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Ally pulled in right behind us at Sinful’s Sleep Motel. She exited her car and waved in passing as she hurried inside the motel registration office. A few minutes later, she followed a man to the last motel room on the bottom floor. After he unlocked the room, she motioned for us.
“That’s odd,” Gertie said.
“What’d I miss?” I leaned forward and squinted. What could be so unusual about unlocking a motel room?
“Pickler unlocked the room that he typically uses as his personal business space.”
“How do you know?” Ida Belle asked.
“She must’ve paid Pickler a visit once or twice,” I teased.
“Not a chance.” Gertie shifted her focus to Ida Belle. “Remember that time when you and Marge went to New Orleans to the Warriors and Weapons Expo? Well, I was bored. For entertainment, I came out here and sat right over there.” She nodded at a big oak tree. “Marie joined me a few times. We’d just sit there and pretend to read and chat while Pickler ran the women through here like cattle.”
“That’s gross,” I said.
“Oh, he wasn’t sleeping with all of them. He was counseling them. He used to do it for a side business.”
“What kind of side business?”
“Blackmail,” Ida Belle replied, leaving the car and slamming the door.
Gertie and I followed behind her. My mind churned with ideas. “Are you sure he always used that particular room?”
“Absolutely,” Gertie said. “Not that it matters as in what happened in the room, but it matters in terms of logistics. Go over and stand by the tree. You’ll see. Marie and I wouldn’t have been able to watch if he’d used another room. The one he just opened is the only one you can see from that vantage point.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Pickler’s name just made the list. I needed a name and until that moment, we didn’t have any suspects. Besides, if he could blackmail old women, he could kill young men.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think Pickler had anything to do with Casey’s death,” Ida Belle said. “Man is scared of his own shadow.”
“I don’t think he did it,” Gertie said, pointing at the tree again. “But I think whoever killed Casey would’ve been able to stalk him for days and pick the right night to strike. At night, those street lights pop on all over this parking lot but the one over there? It doesn’t work. Faulty electrical wiring and the low branches guarantee a person can hide under the cover of night.”
“So you think he was stalked before he was killed?” I wondered if Pickler should remain on the list of suspects. Ida Belle was too close to the situation but she usually made informed decisions and didn’t let her personal feelings stand in the way of good investigating. “If Casey was stalked then he probably didn’t come home thinking he would die here. Maybe he didn’t come home with ill intentions after all.”
I hoped something in his room would support that theory. Since finding Casey’s body in my yard, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his death and how it might be linked to me, a stiletto, and the Ahmad organization.
Pickler acted like he didn’t see us as we traipsed across the parking lot. As if it mattered, I kept my head down. The last thing I wanted was Carter getting wind of an amateurish investigation. Not looking where I was going proved an error in judgment when Gertie stopped right in front of me and I practically plowed right over her.
“Watch where you’re going, dear,” Gertie said. “I do.”
Ida Belle laughed. “This coming from a woman who almost took off her entire leg in a gopher hole?”
“That’s been a while.”
“Two weeks ago,” Ida Belle said, entering the motel room. Casey’s accommodations were ordinary. At first glance, I couldn’t help but think of the seventies. The dull green shag carpet and tan bedspreads suggested the décor hadn’t been updated since the motel opened for business.
A television set with a round dial and lopsided antenna stood atop a knee-high dresser with three drawers. Clothes were stuffed in the corners as if someone had already rummaged through Casey’s things and hurriedly slammed the drawers. Between the beds, a shelf housed a phone with no numbers or buttons. I assumed the front desk was the only call option in the house.
My phone buzzed with a text message alert. I didn’t look at the caller ID. I wasn’t expecting a call from Harrison and thanks to his handler status now, I typically knew when we were supposed to contact one another. Since my Sinful friends were already there on the snoop, it was a safe to assume Carter was my midday caller.
Reluctantly, I tugged the smart device from my faded blue jeans. One new message from Deputy LeBlanc. Ditch your accomplices and call me.
I waved my phone in front of proposed accomplices. “I think Carter knows about the bike.”
“Of course he knows,” Ida Belle said, glancing at Gertie.
“What bike?” Ally asked, leaning against the motel room door.
“You don’t want to know,” I whispered.
“I knew I was in trouble from the moment I saw that kid,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle said, “See what Carter wants but let him do all the talking. You’ll find out more.”
“Not a problem.” I left the women to search through Casey’s belongings.
“Make it snappy,” Gertie called out. “This place is a wreck.”
“We’ve got it covered,” Ally said, watching as I made my way outside. At my back, I heard her ask, “So tell me about the kid incident.”
“I ran over Tadpole’s bike,” Gertie said.
“Out of all the bikes in Sinful, you hit his?” Ally’s pitched voice suggested the kid had definitely terrorized Sinful on more than one occasion. For a young boy, he had quite the reputation.
I couldn’t help but smile. Tadpole may have miscalculated his matchup with a seventy-something year old woman who never said die.
Hitting the programmed number for Carter, I was prematurely relieved when he didn’t answer on the second or third ring. By the fourth one, he was on top of it.
“Mimosa intersection. Twenty minutes ago. What do you know about it?” Carter didn’t even say hello.
I gripped the phone tightly against my ear. “Mimosa intersection? Hmm. Is that like an area where Sinful’s drunks come together for a morning toast or...”
“Fortune.”
“Okay, bad joke. Scratch that. I’m assuming that’s the same thing as Mimosa Street? I’ve been observant lately, trying to learn my way around. You know how it is. Well, maybe not. Anyway, I don’t recall a specific intersection. Are there big billboards or black and white signs placed at this named intersection? How about a neon sign with cute little umbrellas?”
“All the locals know where it is because of the mimosa trees. It should stand out in your mind because of a recent unreported accident?”
“Not ringing any bells here. Can’t say that I’ve witnessed any accidents as of late.” That wasn’t a lie. I was part of the accident and really couldn’t be considered a witness from the backseat. “I haven’t observed much of anything this afternoon. I’m not out and about today.” I gnawed on my lip. There was the fib.
“You’re not?”
“No,” I said, distancing myself from the motel room, but standing where I could still see my friends.
“You expect me to believe that you’re sitting at home alone?”
“Well I’m not exactly sitting,” I said, watching as Ally, Gertie, and Ida Belle searched the room like investigators might.
“And you didn’t see Marabelle France today?”
“Who?”
“Ma-ra-belle France.”
“Like the country? Nice. That’s a beautiful place. Did Ma-ra-belle grow up in France?”
“Okay let’s try this another way. How about Tadpole? Any alarms blaring there?”
If he only knew.
“Sure. We can talk about tadpoles. They aren’t my favorite, you know. Around midnight I hear all sorts of strange sounds and typically do what I always do with frogs. Scoop them up and carry them back where they belong.” I smiled at the thought of tossing Tadpole in the bayou. The little varmint would scream for mommy then.
I felt a pang of guilt for classifying the kid as a varmint and for a split second, almost blessed his heart. Instead, I focused on the conversation with Carter.
“You know what they say. Home is where the heart is. I try to carry all critters back where they belong even if it’s an inconvenience.” A breath later, I added, “Carter, why are we talking about tadpoles again? It seems odd, you know, especially since you’re supposed to be in court.”
“I’m not talking about frogs,” he grated out. “I’m talking about Marabelle France’s son.”
“What’s his name again? Is he from overseas, too?”
I almost giggled at the exasperation in Carter’s voice when he said, “His name is Tadpole France. He isn’t a country or a frog.”
“Someone named a boy Tadpole? Gosh, no wonder this place is named Sinful. Sure is a cruel world.”
“I don’t know why I bother. I can easily find out the truth. Where’s Gertie?”
“Maybe she’s sipping mimosas at that intersection you mentioned.”
The line fell quiet. Finally, Carter asked, “Who’s with Gertie and Ida Belle today?”
“That would be Marie. They’re over at her place canning...or something.”
“In October?”
“Why yes, Carter. I do believe so.” Lying could be exhausting. “Yes. They’re canning. In October. In fact, I’ve heard that canning October beans is a huge to-do around these parts.” I made my way back to the room and hit the speaker option while pressing my forefinger to my lips.
“So they’re working up beans today?”
“No, not today. Today, they’re canning prunes.”
“Prunes?” Ally mouthed, wrinkling her nose.
“Or maybe grapefruits,” I said quickly.
“You clearly don’t can,” Carter said.
“What was your first clue?”
Carter groaned. “Let’s go with what we know. You said they’re at Marie’s?”
“Yes.”
“And let’s try this one more time because Gertie and Ida Belle would be very specific if they were canning. Unless they’ve called an emergency meeting to make cough syrup, you probably have a good idea of what canning items are on the table today.”
I didn’t know why it mattered. “Pumpkins.” I grinned at my friends. “With Halloween and then Thanksgiving on the horizon, they want to be sure everyone has enough pumpkin to go around.”
Gertie snickered. Ida Belle shook her head. Ally covered her mouth before any noise escaped her lips.
“Now it’s pumpkins?”
“Call Marie and ask her,” I said, motioning for Ida Belle to dial Marie, another respected member of the Sinful Ladies Society. While Marie and Ally didn’t know about my former life with the CIA, we were as close as friends could be when friendships were grounded in wild tales and sprinkled with outlandish lies. “She’ll back me up.”
I grimaced as soon as I said it. I’d thrown Marie under the bus and more or less said as much by telling an officer of the law that she would verify my story. Immediately I hit mute. “Call Marie. Hurry. Tell her to leave her house and avoid all phone calls.”
“I’m on it,” Ida Belle said, stepping outside.
Returning to the phone, I said, “Listen Carter, I need to run. I have things to do and as much as I’d like to find out more about Marabelle and her froggy little son, she is part of God’s Wives.”
“And that matters why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? God’s Wives nurture their vendettas against Ida Belle and Gertie. Why they’re liable to tell any kind of story to make Ida Belle and Gertie look bad. They’re sinners. That’s what they are. Down-right sinners.”
“So you’ve learned southern speak since you’ve been in town, have you?”
“What’s that exactly?”
“Gossipmongers learn the art of belittling someone while praising or protecting another. Looks like you have it down to a science.”
“Can’t believe everything you hear, Carter.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” he said, disconnecting the line.
I held out the phone and stared at the stopped call timer. Tucking the phone in my hip pocket, I said, “He didn’t buy it.”
“For your sake, I hope he didn’t,” Ida Belle said. “Because you aren’t one to sit at home alone. If he caught that little tidbit then he may get suspicious.”
“He might drop by for leftovers after his Mudbug visit.” Gertie grinned from ear to ear. “No pun intended since you have plans tonight.”
Ally’s gaze shifted between women. “Am I missing something here?”
“Fortune has a date,” Ida Belle said.
“With Carter?” Ally looked hopeful.
“No,” I snapped, turning to Ida Belle. “And it is not a date.”
“What would you call it?” Gertie asked.
“Research.”
“Who’s the lucky man?” Ally asked.
“Baylor Madison. He’s my new neighbor.”
Ally snickered. “That’s not research. That’s like winning the grand prize at a state fair.”
“Then you go out with him,” I suggested.
“Why are you going out with him? I thought you and Carter were...”
“Wait a second. Do you know the new man in town?” Ida Belle asked, searching Ally’s face for tells.
I’d already assumed that he was the handsome fellow that Ally had mentioned earlier when we’d discussed Kathleen.
Ally used her arm to rake all of Casey’s toiletry items into a plastic bag. “Do I know him? No, not personally. He showed up at Francine’s today. When Kathleen saw him, she acted like she’d seen a ghost.”
“How’d he act?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Now that I think about it, he seemed glad to see her. Had a sweet expression on his face until she acted like she didn’t want him there.”
“That’s odd,” Ida Belle said. “Kathleen is usually controlled.”
“Sneaky,” Gertie said, shaking her forefinger. “I always said that about her.”
“Anything else happen?” Ida Belle asked.
“No,” Ally replied. “She just tossed down a twenty dollar bill, thanked me for taking care of Casey’s belongings, and left.”
“We need to hurry and get everything packed up and out of here before someone comes back asking questions,” I said.
“I don’t think we’ll see Pickler again. He’s watching some kind of dating marathon for seniors. He was fussy because he had to walk me down here in the first place.”
“He could’ve just given you the key,” I said.
“Said he only had the master key. Claims Casey must’ve had it on him when he died.”
I glanced at the door then, noticing that it didn’t have the magnetic key reader. Talk about behind the times.
Minutes later, we were all busy. We packed, searched, and hauled Casey’s belongings to Ally’s car. Ally and I had just returned from a trip to the parking lot, when something hit me. Casey had supposedly been living out of town. How would Kathleen, his mother, know any of his friends if he hadn’t been home in a while? Baylor must’ve been a relative. Had Baylor purchased a house in Sinful so he could live closer to his family? If so, he’d picked a heck of a time to return home.
“I don’t mean to ask the same thing again and again but do you think Kathleen and Baylor could be related? Do they resemble one another?”
“Have you seen Kathleen?” Gertie asked, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Just a question.”
Ally said, “At first I thought he might have been a cousin but after she looked like a trembling branch on a weathered tree in the middle of a storm? I decided she’s afraid of him.”
“Sometimes relatives can be scary folks,” I said.
“Maybe,” Ally said. “She went white as soon as she spotted Baylor that’s for sure. I was standing right next to her. And then she couldn’t get out of Francine’s fast enough.”
“They’re not family,” Ida Belle said, turning to Ally. “Verify that with Celia. Your aunt will give you the information before she’ll share anything with us.”
“She’s been supportive here recently,” I said.
“You must’ve missed the part where Marabelle said...”
“I heard what she said. Don’t believe everything you hear, Gertie. Troublemakers thrive on making others look bad. It makes them feel better about themselves and they always think they won’t get caught up in their storm.”
“But the winds always blow a gust of troubles right back on their porches,” Ida Belle said, winking.
“For sure,” Gertie said, still rummaging through Casey’s things.
“Marabelle needs all the help she can get right now,” Ally said. “From what I understand, her husband is leaving her. I don’t know why she wants to cause problems for Celia or anyone else.”
“The miserable ones are born with jealousy in their veins, dear. Marabelle has always been unhappy, bless her heart.”
Ida Belle and I shared a silent smile before Ida Belle said, “I can’t see Jake leaving Marabelle. He’s sort of a tagalong in that he just follows behind her and does whatever she tells him to do.”
“It’s all over town,” Ally said. “She’s been cheating on him.”
“Chucky’s momma has a boyfriend?” I asked, wishing I could take it back. The kid had issues that his parents apparently caused. “Now we need Celia for sure. Ask her about my neighbor and find out who Marabelle was seeing on the sly.”
“Why does that matter?” Gertie asked. “Do you think she had something to do with Casey’s murder?”
“No,” I said. “Not unless she was sleeping with Casey.”
“Never,” Gertie said.
“Not a chance. He was wired up weird,” Ida Belle said. “But I’ll go along with Fortune’s train of thought. We need to find out if Marabelle knew Casey. Can you talk to Celia?”
“Sure,” Ally said, glancing at Gertie as if she wanted her nod of approval too.
Gertie scoffed. “Fine. Go ahead. But I don’t want to hear any of you whining when Celia calls in those favors. She’ll go big or go home.”
“Let’s hope she just goes home and stays there,” Ida Belle said.
Ally sighed. “Be nice. She’s family.”
“Yours, not mine,” Ida Belle reminded her. “But just for you, I’ll hold my tongue.”
“That’ll be the day,” said Gertie.
I scanned the room once more, certain we’d looked through everything at least twice now. “I don’t think we’ll find anything of interest here.”
Gertie picked up a pillow to toss it out of the way. A hard thump landed against the headboard and we all stared at one another.
“Don’t look at me,” said Ally. “I provided the means to enter. Someone else can drag away the evidence.”
Ida Belle grabbed the pillow and turned it upside down. A hardbound journal fell to the mattress, but it wasn’t the book that mattered. It was the long blade piercing through a piece of paper. I only caught a glimpse of it before Ida Belle passed off the sword to Gertie and crumpled the paper, slamming it inside the journal. “Looks like we struck gold right when we were ready to settle for silver.”