“Okay, cards at my house tonight, after dinner though. I plan on eating a salad, a very small, dry salad,” Fortune told her two elderly friends as she rubbed her stuffed tummy. They were walking home from lunch at Francine’s, where she’d made the mistake of ordering the Mortal Sin.
Now she understood why Francine had named it after one of the major sins, but she might as well have named it for what it was... Gluttony, no question. It had been good, but she couldn’t believe she’d eaten the entire meal.
She’d agreed earlier they could splurge on lunch if she could burn off some of the calories by walking to and fro. Her metabolism didn’t work as well as Gertie’s or Ida Belle’s. Those two could eat anything and never gain a pound; they both looked like they’d blow away if a slight wind hit them.
Fortune sighed after revising her calculations in her head, she’d have to walk to Baton Rouge and back to negate the calories from that feast... Maybe Miami.
“I’ll bring the cough syrup,” Ida Belle said, refocusing Fortune’s thoughts.
“What should I bring?” Gertie asked.
“I don’t suppose you have anything recently baked, anything chocolate?” Fortune asked, and chuckled when she realized she wasn’t sticking very well to her previously pious intentions. She knew she’d relent sooner or later anyway, though. Anything Gertie baked was always worth the extra calories.
“How’s Poke cake sound?” Gertie asked. “I started one this morning. It should be done by tonight.”
“What’s Poke cake?” Fortune asked.
“You’ve never had Poke cake?” Ida Belle raised her eyebrows at Fortune. “Gertie has the best recipe in the Parish, although I will admit mine isn’t too bad either.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with that Poke Salad stuff I hear you singing about in that song on the radio, does it?” Fortune asked, wrinkling up her nose. “Salad and chocolate don’t sound like they’d compliment each other...”
“No, there’s no pokeweed in Poke cake. It’s called Poke cake because you poke it and then fill in the holes,” Ida Belle chuckled, “wouldn’t be very good if you just poked it. Or, maybe it would... Depends on the cake, I suppose. Gertie’s chocolate cake would probably taste fine if you just poked it, but it tastes even better when she fills the holes.”
“What do you fill the holes with?” Fortune asked.
“Different people use different fillings, like spice cake with caramel and applesauce, or white cake with various fruit fillings. I like the chocolate version. I use hot fudge, chocolate pudding, caramel, and then more chocolate,” Gertie answered.
“Chocolate is my favorite version too,” Ida Belle added, nodding her approval.
“It takes awhile to make. You make a plain chocolate cake in a long pan and poke holes all over the top of it with a big wooden spoon. Then you fill the holes with hot fudge sauce, let it cool in the fridge, and pour dark chocolate pudding over the whole mess. You let that cool, and poor caramel sauce on top of the pudding. Dark chocolate shavings spread over the top finishes it off nicely, and again, back in the fridge to let it cool.”
“Sounds delicious,” Fortune swooned. “And it sounds like it has enough chocolate for even me.”
“Some people,” Gertie said disdainfully and raised her eyebrow at Ida Belle.
“Celia!” Ida Belle and Gertie said simultaneously, shaking their heads.
“She puts chocolate whipped cream on top, but I think we can all agree, that’s way too much chocolate. She always goes overboard. Anyway, that's it, Poke cake.”
“I put the caramel inside, and the hot fudge on the top,” Ida Belle mused, “you’d think it would taste the same, but it just doesn’t.”
“The flavors won’t mix that way,” Gertie chastised her. “I’ve told you over and over.”
“You’ve never once told me that,” Ida Belle huffed.
“I most certainly have!” Gertie huffed right back at her.
“Bring the Poke cake,” Fortune said, interrupting the disagreement before her elderly friends really got started. They’d reached the intersection where they’d split off. “See you tonight!”
“Ugh, I can’t move, but I think Poke cake is now my favorite cake,” Fortune said, later that very same night, stretching her legs out as far as they’d go underneath the table. She moved her cake plate to the side, and picked up her cards. “Whose turn is it?” she asked as she considered how far she’d have to walk to burn off the calories from the Poke cake. Denver or maybe even Seattle?
“Mine,” Ida Belle said, and studied her cards.
“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it,” Gertie said, tucking Fortune’s plate under hers. “That reminds me of the flood of ‘93...” She was squinting into the kitchen, putting her playing cards down on the table, cocking her head, and getting a far-away look in her eye. “Remember the case that summer...”
“You’re squinting. You need to put your glasses on,” Fortune admonished her, picking Gertie’s reading glasses up from the table and handing them to her. “What case? Was it a murder? Was it here in Sinful?”
“Yep, sort of, it was a body we found back in late July of ‘93,” Gertie started to explain as she pushed the glasses away.
“Oh, for crying out loud, don’t just sit there reminiscing,” Ida Belle screeched after seeing what Gertie was looking at. She jumped up from her chair and ran into the kitchen as Fortune’s dishwasher overflowed all over the kitchen floor, creating clouds of suds that billowed across the room.
“Get a mop,” she loudly instructed while she furiously started to push the buttons on the front of the machine. The machine started making some very strange noises, and then it bucked, like it was trying to escape from the counter it was enclosed in.
“I can’t seem to turn it off,” Ida Belle growled. “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“Stop. Just stop right there,” Fortune slapped at Ida Belle’s hands. “Let me,” she said, as she bumped her hip into her elderly friend, trying to move her out of the way.
Ida Belle slammed into Gertie, who had finally entered the room, bearing a mop. Gertie skimmed halfway across the wet kitchen floor in her stocking feet.
“Whoa, whoa,” she squealed as she twisted and twirled across the room. Her arms windmilled, trying to balance her body as she sailed through the kitchen. The mop flew out of her hand and whacked Ida Belle right across her back. Gertie finally slid face-first into the wall and dropped like a rock, landing on the floor with a splash.
Meanwhile, Ida Belle reached behind herself to rub her back, where the mop had hit, lost her footing on the slick floor, danced precariously across the room, and landed in a slump on top of Gertie.
“Ida Belle? Gertie, are you both okay?” Fortune asked when she waded over to find Ida Belle trying to get to her feet, shaking her soaking-wet, curler-covered head, and sticking her finger down her throat.
“Get off me, ya big lug!” Gertie mumbled from under Ida Belle.
“Hang on, I think I swallowed something,” Ida Belle said, forcing herself to gag. “It’s tickling my throat,” she tilted her head and gagged again as she crawled off Gertie. “Ack, it’s still alive” she said, her face scrunched up, as she pulled a beetle out of her mouth and furiously flung it across the room. They all watched as the beetle floated up out of the suds and tried to paddle across the suds.
"Well, that was interesting," Gertie said before groaning. She stretched out her arms, then gingerly got up on her knees, grasping the cabinet, hoping it would help her get to her feet. She looked like a drowned rat. Fortune hurried over to help her.
"That was most certainly not interesting. You didn't have a tiny beast crawl in your mouth, now did you?" Ida Belle asked, still gagging and spitting. Her curlers were a mess, half of them unrolled with hair sticking out everywhere.
“Ladies!” Fortune said, trying not to laugh at the spectacle, and needing to get their attention before they started arguing in earnest. “Are you both okay, or do we need to call an ambulance?” she asked, before remembering where she was. Gertie’s ancient Cadillac would probably get them to the hospital faster than an ambulance could get to them. “Any broken bones? Gertie?”
“I’m fine,” Gertie announced as her foot slipped, almost toppling her again. “You?” she asked Ida Belle after frantically grabbing both the counter and Fortune to regain her balance.
“I’m fine,” Ida Belle said to both Gertie and Fortune. “Thanks for breaking my fall,” she added, nodding back at Gertie.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you so hard,” Fortune apologized to Ida Belle. Huffing out a breath, she waded back across the room, wrestled the machine from under the counter, reached behind it, and pulled the plug. Then she found the water valves and shut them off. “There,” she said, “at least it won’t be pumping out any more water.”
“Well, it looks like we don’t need a mop anymore,” Gertie laughed, surveying the wet mess as she attempted to wring out her shirt, “we need a pump.”
“Open the door. We’ll push the water out,” Ida Belle directed. She picked up the mop and started pushing the water out the door after Gertie opened it.
“I’ll get a broom to help push,” Gertie said.
“I’ll get the rugs,” Fortune said as Gertie headed for the broom closet. “We can hang them outside. They ought to dry pretty quickly in this heat.” She hauled one of the soaking-wet rag rugs off the floor and headed outside to find something to drape it over.
“I’ve been meaning to clean these rugs anyway,” Fortune laughed. “I suppose dishwasher soap works as well as laundry soap. I’ll have to hose them down tomorrow though.”
After taking all three rugs out, Fortune helped Ida Belle, and Gertie clean up the kitchen floor. With Ida Belle barking orders like a drill sergeant, they had the room spic and span in no time.
“I’m pooped,” Gertie exclaimed, falling on the couch when they’d finished.
“Me too,” Fortune agreed, slumping down beside her. “I’ll worry about fixing the dishwasher tomorrow.”
"We're not going to have to call Walter, are we?" Fortune asked, watching Gertie and Ida Belle tinkering around inside the machine the next morning. The women had given up trying to fix the dishwasher the night before, and had regrouped at first light to give it another shot.
"No, we don't need that old man's help," Ida Belle answered, glancing up at Fortune, her narrowed eyebrows streaked with grease.
"We could always call Carter," Gertie chuckled, wiggling her eyebrows at Fortune.
"Oh no, we can't. Well, we could, but we won’t. Absolutely not," Fortune exclaimed, blushing as she thought about Carter, covered in grease. Greased Carter sounded as delicious as Gertie’s Poke cake.
Flustered, Fortune tried to think of anything but Carter, which of course, left her thinking of nothing but Carter.
"It's a pretty straightforward machine isn't it? I mean, all it does is spins, sprays water, and drains. How hard can it be to repair? There aren’t that many parts...” Gertie mused as she stood behind Ida Belle.
"Well I don't see you down here trying to fix it," Ida Belle snorted, looking up at Gertie and blowing a wisp of hair out of her face.
"Wait, what about that guy, Buddy? Carter mentioned him. I saw his number somewhere. Isn't he the handyman Marge always used?" Fortune asked, still thinking of Carter. "He's probably even worked on this machine before."
"That's a great idea," Gertie said, "I've had him fix things around my house and he does a pretty good job."
"Well then, that settles it," Fortune sighed, "I'm calling him, I don't want to mess with this anymore." She started opening drawers, looking for Marge's address book, determined to stop thinking about Carter.
"I'm sure I've got his number at my place," Gertie said, "do you want me to go look?"
“Found it!” Fortune said, flourishing the small book. She headed to the phone to call the handyman. After just a minute, she announced, “He can’t get here till this afternoon. How about I make lunch, and you tell me all about this murder you brought up last night?”
“What murder?” Ida Belle asked, looking confused.
“In ‘93, something about a flood?” Fortune asked, and looked at Gertie. “You mentioned it, remember, right before we discovered the dishwasher overflowing?”
“Oh, you mean the body we found that the sheriff thought was a flood victim? Was that the case you meant? Or was it a different one?” Ida Belle asked Gertie.
“How many murders have there been in Sinful?” Fortune asked incredulously. “This town isn’t big enough to have multiple homicide cases, is it?”
“We’ve had our fair share over the years,” Ida Belle mused. “Mostly crimes of passion,” she cocked her head, “or people just making some really stupid decisions.”
“Mostly stupid decisions. It’s the heat, I think,” Gertie piped in. “People’s blood gets overheated, and they do things they’d normally never consider. Take that July of ‘93 case, for example,”
“Hold on,” Fortune interrupted, “I’ll fix some sandwiches. Chicken salad okay?”
“Sounds good,” Gertie said, following Fortune into the kitchen, “we’ll help.”
“You two need to go clean up the grease,” Fortune laughed. “Sandwiches will only take a minute anyway. Go get cleaned up.”