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GERTIE POINTED HER pistol at the man. It took her a moment to realize the weapon he held was a stun gun. “I wouldn’t do anything with that if I were you,” she warned.
“Gertie?”
She then realized it wasn’t Buster she had her pistol trained on.
“Gill the poop guy?”
“Gill Girard, the scatologist,” he said, his voice rising a few octaves. He took several deep breaths and asked in a much deeper, albeit quivering voice, “What are you doing here? And pointing a weapon at my face?”
“I thought you were someone else.” She brought her pistol down to her side.
“Do you always walk around with a gun hidden in your slacks?”
“Do you always walk around with a stun gun?”
“In fact I do.” His hand shook as he slipped the weapon inside a leather holder connected to his belt. “My work takes me around wild animals. I have to be prepared to defend myself.”
Gertie shook her head. “The only thing that stun gun will do is make ‘em mad. So what are you doing here?”
He took a moment and pulled in a breath. “I... uh...” He pulled in several more deep breaths. “Well... my office received a report of a gray short-tailed possum in these woods, which is rare for Louisiana.” His breathing began returning to a calmer rhythm. “I wanted to see if I could find any scat to confirm it was here.” He folded his arms. “May I ask why you’re roaming the woods so late at night? Do you know how dangerous that is for a girl? Especially a girl as pretty as you?”
“As I recall,” Gertie said, lifting her pistol, which caused Gill to back away, “I was the one who had the upper hand. Besides, Ida Belle and Marge are close by. They’re just as armed as I am and slightly better shots.”
“But why are you three out here?” He shined his flashlight on her black stretch pants and black pullover. “And why are you dressed like a burglar?” His eyes widened. “You’re not...”
He began to hyperventilate, so Gertie stepped closer and reached over and patted him on the shoulder, reassuring him that robbing a home was not on her agenda tonight. “It has to do with the murder last night in that rental house.” She flicked her head toward what would have been her home away from her mother.
His brows shot up. “That’s the house? Oh, dear Lord, I thought it was... well, certainly not here. Mother started to talk about it, but I asked her to stop. I know you women love to gather together and exchange rumors, but gossip is one thing I detest.” He took a quick glance back at the house. “That’s where it happened? What a shame.”
Gertie nodded. She sighed and zipped through all the events that had transpired since he left her house the previous night. The murder. The three of them finding the body. Marge’s Aunt Louanne being under suspicion. And, finally, the baseball cap. “And that’s why we’re here. To find the baseball cap.”
Gertie figured it was okay to reveal these things to Gill. He’d made it clear he wasn’t the gossipy sort.
So it took her by surprise when Gill’s face blanched.
“Are you okay?” Gertie asked. “You didn’t find a baseball cap tonight, did you”
Gill’s eyes blinked a few times and he swallowed hard before mumbling something unintelligible.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “I’m back at ‘you found the body.’” He looked over at the house. “Certainly, the perpetrator is long gone.”
Gertie shrugged. “Who knows? Whoever did it could live close by. Most criminals operate close to home.”
“Close by?” He held a hand to his mouth.
And to think her mother thought he was her type. She moved toward him again. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”
He took several deep breaths. “No, it’s just... a shock, that’s all.”
Another snap of a twig followed by sounds of rustling leaves. Gill emitted a high-pitched yelp and whipped out his stun gun. Gertie her pistol.
Marge appeared first. Ida Belle close behind her. Marge took one look at Gill and brought her weapon out from the waistband of her dark slacks.
“It’s okay,” Gertie said. “It’s Gill, the guy you met last night. He’s looking for poop.”
With shaky hands, Gill returned his stun gun to his belt holster. “Scat samples. My office received a report about a gray short-tailed possum in this area.”
Gertie signaled for Marge to lower her weapon. “He doesn’t like it when you point a gun at him.”
Marge slipped her gun back in her waistband.
Ida Belle stepped out from behind Marge. “Odd place to be searching for scat samples. So close to the scene of a murder.”
“Trust me,” Gill said, “had I known I was this close to it, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I can vouch for that,” Gertie said. “You two find anything?”
Marge shook her head as did Ida Belle.
Gill folded his arms, trying to contain his shaking. “Perhaps you’d better leave this search for the baseball cap to the law. It’s really none of your concern.”
“It’s okay,” said Gertie in answer to Marge’s questioning look, “he detests gossip.”
Marge glared at Gill. “It’s my concern when the sheriff is looking at my aunt for the crime and ignoring reports of a man fleeing the area. We aim to find out who he is.”
Gill sighed. “These woods are swarming with men delivering and receiving moonshine. I run into them all the time when I’m scat hunting in these parts. No wonder the sheriff isn’t taking any such report seriously.”
Ida Belle flashed her light at the tree with the broken limb resting on the ground. “Isn’t that the tree your granny said she saw a woman standing near? The one with the white dog and smoking a cigarette?”
Gertie nodded. Marge directed her flashlight along the ground near the fallen limb and then stopped. “Hmmmm.” She walked toward the limb and knelt down. “Here’s a cigarette.” Marge picked it up. “Looks like someone started smoking it, then put it out right here in the dirt. Virginia Slims.”
“Granny Magoo said the dog dropped to the ground to sleep and the woman picked it up. Maybe the woman extinguished her cigarette when she tended to the dog.”
Marge shone her light at the branches of the tree that had fallen. And that’s when they all spotted it.
A small pile of white hair on the ground.
“Would you look at that,” Marge said.
Gertie directed her gaze at Gill. “Would there be a way to test those hairs to see if they’re from a dog? And if we had a sample from another dog, could the tests determine whether they were from the same dog?”
Gill shook his head. “That’s not my area of expertise.”
Gertie worked up a teary face.
“But I have a friend who might be able to do that,” Gill said quickly. “I mean, he could put the hairs under a microscope and see if one was curly, one wasn’t. And he could determine the coarseness.” Gill knelt down and picked up one of the hairs. “This hair is straight and coarse. Probably not a Maltese or a poodle. But a powerful microscope can tell us so much more.”
Gertie turned to Marge. “Did you hear that? We might be able to rule out Louanne’s dog.”
Marge nodded. “Or rule in another dog.” She got up and scanned the area with her light. “Come take a look at this, Gill.”
He strode over, followed by Ida Belle and Gertie. He knelt next to Marge and shook his head. “In my opinion, it’s garden-variety dog doo.”
“Yes, even I know that. But can you tell what specific dog this came from?”
Gill laughed. “Well, maybe labs of the future could do that. We’re not that advanced at this point, I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing you can tell us about it? Not even if you examined it in your lab?” Gertie knelt down next to him and stared into his eyes and could tell he would crumble easily.
Gill smiled. “I’m not saying there’s nothing I could tell you about it. I could possibly tell you the health of the dog and perhaps his diet. I could also give you a ballpark amount of time that the droppings were exposed to the elements.”
Marge’s face brightened. “Aunt Louanne said her dog got ahold of a blackberry pie that day. Would you be able to see that?”
Ida Belle held up her hand. “Hold on. Just because we’d rule out Louanne’s dog as depositing that particular... sample, doesn’t mean a thing. It may not have anything to do with last night.”
“I know,” Marge said. “But it couldn’t hurt.”
Gertie smiled at Gill. “Well, it would be a shame to waste such a brilliant mind as Gill’s. This is his area of expertise.”
He puffed up his skinny chest. “I’m always here to help a woman in need. Consider it done.”
He unzipped a pouch connected to his belt and took out three small canisters for evidence collecting. “Now, it may take several days for me and my buddy to get some results.”
“And we can also get a couple of samples from another dog tomorrow for comparison,” Gertie said.
Gill frowned. “Oh.” He took a deep breath and swung his fist in the air as if he’d just offered Gertie one of his kidneys. “But for three beautiful women, what’s another two additional tests?”
The three stood off to the side as Gill collected his samples.
“If we’re lucky, the samples from Bonnie’s dog will match these samples. At least they would show she was standing right here with her dog, at the same spot as the mystery woman from last night,” Marge whispered. “Because Bonnie’s hiding something, and I think it’s murder.”
“Okay, so tomorrow we need to find out what brand of cigarette Bonnie smokes, as well as take samples from her dog to compare,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle sighed. Coupled with a frown. Gertie knew that combo. While Gertie was more of a “charge ahead” type of gal, Ida Belle was more deliberate. A sigh and a frown were never a good sign.
“Lay it on me,” Gertie said. “You think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.”
“I just want to be more certain before we go traipsing around Bonnie’s backyard collecting dog poo and trying to cut a hunk out of her dog’s fur.”
“If you ask me, all the signs point to Bonnie,” Marge said. “Granny Magoo saw a woman that looked like she could be Bonnie Cotton. That woman was smoking and has a white dog. Bonnie Cotton smokes and has a dog named Whitey. I’m assuming Whitey is white. Bonnie has a motive and visited Mr. Guillory at the rental earlier last night yet lied to us about being there.”
“And she has a flimsy alibi,” Gertie added. “Home alone watching The Birds on TV. What more do you want?”
“You saw Gill’s reaction when Gertie asked him if we could run comparative tests,” Ida Belle said. “They work in a government lab. They can’t let us keep bringing them other samples. We’ll get one round of comparison and that’s it. We need our one shot to be the woman most likely to want Wade Guillory dead. It seems that most people feel Guillory cheated on his wife with more than one woman. We need to know of any others.”
Marge shrugged. “Well, if Louanne didn’t know who they might be, then no one would.”
Ida Belle thought a moment. “Louanne did say that Guillory’s wife had it out with him once over his extramarital affairs. We were planning on going and expressing our condolences anyway.”
Gertie cringed. “You’re not suggesting we go over and ask her who her husband fooled around with?”
“I’m not saying we do that,” Ida Belle said. “I’m just suggesting we feel her out. If anything, we could at least gauge how she feels about Bonnie Cotton. See if there’s a reaction.”
Gertie threw her hands in the air. “I guess I could make up a casserole for her.”
“I think I should sit this one out,” Marge said. “I’m sure she has an inkling the sheriff is looking at Aunt Louanne for her husband’s murder. I think the last person she’d want to talk to is Louanne’s niece.”
“All done,” Gill said, interrupting them.
“Thank you very much for your help, Gill,” Gertie said. “We’ll keep in touch.” She looked at Marge and Ida Belle. “We should get back to the car before Granny Magoo has a conniption.”
They started toward the street. Gill cleared his throat and they all stopped.
“Are you sure you’ll all be okay, walking back alone to your car?” His offer could have been seen as an act of gallantry had his eyes not given away his fear of being left to walk on his own while a murderer could be lurking behind any tree.
“We’re not alone,” Ida Belle said. “There are three—”
“That would be great,” Gertie said, interrupting her. “And maybe we can drive you back to your car.”
His face reflected his relief. “Well, if you don’t mind.”
Gill led the way to the street. Maybe Marge’s mother was right, Gertie thought. Sometimes it was just easier to let a man think he was in charge. And with Gill, whose ego was so fragile it could be shattered with a feather, letting him think he was in charge could make the difference between their samples being analyzed or dumped in the garbage.