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As fate would have it, my jeep—which was another Marge hand-me-down—wouldn’t start. As luck would have it, Gertie’s four-wheels, wobbly as they were, swung the dependability factor in her favor.
“There’s something wrong with this picture,” Ida Belle said, turning to look at me as soon as I buckled up.
“Tell me about it.”
“I will,” Ida Belle said, first shaking her finger at Gertie. “Here we have this little woman who can barely see over the steering wheel, if she can see at all, and we’re about to trust her with our very lives.”
“Now I see why you don’t give it a second thought when you’re wading around the bayou with gators and snakes.” It was more dangerous to ride shotgun with Gertie.
She gripped the steering wheel like she needed to grip it with both hands. “Some people deserve to have gators nipping at their heels.” At that, she took off like she had somewhere she should’ve been yesterday.
Chalk one up for Team Gertie.
Ida Belle grabbed the door handle and her knuckles turned white. “If God had wanted me to fly, he would’ve pasted wings on my back!”
“And if he’d wanted you on the road, he might have put wheels on ya, too. Ever think of that?”
“Have you?” Ida Belle leveled a cool glare on her dear best friend. “My life is only in danger when you’re over there and I’m sitting here.” She jabbed her finger at the seat she occupied.
Gertie slammed on her brakes, glared at the road ahead, and said, “I’m not listening to this all the way to the motel.”
“All the way is two miles from here,” Ida Belle reminded her. “At this rate, I can walk.”
“Why don’t you?” Gertie suggested, adjusting the rearview mirror. “That’s one way to make sure you’ll appreciate all future rides, regardless of who sits behind the wheel.”
“Appreciation isn’t exactly what I was thinking,” Ida Belle said. “Now step on it.”
“Not another word or you’re on the sidewalk.”
“I’m not leaving this seat. It’s hot enough outside to light a fire under an aging virgin’s skirt.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Too much of a visual.”
“It’s early October. You’ll survive.” Gertie was still stuck on ditching a passenger.
“Still not going anywhere,” Ida Belle said, reaching over her shoulder and securing her seatbelt.
“Fortune?” Gertie looked in the rearview mirror. “Anything to add?”
I was too smart for that. “I trust you.”
“Fib much?” Ida Bell asked through gritted teeth.
“No, that was actually a bald-faced lie,” I said, feeling guilty.
Gertie had just stepped on the gas when she slammed on the brakes again. “Okay that’s it. Out. Both of you. Now.”
“What is wrong with you?” Ida Belle’s voice cracked. “We’re not walking because we have two miles to go and it will take you that long to twist your mouth, sigh a few times, roll your eyes, and then finally tell us what’s really going on.”
Paying closer attention, I watched Gertie in the mirror. Ida Belle was probably right. Under normal circumstances, Gertie could take the jabs in stride.
As predicted, Gertie’s lips twitched and she sighed. She undoubtedly tried her hand at dishing out a stern glare, but ended up blurting, “Fortune, this date tonight is a bad idea.” She turned to face me. “It’s a really bad idea.”
“Much as I hate to admit it,” Ida Belle said, never budging. “She may be right. It’s been eating at me, too.”
I laughed. They were worried about my date? If they hadn’t pushed the issue from the start, I might have been touched by their concern.
“It’s not funny, Fortune,” Ida Belle said, still facing forward.
“Yes it is. Let me remind you of who arranged this night out in the first place.” I glanced outside. It was a beautiful fall day. The mix of autumn colors blended with the fading greens and overpowering rust-colored leaves. I’d never been to a fall festival and I wanted to go.
“Look, if Baylor is new in town and needs friends, what will it hurt? If he’s new in town and has a motive, we’d rather find out about it sooner than later.”
“She wants us to grovel,” said Ida Belle.
“I’m not opposed to an apology, of course, but if that’s not on the table, no worries. I have a plan involving a horse, Sheriff Lee, a metal boat, a fish camp, and Walter.”
“You’re going to put Sheriff Lee’s horse on a fish camp with Walter?” Gertie turned all the way around in her seat. “How do you propose to do all that?”
“Oh no. You misunderstood. I just threw out a few names and places. I have grand plans for you if the matchmaking doesn’t stop.” I shot Gertie a wink and patted Ida Belle’s shoulder. “And Walter will thank me for many years to come.”
“So what do you want us to say? We’re sorry?” Ida Belle unhooked her seatbelt and turned around. She considered an apology akin to standing before a firing squad. “Fine. You have it.”
“I have what?” I clasped my hands behind my head, waiting and humming.
“What the hell is that?” Gertie asked, adjusting her mirror again so she could watch me. “Your versions of suspenseful game show music?”
“I’m waiting for clarification.” Taunting two old maids had become a favorite pastime.
Unfortunately, my distraction became Gertie’s distraction, too. While looking at me in the rearview mirror, she removed her foot from the brake and plowed over a garbage bin that was too close to the curb. We all jolted with the sudden impact.
“Brake!”
Gertie stomped on the pedal and then threw the gearshift in park. Ida Belle groaned and they both looked at the nearby house, watching a kid as he made a mad dash for the house.
Hitting the garbage bin wouldn’t have been a major deal except for the fact that a child’s tricycle was parked right next to it. And that same child was now screaming from his front porch, “Stop them! They’re getting away!”
####
“WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG with you?” Ida Belle slammed her door and headed to the front of the car.
Gertie left the engine running before exiting the vehicle. Out of habit, I peered over the backseat to make sure she’d definitely shoved the gearshift all the way to park position. Thanks to the jarring effect of hitting a tricycle, I couldn’t swear to an idling car.
Who knew a small bike could cause such whiplash? I slowly exited Gertie’s Cadillac and was immediately greeted—if it could be called that—by the boy and his mother. The woman rushed by me and immediately rubbernecked in an effort to see her son’s demolished bike.
Hadn’t taken him long to summons a sidekick. Here in Louisiana, it was rare when anyone faced a stranger alone.
“There! Momma! There!” The little boy clung to his mother’s neck as she made her way down to the street. The child looked too old to carry on one’s hip.
“I apologize for my friend,” Ida Belle said, meeting them halfway on the sidewalk while I tried to help Gertie pull the scrap metal away from her bumper.
“Do somethin’, Momma. Put ‘em in timeout!” He glared at Gertie as if he believed she might have deliberately destroyed his bike.
“How old is that child?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Don’t mind him. He’s older than he looks and a smart little imp to boot,” Gertie said. “He makes a teacher want to go back to school for the simple pleasure of torturing kids like him with hours of homework.”
“He couldn’t be more than four or five.”
“Ha!” Gertie peered at the bike again and scowled. “Nope. He’s nine.”
“Doesn’t look it.”
“He’s small for his age, but don’t let his size or age fool ya. I would’ve rather plowed over ten bikes than bumped this kid’s.” She stuck her head under her car once more.
I didn’t bother mentioning that the bumped bike looked totaled in my professional opinion.
“Make her buy me a new one,” the kid whined.
“She will for sure,” Ida Belle said, using her version of a childlike voice, which sounded kind of creepy. A beat later, she said “Marabelle, you’ll have to excuse Gertie.”
“Thank God,” I said. “At least we’re on first-name basis here.”
“Just you wait,” Gertie muttered, pulling the bike’s handles.
Ida Belle glanced over her shoulder. “As you can see, her car is bigger than the average vehicle. She just needs to...”
“Don’t make excuses for her, Ida Belle,” Marabelle said. “The whole town has been worried sick about her lately.” She peered around me and frowned at Gertie. “Woman shouldn’t be driving. Not at her age. She’s senile.”
“Eh? What was that?” Gertie cupped her ear and played the part, which wasn’t very smart all things considered. “I couldn’t hear you from over here.”
Ida Belle gave Gertie a stern glare. She faced off with Marabelle again. “We’ll pay for the bike.”
“Of course you will,” Marabelle said. “But I’ll still have to report this. Gertie Hebert shouldn’t be driving and right there’s the proof.”
“I want a new bike. A blue one. Now. Now. Now.”
Brat. Brat. Brat.
“How much is the bike?” Ida Belle asked, ignoring the kid and addressing only Marabelle.
“It’s a tricycle. Three wheels,” the kid said, holding up three fingers..
“Yes, I can see that,” Ida Belle said before she held up nine digits. “And you’re this many which means you can learn to ride a big boy’s bike now.”
Trying to conceal a smile, I checked out the lopsided tricycle and decided Ida Belle was right. Small or not, the kid was ready to graduate to two wheels.
Thanks to Gertie’s driving job, he might have earned his chance. I only spotted one small tire and what looked like bent pedals.
After a quick debate on whether or not I should crawl under the Cadillac and retrieve the rest of this kid’s bike, I abandoned the idea. The negotiation in progress was better than sidelining a corporate business deal.
Marabelle shook her finger at Gertie. “Your friends shouldn’t allow you to drive. Not at your age. They should drive you.”
Gertie opened her mouth to speak but Ida Belle hurriedly said, “That’s a fine idea. She’ll take us home and we’ll switch cars. Will that make you happy?”
“This isn’t about making me happy. It’s using common sense and to tell you the truth, I have to agree with Celia Arceneaux now.”
“Uh-oh,” I muttered. This could start the next world war.
“What does Celia have to do with this?” Gertie asked tightly.
“She just tells it like it is.” Marabelle paused, acting as if she needed someone to drag the gossip from her lips. People like Marabelle didn’t need any help. They thrived on spreading ill will. Most of the time they did it with a kind sentiment attached like, “Lord help her” which might have made them feel better but alerted others to the incoming gossip spread by the delusional party who needed to spend some serious time in the confessional booth.
“Some of the Sinful Ladies members shouldn’t be licensed to drive. Ask Celia.”
“I will,” Gertie grated out.
I turned my back on the gossipmonger, fully aware of the war she’d just declared. Standing in front of Gertie, I asked, “Is it safe to assume that Marabelle is a member of God’s Wives?”
“What was your first clue?” Gertie asked, reaching in the car for her checkbook.
“Lucky guess,” I muttered, watching from a safe distance, but wondering if that might be a mistake. Gertie and Ida Belle bickered like sisters, but they didn’t let anyone talk about their sidekick.
Summing up Marabelle, I decided I could take her.
Four-foot-nine blonde. Overkill on Mommy of the Year. Looks like she needs a good shot of SLS cough syrup. The Sinful Ladies Society made the best moonshine this side of the Mason Dixon Line. I’d sampled enough to know.
Returning to the assessment, I studied the squinting kid. I’d leave him for Ida Belle. Cold chills slid down my spine.
He looked like one of those plastic dolls from a horror film. Knife-wielding dolls had nothing on this boy. His narrowed eyes and missing teeth made him look like a mini monster.
My thoughts returned to his mother. Threat level—above average. Scratch that. Woman is probably lethal. Kid had to get it somewhere. Bless his heart.
The last part was a bit much, even for me. The confessional booth popped in my head. I couldn’t judge and be not judged. I was pretty sure that was scripture but then again, I’d just started going to church so I wouldn’t swear to it.
“What if she’d struck Tadpole?” Marabelle asked, crossing her thin arms over her surgically enhanced chest. I’d learned to spot them thanks to Harrison. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Hmm? What if you’d hit Tadpole?”
I glanced down at the sidewalk, hoping we hadn’t plowed over Dollface’s pet frog.
“Might teach him a lesson. He sure wouldn’t want to play in the streets again ,” Gertie said out of the corner of her mouth. “And stop looking for a frog.” She slowly tilted her head in the boy’s direction.
“Tadpole?” I cringed. “What a terrible name for a child.”
“Mommy! Did you hear her? Mommy, do something!”
“Yes, Mommy. Do something.” Gertie fluttered her eyelashes. “Like ask your child to give the adults a minute.”
And we were off...on the wrong foot again.
Ida Belle turned to Gertie, thinned her lips, and jerked her head sharply, indicating Marabelle.
Gertie thrust a check forward. “I’m sorry about the bike.” She cleared her throat, apparently ready to Gertie-grasp, which was her way of overcorrecting mistakes when she stuffed her foot in her mouth. “If I’d had more space to make the turn, I wouldn’t have hit your tricycle and we wouldn’t be standing here now.” She kept jabbing the check at Marabelle, but Marabelle wouldn’t accept it. Finally, Ida Belle snatched it and shooed us away. “Wait in the car.”
Seconds later, Gertie and I watched from the street. Ida Belle’s loyal friend performance was legendary. She seemingly tried her hand at reasoning. When all else failed, she ripped the check to bits, threw her arms over her head and scattered check remains all over Marabelle’s yard.
Ida Belle stormed to the car, flung the door open and flopped down in the passenger’s seat. “You can’t talk sense into someone who has none.”
“What happened?”
“I offered to give her a case of complimentary cough syrup. Made the mistake of telling her that Clyde Ryans often rubs the stuff on his youngest boy’s gums and it puts him right to sleep. She said I was trying to blackmail her then she said something about extortion. She’s also reporting Clyde to child services. Troublemaking bitch. Says she’ll call Carter now.”
“She won’t reach him. Carter’s still in court.”
“Won’t matter,” she said, glancing at me. “She’ll blow up his phone with text messages.”
“She’s the type,” Gertie agreed, nodding.
Ida Belle glared at Gertie. “You just couldn’t keep your opinions to yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The remark about playing in the streets? Wait and see, Gertie. It’ll come back and bite you.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“You shouldn’t have said it.”
Rather than agree with Ida Belle, I made a mental note to remind Ida Belle to check Gertie’s medicine cabinet. A few weeks back, she’d twisted her ankle in a gopher hole and the doctor had prescribed pain medicine. Whenever she took it, she experienced noticeable side effects.
The pain medicine made sweet little old women say whatever was on their minds. Not that I thought Gertie had meant what she’d said about Tadpole.
Surely she hadn’t meant that. The kid’s face flashed in front of my mind’s eye and I immediately blurted, “The kid put the bike in the road.”
“What?” Gertie glanced in her mirror.
“Watch the road,” I snapped, pointing straight ahead. “I think the kid wanted a new bike so he put it in the middle of the road. The trashcan was scooted away from the curb so it would block a driver’s view.”
“Go ahead,” Ida Belle said, throwing up her arms. “Defend her. Why don’t you just say that the boy’s tricycle jumped out in front of her?”
“The bike had some help. The kid makes Chucky look like he only practiced child’s play. Tadpole is the real deal.”