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THE NEXT MORNING, MARY-Alice called Gertie to see whether the ladies were having breakfast at Francine’s and if so, would they mind if she joined them? She decided not to tell them that she had gone to visit Celia again the previous day. It hadn’t gone well. If she were honest, Celia’s screaming and hollering had been humiliating, and hadn’t led Mary-Alice any closer to the truth. Why ruin everyone’s morning by reliving the unpleasantness? A nice meal in pleasant company would wash away the bad taste of yesterday’s events.
But Mary-Alice never had a chance to ask Gertie about breakfast plans. As soon as Gertie picked up the phone, she said,
“Mary-Alice, I was just about to call you. Don’t go to Francine’s. Get over here to Fortune’s house as fast as you can. Have you seen the paper?”
“Why no, I—”
“Just get over here.”
And then Gertie hung up.
When Mary-Alice arrived at Fortune’s house, Ida Belle and Fortune were seated at the kitchen table in front of Fortune’s open laptop. Gertie was standing behind them.
On the screen was a photograph of Celia in her hospital bed, her face battered and swollen just as Mary-Alice had seen her the day before.
“Why, what’s all this?” Mary-Alice asked.
“The New Orleans paper,” Ida Belle replied. “Can you believe it? I swear there is no end to that woman’s craving for attention and sympathy.”
“Oh, Miss Ida Belle,” Mary-Alice exclaimed, “I hate to disagree with you, but I don’t believe Celia approved this story.”
“Why not?” Gertie asked. “It seems to me that now she’s not mayor anymore, she’ll do anything to stay in the spotlight.”
“Well, now, that may well be, Miss Gertie.” Mary-Alice leaned in, got a good look at the photo, and shook her head. “But I can tell you that Celia would never let such an unflattering photograph of herself get out where everyone can see it, what with the bruises and bandages and all.”
“Is she that vain?” Fortune asked.
“I’m not here to pass judgement, Miss Fortune, but I will tell you this. When my Joe’s sister Jolene got married, it must be forty years ago now, Celia was out on the dance floor having a great old time when she tripped over her bellbottom slacks. The wedding photographer caught a picture of it. Why, when Celia saw the flash she jumped right back up and took off after the photographer faster than a scalded cat.”
“What happened then?” Gertie asked, wide-eyed.
“Why, Celia tackled him, grabbed the camera, broke it open, and pulled all the film out. There wasn’t a single wedding picture left. The entire roll was ruined.”
“She did all of that to prevent an embarrassing photo of her from getting out?” Fortune asked. “Wow, no wonder she was so mad when you two broadcast that picture of Celia in her underwear.”
“I’m sorry, what was this now?” Mary-Alice looked shocked.
“It’s nothing.” Ida Belle shot Fortune a stern look. “Mary-Alice, please do go on.”
“Well, Celia believed she was entirely justified in destroying the wedding pictures. As I recall, she never did apologize to Jolene. As a matter of fact, if memory serves, all Celia said to her was ‘quit blubbering, Jolene, you can get all the pictures you want at your next wedding.’ I don’t believe Jolene ever spoke to Celia again.”
Fortune stared disbelievingly at Mary-Alice.
“What a horrible woman.”
“Now, Miss Fortune, you can’t be too hard on Jolene. Celia did ruin her wedding day, after all—”
“Not Jolene,” Ida Belle interrupted. “She means Celia.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Celia’s behavior was, I regret to say, far from exemplary.”
“Mary-Alice brings up a good point,” Fortune said. “Celia probably wouldn’t want the whole world seeing this picture of her. Talk about unflattering.”
“Personally, I think it’s an improvement,” Gertie chimed in. “But you’re right, Mary-Alice. If Celia were behind this, she would’ve sent in an airbrushed glamor shot from thirty years ago, not something that looks like a crime scene photo.”
Ida Belle crossed her arms and sighed.
“Gertie? Fortune? What do you think? If Celia didn’t leak this, who did? Someone tipped off the paper. It wasn’t one of us, and it’s not likely to have been Celia. Who was it?”
“Maybe we should get Beatrice on it,” Gertie said.
“Beatrice Paulson?” Mary-Alice asked. “Why, I just saw her at Mass. She’s in the GW’s, if I’m not mistaken. Why on earth would she help us?”
“Mary-Alice, you can’t tell anyone this,” Ida Belle said, “but Beatrice is our eyes and ears in the GW’s.”
“She’s a double agent,” Gertie elaborated. “But she’s really on our side.”
“Beatrice can be trusted,” Fortune said. “She’s proven herself before—”
A knock at the door caused Fortune to snap her laptop shut and jump to a standing position.
“I believe someone’s at the door,” Mary-Alice said, unnecessarily.
Deputy Sheriff Carter LeBlanc stood on Fortune’s porch, holding up a copy of the Times-Picayune. The paper was folded back to show an article:
Small-town feud turns violent
“Small-town feud? Well isn’t that fifty-seven varieties of condescending!” Ida Belle was impressively indignant, as if she hadn’t just been reading that exact article on Fortune’s laptop.
“May I come in?” Carter asked.
The women stepped aside to let Carter through. Fortune got ahead of them and led the group to the kitchen table. She deftly moved the laptop onto the sideboard and placed a magazine on top of it.
“I’ll get the tea,” Mary-Alice chirped.
“No, you sit on down, Miss Mary-Alice.” Carter took a seat himself, without waiting for an invitation. “You’re an important part of this conversation.”
“I am?” Mary-Alice pulled out a chair to sit opposite Carter.
“Well then I’ll get the tea.” Gertie sprang up from the table.
“I’ll help,” Fortune added quickly.
“No tea.” Carter’s tone made them pause and sink back into their seats. Ida Belle did not take a seat. She stood behind Fortune and folded her arms. She reminded Mary-Alice of a Secret Service agent from the movies. All she needed was a pair of dark glasses and an earpiece.
Carter set the newspaper down in the middle of the kitchen table.
“What’s the idea here? My job is hard enough without you people stirring things up.”
“You’re not supposed to say ‘you people,’” Gertie said. “It’s offensive.”
“Carter—” Fortune began, but he was on a roll.
“You announce to the world where Celia is and for good measure you put up this photo of her. First off, she could sue you for invasion of privacy, and second, you just put a target on her—”
“It wasn’t us,” Ida Belle interrupted.
“So you admit you knew about it!” Carter exclaimed.
“Carter,” Gertie said gently, “please listen. Walter saw the article when the papers came into the General Store this morning, and he called Ida Belle to tell her. Ida Belle told me.”
“I didn’t know until they told me,” Fortune said.
“Nor I,” Mary-Alice added. “Where would we get a picture of Celia?”
“You could’ve taken one yesterday,” Carter said. “When you visited Celia in the hospital.”
Fortune, Ida Belle, and Gertie all turned to stare at Mary-Alice.
“Well now, I was going to tell you all about it,” Mary-Alice said, although that hadn’t been her plan. “But I haven’t yet had the chance. And Deputy Sheriff LeBlanc, my cousin is rather particular when it comes to photographs. I’d know better than to take a picture of her when she wasn’t at her best. I most certainly did not take any pictures of Celia in the hospital.”
“Deputy, did you see Celia recently?” Ida Belle asked. Carter nodded.
“This morning,” he said.
Carter shook his head.
“You think she’s faking her injuries?” Gertie asked eagerly.
“No. Those bruises are real...”
“But?” Fortune sensed his hesitation.
Carter shook his head.
“Sorry. I can’t share anything about any patient’s medical condition. You know that. Patient privacy laws.”
“There’s a rumor out that Miss Cookie’s the one who found her,” Ida Belle said carefully. “What’s Miss Cookie say about all this?”
Carter pulled off his hat and rubbed his thick, brown hair, as if to settle his agitated brain.
“You know I can’t tell you about an ongoing investigation. And just in case you get it into your head to go around interviewing witnesses, all I can tell you is, don’t.”
“But what if—” Miss Gertie started.
“What if you happen to run into Miss Cookie around town?” Carter interrupted. “You won’t. She and her daughter have decided to go on a well-deserved and long-overdue vacation. Now. Miss Mary-Alice, Celia is claiming she was imprisoned in your bedroom closet and beaten, and that she had just escaped when she was found on the main road. Do I have your permission to check the interior of your house?”
Mary-Alice brightened and stood up.
“You mean for signs of someone trying to break out? Scratches and dents and such, am I right, Deputy Sheriff? Why yes, you certainly may investigate. I’ll meet you over there.”
Mary-Alice often felt like the least-valuable member of the Sinful Ladies' Detective Agency. She wasn’t a pillar of the community like Ida Belle and Gertie, nor did she have even a fraction of Fortune’s astounding athleticism.
But now, Mary-Alice was smack-dab in the middle of an investigation.
“And this time,” intoned the movie-trailer voiceover inside her head, “it’s personal.”
“Lunch at Francine’s afterward?” Gertie called after Mary-Alice and Carter.
“She’ll be free to join you as soon as we’re finished,” Carter replied. “It’s probably best I don’t join you.”
“You’re not invited,” Fortune shot back as the front door closed.