by Frankie Bow
“We’ll take it,” we said in unison.
“Any leftover banana pudding?” Gertie asked. Ally rolled her eyes.
“Sure. Like that’s ever happened.”
Ally led us to the one empty table in the restaurant. I inhaled the comforting aroma of pancakes, frying oil, burned coffee, and banana. Now that we were finally at Francine's, I was having second thoughts about spilling the beans. On the one hand, I was dying to share my news with my two best friends. On the other hand, Ida Belle and Gertie were no great fans of serious romantic relationships. Membership in the Sinful Ladies’ Society was limited to never-married women and established widows. They believed the presence of men clouded logical thinking. And in my experience, they weren't exactly wrong about that.
So I wasn’t sure whether they’d approve of the latest development in my relationship with Carter.
“Out with it, Fortune,” Ida Belle commanded as soon as we were seated and Ally had left.
“Out with what?” I tried to look innocent, but it was no use. They were on to me.
“You’ve had this weird look on your face,” Gertie agreed. “Something’s up.”
“Now, what makes you think something’s up?”
“And we’re not gonna let it go until you tell us what it is.” Ida Belle lowered her voice to what she thought was a whisper. “Are they calling you back to D.C.?”
“No, it's nothing like that. I was trying to figure out how I was going to tell you anyway. It’s not about headquarters. It’s about Carter.”
“What about him?” Ida Belle prodded.
“Okay, you both know how Carter and I have been at an impasse because yes, he likes me but he doesn’t want to get into a relationship with someone with a dangerous job like mine.”
Ida Belle and Gertie nodded.
“Well, I talked to him about it earlier today, and I realized, I'm not married to the CIA. When all this is over, I don’t have to go back. I can stay here.”
Gertie and Ida Belle were perfect illustrations of astonishment, mouths dropped open.
“You’re gonna quit your career for Carter LeBlanc?” Ida Belle gasped.
“No, no, no, it’s not like that. I realized I like it here. I mean, D.C., it’s got a lot of great museums and restaurants that I never go to anyway, but it’s not home. Here feels like home. And it’s not just Carter. There’s both of you.”
“Well that’s wonderful, Fortune,” Gertie said. “Can I be a flower girl at your wedding?”
“Wedding? Whoa, wait a minute. I thought the Sinful Ladies’ Society believed in women being independent of men. Are you saying I should marry Carter?”
“I’m not saying it,” Ida Belle interjected.
“You’re young.” Gertie reached across to pat my hand. “You have plenty of time yet to enjoy married life. It goes by so fast, Fortune. Before you know it, Carter will die, you’ll start the obligatory five-year waiting period, and then you can join the Sinful Ladies’ Society. You’ll have the best of both worlds.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Fortune,” Ida Belle asked, “what are you gonna do when the real Sandy-Sue Morrow shows up in Sinful?”
“I’ve already thought about that. Director Morrow can work something out with her. He’s her uncle, after all. She’ll understand. I bet she’d be thrilled to get the proceeds from the sale of her Aunt Marge’s house.”
“Can you afford to buy Marge’s house?” Gertie asked excitedly.
“I believe I can swing it, yes.”
“So you’re gonna stay here and help us run Sinful,” Ida Belle said. “Sounds great to me, but are you sure it’s enough for you? What else would you do with your time?”
“What else? What do you mean, what else—”
Ally interrupted us with our food. I smiled at her, wondering if she could tell we’d cut off our conversation at her arrival.
It wasn’t until Ally left that it dawned on me what Ida Belle was talking about.
“Are you saying I have to get a hobby?”
Ida Belle nodded.
“Some kind of outside interest, anyway. You don't want to be one of those people who retires and then drops dead of boredom.”
“I already have a hobby. I study weapons.”
“We all know our weapons, dear,” Gertie said. “That’s not a hobby. It’s a basic skill.”
“I work on my motorcycle,” Ida Belle said. “Gertie writes her smutty novels. Even Celia has her acting classes, as we just found out. Although maybe if she spent a little less time with Tennessee Williams and a little more time with QuickBooks, our town finances wouldn’t be decimated right now.”
“Decimated isn’t the word,” Gertie corrected her. “Decimated means lessened by one-tenth. Celia’s done far more damage than that. Besides, Ida Belle, I don’t write smut. It’s seniorotica.”
“Hey, I never said it wasn't classy smut. Let's not get off-topic. I believe we were talking about Fortune.”
“Yes, of course. Ida Belle has a point, Fortune. When you retire, you have to do something to keep your mind active. Whether you’re twenty-eight or eighty-eight. What are you good at?”
“Killing people.”
“What else?” Ida Belle pressed.
I thought about it for a minute and shrugged.
“Um, devising ways to harm people to the point that they are no longer living?”
They were right. Everyone had an interest but me. For most people, an exhaustive knowledge of weapons ancient and modern would count as a hobby. For me, though, it was simply part of my job. You never know when you might have to use a museum artifact to dispatch a bad guy.
Ida Belle pulled out her phone and started typing into it. Then she nodded.
“What are you doing?” Gertie asked.
“Believe it or not, Celia might be onto something. Second summer session at Mudbug Technical College is starting tomorrow. And they’re still taking registrations.”
Chapter 7
Sheriff Lee was watching me, his pen poised above the pad. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Any time you’re ready.”
I shifted on the hard metal seat of Sheriff Lee’s folding chair. The few pounds I'd put on since moving to Sinful (thanks mostly to Francine's Diner) still left me in the “underweight” category of the BMI charts. I was not blessed with much in the way of natural upholstery.
“Just trying to recall as best I can. Let’s see. After we left the General Store, we went over to Francine’s to get the Early Bird Special. Sheriff, is there any way to open up the A/C vent a little? It’s awfully hot in here.”
Sheriff Lee glanced up at the air vent.
“Been stuck in that position since ’74. We’re almost done here. Just one more thing. What are y’all taking over at Mudbug Tech?”
“I’m enrolled in their analytics course.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a computer class.”
“What about Gertie and Ida Belle? They taking the computer class too?”
“No. You’d have to ask them what they’re taking.”
I like to take a minimalist approach when I’m being interrogated. It’s always best not to volunteer extra information.
I wouldn’t have minded informing Sheriff Lee that Ida Belle was taking auto shop. But I didn’t want to tell him that Gertie had enrolled in Celia’s drama class. Gertie’s excuse was that she wanted to become a more dynamic public speaker in anticipation of all the book signings and author talks in her future. But I suspected that her real motivation was to try to outdo Celia and be a general thorn in her side.
”A computer class, you say.”
“That’s right.” I glanced at the door, wondering how long I was going to be in here, and whether Gertie and Ida Belle were managing to eavesdrop through the thin wall.
“And how’s this computer class going?” Lee said, with the air of a man who has nothing else to do for the rest of the day, and is settling in
to hear a good yarn. “I’m assuming you are in fact attending this class.”
“Of course I’m attending the class.”
I realized I sounded impatient, and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to get snippy with the sheriff.
“What would you like to know, Sheriff?”
“It’s my job to verify your statements. No need to take it personal. Tell me about the teacher. No, no, you could always look that up. The students. Tell me about the other students.”
“What about them?”
“Anything you can remember. Who, how many, anything a-tall.”
“Monday night there were sixteen students in attendance. Going from left to right, front row to back. First row, seat one: Male. Mid-twenties, five foot eight, weight three-ten to three-twenty-five. MPB—that’s male pattern baldness—indeterminate as subject wore a hat. Hair color reddish-brown, based on beard color. Moderate to severe myopia, no corrective eyewear. First row, seat two: Male. Early twenties, five foot eleven, one-forty to one-fifty. Severe cystic acne on face and neck. Hair—”
“That’ll do. What was Celia Arceneaux’s reaction to Gertie Hebert showing up in her class?”
“Oh. So you know about that. I couldn't say, Sheriff. Gertie would be able to answer that question better than I could.”
According to Gertie, Celia was fit to be tied when Gertie walked in. Celia made a point of ignoring Gertie, and in Gertie’s words, “sucking up to the teacher harder than a top-of-the-line Hoover.”
My phone rang in my purse. I hoped Sheriff Lee was too deaf to hear it. I didn’t want to antagonize him in any way. The one thing I had to avoid was him running my prints. If that happened, my cover would be blown, I’d have to be extracted immediately, and I’d probably never see Ida Belle, Gertie, or Carter again.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get that?” Lee said.
“I think it stopped.”
It started again.
“I’ll wait,” Lee said.
I sighed and dug my phone out.
“What’s taking so long?” Ida Belle said loudly enough that I could hear her through the wall and through my phone at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed to Sheriff Lee.
“Keep your shirt on, Ida Belle,” Lee shouted at the wall. “Your turn’s coming soon enough.”
Lee braced his hands on his desk and eased himself into a standing position.
“You can go now. Tell Ida Belle to come in. Oh, just one more thing. Do you know how Gertie Hebert’s Cadillac got that big dent in the front end?”
“I wasn’t aware of any damage to Gertie’s car,” I said, although as beat-up as it already was, I’m not sure I would have noticed.
Ida Belle barreled past me into Sheriff Lee’s office. I took a seat on the folding chair next to Gertie. She was writing on a lined yellow pad.
“I’m making a journal of my observations,” she explained. “Like Katherine Mansfield. The writer. Virginia Woolf said that Mansfield produced ‘the only writing I have ever been jealous of.’”
“You have a dent in your front end?” I hissed.
Gertie’s hands flew to her chest.
“Of your car, Gertie!”
“Oh. That. It was a terrible coincidence, Fortune. I was driving out of the parking lot at school, and you know I’m not that familiar with Mudbug Technical, and this fire hydrant just popped up out of nowhere.”
“That sounds like a suspicious coincidence even to me, and I’m on your side.”
Gertie shrugged.
“At least you’re not harassing me about wearing glasses like Ida Belle’s been doing.”
“Ida Belle is right. You shouldn’t be driving without your glasses, especially not at night. Are you absolutely sure that was a fire hydrant you hit? And not Celia Arceneaux?”
Gertie gave me a frosty look.
“I may have been a little distracted. I’m not an idiot.”
I raised my hands and let them fall in my lap. Gertie was having a bad enough day already. My badgering her wasn’t going to help anything.
“You heard from Carter?” Gertie asked. I shook my head no.
After that glorious moment in my living room, the promise of a future together, the kiss, and then…nothing.
“I’m surprised he’s not running this investigation,” I said. “In fact, I haven’t seen or heard from him since last Sunday. I wonder what’s going on.”
“Well, since everyone knows you two are involved, maybe he’s staying out of it. What do they call it? He’s, oh, probably recusing himself.”
“Gertie.”
Gertie didn’t make eye contact.
“Gertie, you know something, don’t you? What aren’t you telling me? I know that tone of voice. You’re hiding something.”
Gertie’s little hands fidgeted on the yellow pad.
“It might not mean anything, Fortune.”
I watched her. Silence and direct eye contact can be more effective in getting someone to talk than any threats or promises.
“Oh, fine. I saw a woman go into his house.”
“What kind of woman?”
“Young. Redhead. Pretty.”
“Did you recognize her? Had you seen her before?”
“No, it was from a distance.”
I tried to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“You think Carter’s sitting out the investigation of the mayor’s murder because he found himself a new side piece?”
That came out sounding a little shriller than I’d intended.
“No, that’s not what I said, Fortune. I wasn’t even going to tell you. But you were looking at me like you knew I knew something and you weren’t going to let up until I spilled everything. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.”
“Sure.” Just like there was an innocent explanation for the damage to Gertie’s car. “Gertie, I told him I was willing to give up my CIA work, it seemed like we had a future and now…nothing. No attempt to get in touch. I left a message on his voicemail, no reply. I haven’t even seen him around Sinful. Did he lose interest when he realized I might not leave at the end of the summer? Is that what happened?”
Gertie sighed.
“I didn’t think Carter was one of those men. The ones who go after unavailable women so they never have to commit. But perhaps I was wrong about him. Well, maybe this is a good thing, Fortune. You can look at your situation more clearly. Without Carter in the picture, do you still think it’s worth it to give up your career to stay here in Sinful?”
Ida Belle burst out of Lee’s office and jerked her head at Gertie. Gertie sprang to her feet (she’s amazingly spry) and hurried through the door. Almost as if she were glad to get away from me.
“Well, you’re in a black mood,” Ida Belle remarked as she sat down in Gertie’s recently-vacated spot.
“I can’t think of any reason I should be in a good mood right now.”
“Yeah, I guess it’d be bad manners to celebrate just yet.”
“Come on, Ida Belle. I know you didn’t like Celia, but no one’s celebrating.”
Ida Belle slumped in her chair.
“I know. I told Gertie she shouldn’t be driving at night.”
“You think Gertie ran over Celia and honestly thought she hit a fire hydrant?”
“Yeah, you’d think she’d know the difference. One’s a squat hunk of cold, unfeeling metal and the other one’s a fire hydrant.”
“Why didn’t Gertie carpool with us last night? Do you know?”
“Oh, she wanted to suck up to Miss Tauzin. The drama teacher. She said on Monday Celia gave her one of her cousin’s glasses chains as a gift, so Gertie found out what kind of coffee Miss Tauzin liked and last night went out of her way to get some.”
“Gertie was competing with Celia to be teacher’s pet?”
“Yep. Gertie used to be a teacher, so she thinks she should have the inside track. It bugged her how chummy Miss Tauzin an
d Celia were.”
“That’s not good, Ida Belle. If she and Celia were competing for the teacher’s attention, that gives Gertie a motive. A motive that the other students in the class could verify pretty easily.”
“I know.”
“Listen, Ida Belle, do you know anything about a strange redhead visiting Carter at his house?”
“Oh. Gertie told you about that? I wouldn’t pay it any mind.”
“You think there’s an innocent explanation?” I asked, inwardly cringing at the pathetic note of hope I heard in my voice.
“No, I just wouldn’t pay it any mind. Carter's a man. It’s how they are. Besides, you can’t count on Gertie’s eyewitness testimony. The woman’s blind as a brahminy snake. Maybe she saw a stop sign and thought it was a redhead.”
Gertie emerged from Lee’s office, looking pale. Ida Belle and I stood up.
“I’m not supposed to leave town,” she quavered. “Sheriff Lee thinks I killed Celia.”
Chapter 8
Gertie, Ida Belle, and I returned to my house (the house had belonged to “my” late Aunt Marge, but I was starting to think of it as mine) to strategize. I set out glasses of sweet tea for all three of us. Ida Belle reached into her purse for a dainty little bottle of Sinful Ladies’ Cough Syrup. She dosed Gertie’s tea and then her own. I declined. I wanted to keep my head clear for the time being.
We decided right away that we would keep attending our night classes. Celia’s murder—or accidental death—had happened on the campus of Mudbug Technical Institute. Our being enrolled in classes there gave us a perfect cover for snooping. At this point we didn’t know what we were snooping for, but we agreed it would be a good idea to keep our eyes open for anything out of the ordinary.
That night, at the start of class, Professor Jackson read an announcement from the Mudbug Technical Institute Office of Community Relations about pedestrian safety. There had been a tragic accident, the announcement said. Mudbug Technical Institute wished to remind drivers and pedestrians to stay alert. They made it sound like the tragedy was entirely the fault of the accident victim and/or the unnamed driver, and not in any way the responsibility of Mudbug Technical Institute.
