Lethal Bayou Beauty (4 page)

“So how is he explaining two bodies?”

“The hostages took credit for the kills.”

“The hostages? Two little gray-haired ladies?”

I smiled. “I’m not the only person in Sinful who isn’t everything I seem.”
 

I gave Harrison a brief rundown of Ida Belle and Gertie’s background and told him the story they’d concocted the night before and sold to Deputy LeBlanc.

He was silent for so long, I thought he’d either hung up to call and have me committed or passed out from disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he finally managed.

“Yep, but I’ve seen them in action. They’re the real deal.”

“How much did you tell them?”

“Only the agency I work for and that I was off-grid with Middle Eastern arms dealers gunning for me.”

Harrison sighed. “The more people that know, the higher the risk of exposure.”

“Normally I would agree, but this town is a mare’s nest of drama that I am not qualified to navigate. I’m safer with them covering for me.”

“Morrow is still going to shit.”

“Please don’t let him pull me out of here.”

I hated the slightly pleading tone to my voice, but it must have worked.

“I’ll try to pass the report off as overblown, but you have got to keep that town off his radar.”

I rolled my eyes. Like I’d had a choice in any of it. “I’ll do what I can, and Harrison…thanks.”

I hung up and settled back down with my laptop. I had a ton of research to do before that meeting tomorrow night. The day with Genesis had been informative, but it had also highlighted just how vast the field of beauty was and how little I knew. I had to cram or no way would I be able to pull this off. Pansy and Celia were just the type of people to go poking around if they thought something appeared off. I wasn’t about to let two nosy, spiteful women blow my cover.

I opened the browser and tried to concentrate on hair and makeup, avoiding all thought about what Morrow was going to say when Harrison told him the watered-down story of what had happened in Sinful.
 

###

At five minutes till seven, Ida Belle, Gertie, and I walked inside the Catholic Church and headed down a long hallway toward the GWs’ meeting room. I’d spent the last twenty-four hours studying flash cards and reading every Internet article I could find on beauty tips. At two a.m., I’d run out of brownies, but being the team player that she was, Gertie not only answered her phone, but also made another batch and brought them right over. They weren’t as good as Ally’s, but I wasn’t about to complain.

I was high on sugar and coffee and completely lacking sleep and likely, any common sense.

Gertie pointed to a branch in the hallway and we turned right, almost slamming into a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, who was practically jogging toward the exit, her husband a couple of steps behind me. It didn’t take a psychologist to see there was trouble in marital paradise.
 

“I cannot believe you suggested letting that woman get her hands on our daughter,” the woman said as she pushed past us. “Why didn’t you tell me she was back in town?”

The man shot us an apologetic look before hurrying after his clearly angry wife. “I didn’t know she was in town. For Christ’s sake, Joanie, I haven’t spoken to her since high school.”

“Then why did she call your cell this afternoon?”

“I didn’t answer so I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

The woman pushed open the exit door and continued her charge out in the parking lot.
 

“What was that about?” I asked, figuring Gertie and Ida Belle had the scoop on everything in town.

Ida Belle shook her head. “Another satisfied customer of Pansy’s—the husband, I mean. Mark and Joanie have been a couple since the crib, but Pansy got him drunk one night at a party when Joanie had the flu and the rest is history.”

I cringed. “That’s horrible.”

“She’s a horrible person,” Gertie said. “I know Pastor Don says everyone can be redeemed, but I have my doubts about that one.”

“She’d have to be sorry to be redeemed,” Ida Belle pointed out. “And Pansy has never been sorry. In fact, she’s taken great pleasure in rubbing it in other women’s faces.”

I sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Excited voices echoed from the room long before we reached the door, and I frowned as I realized some of them sounded much younger than the average GW age. My worst fears were confirmed when I opened the door and saw that the room was filled with monsters—short monsters, shorter monsters, monsters with big hair and too much makeup, monsters crying, monsters fighting over toys. It was scarier than my last mission in the Middle East.
 

Pansy spotted me from across the room and gave me a big, fake smile. “Isn’t this great,” she said, although I’m certain she immediately clued in on the fact that I didn’t think it was great at all. “We figured why not do a trial run with some of the contestants.”

“Some?” A sliver of horror ran through me. “There’s more?”

“Oh yes! Every mother with a child under the age of ten will have her little darling in the pageant.”
 

I glanced around the room, stunned at the sheer volume of little people. As I’d seen only a handful of children during my stay in Sinful, I assumed they were usually caged…or drugged.
 

“Since I decided to do this last-minute,” Pansy went on, “I figured you wouldn’t bring supplies, so I set you up at a table with some of mine.”

She pointed to a table with more beauty products than Walmart and I glanced over at Gertie and Ida Belle, whose expressions gave me no doubt this plan wasn’t last-minute, as I’d already suspected.
 

“And you want me to do what? Sell the products?”

Pansy sighed. “Of course not. I want you to make up these girls. You can’t expect these children to know anything about fashion. Look at their mothers. Those women are clearly not qualified to apply moisturizer.”
 

Pansy frowned at the mothers, who were huddled in a corner, probably planning their escape. They all looked normal to me, but apparently, if you didn’t have fake boobs and tons of hair and makeup, you may as well be a man in Pansy’s book.
 

“Go ahead and get familiar with the products. They’re the absolute best, of course—I can’t use substandard products on my skin. It’s my sales canvas, and must be kept refreshed and new-looking.”

“Good thing they’re not looking lower,” Ida Belle grumbled. “Because the rest of her is used all to hell.”

Gertie poked Ida Belle in the ribs with her elbow, but I could see her bottom lip quivering. I didn’t bother to hold in my smile. I’d already decided that Ida Belle was who I wanted to be when I grew up—assuming, of course, that no one shot me before then.

“You must be Pansy’s co-chair.” A man’s voice boomed behind me and I turned around to a man with a familiar face strolling toward me. When I realized the face was familiar because I’d seen it on lawn signs, I sighed.
 

Five foot eleven. Two hundred forty pounds. High blood pressure. Low testosterone. Flat feet and bad knees.

“Mayor Fontleroy,” I said and forced myself to maintain the smile and stick out my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Ida Belle coughed and I saw Gertie’s elbow dig deeper into her ribs.

He took my hand but didn’t shake and didn’t speak. Instead, he held it far too long to be remotely appropriate while he looked me up and down.

“The pleasure is most definitely mine,” he said finally.

“You’re probably right,” I said and pulled my hand away from his, with the uncomfortable feeling that he pictured me standing there naked.

Ida Belle coughed again, but this time, Gertie just handed her a tissue. Then she reached back into her purse and handed me a wet wipe, her nose curled as if she’d smelled something foul. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.
 

Pansy stepped back up next to me and narrowed her eyes at the mayor, then at me. I suspected with Pansy’s choice of tight clothing and huge fake boobs, she had a lot of experience recognizing the mayor’s look and behavior.
 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Uncle Herbert,” Pansy said, not looking the least bit sorry, “but I need to get Sandy-Sue busy with these girls. You want the pageant to be a huge success, don’t you?”

Mayor Fontleroy looked over at Pansy and smiled. “Of course, dear. Vanessa is so sorry she couldn’t be here, but she had a hair emergency that had to be addressed in New Orleans. I’ll let you get on with your business. I’m sure I’ll see you around Sinful, Miss Morrow.”

Not if I see you first
, I thought as he walked away.

Once his back was turned, Pansy snapped her fingers in my face and waved her hand at three little girls, all red-faced and glaring at one another, then me. “This is Kaitlyn, Veronica, and Maude—such an unfortunate name—and they need their makeup and hair done.”

Seven years old, sixty pounds each, one missing her front teeth, one with glasses, one with a scar on her elbow—probably an old break. Threat assessment: physically—zero, psychologically—high.

 
“I’ll leave the style decisions to you,” Pansy continued, “but I’m thinking glitz—a royal theme. I’d like to raise the class level in Sinful.”

“She can do that by leaving town,” Ida Belle whispered from behind me.

I gave Pansy a fake smile and a nod, suddenly pleased. I had this one. Half of the articles I’d read last night were on the fashion trends of royals. If there was one thing I knew, it was how a titled woman did her hair and makeup.

I directed my three minions to my corner table and instructed them to take seats. I’d already forgotten their names, so I was henceforth referring to them as Target 1, Target 2, and Target 3.

Target 1’s entire face and hands were covered with brownie, so I pointed at Ida Belle. “Get her to the restroom and get her cleaned up. She looks like she fell in dog doo.”

Ida Belle grimaced, then pulled the girl’s shirt collar up in the back. “This way, Sloppy.”

Target 2 had tangled black hair that looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in a century. “Gertie, get to work on her hair. It looks like a haystack.”

Gertie picked up the brush and stood behind Target 2, then grabbed a strand of hair, tackling it with a gusto that surprised me and couldn’t possibly last for her entire head.

Target 3 had hair that was somewhere in between curly and straight. I looked at the table of beauty products and snagged one of those sticks with two iron plates. I plugged it in and grabbed a brush, but it stuck halfway through her hair and she screamed at the top of her lungs. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to stare, except her mother. Her mother stared up at the ceiling, whistling and pretending she hadn’t seen a thing.

I took her lack of interest as permission to do the job she’d failed to do. I leaned over and whispered, “Scream like that again, and I’ll shave your head.”

She stiffened.

“Are we clear?” I asked.

She gave me a stiff nod.
Target acquired.

I tossed the brush back on the table and grabbed the iron. I’d just flatten it as is, tangles and all. If her mother couldn’t be bothered to brush her hair, why should I care? I didn’t sign up to parent and last time I checked, I wasn’t Jesus. Miracles weren’t likely to happen anytime soon.

I grabbed a wad of hair and clamped it in the hot iron, then pulled it out toward me like I’d seen on YouTube. And what do you know, the hair flattened out and looked sorta glossy—as if it had been lacquered. I flipped that piece over her head and started on the one beneath, repeating the process, but this one was wavier and more tangled and came out looking like a bird’s nest after a huge storm.
 

Probably, if I did it slower, the hair would straighten.
 

I clamped the iron back on the long length of hair and held it there next to her scalp for a second before inching down. As I waited, I glanced over at Gertie who’d just tossed a broken comb on the table to rest with the three she’d already broken off in Jungle Kid’s hair.
 

“Maybe we should cut it?” I suggested. She’d only managed to get one section of the hair untangled and we were going to run out of combs long before she finished.
 

Gertie studied it for far longer than I expected before sighing and shaking her head. “Neither one of us is qualified.”

“That hasn’t stopped me from doing half the things I’ve done since I’ve been here. Do you know what would happen to me if the other…people I work with could see me now?” I’d barely caught myself before I said “operatives.”

Gertie gave me a sympathetic look. “I know this is a bit outside of your norm.”

“A bit? That’s the understatement of the century. This is ridiculous and what the heck is that smell?”

Gertie looked down and her eyes widened. “The iron,” she whispered.

I looked down to see steam coming off the wad of hair I still had clenched in the iron.

Immediately, I released the clip and pulled it away from her head. Unfortunately, the entire bird’s nest of hair I’d had stuffed in it came away with the iron.