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WE MET JO AT FRANCINE’S Café the next morning. She was relieved to find out her nude painting was nowhere to be found. Not at Cootie’s house, not at the gallery and not with the stolen canvases in Bruno’s car.
“He could have told me he destroyed it,” she said. “Could have saved me some grief.”
“Maybe there was something else he wanted to give you,” Gertie said. “Maybe it wasn’t the nude painting after all.”
“We’ll never know now.” Jo sighed. “At least my family won’t ever find out.” Jo got up and thanked us. “I guess I can finally grieve Cootie the proper way now.”
Before she left, I gently grasped her arm and leaned into her. “This guilt you have about your family finding out you posed naked in college? You might want to trust them and get it off your chest. They might surprise you.”
She didn’t agree, but I could tell she was taking it in.
Our mission completed, we stopped by Dotty’s house after breakfast, for which I had no enthusiasm. I’d grown fond of Marge’s. But Gertie and Ida Belle had promised Marge they would try to convince Sandy-Sue to stay. It was time I made their job easier and make them believe I was ready to move on to something of my own. Who knew? Maybe it was time. Maybe that was the point of the dream I had several nights back. The dream so real it was still affecting me.
Her house was located at the other end of the block from Marge’s. When we walked up, we found Dotty sitting on her porch, reading. She appeared to be in her mideighties and, like her house, looked to be in top shape.
Gertie nodded toward me. “Fortune might want to buy your house.”
Dotty looked taken aback. “What’s wrong with your Aunt Marge’s house?”
I shrugged. “Um... nothing really. Just want to start out fresh.”
Dotty’s eyes widened. She looked at Gertie. “It’s not staying in the family? Marge always told me she hoped her niece would decide to stay and live in it.”
“I think she’d understand,” I said.
“Hmmmm, I suppose so.” However, Dotty’s face betrayed her sudden disdain for me. “You can take a look around, I guess.”
She directed us to the front door and told us to help ourselves. We stepped inside and began our tour.
White walls, new brown carpeting. Upgraded kitchen with light-brown granite countertops. Closets that appeared to have been designed by a professional closet organizer. Bathrooms painted in white with beige tiles. New, vertical-slider windows. Threat Level: Perfectly Boring.
“Looks like she just had it painted,” Ida Belle said. “Nice job.”
Gertie agreed. “Good thing, too. Remember those pipes of hers that burst when she was on vacation last year? This place was covered in water stains.” She nudged me. “Don’t worry, though, she got all the mold under control.”
Ida Belle crinkled her face. “If you ask me, the moldy walls caused Dotty’s rash.”
Maybe it was the power of suggestion, but I began to itch.
Gertie shook her head. “No. I think it was the weed killer that Charlie poured on her lawn last year.” She looked at me. “Charlie’s such an idiot. Not only did he use weed killer that’s been banned for ten years, but he didn’t read the instructions right and didn’t dilute it. Poured it full strength over every inch of the yard.”
“Is it still in the soil?” I asked.
Gertie shrugged. “You don’t spend much time outside in the yard, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“That’s not true. I love spending time in the hammock outside.” In fact, it was one of my favorite things about Marge’s house.
Ida Belle waved me off. “Just take a hot shower and scrub yourself good after being out there. You’ll be fine.”
Gertie went to one of the windows and inspected it. “New windows. Nice.” She looked out and waved to someone below. “Looks like Bridget might be pregnant again. I heard a rumor she had fertility treatments. Might be expecting triplets.”
Ida Belle laughed. “Poor Bridget and Ed won’t get any sleep.”
And neither will I. My mind flashed to the first few nights in Sinful when I had been driven sleepless by one lone croaking frog. Earplugs were useless. What would I do with crying triplets? My thoughts drifted to the future when the triplets became screaming toddlers, then screaming grade schoolers, then screaming teenagers. I’d never have a moment of quiet.
“I’ve seen enough,” I said, heading downstairs. “I’d rather be tortured by Ahmad than live here.”
We thanked Dotty and headed down her walk.
“I thought it was perfect,” Ida Belle said. “But if you’re going to be picky...” She shrugged.
Gertie patted my shoulder. “We’ll help you find the perfect place, don’t you worry.”
I stared at Gertie. I have the perfect place. A hammock in the backyard I can relax in without being poisoned by banned chemicals. A glider swing on the porch great for making out with Carter. A rock fireplace Marge built herself, where, if you look hard enough, you can spot the one stone that juts out at an odd angle, hiding a wad of cash in case Marge had to “disappear” for some strange reason. A place I finally feel at home in.
Instead of saying what I truly felt, I just nodded.
“You know, I hear Ed Fletcher has one of those tiny houses he’s selling,” Ida Belle said.
“Good idea.” Gertie looked at me. “Sure, it’s tiny, but it has loads of character. I heard you can sit on the toilet and take a shower at the same time.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I asked.
“I don’t think you’d have a choice,” said Ida Belle. “The shower head’s directly above the toilet.”
Ida Belle launched into the virtues of a combination bed and dining table when Midge Allair, who was picking up trash in her yard next door to Dotty’s, interrupted her with a loud curse.
“What’s wrong, Midge?” Gertie called out to her.
“My neighbors. Would it kill them to bag up their trash before they put it in the cans?” She bent down and picked up a handful of paper with her gloved hands. “If it’s not bagged up, the trash blows all over the place when the trucks empty it.” She picked up a tissue. “Can you imagine the germs on this thing?” She shoved it in a plastic bag. “Bet you dollars to donuts this belongs to Boots Callahan. I heard her sneezing yesterday. Oh heck, it could be any of my neighbors. Dotty, Bobby Wells, Martha Simms, Redneck. I think every person on this block has left their trash unbagged at one time or another.” She glanced at me.
I said, “Nobody told me I had to bag up the trash when I first moved in,” which prompted a grunt from Midge.
Gertie opened her purse and pulled out several pairs of latex gloves and gave Ida Belle and me a pair. After a minute of helping Midge rid her yard of her neighbors’ trash, Gertie held up a piece of paper.
“Look what I found. Someone’s lottery play slip with one set of numbers inked in. This I’ll keep.”
“Why?” Ida Belle asked. “That set of numbers probably lost.”
“A loser for last game may be a winner for next time. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe we’ll win on this number next time and be millionaires.”
“Didn’t someone already win the huge pot last Wednesday?” I asked.
“The Powerball jackpot starts at forty million. That’s plenty for us.”
Gertie studied the play slip as Ida Belle and I picked up the last of the trash and put it in Midge’s plastic bag.
Gertie drew our attention with an audible gasp.
“What’s wrong?”
Gertie’s face blanched. She held her phone in one hand and the play slip in another. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Are we done here?” she asked, slipping her phone into her purse.
Something was definitely wrong. When Midge turned to take the plastic bag to her trash can, Gertie signaled us to huddle around her.
“This play slip is a winner,” she whispered.
“What?” Ida Belle whispered back.
“All of the numbers inked in are the five winning numbers from last Wednesday’s Powerball, minus the actual powerball. Whoever played these numbers won a million dollars.”
“Are you sure?” Ida Belle asked.
“Damn sure. They seemed real familiar, so I double-checked the winning numbers on my phone. 50-51-59-61-63. Powerball was four, but this person chose number five. Not the big winner, but a million bucks is still a lot.” She rubbed her chin. “Everybody in Sinful buys their tickets at the Mudbug Mini-Mart. Want to go there and see if they know the local person who won the million?”
Ida Belle shook her head. “It’s not like we’re going to get any of the money.”
Gertie put on her begging face. “Please. I need to satisfy my curiosity. Besides, we can toss around some ideas about who might be Bruno’s accomplice on the ride over. You know I don’t like driving to Mudbug by myself.”
“What the hell,” I said, her begging face getting to me. “It won’t take long.” I glanced at Ida Belle. “We need to stock up on beer, don’t we?”
Ida Belle finally relented. “One can never have enough beer.”