Authors: Jana DeLeon
I smiled. “The Adams family?”
Gertie grinned. “I know. I can barely hold in a chuckle every time I say it. You’re really catching up on regular society, Fortune.”
I nodded. “I’ve been spending a lot of time watching TV and on the Internet. I never realized the world was so big, interesting, boring, and odd, all at the same time.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“So is this Ted going to be any competition? I figure with him not being here very long and being a Yankee on top of it…”
Gertie frowned. “You wouldn’t think, but he’s managed to ingratiate himself pretty well in town.”
“By ingratiate, you mean throw money around?”
“Of course. Money’s the only thing that’s always scarce in Sinful. It doesn’t take much to impress this bunch of yahoos, or to buy loyalty. My guess is most of the men are going to vote for Ted—because of the man thing and because he hands out fishing equipment like business cards.”
“And the women?”
“Except for Celia’s group, I think most of the women will swing Ida Belle’s way.”
I shook my head. Celia Arceneaux was the leader of the Catholic-based women’s group who called themselves the GWs, short for God’s Wives. Ida Belle referred to them as “Got No Lives” and based on what I’d seen in my short stint in Sinful, I was leaning toward agreeing with Ida Belle, despite the fact that it seemed kinda rude.
Ida Belle ran the Sinful Ladies Society, the other women’s group in town, which was completely comprised of old maids and women who had been widowed for at least five years. The Sinful Ladies believed that having men around tended to dull a woman’s natural superior abilities, so no women with men in tow were allowed. This set of rules tended to infuriate Celia’s group and a long-standing feud had ensued, mostly over banana pudding.
“You don’t think Celia will vote for Ida Belle,” I asked, “even after we found out who killed Pansy?”
The prior week, Celia’s daughter had been the victim of a most sordid murder. Ida Belle, Gertie, and I had managed to “out” the killer, almost getting me killed in the process. I’d assumed—apparently incorrectly—that our success would have paved the way for a better relationship between the two groups.
Gertie sighed. “You’d think it would be that simple, wouldn’t you? But the reality is, if Celia tells her ladies to vote for Ida Belle, then she’s breaking down the fabric of their thirty-year existence. It wouldn’t surprise me if Celia herself voted for Ida Belle, but she’d never admit to it.”
I shook my head. “It seems like such a waste of energy.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Gertie pointed at the stage and clapped. “They’re about to get started.”
The election coordinator, an enormous woman named CindyLou, stepped up to the microphone and I cringed, waiting for the screech, then smiled when only her nasally Southern accent blasted through the speakers.
“Quiet down, y’all,” she said, waving at the crowd. “We’re about to get started with the debate. As Sinful is a Southern town with manners, we’re forgoing the coin toss and Ida Belle will speak first because she’s a lady.”
I heard someone mumble “that’s debatable,” but when I scanned the crowd behind me, no one stood out as the guilty culprit. It was just as well. The last thing I needed to do was hand Carter an excuse to arrest me and dig further into my background. So far, I’d narrowly escaped harsh scrutiny from the deputy, and I wasn’t certain my cover would hold if he took a hard look.
The noise level fell to practically nothing as Ida Belle stepped up to the microphone and started her speech. It was a good one, I guess. As I’d just started watching regular television the past week, I really had no basis for comparison. And the last thing I’d watch was politicians. Given half an opportunity, they meddled enough with the CIA and often made it difficult for us to do our job. So I didn’t spend any more time listening to them than was absolutely required.
Ida Belle finished up her speech and the female half of the crowd cheered. Then Ted stepped up to the microphone and the men hooted.
A shrill voice a couple of people down from us yelled, “Get those votes, baby!”
I leaned forward and gave the woman a quick once-over.
Midthirties, one hundred and forty pounds—ten of it fake breasts, nails so long she couldn’t pick up a weapon, much less fire one. Puppies were a bigger threat.
The rest of the package was just as disturbing. Skintight pants, a top cut so low that it bordered on porn, poufy auburn hair, and more makeup than all of the women attending the rally combined.
“The wife?” I asked.
Gertie glanced over and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. She blends so well.”
“She’s a good twenty years younger than him. Why would a woman like that want to live in a place like Sinful?”
“Age-old story is my guess—daddy issues. Plus, Ted’s got money, and Paulette doesn’t seem like the brightest tool in the shed.”
I shook my head, amazed at how much women would lower their standards simply to avoid getting a job. The general population was a confusing and contradictory lot.
Ted started his speech, and immediately, I flashed back to the last time I had to buy a car. Yep, that was it. The broad, fake smile, the nod…Ted had that used-car salesman rap down pat. What was even more irritating is that the men in the crowd seemed to buy it. Or maybe it was as Gertie said, and they just liked the free stuff he handed out.
It seemed like forever before the old gasbag wrapped up, and I prayed that was the end of it, but then CindyLou placed another microphone on the stage and Ida Belle and Ted took their places in front of them.
“There’s a debate?” I asked. Given my knowledge of Sinful, I couldn’t begin to fathom how that would play out.
“Not a debate,” Gertie said. “Just their promises.”
I frowned, not really understanding, when Ida Belle cleared her throat and said, “I promise to add lights to the playground.”
All the women cheered.
Ted gave her a nod and said, “I promise to resurface the public dock.”
All the men cheered.
“I get it now,” I said. “Can they actually do all those things, though? I mean, don’t they need the money?”
Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “They can’t do any of it, truth be known. Hasn’t been extra in the Sinful till in a hundred years. But people like to know what would happen if Sinful hit the equivalent of the lottery.”
I shook my head. So the crux of Sinful’s battle for mayor rested on who could produce the best fiction that impressed the most residents. I mean, if a politician’s mouth was open, they were probably spouting fiction, but in this case, they weren’t even trying to hide it.
“I promise to make alcohol legal in the city limits,” Ted said.
An uneasy lull fell over the crowd and Gertie broke into a huge smile. “He screwed the pooch,” she whispered to me.
I frowned. I could see why the women didn’t want legalized alcohol in town. That meant bars, which meant the potential of husbands behaving badly, and besides, they all had the Sinful Ladies cough syrup. But I didn’t get why the men were oddly silent.
“Why wouldn’t the men want alcohol legalized?” I asked.
Gertie snorted. “You think they want their bad behavior advertised right here in the middle of town? They all head to the Swamp Bar or to New Orleans to act like children. That way, their wives can pretend they don’t know about it, and as long as it doesn’t happen in front of Sinful residents, everyone else goes along with the lie.”
“Ah.” It made sense in a Sinful, Louisiana, sort of way.
Ida Belle leaned closer to the microphone, grinning from ear to ear, and clearly moving in for the kill. “I promise to create a town bond to pay for the installation of an additional cooler at Francine’s. That way, everyone in Sinful can enjoy a serving of banana pudding on Sunday.”
The crowd went ballistic and Gertie lifted her hand for a high five. “Kill shot,” she said.
I slapped her hand and laughed. Only in Sinful could someone win a mayoral election on the strength of a banana pudding cooler.
###
It was almost dark by the time I dragged myself out of my Jeep and into the shower. Gertie left Main Street a couple of minutes before I did, and Ida Belle was still sitting on the stage, having a chat with her competition. His wife, Paulette, had long since abandoned her supportive role, claiming her hair spray couldn’t hold up to the humidity. Most of the town residents had wandered off home, leaving a big cleanup for tomorrow—something I was certain I’d get roped into and wasn’t looking forward to in the least, especially not in this heat.
I stood under the spray of water until my skin shriveled, then called myself done. I’d grabbed the occasional finger food during the rally but hadn’t had what I’d call a decent meal since breakfast. When I stepped out of the shower, my stomach launched a full protest. I pulled my long extensions back in the standard ponytail they’d grown to expect, threw on shorts and a T-shirt, and headed downstairs to rustle up a sandwich, chips, and the latest dessert concoction my friend Ally had asked me to test for potential sale in the bakery she wanted to open.
It didn’t take me twenty minutes to polish off the roast beef sandwich, chips, and something heavenly that Ally referred to as a summer tart, and then I headed back upstairs where I fell into bed and managed to go right to sleep without even putting on my noise-canceling headphones.
Banging on my front door woke me and I bolted straight out of bed, grabbing my pistol as I leaped. I landed in firing position, aiming at the door. It took a second for my mind to catch up to my body, and I realized the banging sound was downstairs at the front door and not an intruder.
One glance outside at the still-pitch-black sky and I knew this couldn’t be good. Still clutching my pistol, I hurried downstairs, trying not to remember that the last time I’d been awakened at an indecent hour, I’d been accused of murder.
I eased the door open and the momentary relief when I realized it wasn’t Carter standing there disappeared in an instant when I saw the look on Gertie’s face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I motioned her inside.
She clutched the bottom of her sweater, twisting it into a knot, and I noticed that her hands shook as she twisted. In the short time I’d known Gertie, we’d been in some hairy situations, but I’d never seen her this worried. And that scared the crap out of me.
“Gertie, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Marie called me. She lives catty-corner to the Williamses. I don’t have all the facts, but the paramedics showed up about an hour ago and carried out a body bag.”
I sucked in a breath. “Which one?”
“Marie says Paulette ran out of the house and threw herself over the gurney, screaming and crying. The paramedics sedated her and put her in the ambulance with the body before they took off.”
I absorbed everything Gertie told me, trying to figure out what part of this story had her so vexed. So far, it seemed straightforward. “So Ted died. Why all the worry?”
“Carter sealed the house. Marie walked outside and heard him calling a forensics lab. He was holding a Baggie with a bottle in it.”
“He overdosed?” I asked, still not certain why Gertie was so stressed. “The coroner should be able to determine that.”
Gertie shook her head. “Marie said it was one of our cough syrup bottles in the Baggie. Marie said Paulette screamed ‘she killed him’ right before the paramedics dosed her.”
A flashback of Ida Belle, taking my last bottle of cough syrup…Ida Belle sitting on the makeshift stage, joking with Ted after everyone had left the rally…cycled through my mind on fast forward, and an enormous feeling of dread washed over me.
“Where did he get the bottle?”
Gertie’s lower lip trembled. “I’m afraid he got it from Ida Belle. She was holding one when I left.”
I nodded. “I gave it to her. It was my last one.”
I didn’t think it possible for Gertie to look even more depressed, but she managed it anyway. “I was hoping for another explanation, even though I figured that’s what you were going to say.”
“Did you call Ida Belle and warn her?”
“I called, but she didn’t answer, so I drove by but Carter’s truck was already parked outside her house. I knocked, but he wouldn’t let me in the house. Told me to go home and mind my own business.”
Gertie’s face flushed with anger. “Ida Belle is my oldest and dearest friend. Since when is she not my business?”
I patted Gertie’s arm in an awkward attempt to comfort her. This sort of thing was definitely outside my skill set. “Carter’s in cop mode right now. I’m sure he didn’t mean to imply that you had no stake in things.”
“Maybe,” Gertie said, refusing to be mollified, “but this isn’t some big city where we’re all strangers. Carter has known Ida Belle his entire life. You and I both know from experience that Ida Belle’s capable of killing someone, but Carter doesn’t know that side of her. And we know she wouldn’t move to lethal unless someone was creating a life-threatening situation. We were soldiers, not sociopaths.”