Lethal Bayou Beauty (25 page)

Marie didn’t look remotely convinced, but she allowed Ida Belle to shove her out the door and trekked across the lawn to Celia’s, looking back every couple of steps.

“You sure she can do this without passing out?” I asked.

Ida Belle nodded. “That damned husband of hers convinced her she wasn’t capable of anything. I aim to change all that. She’s a smart woman and can do a whole lot more than sit in this house, knitting and baking.”

I couldn’t argue with Ida Belle’s intent, especially as I’d already heard plenty of stories about Marie’s deceased husband, and none of them good.
 

A stream of light appeared in front of Celia’s house, signaling us that someone had opened the front door. I crossed my fingers that Marie was able to get anything out of the surly Celia. A minute later, the light disappeared and a couple of seconds later, we saw Marie heading back to her house.

She hurried through the front door, her cheeks red and breathless with excitement. “Someone broke into Celia’s house,” she said.

“She was robbed?” I asked.

Marie shook her head. “They tore up Pansy’s room—literally tore it up. The drawers are pulled out of the dresser. Everything was pulled out of the closet. The mattress has been cut.”

“What in the world for?” Gertie asked.

“Somebody’s looking for something,” I said.

Ida Belle nodded. “Maybe Ally isn’t the only person who knows about Pansy’s scorebook habit.”

I looked over at Marie. “Did she say what time the break-in happened?”

“She’d been home all day until an hour ago, so sometime in the last hour.”

Gertie looked relieved. “That puts Mark and Joanie in the clear. Mark was already down at the sheriff’s department trying to convince Myrtle to call Carter so he could confess, and Joanie’s mother and aunt were with her at her house.”

Ida Belle frowned. “But that puts Fortune on the hook.”

“Why would Fortune want to steal Pansy’s scorebook?” Gertie asked. “She didn’t sleep with Pansy.”

“And Joanie already knows that Mark did,” Ida Belle pointed out. “Whoever broke in is probably someone whose wife doesn’t know and he doesn’t want her to know.”

“But is he our murderer?” I asked. “Or just some poor guy worried that someone will find the scorebook and air his dirty laundry?”

“That’s a good question,” Ida Belle said and sighed. “Logical or no, nothing is going to stop people from accusing Fortune of the break-in.”
 

“Actually, I’m good,” I said. “I spent the past hour eating dinner with Carter.”

They all stared, and Ida Belle raised her eyebrows.
 

“There’s an interesting development,” Ida Belle said.
 

“Not so interesting,” I said, not wanting them to get the wrong idea. “I saw him parked across the street for stakeout and went over to talk to him. He looked exhausted and frustrated and all he had was a protein bar and coffee. I had Francine’s chicken casserole and cobbler and I felt sorry for him, so I invited him to eat.”

“Is that all you invited him to?” Gertie asked, smiling.

“Of course! Look, it’s my fault he had to sit out there, so I figured it was the least I could do.”

“It wasn’t the least you could do,” Ida Belle said, “but I’m not sure it gets you a pass, either.”

“Why not?” I asked. “If the deputy is not a solid alibi, who the heck is?”

Gertie cut her eyes over at Ida Belle, a worried look on her face. Ida Belle blew out a breath.
 

“We weren’t going to tell you,” Ida Belle said, “but that accusation Celia’s cousin made in Francine’s on Sunday has picked up some momentum.”

I frowned, trying to remember everything Celia’s cousin had spewed out on me that day, then I sucked in a breath. “People think I’m sleeping with Carter?”

“
Some
people think that,” Gertie said. “But not anyone with a brain.”

“Unfortunately,” Ida Belle said, “people without a brain make up the bulk of Sinful.”

I felt my heart drop. “I made things worse when I invited him in, didn’t I?”

Gertie bit her lower lip.

“Maybe,” Ida Belle said.

Gertie stared at her.

“Okay, probably,” Ida Belle corrected. “Foster, the man who lives across the street from you, is the nosiest person in Sinful. I’m sure he’s stayed glued to his front window ever since this mess with Pansy started up.”

“But there’s still Dr. Ryan,” Gertie said. “Once Carter latches on to him, all the pressure about Fortune should disappear.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Carter told me Ryan is being detained by the New Orleans police until he can get there tomorrow to question him.”

“Then if Dr. Ryan is in jail,” Gertie asked, “who broke into Celia’s house?”

Ida Belle frowned. “That is a damned good question.”

###

Marie tried to insist that I stay at her house for the night, not wanting me to be without an alibi, but when I pointed out that spending the night next door to Celia’s would probably increase suspicion rather than reduce it, she had to agree. Then Gertie and Ida Belle broke out into an argument about who, between the two of them, was more a more believable alibi. I wasn’t about to wade into that mare’s nest, as I figured the honest answer was neither.

Finally, I solved the problem by telling them all that I intended to sleep in my own bed and if they wanted to play armed guard, then they could all do it at my house. Given that mine was the only house with enough bedrooms and baths to host everyone in their own space, the argument ceased.
 

We stayed up until almost midnight, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, but it was no use. Dr. Ryan had been the perfect solution, but now, everything seemed so messy and disjointed. One of the Sinful Ladies called Ida Belle around ten to say that Carter had released Mark, but neither of them was talking. I figured Carter caught on pretty quickly that Mark wasn’t the murderer, but I also figured his attempted confession had only drawn attention to his wife as a suspect, even though neither of them could have broken into Celia’s house.

It was a ragged, disappointed crew that had finally called it a night and headed upstairs to bed. Unfortunately, my mind wasn’t near as tired as my body and sleep didn’t come. I tossed and turned for a while, then tried reading, but ultimately, I gave up and headed downstairs about one a.m. for a glass of warm milk.
 

Bones, who was sleeping on a blanket in his old spot in the corner of the kitchen, didn’t even stir as I poured the milk and popped it in the microwave. But as I pressed the button to stop the timer before the buzzer went off, he jumped up from his bed—far more quickly than I thought possible—and raised his nose in the air and sniffed.

I froze and watched as he inched out of his bed and stuck his nose in the crack of the back door and sniffed again. Then he looked up at me and scratched the door with one paw and whined.
 

“Sssshh.” I patted his head, hoping it would keep him from barking, and lifted one of the blinds to peer outside.
 

At the side of the lawn, right where the light from the porch began to fade away, something moved. My pulse leapt. Whatever it was, it was big. Plenty of small things might be moving around back there, but the only thing large enough to cast the shadow I’d seen was a human.
 

Not wanting to waste time going upstairs for my pistol, I grabbed a knife from the counter and gently pushed Bones away from the door, telling him to stay and be quiet. Apparently, the hound understood what I asked because he sat next to the door and leaned against the wall.
 

I slid back the deadbolt, eased open the door, and slipped outside, figuring that if whoever was lurking in the bushes was paying attention, they’d see me coming outside and take off. And that’s exactly what happened.
 

He shot out of the bushes, scattering branches and leaves as he went, and ran down the side of the house to the front. I vaulted over the porch railing and took off after him, certain no one in Sinful was going to beat me in a footrace, even though I was barefoot and running with a butcher knife.

The side of the house was pitch black, but I sprinted down it, lifting my knees high just in case tree roots were exposed. I burst onto the front lawn and did a quick scan to find my target. Two houses up the street, I caught sight of someone running at the far edge of the street lights.

I pivoted left and dashed across the front lawn, not realizing until I streaked by that Carter was parked at my curb. I glanced as I passed and saw his eyes widen, but I didn’t slow my pace, even when he yelled at me to stop. I pushed my legs harder and rounded the corner at the end of the block, expecting to be on top of the intruder.
 

Then I screeched to a halt.

No way
, I thought as I scanned up and down the street, but as far as I could see, nothing moved. He couldn’t have gotten an entire block ahead of me. Only a cheetah and maybe an Olympic athlete could have pulled away from me like that.

Which meant that he was hiding somewhere close by.

I was about to cross the street and start checking the row of hedges surrounding the elementary school when I heard footsteps pounding behind me. I turned around in time to see Carter slide to a stop next to me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Jesus H. Christ! Half this town already wants me to arrest you, and here you are running down the street, half-naked and carrying a butcher knife. Things like this can buy you seventy-two hours at a psych ward, which now that I think of it, isn’t a bad idea. At least I could get a good night’s sleep again without worrying that this town is going to string you up in town square.”

I looked down at my boxers and tank, sans bra. “Okay, the half-naked thing is nothing new between us and quite frankly, I’ve given up worrying about it. But are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t see the guy I was chasing?”

His eyes narrowed. “What guy?”

“Someone was lurking around my backyard. I couldn’t sleep, so I was in the kitchen getting a drink and saw him at the edge of the lawn.”

“So instead of calling the sheriff’s department, you decided a better idea was to chase him down with a kitchen knife?”

“It’s a really big knife and if you’d stop holding me up, I might get the chance to use it. He’s got to be hiding here somewhere.”

Suddenly, a car engine roared to life halfway up the block and peeled away from the corner, tires screeching away from us.
 

“Damn it!” I said. “He’s getting away.”

Chapter Twenty

The car was running without headlights and the street light at the end of the block was conveniently burned out, so it was impossible to determine make or model. I took off running back to my house, leaving a stunned Carter standing on the corner. Seconds later, I heard him running behind me.

When I reached my house, I ran to lift the garage door and glanced back in time to see Carter running toward me. As he passed the hedges that bordered mine and my neighbor’s lawns, someone darted out of the bushes and tackled him on the front lawn.

I let go of the garage door and ran toward the hedge, where Carter and his attacker were rolling on the lawn. Then a second figure jumped out of the bushes and hit the tumbling pair with some kind of stick. I heard a loud burst of cursing and immediately recognized the voice.

“It’s Carter,” I yelled as I rushed over. “Stop!”

As I reached the heap, Marie chose that moment to burst out the front door with Bones and a spotlight.
 

And it was a direct hit.

The light settled on Carter and Ida Belle as if they were on stage. Except in this act of the comedy of errors, Ida Belle’s robe was twisted around her head and she was thrashing about while giving us all a clear view of her camouflage underwear with “Protected by Smith & Wesson” printed across them. Some of her hair rollers had fallen out and one of them was stuck right in the crack of the camouflage.

Carter jumped up as I reached down to pull the robe off of Ida Belle’s head. Bones ran over and, apparently mistaking Ida Belle for a bush, lifted his leg and started peeing. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up from the ground as Marie hurried over, illuminating all of us with the spotlight.

“We didn’t know it was you, Carter,” Gertie said, holding a rolling pin and sporting Hello Kitty pajamas.

I choked back a cry as Carter looked over and got his first clear look at his assailant. His complete and utter dismay was priceless. Ida Belle straightened out her robe and shook her arm where Bones had gotten her. A roller flew off the sleeve and stuck to the hound dog’s ear.

“Damn dog,” Ida Belle muttered as she retrieved her roller.

“We thought someone was attacking Fortune,” Gertie explained.

Marie nodded. “We were trying to help.”

Carter threw his hands in the air. “And it never occurred to
any
of you to call 911? I don’t know whether to be happy that you’re all in one location so you’re easier to watch or worried that your collective IQs seem to drop in each other’s company.”