Lethal Bayou Beauty (29 page)
Read Lethal Bayou Beauty Online
Authors: Jana DeLeon
Chapter Twenty-Three
The hospital cut me loose after a day of observation and with a promise from me that I would take it easy. Compared to the past week, anything looked easy. The first day I was back in Sinful, a constant flow of people moved through my house, piling up casseroles and baked goods and expressing their horror and sympathy over everything that had happened.
No one came right out and said, “We’re sorry we thought you were a killer,” but I saw enough guilty looks to know that people felt bad for making incorrect assumptions. Walter, always the practical one, brought me a crate of root beer, Scooter tagging along behind him and clutching a pitiful arrangement of handpicked flowers. When I told Scooter how lovely the flowers were, Walter winked at me.
Ida Belle and Gertie saw that everyone cleared out at a decent hour, insisting that I needed my rest. I wasn’t about to argue. I had improved miles since leaving the hospital, but I still felt nowhere near normal.
According to Walter, Carter had cleared Mark from any involvement in Pansy’s murder—not that he’d ever thought Mark was involved. Mark admitted that he’d confessed because he was afraid Joanie had been the one who’d killed Pansy. Joanie was beside herself that her husband had confessed to murder to protect her, and according to the local gossip, both appalled and somewhat pleased that he’d even considered her capable.
I’d called Harrison from the hospital and almost gave him a heart attack when I relayed what had happened. He was understandably worried, especially that Director Morrow would find out about everything and yank me out. But I assured him that with all the bad guys dead, the issue would become merely a dark mark on Sinful’s past, so he calmed down and made me promise, yet again, to attempt a low profile.
By the next morning, a large part of the old me had reemerged and all the people and food and condolences started to make me feel itchy and claustrophobic. Celia returned home that morning in the care of her cousin, Dorothy, who had dumped the tray of drinks on me, but Dorothy had asked for visitors to hold off a bit so that Celia could try to get her legs back underneath her. Given her age and physical conditioning, I was certain Celia was much worse for the wear than I was.
The flow of Sinful residents tapered off at lunch and I finally managed to convince Gertie and Ida Belle to head home for a bit and give me some space. As soon as they were gone, I hopped in my Jeep and drove to Celia’s house. I wanted to talk to her before the parade started at her house, assuming the cousin would let me inside.
I rapped lightly on the door, just in case Celia was asleep, and several seconds later, the door flew open and Dorothy glared out at me. When she realized who I was, the irritated expression disappeared and her eyes grew moist. She launched out the door, throwing her arms around me so hard she knocked me back a step.
“Thank you so much for saving Celia,” she said, partly talking, partly sobbing. “I am so sorry I blamed you for this. Please forgive me for my anger and my pride.”
“It’s okay,” I said and patted the woman’s back. “You were just looking out for Celia. I would have done the same thing in your place.”
Of course, that wasn’t the least bit true because I wouldn’t have accused anyone of murder when it flew completely in the face of logic, but the woman was clearly distraught and I liked my rib cage in place.
Finally, she let me go and waved me inside. “Celia is resting in her bedroom, but I know she’ll want to see you.”
I nodded and followed her upstairs to the master bedroom. Celia was propped up on two enormous pillows, looking pale and more fragile than I’d ever seen her look before. She looked over at me as I stepped in the doorway and gave me a small smile.
I took that as an invitation and took a seat in a chair next to the bed. Dorothy slipped quietly out of the room, leaving us alone.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Like I have a hangover that would cripple a Spartan.”
I smiled at the sheer accuracy of her statement.
“I have to say, though,” Celia said, “that I’ve never been so happy to feel so awful. I hear that I have you to thank for waking up to this.”
“No, I didn’t do anything.”
“Bull. You managed, while drifting into unconsciousness, to tell Ida Belle and Gertie that I’d been poisoned. Another hour or two delaying treatment, and I would have died.”
“But you didn’t,” I said, feeling a little uncomfortable with her appreciation.
“Thank you,” Celia said quietly. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, deciding that the simplest response was probably the best.
She wagged a finger at me. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to give you an inch on Sunday. As soon as I’m back to my regular self, I intend to beat you to Francine’s, even if I have to cheat to do it.”
I laughed. “I’d be disappointed with anything less.”
She laughed along with me, but I could see how exhausted she was. “I’m going to let you rest,” I said and rose from the chair.
She nodded and I turned to leave, then I paused and looked back at her. “I’m really sorry about Pansy.” And the most surprising thing was I meant it.
Her eyes misted over and she gave me a nod.
I left her house feeling better than I had in days. In fact, I was determined to spend the afternoon lying on a lawn chair in my backyard, soaking up some sun.
I had just dozed off in said chair when I heard footsteps behind me.
“This is what I’d like to see you do the rest of the summer,” Carter said.
My pulse ticked up a notch at his voice and I didn’t even bother to hide my smile. “That’s because you’re so used to seeing me half-naked,” I said and waved a hand at my bikini.
He grinned. “Maybe.”
“I think you’re the only person in Sinful who didn’t visit me yesterday.”
“Did you miss me?”
Not about to admit that I had, I shook my head. “I didn’t have time to. I greeted more people yesterday than Pastor Don does on Sunday.”
“Sounds like a busy day.”
“Too busy. I prefer things quiet.”
“Ha! You could have fooled me.”
He had a point.
“Hey,” I said, “You never really thought I’d killed Pansy, did you?”
“No. I thought you were capable but I didn’t think she presented a big enough challenge.”
“Too bad a long string of men can’t say the same thing.”
He nodded. “The whole thing is surreal. Despite the fact that I think I would have figured it all out eventually, I never would have guessed in the beginning that Fontleroy and his wife were responsible and certainly not why.”
“The whole thing is beyond gross, and sad for Celia.”
“But maybe not without a small payoff.”
“Oh?”
“I stopped by Celia’s house before I came here. Her sister was there and it looks like they’re on their way to mending fences. I guess now that the truth is out, she doesn’t have a reason to stay away.”
I smiled, happy that Celia would get a silver lining out of all of this misery. “That’s great. So I guess the sheriff is out a boss.”
“For the time being. It was an election year anyway, so the city council has decided they’ll take over until a new mayor is elected.”
I nodded. “I might be working on the campaign for a new candidate.”
His eyes widened. “Not…”
“Oh yeah,” I said, delighting in his dismay. “Ida Belle figures she’s been running Sinful since the sixties, so she may as well get the title and salary.”
“Good God.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
The End
If you haven’t gotten your fill of Sinful yet, visit the town website for more hilarity.
Are you interested in becoming a member of the Sinful Ladies Society? Visit the website and sign up now.
http://sinfulladiessociety.com/
The Author:
Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and gators of southwest Louisiana. She’s never stumbled across a mystery like one of her heroines but is still hopeful. She lives in Dallas, Texas with a menagerie of animals and not a single ghost.
Visit Jana at:
Website:
http://janadeleon.com
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jana-DeLeon-Author/312667975433458
Twitter: @JanaDeLeon
Books by Jana DeLeon:
Rumble on the Bayou
Unlucky
The Ghost-in-Law Series:
Trouble in Mudbug
Mischief in Mudbug
Showdown in Mudbug
The Miss Fortune Series:
Louisiana Longshot
Looking for more great authors—try these!
Jasinda Wilder—National bestselling author of the Big Girls series.
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Debra Holland—USA Today bestselling author of the Montana series.
Denise Grover Swank—National bestselling author of the acclaimed Chosen series.
Dorien Kelly—New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and romantic comedy.
Theresa Ragan—National bestselling author of heart-stopping romantic suspense.
Liliana Hart—USA Today bestselling author of mysteries and spicy romance.
Jane Graves—New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance.
Trouble in Mudbug (excerpt)
Chapter One
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Maryse Robicheaux murmured as she stared down at the woman in the coffin.
Of course, the pink suit was a dead giveaway—so to speak—that the wearer was no longer with them. For the miserable two years and thirty-two days she’d had to deal with her mother-in-law, Maryse had never once seen her wear a color other than black. Now she sorta resembled the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man dressed in Pepto-Bismol.
“I can’t believe it either,” Sabine whispered back. “I didn’t know evil incarnate could die.”
Maryse jabbed her best friend with her elbow. “For Pete’s sake, we’re at the woman’s funeral. Show some respect.”
Sabine let out a sigh. “Maryse, that woman gave you holy hell. And her son was worse. I don’t even understand why you wanted to come.”
Maryse stared at the casket again and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just felt compelled to. I can’t really explain it.”
And that was the God’s honest truth. She’d had no intention of attending Helena Henry’s funeral. Yet after her morning shower, she’d stood in front of her closet and pulled out her dark navy “interview” suit and matching pumps instead of her usual work clothes of jeans, T-shirt, and rubber boots.
Looking down at Helena, Maryse still didn’t know why she was there. If she’d come for some sort of closure, it hadn’t happened. But then, what had she expected—the dead woman to pop up out of the coffin and apologize for bringing the most useless man in the world into existence, then making Maryse’s life even more miserable by being the biggest bitch on the face of the Earth?
It wasn’t likely when you considered that Helena Henry had never apologized for anything in her entire life. It wasn’t necessary. When you had a pocketbook the size of the Atchafalaya Basin in Mudbug, Louisiana, population 502, people tended to purposely overlook things.
“I think they’re ready to start,” Sabine whispered, gesturing to the minister who had entered the chapel through a side door. “We need to take a seat.”