Lethal Bayou Beauty (6 page)

Gertie stopped giggling and lowered her hands. “Then what do you do when you’re not working?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Learn a new martial art or weapon skill. Go to the gun range. My partner, Harrison, owns a lot of farmland upstate. Sometimes we go up there and blow stuff up—see who can come up with the best explosive…”

I frowned, suddenly realizing just how empty my real life was, especially compared with life here in Sinful. Which was really odd when you thought about it. I’d left a city with over half a million people where I had no life and come to a city of less than three hundred where I’d acquired one in a matter of hours.
 

Interesting and sad.

Ida Belle and Gertie had gone silent and were both looking at me with something that might be sympathy. It was an expression I rarely saw, so I couldn’t be certain. It was also something I didn’t want to see again.

“Look, I love my life,” I said. “I can’t wait to get back to it. It may not seem like much to you, but it’s what I know and what I want.”

Ida Belle nodded. “We understand. In order to do your job, you almost have to live in a different world than the rest of us. We did it once, and assimilating back here once the war was over was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Gertie rolled her eyes. “You still haven’t assimilated,” she said to Ida Belle, then looked back at me. “I know this has been difficult for you, trying to fit into this town. Sinful is a strange place by even regular southern standards. It’s a whole different universe from what you’re used to.”

“But you’ve been doing a fine job, considering,” Ida Belle said.
 

“Hmm.” I was pretty sure they were trying to make me feel better, but it had the opposite effect. I had finally realized just how narrow my focus was. How much life was going on in the world that I had zero knowledge of or exposure to.
 

Maybe that needed to change.

Not that I was going to run out and buy hair products or anything—nothing drastic. But it wouldn’t hurt me to read something besides books on weaponry, and I could probably turn on the television in Marge’s living room to something besides CNN.

“Ladies,” I said, before I could change my mind, “I think it’s time I figured out what’s going on in the rest of the world outside of politics and war.”

Gertie smiled and clapped her hands. “This will be fun.”

Ida Belle shook her head and grumbled, “This will take a lifetime, and I’m no spring chicken.”

“Do you have to complain about everything?” Gertie asked.

“Only if I’m awake.”

“I’ll try to make it painless,” I said. “I’ll only do the fun and interesting stuff.”

Ida Belle perked up. “Well, in that case, there’s a drag race in Mudbug this Saturday.”

Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “You and your obsession with cars.”

“What’s a mudbug and why do people drag-race in it?” I asked.

Ida Belle looked over at Gertie and grinned. “Dinner? Francine has boiled crawfish tonight. It can be lesson number one.”

“This involves food, right—Francine’s food?” I needed to be sure because I was fairly certain the only thing I was up to at the moment was eating or killing something. Eating seemed like the safer option, although this crawfish stuff sounded sketchy.

They both laughed and Gertie put the car in gear and tore out of the parking lot. I took that to mean “yes” and slumped back in my seat, the tension leaving my neck for the first time in the last forty-eight hours.
 

It seemed my incompetence in the field of beauty had yielded a reprieve on the pageant front. With any luck, I’d be stricken completely from participation and could go back to my seemingly futile attempt to lie low.
 

One could only hope.

Chapter Five

The next morning, I woke up to a pounding sound and for a minute, I thought it was all in my head—literally. Sinful was dry, but Gertie’s enormous purse always contained a couple bottles of Sinful Ladies Society cough syrup, aka their own moonshine brew, and she’d spiked our colas while we plowed through stack after stack of crawfish. Crawfish, as it turned out, didn’t look anything like fish, but more like an odd crab. To my surprise, they tasted fantastic, and I’m fairly sure I made a glutton of myself—with the crawfish
and
the moonshine cola.

After we staggered out of Francine’s, I spent the next half of the night drinking beer and watching random television, the only interruption being when some drunk called Roscoe called me begging for a ride home from the Swamp Bar. Apparently, his girlfriend, Peggy Gail, had caught him asking a “smokin’ hot broad” for her phone number and told him to find another way home. I finally hung up, unable to convince him that I was not his buddy Catfish.

Between the cough syrup and the beer, I’d put back more alcohol in a single night than I usually did in a month—although I still wasn’t as drunk as Roscoe—hence the initial belief that the pounding was the awakening of a world-class hangover. But when I saw the pictures on the exterior wall rattling, I realized it was someone pounding on the front door.
 

I glanced at the clock, which read six a.m. Seriously? Was I never going to get a good night’s sleep in this town?
 

I threw the covers back and stalked downstairs in my boxers and tank, not even bothering with a robe or shoes. People bang on your door before the chickens are awake, what they see is their own fault. Besides, the only people rude enough to bang that loudly and this early were Celia and Pansy. If I had to kill them, this way I’d have fewer bloody garments to dispose of.

I flung open the door, already hacked and ready for war, but neither Celia nor Pansy was responsible for interrupting my sleep. Instead, Deputy Carter LeBlanc—former Marine—stood on my front porch, looking aggravated as only a gorgeous man could.
 

On my first day in Sinful, my inherited hound dog, Bones, dug up a human bone in my backyard and put me smack on the good deputy’s radar. Ida Belle and Gertie had dragged me into an investigation in the hopes of clearing their friend, Marie, which made Deputy LeBlanc take an even closer look at me. Unfortunately, several of his closer looks involved my being in various states of undress or thin-wet-clothing exposure.
 

Like now.

He gave my sleepwear one look, then sighed and shook his head. I wondered briefly if it was illegal in Sinful for women to wear boxers, but then, waking me up to see what I was wearing was entrapment. No matter the law, I could work my way out of that one.
 

The only illegal thing I’d done, that I was aware of, was drink moonshine at Francine’s Café, and it was decidedly overkill to harass me about it at six a.m., but I figured I’d just confess, agree to pay some fine, and then get back to bed.

“You caught me,” I said. “Can you just give me a fine so that I can go back to bed?”

His eyes widened. “I’m afraid a fine isn’t possible in this case.”

I threw my hands up. “Then what the heck is the fine for drinking moonshine in a public place—marrying a resident, attending church seven days a week, lynching in the town square?”

In my past run-ins with Deputy LeBlanc, he’d looked almost amused with my sarcastic wit, but no sign of amusement existed now. I frowned. This visit was about something vastly different from being drunk in public.

“Where were you yesterday, starting at seven p.m.?”

I wanted so badly to quiz him before answering, but something in his expression told me now wasn’t the time. He was all business, and he wasn’t happy about whatever business he’d come here over.
 

“At seven, I went to the Catholic Church with Ida Belle and Gertie to help with the beauty pageant stuff for festival. We were there about thirty minutes before we were invited to leave.”

Deputy LeBlanc nodded. “Did you go home after that?”

“No. That’s where the drinking in public part came in. We went to Francine’s and ate a ton of crawfish and drank cola spiked with Sinful Ladies Society cough syrup.”

Carter closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, and I knew he was mentally counting to ten. “What time did you leave Francine’s?”

“About nine o’clock.”

“And you came straight home and stayed here?”

Starting to get a little irritated with all the questions and no explanation, my snarky side began to creep out. “Where else is there to go? Everything closes by six except Francine’s.”

“You were alone?” Carter asked, completely ignoring my tone.

“I didn’t pick up one of the senior citizens or any of the married men down at Francine’s and haul them home with me, if that’s what you’re asking. You interested in the spot?”

In the past, Carter had flirted with me when the opportunity had presented itself, but this time, he didn’t show any sign of taking the bait. Instead, he just stood there frowning, studying me. My curiosity piqued. Whatever had him up this early and on my doorstep must be bad.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re asking these questions?”

“In a minute. According to one of the pageant workers, you got into a fight with Pansy Arceneaux.”

“Oh good grief! Is that what this is about? Pansy got her panties in a bunch and you’re going to arrest me? I suppose Lady Gaga makeup is illegal in Sinful.”

“No. But murder is.”

“Murder?” A wave of panic ran through me and I forced myself to remain calm. “But who…not…Pansy?”

Carter nodded. “Celia heard a noise around midnight and went downstairs to check. She found Pansy lying on the kitchen floor, dead.”

I stared, waiting for the punch line, but one look at Carter’s face and I knew his story was very real. My heart dropped to the bottom of Sinful Bayou. The worst-case scenario had come home to roost. I’d threatened the woman just hours before she was murdered. No way was I ducking out of scrutiny this time.

“How was she killed?”
 

“We’re not releasing that information at this time.”

Of course they weren’t. Not that it mattered. I’d invented ways to kill people. Sinful couldn’t possibly have come up with a technique I couldn’t master.

“I don’t know what to say. Yes, I got in a fight with Pansy and threatened her, but I didn’t mean it. It was just something you say in the heat of the moment when someone’s hurling insults at you. Besides, I can’t possibly be the only person in Sinful who’s threatened Pansy.”

“No, but you’re the most recent. I’ll verify your story with Ida Belle and Gertie, not that I find them particularly trustworthy, but if they can’t vouch for you at midnight, it doesn’t do you a lot of good.”

I felt a flush run up my face. “You can’t possibly think I did this. I’ve barely been here a week. That’s hardly enough time to develop feelings so strong that I start killing people.”

“Rationally speaking, you’re right, but what I find interesting is that you didn’t seem shocked when you found out I was investigating a murder. Most people are squeamish about that sort of thing, especially if they knew the victim. Even if they didn’t like them.”

I scrambled for a suitable reply. The reality was, one more body didn’t really make a big difference in my stats, especially as we were talking about a death I wasn’t responsible for. I’d been directly and indirectly associated with more dead people than I could count.

“I guess it hasn’t sunk in,” I said, but I could tell my poor, pitiful me statement hadn’t even made a dent. Time to move to the ego strike. “I can’t believe Aunt Marge would bring me down here, knowing how dangerous this place is.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Oh, we have our share of deaths. Lots of people here have dangerous jobs and even more take unnecessary chances, but the only murders I’ve seen since I’ve been deputy are the two that happened after you showed up in town.”

I felt a flush run up my neck. “The first guy was dead long before I got here. I hardly think I sneaked down here years ago, killed a perfect stranger, then came back years later to implicate myself by finding the evidence.”

Carter nodded. “True. But the second one wasn’t dead until last night, and you were the last person to threaten her.”

“That you’re aware of.” Because I was certain I hadn’t killed Pansy, my mind was already whirling with possibilities—a landlord she’d skipped out on, loan sharks, a pimp, anyone forced to listen to her for more than thirty seconds—the possibilities were endless.
 

“Someone could easily have followed her here from Los Angeles,” I pointed out. “Sinful may not be a hotbed of criminal activity, but LA certainly is. Maybe someone should see how Pansy was supporting herself while she was out there, because it only takes minutes for anyone with an Internet connection to find out she wasn’t making it acting. Not any kind of acting she wanted to claim, anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I could tell that one, he didn’t like my assessment, and two, it was something he’d already thought of himself.
 

“You,” he said and pointed his finger at me, “will not get involved in this investigation. Playing cop almost got Ida Belle and Gertie killed last week. Next time, it could be you, or all three of you.”