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IDA BELLE WATCHED THROUGH a crack in the butler door as Sheriff Robert E. Lee, Deputy Oscar Broussard, and Doc Beaudry examined the body of a very dead Wade Guillory. Sheriff Lee stuck his face close to Mr. Guillory’s hand, getting a close-up view of the huge nail protruding from it.
“There are a few in his chest as well,” the doctor said. “Shock and blood loss are what killed him. We’ll have to run tests, but I’d say it happened sometime late last night. Ten or so.”
Sheriff Lee stood and glanced at the door. Ida Belle quickly closed it and joined Marge and Gertie standing nearby. “Sheriff’s coming.”
The door swung open and Sheriff Lee stepped inside the living room. When they’d all left for Vietnam in 1961, Sheriff Lee’s daddy, Elder Sheriff Lee, was head honcho, and junior was a cocky deputy. He was in his late forties now and had gained a mustache, some pounds and a smattering of gray hair along his temples. He hadn’t lost his swagger, though. “I thought I told you all to wait outside with Miss Cotton.”
“We thought maybe you’d have questions for us,” Ida Belle said, shrugging her shoulders in a manner that let him know any sheriff worth his salt would have a million questions for them. Sheriff Lee was a throwback to another era. While he had a perfectly good car parked in his garage, his wife was the one who mostly drove it, Sheriff Lee preferring instead to ride his burro, Paint, or his horse, Whirligig around Sinful while on duty. Today it was Paint tied up to the tree in the front yard. Ida Belle had never considered the sheriff the smartest gator in the swamp, and she knew he knew she felt that way. The thing about a dumb alligator? It can still do damage.
He squinted at her, as if somehow that gave him X-ray vision. “Just one. Which one of you did it?”
“Which one of us did it?” Gertie asked in disbelief.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s my duty to ask. Don’t get your undergarments in a bunch. I know you three girls couldn’t subdue a big man like Wade Guillory.”
Ida Belle glanced at Gertie and then at Marge, whose widening eyes were an alert to intervene. She gave Marge a subtle shake of her head, widening her own eyes for added effect. Marge had gotten the women’s lib bug. Bad. Not that she and Gertie weren’t liberated gals. They were. But Marge had become a bit fanatical about it. And while Marge Boudreaux had stepped into the modern age along with the rest of the world, Sinful was stuck in the stone age, where hippies and women’s libbers had better keep their mouths shut.
“What do you mean by that?” Marge asked, choosing to ignore Ida Belle’s signals to stifle her emotions. “You don’t think if allowed to use the proper equipment, women can’t build their upper body strength?”
“I’m sure that’s not what he meant, Marge,” Ida Belle said.
Marge continued, pointing her finger at Sheriff Lee’s shell-shocked face. “I’ll have you know the three of us had to do some heavy lifting while in Vietnam.”
That was putting it mildly, thought Ida Belle, wondering just how far Marge was going to go.
Gertie clapped her hands. “Yep, lifting requisition forms can be quite taxing for a gal, though I doubt Sheriff Lee wants to hear about all that.”
But Marge was just getting started. “And I’d like to point out that it looked as if Mr. Guillory, God rest his soul, was subdued by a nail gun. I’m sure there are plenty of women in Sinful who can operate a nail gun. I know I can.”
Sheriff Lee folded his arms. “Hmmm. And can you account for your whereabouts for the past twelve hours?”
“I was with her the whole time, Sheriff,” Ida Belle said, locking her left arm with Marge’s right.
“And I was there too,” Gertie said. “We were baking.”
“For twelve hours?” he asked.
“You know us girls,” Ida Belle said. “Once you get us around an oven, we just can’t stop.”
Marge started to protest but was stopped by Ida Belle’s hand clamped over her mouth.
Gertie grabbed Marge’s left arm. “We’ll just head on over to the Sinful Café for some pie. Maybe get some baking tips from Miss Fanny while we’re there. Us girls love getting baking tips.”
“You do that,” Sheriff Lee said. “And you,” he said, pointing to Marge. “It would serve you well to focus on your baking and leave the pumping iron as well as the investigating to us men. Oh, and don’t leave town. Every gal in town is now on my suspect list. Especially you.”
After leaving the house, Ida Belle turned to Marge. “Why didn’t you just paint a sign on your back that said, ‘I did it.’”
“Well, it’s time Sinful reflects what’s happening all over the country. And Sheriff Lee is a good place to start.” Marge kicked at a rock on the brick path to the street. “His daddy used to treat us like second-class citizens, and Junior in there is going to end up just like him if we don’t set him straight.”
Gertie shook her head. “I’d say Junior’s a bit set in his ways.”
Ida Belle glanced over at Bonnie Cotton, who was leaning against her new Plymouth, nervously puffing away on a cigarette. “I bet it’ll take Bonnie a while to get over the shock of seeing her boss dead on the floor.”
Her eyes then caught something pink in Marge’s hand. “What’s that?”
Marge held up a pink hair clip. “Oh, crap. I meant to give this to Sheriff Lee. He got me so worked up I forgot. I found it on the floor of the rental.”
“Let me see that,” Gertie said.
Marge handed it to Gertie, who held it up, inspecting it. “This could be evidence.”
“That’s what I thought,” Marge said. “I should go back inside and give it to him.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “You’re already on his naughty list. Tell me where you found it. I’ll make up some excuse to go back inside to talk to him and discreetly put it back so they can find it.”
“Make sure you wipe her fingerprints off,” Gertie said.
A squeaking sound caught their attention. Bonnie opened the gate and was walking up the walkway, stopping to pat Sheriff Lee’s burro before heading over to them.
“So it’s official? Mr. Guillory is really dead?”
Marge nodded.
“I turned away when I saw all the blood.” Bonnie lowered her voice. “Was it murder?”
Ida Belle nodded. “Probably so. I don’t see how he could shoot himself all over his body with a nail gun.”
Bonnie placed a hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh, my Lord. His wife. Who’s going to tell her?”
“The Sheriff will do that,” Gertie said.
Bonnie cocked her head. “Is that my hair clip?”
Gertie held it up. “This is yours?”
“I found it in the house,” Marge said. “We were thinking it might be evidence.”
Bonnie took a step back. “Evidence? But I didn’t do it!” She took the hair clip from Gertie’s hand. “This must have slipped out of my hair when I went inside and saw the blood. You don’t think I’m a suspect?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Ida Belle couldn’t help noticing that Gertie wasn’t joining in with their reassurances to Bonnie. What was that all about?
“You’d need a motive for that,” Gertie said. “You don’t have one of those, do you?”
“Of course not!” Bonnie said loudly. “I was home watching The Birds on TV. It was the Tuesday Night Movie. Besides, Mr. Guillory and I got on just fine.” Then she added, quickly, “Though, we never socialized. He was busy tending to his sick wife. He was my boss and I was his employee. Though, I tell you who the sheriff should be looking at. Dolly Harkins. She threatened Mr. Guillory because she didn’t like how he stuffed her cat, Crackers. She was fuming when she picked him up after Wade... Mr. Guillory stuffed him. She wanted her money back and he wouldn’t give it to her. She said he was going to pay one way or the other.” She nodded rapidly. “Yes, that’s who the sheriff should talk to. And he needs to talk to Louanne Boudreaux. She went to see him before supper while he was working here.”
“My aunt did not kill Mr. Guillory,” Marge said.
Bonnie held up her hands. “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t mean that. I meant, maybe Louanne saw something.” Bonnie pulled in a deep breath. “I think I’m going to go back to the office and wrap things up, then go home to sit with Whitey. It’s times like this that make you want to be close to loved ones.”
“Is Whitey your boyfriend?” Gertie asked.
“My dog. Unlike a boyfriend, Whitey will actually listen when I go home and cry about all this.” She wiped at her moistening eyes. “Can I drop you girls off anywhere?”
“Well, we were heading to the café,” Ida Belle said.
“It’s on my way.”
Gertie shook her head. “Thanks, but we can walk. It’ll help us shake off our nerves.”
Now Ida Belle knew something was up. After Bonnie pulled her Plymouth away from the curb and headed down the street, she turned to Gertie. “Spill it. You think something’s up with Bonnie.”
Gertie nodded. “I’ll say.”
“She was awfully quick to blame the cat lady and my Aunt Louanne,” said Marge.
“Not only that,” Gertie added, “but she didn’t knock that hair clip off when she saw the body. In fact, she wasn’t wearing that clip before going inside that house.”
“You sure of that?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie nodded. “I was admiring her haircut and how it framed the sides of her face. If she’d had the clip in her hair, one side would have been swept back. It wasn’t. Besides, that was a pink clip. If you’ll notice, she’s very color coordinated. She’s wearing a yellow and white dress, with yellow purse and yellow shoes. There’s not a lick of pink on her. She wouldn’t have a pink hair clip with a yellow dress, purse and shoes.”
“I never even noticed,” Marge said.
Neither had Ida Belle. She never paid much attention to color coordination. But she recognized a clue when she saw it. “Meaning that hair clip must have fallen off in that house some other time when Bonnie was in it.”
She could feel a smile forming on her face. Ever since they left the Army a month ago, she’d been feeling a little restless. It was hard going from spy work to nothing. Working as a spy, there was always action. And intrigue. Lots of intrigue. Who could you trust? Who was telling the truth? Who was a double agent? She felt a spark of excitement just now. And the looks in her friends’ eyes said they were feeling it too.
A mission.
“Ladies, I think we have a mystery on our hands. And I don’t know about you, but I always think better on a full stomach.”
* * * * *
THE SINFUL CAFÉ NEVER changed, Marge thought as the three entered Sinful’s only eating establishment. Well, except for the round of “welcome home” clapping they received when they walked through the door. Sure, they would receive pats on the back when they’d come home on leave. But nothing like this. Even those people whom they never got along with were cheering.
“They cheer for all the veterans,” a nasally voice drawled. “I wouldn’t get carried away about it.”
And then there was Celia.
The three turned to find their childhood nemesis and her evil twin/cousin Dorothy sharing a table. The remains of a cheese omelet sat on Celia’s plate.
Marge had always surmised that Celia was left on the Comeaux’s doorstep 29 years ago by her real parents, Satan and Cruella de Vil.
“I don’t see rings on any of those girls’ fingers,” Celia said to Dorothy. “Can you imagine what the ratio of men to women was in Vietnam? And these three come back empty handed?” She shook her head. “I’m not surprised. It’s not like any of them fix themselves up to attract a man.”
Dorothy snickered and shoved a French fry in her mouth.
Celia held up her hand, displaying a diamond engagement ring. “Why, look what I have. Max Arceneaux asked, and I accepted.”
Gertie frowned. “Max? He’s all your parents could afford?”
“Bitch,” Dorothy said, picking up another fry.
Celia shook her head. “I’m going to be a married woman soon, so your childish insults have no impact on me. But I will give you a piece of advice. If you want to get a man, you might want to at least wash that jungle smell off you, girls. Then maybe you’d end up with what I have.”
Instinctively Marge and Ida Belle held out their arms to stop Gertie from going for her. Gertie may have held her tongue with Sheriff Lee, but Celia was another matter.
“If I ended up with what you have, I’d be getting a call from the Health Department,” Gertie yelled from behind Marge and Ida Belle’s blockade.
Celia gasped.
“They’re not worth it,” Marge said as she and Ida Belle led Gertie to a table on the other side of the café.
Gertie yanked out a chair and plopped down into it. She looked at Marge. “Do you still have any of that itching powder we used to torture her with?”
Marge shook her head. “My mom threw it away. Said the dog kept getting ahold of it. We’re going to have to order some more.”
“We don’t have time to waste on the likes of her,” Ida Belle said. She lowered her voice. “We have a murder to solve.”
“Not that I’m not up to the challenge,” Gertie said. “To be honest, I’ve been a bit bored since we got out of the Army. But why is solving Mr. Guillory’s murder our responsibility?”
“Who else will solve it?” Marge asked. “Deputy Broussard’s head is so far inside his butt that his brain has been cut off from oxygen. And certainly not Sheriff Lee. He doesn’t exactly come from a family of Sherlocks. How long did it take Elder Sheriff Lee to solve Bo-Bo’s murder?”
“Bo-Bo? The monkey?” Gertie asked.
Marge shook her head. “No, Bo-Bo was the monkey’s owner. The monkey was named Billy Bob.”
Gertie nodded. “I remember now.”
Ida Belle shook her head, picked up three menus placed between the napkin dispenser and the wall and handed them out. “Bo-Bo never should have taught that monkey to shoot.”
Gertie nodded. “Well, and Bo-Bo should have known better than to have a nearsighted monkey cover him during a robbery.”
Ida Belle shook her head as she scanned the menu. “Lord this town needs us.”
Marge opened her menu and smiled. Greasy and cheesy. Just what she’d been wanting. Her mama’s cooking was outstanding, but her father had been ordered by his doctor to cut down on all the good stuff, so it hasn’t been tasting quite like home. Marge could always count on the Sinful Café to be loaded with what the doctor definitely didn’t order. She looked from her menu to her friends. “Well, Sinful’s just going to have to fend for itself because we’re leaving in three months.”
A few seconds passed and neither Gertie nor Ida Belle had responded, which sent Marge’s internal alarm bells ringing. “Right? We’re moving in three months.”
“Of course,” Gertie said. “I have to put distance between me and my mama. I love her, but if I give her an inch, it’ll be goodbye to the groovy self I’m creating.”
“You won’t hear an argument from me,” Ida Belle said. “Which is too bad, because this place could use a little infusion of sanity.”
Gertie nodded as she scanned the menu. “I’m going to order a big, fat pulled pork sandwich with chili jam. No one makes it like Miss Fanny.”
“Finally, you came by to see us.”
Marge looked up. Now this was a change. “Francine?”
Francine was Miss Fanny’s granddaughter. She was all of three years old when Marge and the others left for basic training, or, as Marge liked to call it, spy school. Years after they’d left, Francine had designated Marge to be her soldier pen pal. Every month Marge would get a letter from little Francine. Now here she was, a blossoming girl of 13, wearing one of the Sinful Café’s aprons and holding a notepad.
“Well, don’t you look all grown up,” Gertie said.
“I’m learning how to waitress,” Francine said proudly. “Someday this place is going to be mine.”
“Is that so?” Ida Belle said.
“Granny Fanny said I could have it if I wanted it. Said I could even change the name. I thought the Groovy Café would be good, which just about gave my Granny Fanny a heart attack.”
“Groovy Café,” Gertie said, moving her hands as if displaying the name in the air. “I can dig it.”
Marge glanced at Ida Belle and they both rolled their eyes. Gertie had made it her mission in life to be “happening,” despite how her friends were getting tired of how often dig it, groovy, and outtasight rolled off her tongue.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Gertie said. She looked at Francine. “They’re L-7,” she said, making a square with her index fingers and thumbs. “Not groovy like us.”
“What about Francine’s Café?” Marge asked. “That’s timeless.”
Francine rolled her eyes. “L-7,” she and Gertie said simultaneously.
“So what’ll it be?” Francine asked, her pencil poised over the pad.
Marge closed her menu. “I’ll have a number seven, with cheese and fries and a large Coke.”
“Same,” Ida Belle said. “I want a cherry in my Coke.”
“Pulled pork with chili jam, Dr. Pepper for me,” Gertie said, gathering their menus and placing them back behind the napkin dispenser. “And don’t skimp on the chili jam. You might want to bring a little extra on the side.”
“That’ll be a dime.”
“I’m a veteran,” Gertie said indignantly. “Don’t I get a special rate?”
“A dime is a special rate,” Francine said. “You’re lucky we don’t charge extra for Coke refills or extra ketchup. If it was up to me, you would. All these free extras are digging into our profits. Good day ladies.”
They watched as Francine took their order to the kitchen.
“Francine just went down on my groovy scale,” Gertie said.
After their sodas were delivered, talk turned to the mystery at hand. When did Bonnie lose her hair clip in the rental house, and why did she lie?
“What’s she hiding?” Gertie asked before slurping down her Dr. Pepper until all she had left was ice.
“Maybe that she killed Mr. Guillory,” Marge answered.
“Bonnie relies on Guillory for a paycheck,” Ida Belle said, placing her straw in her glass. “Seems counterintuitive to kill the guy who pays you every week.”
“You do if he’s threatening you in some way.”
Gertie signaled to Francine she wanted a refill of her Dr. Pepper and then said, “What about Dolly Harkins? Didn’t Bonnie say she threatened Guillory? She needs to go on our list as well. Along with anyone who might have a grudge against him. People do get particular about how they want their trophy heads and pets stuffed. Certainly, Dolly Harkins can’t be the only dissatisfied customer.”
Ida Belle sighed. “We’ve been away too long. We need new intel on all that’s gone on since we left. The letters from home were fine, but we need to know the secrets. The stuff that people didn’t write us about. For that, we’ll need to talk to the biggest snoop in Sinful.”
Marge couldn’t stop the grin that was forming on her face. “Aunt Louanne.”
“Right on,” Gertie said, then pointed to them. “I saw those eye rolls. L-7 squares.”
After lunch, the three left the café and headed to the General Store. The quickest way to Louanne’s property, located in a remote area along the bayou, was by boat. Marge’s family boat was out of commission at the moment, and Ida Belle refused to ask her father to borrow his. Asking Gertie’s mom to borrow one of theirs was out of the question. Mrs. Hebert was way too snoopy and most likely would insist on going with them. The girls needed discretion. That left Walter’s dad and owner of the General Store, Big Eddie.
“Am I allowed to know where you’ll be taking my boat?” Big Eddie asked as he placed cans of beef stew on one of his store shelves. The General Store was the only place in Sinful where someone could come buy ammo to shoot dinner, barbecue sauce to put over dinner and a package of antacid to keep that dinner from getting revenge.
“We’d prefer you not,” Ida Belle said, picking up a can from the case and placing it on the shelf.
“I thought so. This wouldn’t happen to involve Wade Guillory being murdered, would it?”
News traveled fast in Sinful.
“Why would you assume that?” Marge asked. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I didn’t think you did,” Big Eddie said.
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“Marge!” Gertie slapped her hands on her hips. “Would you please stop trying to convince everyone we could have killed Mr. Guillory?”
Big Eddie assessed Marge. “You’re not going to burn your bra anytime soon, are you?”
“And what if I do?” Marge asked, ignoring Gertie’s glare and Ida Belle’s shaking of her head.
“Well,” he said, smiling, “you might want to wait till next week. We’re having a two-for-one sale on women’s underthings.”
“Can we borrow your boat or not?” Ida Belle asked.
He flicked his thumb toward the backroom. “It’s docked out back where it always is. You tell Louanne Boudreaux ‘hi’ for me.”
“What makes you think we’re visiting my Aunt Louanne?” Marge asked.
“Because you three never could keep your nose out of official police business, even when you were teenagers. And when you need information, you go to someone who knows everything. A woman, obviously,” he said pointedly to Marge. “Lord knows us men don’t know night from day around here.”
The brass bell above the door chimed. Marge glanced over to see who entered, and for a moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped.
It was Marie.