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MARY-ALICE FELT HER heart pounding as she guided her beloved Oldsmobile 88 along the narrow dirt-and-crushed-shell road. She was nervous about the prospect of walking into one of the roughest bars in the bayous. But Mary-Alice's main worry was her car. Gertie's Cadillac wasn't reliable enough to make a quick getaway, so Mary-Alice had volunteered to drive. But as the road narrowed, the bristling blackberry thickets on either side menaced her metallic paint.
To make matters worse, Mary-Alice felt she could barely breathe, thanks to the black vinyl corset that Gertie had laced her into before they left.
“You can’t walk into the Swamp Bar looking like you just came from a ladies’ prayer breakfast,” Gertie had explained. “You have to blend in.”
In addition to the corset, Mary-Alice sported fingerless lace gloves, leopard-print leggings, and a spiky platinum wig complete with black roots. At least Mary-Alice’s feet were too small for Gertie's shoes. She was able to wear her own comfortable tennis shoes, thank goodness.
Gertie had gone in for Harajuku style. Beneath a frilly pink-and-white mini-dress, white lace thigh-highs gripped Gertie’s bony legs. Tarantula eyelashes and thick liner ringed her eyes. A huge white satin bow teetered atop Gertie’s candy-pink wig.
Mary-Alice, who was unfamiliar with Japanese fashion, assumed Gertie was dressed as Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
Just as Mary-Alice was wondering whether she had gotten them hopelessly lost in the black woods, Gertie cried, “There it is!” Mary-Alice glimpsed light through the trees. The narrow road opened up to a crushed-shell parking lot. Gertie climbed out and led the way into the building, crunching across the cracked white oyster shells in her pink high-heeled boots.
“Gertie,” Mary-Alice asked, “are you okay? Those heels seem awfully high.”
Gertie was taking tiny, mincing steps, her knees bent and her arms held out for balance.
There’s no beauty without pain,” Gertie said.
“Wherever did you hear that, Gertie?”
“At a toddler pageant. One of the mothers said it.”
At least Mary-Alice's feet were comfortable in her sequined tennis shoes. The rest of her, not so much. The platinum wig made her scalp itch, and the hooks of her mobile-sized earrings tugged on her earlobes like a cheese-cutter.
The Swamp Bar was a one-story building on the edge of the bayou. It had a rust-splotched tin roof, tiny windows, and a general air of hopelessness. Mary-Alice had parked close enough that her car was in the light, but not so close that drunks would bump into her car or be tempted to relieve themselves on her tires on their way out.
It was so dark inside the Swamp Bar that Mary-Alice felt like she was stepping into a cave. A cave that reeked of stale booze, drugstore cologne, and a hint of vomit. For a moment, the only light she could see was from Gertie’s glow-in-the-dark heart-shaped earrings.
Mary-Alice gripped Gertie’s shoulder and followed her in.
“I can’t see a thing,” Mary-Alice whispered. “Is the power out?”
“No, it’s like this on purpose. So you can’t get a good look at the cockroaches. Or the customers.”
Mary-Alice’s eyes adjusted as she followed Gertie over to the bar. Sunday was a relatively slow night at the Swamp Bar, so Gertie was able to get the bartender’s attention. He wore a too-big green t-shirt with “Swamp Bar” printed across the chest in crooked iron-on letters. He wore his sandy hair in a mullet, cut short in front, and long down his back. Tattoos covered his skinny arms, and his nails were crusted with dirt.
“What’ll it be, ladies?”
“Bourbon, straight,” Gertie cooed coquettishly. “Make it a double. Mary-Alice, what’ll you have?”
“I’ll just have a Coke, please,” Mary-Alice said. “I’m driving.”
“Yes, ma’am. Diet or regular?”
“Whatever you have in a can. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t act too prissy about germs,” Gertie whispered when the bartender had moved on to the next customer. “We have to act like normal Swamp Bar customers.”
“I know, but did you see his fingernails? He looks like he’s been digging up graves with his bare hands.”
“You’ve been reading those vampire mysteries again, haven’t you? Oh, there, I believe that’s Leonie.”
It wasn’t hard to spot Leonie Blanchard. She wore a halter top that showed off the lioness tattoo covering her bare back. She coquetted with the men at her table, tossing her auburn hair so it brushed her bare shoulders. When Leonie turned her head to the side, Mary-Alice caught a glimpse of a hardened but still-pretty face, caked with pale makeup that didn’t quite match the skin on her neck.
“I’m going in,” Gertie said. “Cover me.”
Mary-Alice perched on a bar stool and watched Gertie totter over on her ridiculously high heels, pausing now and then to straighten her pink wig as it listed to one side or the other. Leonie seemed to recognize her former third-grade teacher despite the latter’s exotic disguise. She half-stood to give Gertie a hug, one of the men pulled out a chair, and soon Gertie was part of the festive group.
When it was clear Gertie would be a while, Mary-Alice strolled around the perimeter of the bar. Occasionally a man would pop out of the darkness to accost her with a boozy “Evening, darlin’,” or “Hey, now, Blondie.” She responded each time with a polite “How do you do?” and continued on her way.
Once Mary-Alice had completed her circuit, she decided to check on her car. She pulled the front door open a crack and peered out to the parking lot.
“Go! Go! Go!” Gertie slammed into Mary-Alice’s back, and they tumbled out onto the wooden porch.
Gertie was only wearing one high-heeled boot. She yanked it off and flung it tomahawk-style back into the darkness of the Swamp Bar.
“Ow!” cried a woman’s voice, followed by a stream of curse words. Gertie pulled Mary-Alice up by the elbow, and the two women sprinted across the lot. Mary-Alice heard a loud crack of splintering wood, followed by the babble of an excited and intoxicated crowd.
“Nice job,” Gertie panted. “She slipped on your Coke can and busted the railing.”
They jumped into the Oldsmobile, Mary-Alice floored the accelerator, and they peeled out in a spray of oyster shells and dirt.
Neither woman spoke until they were well out of range of the Swamp Bar.
“How are your feet?” Mary-Alice asked, surprised to hear her voice crack. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Are your feet okay, Gertie? Those broken shells are sharp.”
“I wore thick socks.” Gertie propped one fuzzy, dirty foot on Mary-Alice’s dashboard. “I thought I just might have to make a run for it. So I came prepared.”
Mary-Alice glanced at the rear-view mirror, but saw only the red glow of her taillights illuminating the blackberry bushes and kudzu that crowded the road. She gripped the steering wheel tighter to keep her hands from shaking.
“Don’t worry, no one’s behind us,” Gertie said. “She just had to make a big production back there. I suppose she did make her point.”
“It seemed to me that you were getting on well with Miss Leonie,” Mary-Alice said. “Why did she chase you out of the bar?”
“Oh, that wasn’t Leonie after me.”
“Well, who on earth was it, then?”
“I ran into an old friend, is all,” Gertie said primly. “He was happy to see me, and was just giving me an innocent little old hug when his girlfriend walked in. She didn’t think it was such an innocent hug, I suppose.”
“My goodness, Gertie. You're quite a femme fatale.”
“You too, Mary-Alice. You look smoking-hot as a platinum blonde.”
Mary-Alice didn’t much feel like a femme fatale. Her scalp was itching like crazy, and her corset felt like a particularly vindictive boa constrictor. Most unglamorous of all, she really had to pee.
“What did you find out from Leonie Blanchard?” Mary-Alice asked.
“Oh, I picked up a few things. When we see Fortune tomorrow I’ll tell you both everything and then I won’t have to repeat myself.”
“No,” Mary-Alice said firmly. “Whenever someone says, ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow’ or ‘I can’t talk about it on the phone, I have to tell you in person,’ something terrible always happens to them. You just go ahead and tell me right now, Gertie.”
“Mary-Alice, that’s in mystery novels and on cop shows.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Mary-Alice insisted, staring at the road ahead. “Did Leonie have any idea where poor Mister Lowery might be?”
“No,” Gertie said. “Not that she told me. It didn't seem like she even knew he was missing.”
“There must be some misunderstanding, somewhere or other,” Mary-Alice said. “I can’t believe Cousin Celia would do this to Ida Belle. Especially when there isn’t even any proof that a crime's been committed.”
“Mary-Alice, with all due respect, that’s exactly the kind of thing your cousin Celia would do. She’s spiteful and petty and power-hungry. And she never could abide anyone who showed her for inferior, which is one reason she’s always hated Ida Belle. And why she’s not so very much fond of you these days either.”
“Me? Why Gertie, whatever did I do?”
“Didn’t you ever wonder why Celia froze you out of the God’s Wives? It was on account of you bought the old Cooper place and started fixing it up. All of a sudden everybody’s talking about you and how you’re here renovating a historic Sinful landmark. And then they got to asking themselves how come you’re doing this with your own money while Mayor Celia uses our town’s money to hire her idiot relatives, and sits on her derriere while our town’s roads get rutted.”
“Oh, Gertie, I don’t believe I could belong to a group called the ‘God’s Wives’ anyway,” Mary-Alice said. “It just seems so irreverent.”
They drove in silence for a while. Mary-Alice pondered what Gertie had told her. Gertie's theory certainly fit the facts. But Mary-Alice had trouble believing that Celia—or anyone—could be so petty.
Finally, she asked, “Did you find out why Leonie was going on about the Marines?”
“I couldn’t bring it up directly, of course, but I did manage to guide the conversation around to classmates who’d gone into the military. I told her I thought I recollected Victorin Lowery joining the Marines. She laughed and said he couldn’t even get into the NOLA PD, so she doubted very much that the U.S. Marines would ever see fit to have him.”
Silence settled over the car again until they reached Sinful. Mary-Alice pulled into her carport.
“So we’re really not any further along, now, are we?” Mary-Alice asked.
“I asked everything I could, without being too much of a nosy-Parker.” Gertie reached under her pink wig and scratched her scalp. “Maybe Victorin owes a large debt and he’s being held for ransom.”
“But no one’s asked for ransom money yet.”
“No,” Gertie mused. “Not yet. This is so strange. If I were a suspicious woman, I’d suspect Celia of orchestrating the whole thing.”
“But you are a suspicious woman,” Mary-Alice said earnestly, “and you have accused Celia already.”
“So I have.” Gertie reached down and rubbed her foot. “I’m not sure this mission wasn’t a complete waste of time, honestly.”
“At least we got ourselves some exercise,” Mary-Alice said. “They say sprinting keeps you young.”
“In that case, a few more nights like this and we’ll live forever. Well, it’s time for me to turn in and get my beauty rest. Much appreciate you driving, Mary-Alice.”
“Don’t mention it,” Mary-Alice said. “I’m ever so glad I could be of help. I only wish we could have found out more.”