Jana DeLeon - Miss Fortune 05 - Gator Bait

by Jana DeLeon

  I grinned. Some women liked sweet nothings whispered in their ear. I liked a man who encouraged me to avoid arrest.

  I was just about to slip the phone back in my pocket when another text came through.

  No sexting in church.

  I looked over at Gertie, who was laid over in the pew, one hand over her mouth and her sides shaking. I didn’t even know what sexting was, but not only did it sound like something that should never happen in church, it didn’t sound like something I’d ever be involved in.

  I looked up at the choir loft and saw Ida Belle shaking her head. It took Gertie a minute or so, but she finally sat back up, red-faced and digging in her purse for a cough drop. As if anyone was going to believe she was having a coughing attack.

  The woman in the pew in front of us turned around and gave both of us a dirty look. Gertie stuffed a tissue over her nose and blew it, glaring right back at her. The woman huffed and turned around. I tried not to laugh. Between Gertie’s childlike behavior and my propensity for the perverse, we probably needed to sit in different rows.

  Finally, Pastor Don wrapped up his monotone monologue and the deacons began to make their way around with the offering plate. I couldn’t help but think it might be better if they passed the plates before the pastor bored everyone half to death, but then I guess religious donation wasn’t the same as tipping for good service.

  I dug some cash out of my purse and dropped it into the plate, then passed it to Gertie. But instead of taking the plate, she began to dig around among the bills.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making change.”

  “Are you supposed to do that?”

  “You are if the teller at the bank gives you hundred-dollar bills instead of twenties.”

  The deacon waiting for the plate at the end of the pew leaned forward. “Get a move on. Drag racing starts at noon.”

  I grabbed the plate from Gertie and tossed it with a Frisbee move to the guy sitting down from her. Unfortunately, I realized after the toss that he hadn’t gotten word that we’d moved on to the physical portion of church and was still snoring softly. The plate landed right in his lap and he jumped up as if he’d been shot, flinging bills and coins all over.

  Gertie, who’d been looking glum—probably over the loss of the hundred—fell over in the pew, mumbling something about rain. My mind flashed back to a particularly unpleasant scene at my house when Gertie was throwing bills at half-naked men on television.

  “You can’t make it rain in church,” I said and jabbed her in her right buttock.

  The deacon scrambled for the plate and the money, managing to shoot us both dirty looks as he waved his arms at the floating bills. The previously sleeping man grabbed his hat and pushed past the deacon, apparently deciding he was done with church for the day. The song director, who was probably one of the original two disciples, squinted from the pulpit at the deacon. Apparently, he took the deacon’s arm-waving as his signal to start the last hymn, and directed the congregation to rise.

  The choir jumped to join the congregation and everyone sang a couple of verses of “Amazing Grace.” The deacon managed to gather up all the money, then hurried back up front with his plate, barely depositing it on the table before Pastor Don launched into prayer.

  As everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes, I exchanged my sandals for tennis shoes and slid to the edge of the pew. As soon as Pastor Don uttered the “a” in “amen,” I bolted for the door, Gertie barreling behind me. As we burst out of the church, I spotted Celia, already halfway down the sidewalk to Francine’s, even though the church bell just started to ring.

  “She cheated!” Gertie yelled.

  Celia looked back and grinned and Gertie yelled a couple more things that probably weren’t appropriate on the doorstep of the church. I doubled my effort and sped across the street at an angle, trying to head her off at the pass. Celia had definitely broken the rule about leaving church before the allotted time, and I had a feeling if she was elected, the allotted time might become earlier for Catholics and not for Baptists. The Sinful Ladies would never see a serving of Francine’s banana pudding on their table again.

  As I raced toward the sidewalk, two bloodhounds bounded down the street and locked in on me. They set off at a dead run, tails wagging and barking. I wasn’t afraid for my safety because it was clear they thought I was playing a game and wanted to join in, but their size and speed could cause problems. I didn’t have time to dodge playful hounds.

  The hot dog vendor was setting up in front of the sidewalk for Monday’s election, and I snagged two wieners from his tray as I dashed by. I chucked the first one ahead of me and onto the sidewalk, hoping to cut the dogs off before they reached me. My plan worked. The hounds caught a whiff of the wiener and immediately changed course, darting off toward the sidewalk.

  Gertie, who had stepped onto the sidewalk somewhere behind me, was still pounding away and yelling “Cheater!” with every other step. Given her physical conditioning, I questioned her choice of running and yelling as it used up her limited oxygen supply more quickly, but I didn’t have time to stop and throw out advice. Worst case, the sheriff’s department had an oxygen tank and was across the way from Francine’s.

  I lifted my hand to throw the next wiener and stepped into a pothole. As I scrambled to stay upright, I involuntarily flung the wiener a little farther than I’d intended and it landed smack in Celia’s huge handbag.

  Chapter Two

  The dogs, who’d already swallowed the first wiener, spun around and set off after Celia at a dead run. The largest hound leaped up and grabbed the purse, pulling Celia down with him. Celia screamed at she sprawled onto the sidewalk, clutching her handbag as the dogs ripped it to shreds for the elusive wiener.

  I looked back to assess the damage and saw Gertie, who had surprised me by keeping her pace that long, try to put on the brakes, but it was too late to stop her momentum. She hit the first dog and went flying over him, landing on top of the flailing Celia.

  I hesitated for a second, figuring I should probably stop and help, but then I heard Gertie yelling behind me, “Keep going.”

  I picked up pace and kept running for Francine’s, completely ignoring the ruckus behind me. I flung open the door to Francine’s and barely slowed as I dashed for the prime table at the front of the restaurant. Francine, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, raised one eyebrow but didn’t say a word. Ally hurried over with a pot of coffee.

  “What’s all the commotion outside?” Ally asked as she poured me a cup.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Which means it probably involves Aunt Celia. Which means I definitely want to know.”

  The door flew open and Celia stumbled in, clutching the remains of her handbag. Her hair stood out on end as if she’d stuck her hand in a light socket. The hem in her dress was completely torn out, leaving the bottom looking as if it had been chewed on, which made sense given that it sorta had. Unfortunately, it also exposed far too much of Celia’s thighs, and I mentally apologized to Gertie for accusing her of being out of shape. Celia’s thighs were pasty white jiggly masses of goo.

  Gertie hobbled in the door after Celia, clutching her elbow and looking as though she’d been caught out in a windstorm. The rest of the two crews of women pushed their way inside. Dorothy, Celia’s cousin, shoved Gertie to the side and stomped across the café to glare at me.

  “I ought to have you arrested for assault,” she said.

  “Technically,” I said, “I never touched her.”

  “You threw that wiener in her purse on purpose, knowing those dogs would attack her.”

  “That’s a whole lot of assumptions you’ve made, especially the part about where I know for sure how random dogs will behave. Can you prove that?”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” Celia said. “Even if you had the entire thing on video, nothing would happen to her. I guess when you’re sleeping with the deputy, you can get
away with murder in this town.”

  The entire diner went quiet and everyone stared at me.

  “I’m not sleeping with Carter,” I said.

  “That’s disappointing,” Francine said, then glanced around. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “No one believes that,” Celia said. “You’ve been running around loose in this town since the day you arrived. It’s not respectable. I didn’t think it possible but you’ve brought Ida Belle and Gertie’s stock even lower.”

  “That’s enough,” Ally said. “I won’t listen to you run down Fortune. She’s helped me more than anyone else ever has, and she saved your life. How ungrateful can you be?”

  Celia swung her head around and glared at Ally. “Your mother did not raise you to be disrespectful.”

  “No, she raised me to be her slave and a doormat. I’m neither any longer. Get used to the idea.”

  “It’s a shame she didn’t do a better job making you a lady.”

  “You mean like you did with your daughter?”

  The café went silent. I was fairly certain everyone was holding their breath. It took me several seconds to realize that I was as well. Celia’s daughter had been a sorry excuse for a human being and the kind of woman that every woman on earth loathed, but I never thought sweet Ally would slap Celia directly across the face with the one thing she had no defense for. It was both startling and beautiful. I wasn’t sure whether to clap or light a candle.

  One look at Celia’s face, and I decided “pull a weapon” may be the best option. If looks could kill, Ally would have sunk straight through the café floor and on down to hell.

  Finally, Celia took a breath. “You have the nerve to speak ill of the dead?”

  “I’m not speaking ill. I’m speaking the truth. Death doesn’t change who people were. Unless you want me to lie—Mother taught me that was wrong, too.”

  “That’s enough!” Ida Belle yelled. “The bottom line is that Fortune won the race. No one but Celia’s lot will believe she made that toss intentionally. Besides, one could argue that if Celia hadn’t cheated by leaving church early, then none of this would have happened.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Francine said. “If everyone will take their seats, we can get food out to you and everyone else that’s held up over this spectacle.”

  I stared at Francine as she whirled around and headed back into the kitchen, my lips quivering with the smile I was trying to hold in. It was the most talking at one time I’d heard from the café owner. Today was two for two on the quiet ones getting their say. Maybe it was a full moon.

  When the door swung shut behind Francine, it was apparently Celia’s cue to give everyone one final glare and stomp out of the café, her menagerie of whipped women trailing behind her. Briefly, I wondered what they’d eat today since the café was the only place open on Sunday, but as the entire lot of them could stand to lose a pound or two, I didn’t dwell on it very long.

  “Are you all right?” I heard Gertie ask as the rest of the Sinful Ladies took their seats.

  I turned and saw her patting Ally on the back.

  “I’m fine,” Ally said. “In fact, I’m better than fine. I’ve taken crap off that woman my entire life. It was never going to stop unless I refused to allow it. Aunt Celia will either learn to be respectful, or she won’t see me.”

  “I hope she doesn’t make trouble for you,” I said.

  Ally shrugged. “She’d have to work awfully hard to top last week.”

  She had a point. The prior week, Ally had been the victim of arson and of a particularly creepy stalker. Both seemed to have toughened her up. Now Celia might need a blowtorch to cut through Ally’s leathery skin.

  Gertie nodded. “Well, I guess there’s nothing we can do about any of this now. We might as well talk it over with a chicken-fried steak.”

  “The magic words,” I said, and took my seat.

  Francine popped up a couple seconds later, carrying a pitcher of sweet tea. Ally began flipping tea glasses over as Francine poured.

  Ida Belle looked up at her as she filled a glass. “What in the world got into you, Francine?” she asked. “If Celia is elected mayor, she’ll target you straight off.”

  Ally sucked in a breath. “Aunt Celia is running for mayor? Oh, God. It’s the end of the world as we know it.”

  Francine’s eyes widened. “Well, Celia as mayor is certainly not optimum.”

  Gertie sighed. “The first thing she’ll do is change the dismissal time for the Catholic church. The Sinful Ladies will never get a serving of banana pudding again.”

  Francine plopped the pitcher onto the table and put her hands on her hips. “If she does anything of the sort, I’ll stop serving banana pudding altogether.”

  There was a collective intake of breath, as if someone had pulled a drawstring on all their panty hose. They all stared at Francine with so much dismay that you would have thought they’d been told Christ had already returned and they’d missed him.

  Francine snatched up the pitcher and shoved it at Ally. “And if she pushes me more, then I’ll sell my recipe to the Sinful Ladies.” With that, she whirled around and headed off for the kitchen.

  I couldn’t help grinning. “The more I get to know her, the more I like her.”

  “Francine’s always been a pistol,” Gertie said.

  “Why isn’t she a member of the SLS?” I asked.

  Ida Belle sighed. “She’s still holding out hope that she’ll find ‘the one.’”

  I frowned. “Who’s the one?”

  Ally laughed. “The one for her. Her soul mate. Her Carter.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Speaking of which, I need a double order of banana pudding, and make one to go.”

  Gertie gave me a sly look. “Behind closed doors, there’s lots of creative uses for pudding…”

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “You haven’t had a date in a coon’s age. What the heck do you know about creative pudding escapades?”

  “I know things,” Gertie said.

  “Let me be surprised,” I said. The last thing I wanted to hear was Gertie’s ideas for sexy pudding romps when I was about to eat lunch.

  Ally looked relieved and pulled out her pad. “Let me get those orders started.”

  “What you do is,” Gertie continued as if we hadn’t spoken at all, “get a roll of Visqueen or an extra-large tarp—”

  “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak,” I interrupted. I’d already heard enough to know that I did not want the details of the rest of it.

  Ida Belle frowned at Gertie. “Sunday is probably not the appropriate day for such a discussion.”

  Gertie’s face fell a bit. “You’re right. If anyone overheard, they could have me arrested. I’ll save it for tomorrow.”

  If I’d been anywhere but Sinful, I might have been more concerned about what words could get Gertie arrested, even on a Sunday. But Sinful had all kinds of oddball laws that appeared only to restrict the most bizarre and the most common of behaviors. I had a good idea that the founding fathers had been drunk when they wrote the town rules.

  “Speaking of inappropriate Sunday behavior,” Ida Belle continued, “what the heck was going on with you two in church today?”

  “Fortune was sexting,” Gertie said.

  “I was not! Gertie was making change in the offering plate.”

  Ida Belle shook her head. “It’s a wonder the entire building doesn’t go up in flames.” She tapped her fork against her tea glass and all conversation ceased as the ladies all focused on their leader.

  “Ladies,” Ida Belle said, “you’re all aware of the situation with the mayoral race. I wish I could say otherwise, but it looks grim. I need all of you to contact everyone you can think of who is on the fence or doesn’t usually vote and convince them to cast a vote for Marie tomorrow. If anyone has other ideas about how to help Marie’s election chances, I’m all ears.”

  “We should start a smear campaign against Celia,” one of the ladies suggested.
“That’s exactly how they do it in DC. We have to make sure everyone knows she’s not a desirable person.”

  “Oh, oh!” One of the ladies’ hands shot up in the air. “We should toilet paper her house. That’s a sure sign of being unpopular.”

  Gertie brightened. “I haven’t toilet-papered a house since I was young and frisky.”

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “You haven’t done anything since you were young and we’re not discussing frisky ever. Besides, that’s a ridiculous idea.”

  “You didn’t think it was a ridiculous idea when we were teenagers,” Gertie argued.

  “That’s because back then my parents were paying for the toilet paper. Now when the kids paper a house, all I see is dollar bills hanging off the limbs.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem if you used something cheaper than Charmin.”

  “My butt and I prefer Charmin, and none of that is the point. The bottom line is that papering someone’s house didn’t make people turn against them when we were teens, and it’s not going to now.”

  Gertie sighed. “Fine, but I still think it’s a good idea, if only to sit across the street at Marie’s and watch her clean it all up tomorrow.”

  I sorta agreed with Gertie on that one, but the aggravated look on Ida Belle’s face kept me from tossing in my two cents.

  “Given the proclivity for drama among Sinful residents,” I said, “I don’t think a smear campaign is the best tactic. I mean, who doesn’t have some gossip floating around about them? There’s not anything new you can dig up, and everyone is going to believe what they want to anyway.”

  Gertie shook her head. “There’s always something new to dig up.”

  “Not by tomorrow,” I said. Given all the odd criminal secrets that had started rising to the surface the day I arrived in Sinful, I couldn’t argue with her in theory, but our timeline didn’t allow for intensive digging.

  One of the ladies raised her hand. “Maybe we could launch an appeal to the…er, less desirable citizens. Celia’s never made it a secret that she’d like to see the Swamp Bar closed down. The regulars may not be model citizens, but they still have the right to vote.”