slumber parties. This will be a gathering of the troops.”

  I nodded. “I say the first thing we do is gather in my kitchen for coffee and whatever Gertie has baked.”

  Gertie lifted a chocolate cake off the kitchen counter. “What are we waiting for?”

  The mood was festive as I served the coffee and Gertie cut off slices of her fabulous chocolate cake for everyone. When we were all seated at the table, Marie cleared her throat.

  “I just want to tell you all,” Marie said, “how much I appreciate everything you've done for me, now and in the past. And I want to apologize to Gertie and Ida Belle for not telling you that I suspected Marge had killed Harvey all those years ago. I guess Marge thought I’d done it, and we’ve all been covering for someone else this whole time.”

  “You were protecting Marge,” Ida Belle said, “and we respect that. Besides, even if we'd known, it wouldn't have changed what we did. We needed to divert suspicion from you, regardless, because you were going to be the first suspect when Harvey came up missing. It didn't matter who killed him.”

  Relief passed over Marie's face. “I guess you're right. I just never thought about it in that light.”

  I looked at Marie. “So, do you have any idea when or where Harvey was killed?”

  Marie nodded. “I think he was killed right in my kitchen. I’d been sick, remember? After Harvey hit me and Marge tended to the cut, she gave me a sleeping pill and put me to bed. I was out in seconds and slept hard. I remember when I went downstairs to the kitchen later on that evening, there was the faint smell of bleach. I just brushed it off as Marge cleaning up. I mean, until later, when I started to wonder.”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “She was cleaning up all right—after Melvin and Cheryl—and thinking you’d done it. I bet she had the shock of her life, coming back to the house and finding Harvey dead on the kitchen floor.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Marie said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter I'd gotten from the attorney.

  “As much as I'd like to keep this,” Marie said, “to remind me that someone I respected and cared about loved me this much, we need to destroy this letter and all the others.”

  I nodded. “They would only muddy the waters if they came to light.”

  I got up from the table and pulled a cast-iron pot from the cabinets, then picked up the stack of unmailed letters and dropped them inside. I took the letter from Marie, then tossed it in with the others and set them on fire. Marie stood to watch them burn and then dumped the ashes in the sink and washed away any sign that the letters had ever existed.

  “I think I've had about all I can take for one day,” Marie said, “so if you ladies don't mind, I'm going to bed.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie showed no signs of retiring, so I refilled all our coffee mugs and sat down again. The adrenaline still running through me was a more potent stimulant than the coffee ever could be, and I knew it would be hours before I'd be able to relax enough to sleep.

  Ida Belle looked over at Gertie with that secret look they share when they seem to talk telepathically. Gertie nodded, so I guess whatever was going on between the two of them, they were finally going to share.

  “We need to talk,” Ida Belle said to me.

  “Okay. About what?”

  “About who you really are.”

  I froze, not even breathing. “I don't understand,” I managed to say, happy my voice sounded normal.

  Gertie reached over and placed her hand on mine. “We're not interested in 'outing' you, dear. We want to protect you.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “But we can't do that properly if we don't know what we're protecting you from.”

  “We thought at first,” Gertie said, “that you might be running from an abusive husband or something of the like, but once we got to know you, we knew that couldn't be the case. An abusive man wouldn't last five minutes around you.”

  I shook my head. “What makes you think I'm not exactly who I say I am?”

  Gertie laughed. “You have fake hair, never wear makeup, and don’t seem the least bit interested in clothes.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “You sit and stand with your back to the wall and facing openings in all buildings. You jumped an eight-foot fence like it was a speed bump, and despite your fight with Tiny, you weren't the least bit winded.”

  “You run like a sprinter,” Gertie continued, “and have balance like a cat with the moves of an advanced martial artist. I know the construction of my attic, and no way did you ‘lower’ yourself into that window.”

  “When you meet people for the first time,” Ida Belle continued, “you immediately size them up, looking for weaknesses. You single-handedly took out two armed assailants, one with a knitting needle, and the second with a pistol shot right through the center of the forehead, all done without preparation and while scrambling. Normal people think; they don't react like that.”

  Gertie nodded. “Throughout this entire mess of murder, kidnappings, and gunfire, you have remained nonplussed.”

  “The bottom line,” Ida Belle said, “is that we recognize one of ours when we see them. You may not be in the military, but you've had military training, and plenty of it.”

  I stared at them, shocked for probably the first time in my life. I expected suspicion from Deputy LeBlanc, but I doubt even he would have come up with the detailed analysis the two innocent-looking old ladies sitting at my kitchen table had.

  One of ours.

  My mind locked on that statement, and I looked back and forth between the two of them. “Are you saying you two were in the military?”

  “Of course,” Ida Belle said. “The five founding members of the Sinful Ladies Society were all military. Me, Gertie and Marge were the last until recently, when Marge passed. Now, it’s just me and Gertie.”

  A
nd suddenly it dawned on me. “You all served in Vietnam together.”

  Gertie nodded. “It was a horrible war, but all of us felt our place was there serving our country, not back in Sinful serving some clueless man his supper.”

  “So, what did you do? I mean, what were your jobs?”

  “Can't you guess?” Ida Bell asked.

  They grinned at each other and looked at me in anticipation.

  “I'm afraid to.”

  Ida Belle laughed. “Well, on paper, Gertie was a secretary. I was a nurse's aide. Marge was an inventory clerk.”

  “But that wasn't what you really did…”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “You have to understand, it was a different time then—women, in particular, were viewed as a weaker sex and incapable of the same things as men. Our commander took advantage of that, used it to make strategic moves.”

  Suddenly, clips from the past five days flashed through my mind like a YouTube video: Ida Belle shooting the alligator, Gertie and her Bruce Lee kick to Melvin’s head, Marge’s weapon collection.

  I felt my jaw drop open and I stared.

  Finally, I managed to speak. “You were counterintelligence.”

  “We prefer ‘spies,’” Ida Belle said.

  Gertie nodded. “It sounds cooler.”

  I leaned back in my chair and blew out a breath. “Spies. I can't believe it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Gertie. “You're not woolly-headed or clumsy, are you?”

  Gertie laughed. “Of course not.”

  “Well…,” Ida Belle interjected.

  “Am not!”

  “You’re not as sharp as you used to be, and that’s all I’m saying.”

  Gertie glared at Ida Belle, then looked back at me. As soon as she turned, Ida Belle looked at me and shook her head.

  “The thing I learned,” Gertie said, “is that if people believe I’m clueless, they'll say and do all manner of things in front of me, thinking it doesn't matter.”

  I looked at Ida Belle. “And I guess that story about your dad teaching you to shoot was a lie?”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “Daddy was real and as big a son of a bitch as we described him to be. I was already a good shot when I enlisted, but the military honed the skill to a level of precision that only another marksman would understand.” She gave me a shrewd look.

  “You're right,” I said, trying to decide how much information to give and how much to hold back. Not because I didn't trust them, but because I didn't want to put them in danger.

  “You know,” Gertie said gently, “we're not going to appear any more threatening to the enemy if we know the truth than if we don't.”

  She was right and I knew it, but I’d spent my entire life trusting no one. Making a leap of faith was a huge step for me.

  “I’m not military, but they did train me. I work for the CIA.”

  Gertie clapped her hands. “A spook! Right here in Sinful. Imagine that.”

  I smiled. “No more unlikely than a ladies society run by Vietnam counterintelligence.”

  “She has a point,” Ida Belle said, then looked at me, her expression serious. “I’m not going to ask your job description, because I think we already have a good idea, and speaking about it isn’t necessary. And I’m going to assume that you didn’t kill Sandy-Sue to take her place here, but I would like to know that she’s safe and what exactly you’re hiding from.”

  “Sandy-Sue is definitely safe. She’s on extended vacation paid for by her uncle, who is also my boss. She knows nothing about any of this.”

  “Good,” Ida Belle said, completely satisfied with my explanation.

  “I’m hiding here because some very bad guys have a price on my head, and my boss is afraid a leak at the CIA blew my cover. I wasn’t supposed to return from my last mission.”

  Gertie frowned. “So you’re completely off-grid?”

  “Yes. My boss and one other agent are the only people who know where I am. Well, and now you guys.”

  Gertie whistled. “And if Deputy LeBlanc looks too closely into Sandy-Sue’s background, he may find out she’s not here, and it would leave you exposed. We figured it was something along those lines. That’s why we sent you outside after you rescued us and made up that story.”

  I nodded. “If I get called to testify, I’m perjuring myself just by stating Sandy-Sue’s name.”

  “And these bad guys that are after you—what are we on the lookout for?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Arms dealers. Trust me, they’d stick out in Sinful like a spotlight.”

  “Middle Eastern?” Gertie asked. “You’re very tan.…”

  I nodded.

  “That makes it easier,” Ida Belle said.

  “From now on,” Gertie said, “we'll do our best to keep you out of things that put you on Deputy LeBlanc's radar.”

  I felt a tiny sliver of fear run through me. “Is there that much questionable activity going on in Sinful?”

  “No, of course not,” Ida Belle said, then winked at Gertie.

  I put my hands over my ears and rose from the table. “I don't want to know,” I said as I headed upstairs for a well-deserved hot shower. I could still hear them laughing when I stepped onto the second-floor landing.

  I paused for a moment, smiling as their laughter traveled up the stairwell. They were good people, strong women, and loyal friends. They'd restored some of my faith in mankind, and it had cost me only a chunk of fake hair and a little embarrassment.

  Not a bad accomplishment for less than a week.

  The End

  The Author:

  Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and ‘gators of southwest Louisiana. She’s never stumbled across a mystery like one of her heroines but is still hopeful. In addition to humorous mystery books, she also writes gothic romance/mysteries for Harlequin. She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband, a menagerie of animals and not a single ghost or gator.

  Visit Jana at:

  Website: www.JanaDeLeon.com

  Facebook:www.facebook.com/Jana-DeLeon-Author

  Twitter:twitter.com/JanaDeLeon

  Other Books by Jana DeLeon:

  Coming Soon: Book #2 in the Miss Fortune mystery series is in development.

  Rumble on the Bayou

  Unlucky

  The Ghost-in-Law Series:

  Trouble in Mudbug

  Mischief in Mudbug

  Showdown in Mudbug

  Excerpt from Trouble in Mudbug

  Family can be the death of you…

  Chapter One

  “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Maryse Robicheaux murmured as she stared down at the woman in the coffin.

  Of course, the pink suit was a dead giveaway—so to speak—that the wearer was no longer with them. For the miserable two years and thirty-two days she’d had to deal with her mother-in-law, Maryse had never once seen her wear a color other than black. Now she sorta resembled the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man dressed in Pepto-Bismol.

  “I can’t believe it either,” Sabine whispered back. “I didn’t know evil incarnate could die.”

  Maryse jabbed her best friend with her elbow. “For Pete’s sake, we’re at the woman’s funeral. Show some respect.”

  Sabine let out a sigh. “Maryse, that woman gave you holy hell. And her son was worse. I don’t even understand why you wanted to come.”

  Maryse stared at the casket again and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just felt compelled to. I can’t really explain it.”

  And that was the God’s honest truth. She’d had no intention of attending Helena Henry’s funeral. Yet after her morning shower, she’d stood in front of her closet and pulled out her dark navy “interview” suit and matching pumps instead of her usual work clothes of jeans, T-shirt, and rubber boots.

  Looking down at Helena, Maryse still didn’t know why she was there. If she’d come for some sort of closure, it hadn’t happened. But then, what had she expected—the dead woman to pop up out of the coffin and apologiz
e for bringing the most useless man in the world into existence, then making Maryse’s life even more miserable by being the biggest bitch on the face of the Earth?

  It wasn’t likely when you considered that Helena Henry had never apologized for anything in her entire life. It wasn’t necessary. When you had a pocketbook the size of the Atchafalaya Basin in Mudbug, Louisiana, population 502, people tended to purposely overlook things.

  “I think they’re ready to start,” Sabine whispered, gesturing to the minister who had entered the chapel through a side door. “We need to take a seat.”

  Maryse nodded but remained glued to her place in front of the coffin, not yet able to tear herself away from the uncustomary pink dress and the awful-but-now dead woman who wore it. “Just a minute more.”

  There had to be some reason she’d come. Some reason other than just to ensure that Helena’s reign of terror was over, but nothing came to her except the lingering scent of Helena’s gardenia perfume.

  “Where’s Hank?” Sabine asked. “Surely he wouldn’t miss his own mother’s funeral. That would be major bad karma, even for Hank. I know he’s a lousy human being and all, but really.”

  Maryse sighed as Sabine’s words chased away her wistful vision of her wayward husband in a coffin right alongside his mother. If her best friend had even an inkling of her thoughts, she’d besiege her with a regime of crystal cleansing and incense until Maryse went insane, and she was sort of saving the insanity plea to use later on in life and on a much bigger problem than a worthless man.

  “Hank is a lot of things,” Maryse said, “but he’s not a complete fool. He’s wanted on at least twenty different charges in Mudbug. This is the first place the cops would look for him. There’s probably one behind the skirt under the coffin.”

  Sabine stared at the blue velvet curtain for a moment, then pulled a piece of it to the side and leaned down a bit. Sarcasm was completely lost on Sabine.