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MARY-ALICE WENT FOR her handbag and pulled her mobile phone out.
“My heavens! I’m calling 9-1-1.”
“No,” Ida Belle cried. “No phone calls. Gertie, fetch me some disinfectant and a butterfly bandage. I’ll be fine.”
Gertie laid a first-aid kit on the coffee table as Ida Belle sank into a chair. Mary-Alice noticed that the kit appeared to be well-used. Bandage boxes and rolls of gauze had been opened, the iodine was nearly gone, and the tube of antibiotic ointment was all squeezed out. Mary-Alice wondered why the first-aid kit contained a bottle of Sinful Ladies’ Cough Syrup.
“Ida Belle's tougher than she looks.” Gertie took out the cough syrup, unscrewed the top, and poured it over Ida Belle's shoulder. Ida Belle closed her eyes and went a little pale. “Ida Belle, you remember that to-do we had in Muang Khua? Mary-Alice, Fortune, you should've seen her. Stitched herself right up. No painkillers or anything.”
“Where?” Mary-Alice asked.
“A nightclub,” Ida Belle muttered through clenched teeth.
“Nightclub,” Gertie agreed. She took out a pair of tweezers and began peeling the bloody shreds of fabric away from the wound.
“Ida Belle, you should see a doctor.” Fortune plopped down on the side of the couch closest to Ida Belle's chair. Gertie hovered behind Ida Belle, tending to her shoulder like a white-haired ministering angel.
“No doctor,” Ida Belle whispered, and then perked up. “Say, do I smell blueberry cheesecake squares?”
“Hold still, Ida Belle,” Gertie scolded.
Fortune disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the blueberry squares.
“Why ever don't you want to see a doctor, Ida Belle?” Mary-Alice asked.
“Just killed a man. If you’re going to be nosy about it.”
“Fine, I’ll play along,” Fortune leaned forward. “Who’d you kill, Ida Belle?”
“Whom did you kill,” Gertie corrected Fortune as she fussed with Ida Belle’s shoulder.
Ida Belle opened her eyes. “I need something to drink.”
Mary-Alice stood up to get Ida Belle a glass of water, but Ida Belle used her good arm to grab the cough syrup. She took three solid chugs and handed the empty bottle back to Gertie. Mary-Alice sat back down.
Ida Belle wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her good arm and began.
“Well, I was in my garage working on my bike, just minding my own business. I had the door open, of course, and I heard a noise. When I looked up, who do you suppose it was? It was that drunk Lowery, and he was poking around our cough syrup.”
“How did he know that was our cough syrup?” Gertie cried. “Those boxes were supposed to be labeled Quilting Supplies.”
“When you say ‘that drunk Lowery,’ do you mean Victorin Lowery?” Mary-Alice asked.
Ida-Belle gave her a sharp look.
“That’s him.”
“He caused quite a fuss at Francine’s this morning,” Mary-Alice said. “Francine chased him right out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand.”
“It’s true,” Gertie confirmed. “I heard the whole thing this morning when I was on the phone with Mary-Alice.”
“Why, Ida Belle, after Francine ran him off, he must’ve decided to try your place next,” Mary-Alice said.
“Bad move on his part.”
“Anyway,” Ida Belle continued, “I grabbed my shotgun. Just to scare him off, you understand. But instead of clearing out, he came right at me. Well, I tried to aim for somewhere below his knees, but just as I squeezed the trigger he dropped down on his haunches and it seems he got a shot in before he died. My, those blueberry squares do look good. Gertie, would you mind passing me just a taste?”
Gertie grabbed a blueberry square and stuffed it in Ida Belle’s mouth.
“And you just left him there?” Gertie dabbed at Ida Belle’s shoulder, making her wince. “Did you remember to close your garage door, at least? So people don’t walk by and see a dead body lying there?”
Ida Belle said something through her mouthful of blueberry cheesecake square, which Mary-Alice didn’t understand.
“Ida Belle, you’re hurt,” Mary-Alice said. “At least we should fetch you a doctor.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Fortune added. “It was self-defense. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t want anyone poking around my garage. And no offense, Mary-Alice, I know she’s your cousin and all, but I cannot put my trust in our local justice system what with Celia in charge. That woman reminds me of Pol Pot, only with less compassion.”
“Well, you have to do something, Ida Belle,” Gertie said. “Or you’re going to have a big, smelly problem on your hands.”
“We need to call the sheriff,” Mary-Alice insisted. “Whenever people have a chance to call the police and then they decide not to, things end up very badly for them.”
“Another insight from your mystery novels?” Ida Belle snapped.
Mary-Alice's rouged cheeks flushed even pinker than usual; Ida Belle was right. Just about everything Mary-Alice knew about crime and the justice system came from the books she had read.
“Ida Belle!” Gertie scolded. “That was uncalled-for. Mary-Alice is only trying to help.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mary-Alice. I'm just not having the best day right now, as you may have noticed.”
“You have to admit, Mary-Alice has a point,” Gertie said. “If you shoot someone and you don't report it, it makes you look guilty. Like you have something to hide.”
Ida Belle widened her eyes at Gertie.
“Something to hide? You mean like boxes of moonshine disguised as quilting supplies stacked in my garage? In the middle of a dry town? Whose mayor has hated me since high school?”
“Since elementary school, actually,” Gertie said.
“How's the shoulder?” Fortune asked.
Gertie stepped aside, giving Mary-Alice a clear view of the wet, red patch blooming on the neat square of gauze. Mary-Alice felt lightheaded and quickly looked down at her folded hands.
“Never better,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll just rest here a while and then I’ll be on my way.”
Gertie placed her hands on her hips.
“Is that so? You’re fixin’ to walk on out of here with a bloody piece of gauze stuck to your shoulder and no shirt on?”
“Take anything you want from my closet,” Fortune said.
“Don't get me anything pink,” Ida Belle hollered after Gertie. Then to Fortune:
“I'll stay here ‘til dark. Then we can load up some cleaning supplies in your Jeep, and you three can drive me home and help me clean up. We can weight the body and dump it in the bayou. I only got one good arm, so I can’t lift anything, but I can supervise.”
“I have a better idea,” Fortune said. “We can...Wow. I forgot I had that.”
“I said I didn't want anything pink!” Ida Belle complained, as Gertie popped a hot-pink flowered poncho over her head.
“It’s perfect. It keeps you covered and you don’t have to move your arms.” Gertie pinned Ida Belle's hair rollers back into place. “What's the plan now?”
“How about this?” Fortune said. “Gertie, you drive Ida Belle back to her house. I'll call the sheriff and report Ida Belle's injury. When the sheriff shows up, I'll tell him Ida Belle asked Gertie to drive her home. That’ll give you time to clear your moonshine out of the garage. Then when the sheriff goes over there to talk to you, Ida Belle, tell him what you told us. He was an intruder, you felt threatened, and you shot him. And whatever you do, don’t touch the body and don't step in the blood.”
“I suppose that’ll do,” Ida Belle said. “Not that I’m in any position to argue. Fortune, when you call, see if you can’t get Deputy Breaux.”
“Why is that?” Mary-Alice asked.
“Well you know we have two deputy sheriffs in Sinful,” Gertie explained. “There’s Carter LeBlanc, who is not only extremely good-looking but also highly intelligent and perceptive. And then there’s Deputy Kyle Breaux. He’s...very nice.”
Ida Belle refused all offers of help and made it down Fortune’s front steps by herself, bracing herself with her good arm.
Fortune stood at her front window and watched until Gertie's ancient Cadillac had pulled out and lumbered off down the road. Then she took out her phone and made a call.
“I'd like to speak to Deputy Breaux, please,” Fortune said. “Deputy Breaux, this is Fortune Morrow. Very well, thank you. Listen, I’m calling to report that Ida Belle had an intruder on her property, and she’s injured. Seems he shot her. Well, she's not really in a condition to talk right now. Gertie’s doing first aid. No, she doesn’t want an ambulance. Yes, Marge Boudreaux's old place. We’ll be waiting here. Thank you, deputy.”
Fortune hung up and turned to Mary-Alice. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“I’d love a glass of tea if it’s not too much trouble.”
“We're not doing anything wrong, you know,” Fortune called from the kitchen. She came back with two full glasses of tea. “We’re going to tell the truth. Ida Belle showed up with her shoulder bloody. Gertie patched her up, and they went back to Ida Belle’s house while I was on the phone with the sheriff’s office.”
Fortune sat Deputy Breaux down the minute he arrived and set out a plate of blueberry cheesecake squares and a glass of tea. Before he could ask any questions, a phone rang in another room, and Fortune left to answer it.
Mary-Alice smiled at Deputy Breaux.
“How's your mama and them?”
Deputy Breaux nodded and swallowed his mouthful.
“Mama and them’s fine. Thank you for askin’, ma’am.”
“I certainly hope Ida Belle will be alright,” Mary-Alice said brightly. “I couldn’t hardly bear to look at her shoulder. She—”
Fortune rushed back into the room.
“Ida Belle is fine, Deputy. Gertie drove her home. I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”
Breaux slowly pushed himself to his feet.
“Now, ma’am, I thought you said on the phone she’d been shot by an intruder.”
“Oh, I’m sure I didn’t say that.” Fortune attempted a carefree laugh. “She was frightened by an intruder. But she’s okay now.”
“Well, I think I’d better check up on her. I’m saying, once a report's called in, I have to see it through. I’ll just head on over to her place now.”
Fortune shot a look at Mary-Alice, panic in her eyes.
“We'll follow you over, then,” Fortune said. “Would you like to come along, Mary-Alice?”
Mary-Alice didn’t dare say anything as she and Fortune were buckling themselves into Fortune’s Jeep. But once they were driving behind Deputy Breaux’s car, Mary-Alice asked,
“My goodness, Fortune, whatever happened?”
“Maybe Ida Belle really does need help.” Fortune’s expression was tense.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Gertie says there’s no body. There's no sign of any shooting victim, alive or dead.”
“Oh, my. Do you suppose the man was only wounded, then?”
“There was no blood, Mary-Alice. Ida Belle saw something that wasn’t there and shot up her own garage.”
Fortune pulled the Jeep over and parked in front of Ida Belle's house.
“Okay, here we are.” Fortune turned to Mary-Alice. “Say as little as possible until Breaux leaves. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. And I hope it’s not that Ida Belle’s losing her marbles.”