Lethal Bayou Beauty (15 page)

“But we won’t make it inside,” I said. “And I’m soaked.”

“We don’t have to make it inside,” Ida Belle said. “I have a backup plan.”

I closed my eyes and said a prayer, not sure whether to be relieved or scared.
 

“Take off your sweatshirt,” Ida Belle said.

I looked up and realized that she had already shrugged off her sweatshirt and shoved it into a trash bag along with hers and Gertie’s gloves. I pulled off the sweatshirt and gloves and tossed them both in the bag. Ida Belle dropped a small anchor in the trash bag, tied it closed and flung it into the middle of the bayou, where it immediately dropped out of sight.

“Right!” Ida Belle yelled at Gertie.

I swung around just in time to see the bank approaching my face at a rapid pace. I clutched the side of the boat as Gertie cut the motor hard and held my breath as the boat slammed into the bank, then continued in the right direction. The turn took us out of town and into the suburb. I studied the houses as we flew past, trying to estimate how far we were from mine. I could hear the roar of the sheriff’s boat echoing behind us and knew he was closing in fast.

“Left!” Ida Belle shouted.

All of a sudden, Gertie swung the boat to the left and headed straight for land. I could see the bank rapidly approaching, but Gertie showed no sign of slowing.
 

“Cut the engine!” Ida Belle yelled, but it was too little, too late.

Chapter Twelve

The momentum vaulted the boat straight up the sloping bank and into the row of azalea bushes, bouncing Gertie clean out of the boat. Then it slammed into the trunk of a particularly large bush and launched me forward out of the boat and onto the lawn. Instantly, I tucked and rolled, then yanked a branch from my pants as I vaulted up and ran after Ida Belle, who’d fled the boat and was now dragging Gertie toward the bank.

“Hurry up!” she yelled back at me.

I had no idea why she was running for the bayou and not the house when Deputy LeBlanc was going to pull up any second. Even more disconcerting was the fact that I took off behind them like it made good sense.

When I reached the bank, Ida Belle cast a fishing pole and shoved it at me. I took the pole and watched as she cast another. I glanced over and realized Gertie was sitting in one of three lawn chairs stretched across the bank, none of which belonged to me or had been on my lawn earlier that afternoon.

At the roar of a boat engine, I yanked my head around and saw the lights from the sheriff’s boat round the corner toward my house.

“Sit down,” Ida Belle ordered. “You’re calling attention to yourself.”

I plopped into the middle chair, convinced this was the worst backup plan ever. No way was he going to believe we were fishing.
 

A couple of seconds later, the sheriff’s boat coasted to the bank about twenty feet from us. The floodlights on top of his boat illuminated a huge stretch of the bank, including where we sat. One look at his face was all it took to know he was hopping mad.

He jumped onto the bank and immediately zeroed in on Ida Belle’s boat, which rested halfway in the azalea hedge. Shaking his head, he strode toward us. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ida Belle looked up at him and her confused expression was so good she almost had me fooled. “Fishing,” she said. Her eyes widened and she looked up at the moon. “It’s not a waning gibbous, is it?”

Gertie leaned forward in her chair and I realized that not only was she still wearing her black crocheted hat but a couple of small branches were stuck in the yarn and standing up on top of her head.

“It’s illegal to fish on Sundays when it’s a waning gibbous,” Gertie said to me.

Of course it is.

“Hey, isn’t it against the rules to work on Sundays?” I asked. “Should we be fishing?”

Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “Fishing isn’t work. And that whole not working on Sundays thing is Biblical, not Sinful, law, so we’d only be in danger from God, not Carter.” She looked up at him and gave him a broad smile.

The look on Deputy LeBlanc’s face left me no doubt who we should be most afraid of.
 

“Don’t even try to convince me you’ve been here all evening,” he said.

“Of course not.” Ida Belle looked indignant. “We had supper first. If something’s bothering you, Carter, I wish you’d just spit it out.”

He narrowed his eyes at us. “I just came from the sheriff’s department. A window was open upstairs and a raccoon wreaked havoc on the place before I got him back outside.”

“Those things are sneaky,” I said. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen that one open the window in my attic. Damned amazing, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Carter said, “and I’m far from amazed because I’m quite certain the raccoon did not unlock the back door, nor did he attempt to disarm the alarm using an outdated code.”

“Why didn’t he use the new code?” Gertie asked.

“Damn it!” Carter yelled. “I know you three broke into that building. I ought to do Sinful a favor and lock you all up and throw away the key.”

“Take that tone with me again,” Ida Belle said, her voice dripping with disapproval, “and I’ll speak to your mother. Now, I’ve already said we ate supper, then came out here to fish.”

“Uh-huh,” Carter said, “then where’s the fish?”

Ida Belle reached over and lifted the top on an ice chest that stood next to her chair. I leaned over and barely controlled my surprise at the three fish flopping around inside. I officially revised my opinion of Ida Belle and her backup plan. She was good!

Carter looked down at the fish, then over at me. “Why is she wet?”

An image of a failed fishing trip with my father flashed through my mind as if it were yesterday. “Ida Belle was trying to teach me to cast,” I said, “but I threw the whole rod out into the bayou, so I had to wade in and get it.”

He stared at me, eye to eye, as I delivered my story, but Deputy LeBlanc had definitely met his match. I’d lied successfully and without qualm to some of the most dangerous men in the world. The deputy was smart, but compared to the men I’d fooled, he was an amateur.

Apparently, Deputy LeBlanc figured out he would get nowhere with me as well, so he turned his attention to Gertie, the perceived weak link in the chain. I felt my stomach clench just a bit as he studied her. I still hadn’t determined how much of Gertie’s fluffy, confused, old-lady demeanor was real versus act.

Gertie appeared oblivious to his scrutiny, slowly reeling in her line as if she were truly concentrating on fishing. Deputy LeBlanc stepped closer to her and narrowed his eyes.
 

“I suppose you’re sticking with the fishing story as well?” he asked.

She looked up at him and the look of confusion on her face was Academy Award–winning. “Why do you think we’re lying when you see us fishing? You’ve even seen the fish.”

“Do you always fish with a hat on?”

“My ears get cold.”

“It’s ninety degrees outside.”

“When you’re old, your blood thins.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulled a branch from her hat and held it in front of her face. “And this is what…camouflage? Are you afraid the fish will see your cap and stop biting?”

She grabbed the branch from his hand and shoved it back in her hat. “Azalea leaves keep the mosquitoes away.”

“I’ve lived here almost thirty years and never heard that, but I find it most interesting that the night you choose to wear the hedges is the same night I find Ida Belle’s boat docked halfway up the lawn in the middle of them.”

Gertie waved her hand in dismissal. “We just hid it there to keep boat thieves from taking it.”

Deputy LeBlanc’s eyes widened. “There are no boat thieves in Sinful.”

“A boat got stolen from the Swamp Bar last week,” Gertie said.

Deputy LeBlanc closed his eyes and shook his head. “You’re hardly at risk of being the
victim
of theft when you’re the
perpetrator
.”

I fought the overwhelming urge to laugh, as he’d gotten that exactly right. I managed to cover it with a cough, but just as I lifted my hand to cover my mouth, something tugged on my fishing line—hard. I’d seen the line before Ida Belle cast it and it had been sans bait, so the fact that something had been foolish enough to bite an empty hook had me wondering if maybe the water in Sinful was what prevented everyone from being normal.

“There’s something on my line,” I said.

“Goody, goody!” Gertie jumped up and clapped her hands.

For a split second, Ida Belle looked just as confused as I felt, but she quickly recovered and jumped up to instruct me.

“Grip the pole here and here,” she said and pushed my hands into the correct position. “Then pull the pole back to draw in the fish, lower the pole, and reel in the slack. Keep doing that until you get the fish out of the water. And for Christ’s sake, Carter, move out of the way!”

Carter moved to the side, looked completely aggrieved, but without saying a word. As soon as I had a clear view, I pulled back on the pole, then started reeling, then I pulled and reeled again, then again.
 

Good God, fishing was a bore.

Hoping to end this yawn-fest sometime this century, I yanked the pole back as far as I could. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much line left to reel.
 

The end of the line popped out of the bayou, fish attached, and came flying at the bank. Carter, who’d been looking back at me, picked that moment to turn around and got hit across the face with the flying fish.

Horrified, I stood there frozen, no earthly idea what kind of apology this situation required. Ida Belle started laughing and dropped into her lawn chair so hard, it flipped straight over backward, pitching her onto the lawn but not hard enough to stop her laughter. Gertie immediately set to trying to capture the flopping fish that seemed to leap out of her grasp every time she wrapped her hands around it.
   

Carter wiped his cheek with his hand, looking mad enough to spit. “Bottom line,” he said. “I may not have proof that you stole that boat last week at the Swamp Bar, and I may not have proof that you broke into the sheriff’s department tonight, but I know what I know.”

He pointed his finger and stared at each one of us for several uncomfortable seconds. “I’m only going to say this one time—stay out of my investigation!”

He whirled around to leave, but before he made it two steps, a man’s voice sounded behind us.

“Deputy LeBlanc?” the man called as he hurried across my back lawn. “I thought I heard your voice.”

Despite the fact that he wasn’t wearing his usual uptight suit and tie, I recognized the man as my neighbor from across the street.
 

“Yes, Mr. Foster,” Deputy LeBlanc said. “What can I do for you?”

Mr. Foster stopped in front of us and put his hands on his hips, causing his sweatpants to rise to mid-calf, exposing legs that looked like a chicken’s. “I have a pile of horse crap in my front lawn the size of a grown man. What does the sheriff’s department intend to do about it?”

Unable to help myself, I perked up. “Isn’t it illegal for horses to crap on lawns on Sundays?”

“No,” Gertie said, standing there clutching the fish in her hat and wearing a grin like a serial killer. “It’s only illegal if they do it in the street. It’s just rude if they do it in the lawn.”

Ida Belle nodded. “Especially if it’s someone else’s lawn.”

Deputy LeBlanc glared at us, then swung around and stalked toward the street, Mr. Foster in tow.

Gertie succeeded in removing the fish from the hook and tossed it in the ice chest with the others before taking her seat. Ida Belle picked herself up from the lawn, righted her chair, and sat back down, her cheeks wet from her hysterical laughing-crying jag. I would have preferred to go straight inside into the shower, and then down a shot of Sinful Ladies cough syrup, put on my noise-canceling headphones and climb into bed, but it was only ten o’clock and chicken that I was, I didn’t want Deputy LeBlanc to catch me alone if he decided to pay another visit that night.
 

So I plopped back down into my chair with a sigh. When was I going to learn not to get involved with Gertie and Ida Belle’s “foolproof” plans?
 

“You want me to cast your line?” Ida Belle asked.

“No! There wasn’t even bait on that hook. The fish here are as crazy as the residents.”

“Probably true,” Gertie agreed.

“You know,” Ida Belle said, giving me a sideways look. “We’re going to have to work on your pickup technique.”

“What? I…”

Gertie nodded. “She’s right. Slapping a man across the face with a fish hasn’t been sexy since the fifties.”

Ida Belle started to chuckle again. “Maybe she’s a traditionalist.”

Gertie smiled. “Or maybe she’s older than she looks.”

“I
am
older than I look. Knowing you two has aged me at least fifty years.”

I slumped down in the chair and closed my eyes, giving them their thirty seconds of laughter at my expense…again, then I sat up and looked at them.