Chloe Babineaux Private Investigator
Page 44
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I drove to the nearest convenience store for gas, an eight pack of bottled water, and chips. I thought I might get hungry. I stopped off at my apartment grabbed a small cooler and then booked it to my parent's house to borrow my father’s shovel.
Please, let no one be home. No one was listening because my mother was home. I guess God had more important things to worry about than whether my mother gave me the third degree on my shovel borrowing.
I knocked on the door because she always keeps it locked during the day. Not a bad idea, I just didn’t want to dig for my key in my purse.
“Hey, Chloe, what a nice surprise,” my mother said, giving me a big hug. I know. I was a horrible daughter. And yes, I did love my parents. I would do anything for them. Except marry the second man that asked me. That happened three years ago. He joined the priesthood. Long story.
“Mama, do you think Daddy would mind if I borrowed his shovel and maybe a pair of gloves?” I asked, walking toward the back door.
“Why do you need a shovel?” She knew my idea of weeding was spraying with weed killer. I also lived in an apartment, so there wasn’t a lot of lawn work for me to do.
“I met a man that wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I need to get rid of his body,” I said seriously.
“You need to take him fishing. No, deep sea fishing instead, it’s easier if you say he was drunk and he fell,” she said smiling.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. I told…some friends the same thing last night.” I narrowed my eyes and added, “That’s so scary.”
She laughed and asked, “Why do you really need the shovel. I don’t care if you take it, I’m just curious.”
I brought out my phone to show her the photo and said, “This is a picture of the painting. I finally tracked it down to the mother of my client, and I think something was hidden at the Old Shloe Farm. I need the shovel to dig it up.” I didn’t want to go into too much detail about the painting being at the nunnery. She would have gotten mad at me for disturbing a nun. It didn’t matter the nun didn’t tell me the whole truth in the beginning. But she wouldn’t have known that either. There was no way on God’s green earth; I was ever going to tell her about that little expedition. She still takes up for Sister Angelina and her knuckle bashing.
“Alone? Won’t you need help?” Being a woman my mother thought I didn’t know how to use a shovel. I did, kind of, but that was beside the point because it had nothing to do with being a woman. I just didn’t use shovels that often.
“No, I will not be alone. Cody and Rick will be meeting me out there later this morning to help me. I might just lean against my shovel and let them dig. I’ll just make it look like I’m busy.” Note that I said Cody’s name first.
“You’re very good at that,” she said with a tight mouth.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” I said, walking out the back door to the shed holding garden supplies, the lawn mower and other yard sprucing stuff.