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I sent Carter a text and let him know our plan. He and Gertie appeared in the parking lot a few moments later.
“Daigle needs a ride home so I’m taking him,” Carter said, keeping his voice low. “We told him that Gertie needs to run you home because you’re sick.”
“Food poisoning,” Gertie said. “Too much cotton candy.”
“Is that even a thing?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ida Belle said. “The fact that you asked, means he bought it too. North of the Mason Dixon line and all that.”
The girls and their mother exchanged glances as if they couldn’t believe their poor luck. They’d fled their home only to land in a town where someone knew them, someone they clearly feared.
Ida Belle tugged her keys from her front pocket. “I’ll grab Walter and we’ll meet at Fortune’s.”
“Deal,” I said, waving the woman and her daughters into Gertie’s Cadillac. “Did you drive here?”
“Yes,” she said, pointing at a blue van.
“Mind if I check for explosives?”
“What’s the alternative?” the woman asked, holding her youngest daughter’s hand.
Gertie stood behind the children and mouthed, “Pa-pow” while making an explosion gesture with her hands.
“I saw that,” the teen said, never turning around.
“Fabulous. We have us another Elle Daigle,” I muttered.
The middle child, likely eleven or twelve, turned to face us. “You do not. We aren’t psychopaths like the Daigles.”
“Elle hardly looks dangerous,” I said.
“Maybe she isn’t,” the girl said, thinning her lips as soon as her mother ‘hushed’ her. She waited a beat and then blurted, “But her grandfather and dad are. And her grandmother was a straight up serial killer.”
“Grace Kelly, hush this moment,” the girls’ mother said.
“Beautiful name,” Gertie said. “Southern too.”
Meanwhile, I checked under the van then slipped behind the driver’s seat and listened for any clicks. When nothing happened, I said a prayer and started the van.
“All good over here.” I sighed. “Is it okay if I follow Gertie with your van?”
“Fine,” the woman said, motioning for the girls to stay close.
“See you there.” Gertie threw her Cadillac in reverse and sped away a few moments later.
I fired off a text to Marie, explaining the situation and requesting snacks for the girls. Ten minutes later, I pulled our visitors’ van in the garage and directed everyone inside.
Ally met them at the door. “Hi everyone! I’m Ally.” Under her breath, she whispered, “Marie said she might need some help. It gave me an out with Aunt Celia. I told her there was a late catering request.”
“Then cut the sandwiches in cute designs so it’ll be the truth,” I suggested.
She tossed a dishtowel over her shoulder. “Already on it.”
Names were exchanged as the girls gathered in the kitchen. Upon first impressions, it seemed as if they wanted to trust us. What could be better than snacks and girl power? The latter seemed important after the older one had mentioned she didn’t trust the men who had arranged for their transfer to Wasteland.
“I didn’t catch your names,” I said, trying to put everyone at ease. “I’m Fortune. These are my friends Gertie, Ally, and Marie.” I waited. “Where’s Ida Belle?”
“She’s with Walter,” Gertie said, pointing outside as Ida Belle’s sportscar came to a screeching halt.
Walter poked his head inside a minute later. “I’m headed to the store. I’ll be right back with some board games. Text me if you need anything.”
I turned my attention back to the girls’ mother. “You didn’t tell us your name. You are?”
“Dead.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears and her hand shook.
“There, there.” Gertie slipped her arm around the woman’s shoulder. “We may not look like it, but we can and will help.”
“Why would you help us?” She stepped away from Gertie and looked frightened. “Aren’t you Jax Daigle’s friend?”
Ida Belle said, “Walter’s still in the driveway. Why don’t you go with him? He could probably use your help picking out some age appropriate games.”
“Have you seen the games these kids play on their phones?” Gertie scoffed. “There’s no such thing as age-appropriate anymore.”
I silently prayed that was incorrect, but since I didn’t have children, how was I to know?
She didn’t object about tagging along with Walter, but as she left the house, I couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling. Gertie’s look of determination was geared less toward games and more toward finding out what Jax Daigle held in store for this woman’s family.
“So Jax Daigle works for the mob?” I asked after the girls settled in my living room.
The woman’s lips trembled. “Works for the mob?” A light whimper slipped between her lips. “No. He doesn’t work for the mob. Jax Daigle is the mob.”