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  Bayou Babes

  Lonely Ladies League

  Riley Blake

  Chapter One

  “I’m not believing this.” Gertie took a firmer hold of Sinful’s Daily News. “Listen to this garbage.” She cleared her throat. “Bayou Babes will begin filming sometime next month but as the icy-blue haired ladies stepped out of their limousine yesterday afternoon, the cameras were rolling.”

  Ida Belle broke a green bean in half. “Guess someone forgot to mention that our lives are being portrayed as fiction.”

  “What do you mean by ‘our’ lives?” Gertie’s little head jerked back and forth. Her eyes shifted left to right as she repositioned her glasses and read the rest of the article to herself.

  I poured another cup of coffee and butted my hips against the counter. “This should be good.” Ida Belle had clearly failed to mention what we’d discovered the day before. We’d taken her corvette out for a spin and landed at Francine’s for lunch. The whole café had been abuzz with the news.

  Sinful was set to become the next Forks or Bodega Bay. All things considered, Bodega had my vote.

  “Ida Belle, tell me you didn’t know about this.”

  “I didn’t know about it.”

  “But of course you did.” Gertie threw her arm over the back of the chair. “And you? If you knew about this, enjoy your side of revenge when I serve it to you cold.”

  “Gertie—”

  “Don’t even try it, Fortune.” She held up her hand. “And remember this—I have Carter LeBlanc on speed dial.”

  Ida Belle released a girlish whimper which sounded downright wicked coming from her. “You should call him, but for another reason altogether.”

  My skin heated whenever Carter LeBlanc was within bantering distance. We couldn’t get along for more than fifty-nine seconds. It was the main reason we’d kept things platonic.

  “Can’t you see the two of them cuddled up at the drive-in?” Gertie laughed. “Carter would use that husky voice he reserves for Fortune and say something like, ‘You can scoot a little closer’ and our friend here would balk at that while squealing, ‘I’m only here because Gertie and Ida Belle threatened my life’ and by the way, that’s what we should do.”

  “Leave me out of this,” Ida Belle said. “You’re seventy-three and—”

  “Two. I’m seventy-two.”

  Ida Belle tossed beans in a pot. “Age doesn’t matter when you’re over-the-mountain. Besides, I was about to say that you’ve stayed single all these years. If Fortune decides to do the same, you can’t fault her for that.”

  “I’m not faulting anyone.” Gertie grinned. “And I’m not letting her walk in my footsteps either.”

  I rolled my eyes and took a sip of coffee. After deciding I’d had enough caffeine to jumpstart a dead man’s heart, I dumped the rest in the sink and rinsed out my mug. “I need to…garden.” As if they’d buy that one. “Since I don’t want to hear second-handed information, I’ll go ahead and tell you the best part—Rumor has it that Celia Arceneaux arranged to have the television show produced right here in Sinful.”

  “She what?” Gertie came undone.

  “Since when do you garden?” Ida Belle asked, still stuck on that.

  “She doesn’t,” Gertie muttered, wadding up the newspaper like it was an eight-by-ten document. “As for Celia? Someone should’ve fed her to the Bayou ages ago.”

  “Gertie!” Sometimes I worried about Gertie. She must’ve been a real firecracker in her day.

  “I can almost picture a large gator swimming for her now.” She didn’t crack a smile.

  Ida Belle and Celia were die-hard rivals but Gertie spent a lot of time hurling stones her way. Celia was credited for leading the Catholics to a month-long victory in the weekly Sunday Banana Pudding Wars. Held down at Francine’s Café, the wars had become somewhat notorious in the South.

  “Speaking of Celia, rumor has it that one of the upcoming television show episodes will feature the Banana Pudding Wars.” I’d shoot to wound. Gertie had fought dirty when she’d mentioned Carter.

  “Wonder who came up with that idea?” Gertie stilled. “Ida Belle, where is your head?”

  Ida Belle slapped her hands against her ears as if she needed to steady the head in question. “What’s the matter now?”

  “You should’ve told me about this.” Gertie thinned her lips. Her small nostrils pulsed. “What are we going to do with...” She jabbed a pointed finger at me. “Her?”

  “The ‘her’ in question is right here,” I said, perturbed.

  “What do you mean?” Ida Belle kept breaking beans. “She’s a big girl. Thanks to the young Deputy LeBlanc, she can even throw on some heels and walk straight in them.”

  “On Sundays. And Carter doesn’t have a thing to do with what I’m talking about.” After a few quiet moments, strictly for theatrical impact, Gertie added, “Fortune, you have to leave town.”

  “She’s right. They can call that television show anything they choose, but Bayou Babes is our story and that story includes you.”

  I processed. Thanks to my knack for agitating the most dangerous arms dealer in the world, I’d been living in Sinful under an assumed identity. With cameras rolling, laying low was off the table, particularly when there was a lucrative reward for my head. To make matters worse, I was worth more alive.

  I shuddered at the thought of torture. I enjoyed my job with the CIA and didn’t mind pulling a gun and using it. In my line of work, blood and guts represented a busy day at the office but agonizing pain and tremendous suffering?

  I just didn’t see it working for me.

  “You okay, Fortune?” Ida Belle looked up.

  CIA Director Morrow had recently passed along some threats through our mutual contact. Fellow Agent Ben Harrison had taken the time to describe how Ahmad—the arms dealer who wanted me to survive forty days and forty nights of excruciating pain—planned to torture me. The man apparently didn’t believe in forgiveness. Sure, I’d killed his only brother, but he should’ve considered the ‘why’ behind it.

  His brother was a criminal and deserved to die.

  How it went down wasn’t my fault. The only weapon on hand was part of my wardrobe—which probably explained why the CIA’s best agents were still laughing over the “Stiletto Scandal” and further clarified why Gertie thought I should skip town.

  “Fortune?” Gertie snapped her fingers in front of my face.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Isn’t she precious?” Gertie said, a hint of sarcasm hanging in her lip. “She arrives here in Sinful determined not to like it. Now she’d rather die than think about leaving.”

  The phone rang. The vibrating device slid across the slick counter. I took a deep breath, still stuck on Gertie’s accusation. I’d rather die? I grunted. Not quite.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “Dead people don’t answer their phones, Gertie,” I said, satisfied with my response.

  The phone kept buzzing. Ida Belle wagged her finger at Gertie and Gertie stretched her neck to see the caller ID. “Well before you select your casket and plot, you might want to grab that. It’s Carter and he’ll proba
bly want to arrange a time to kiss you goodbye.”

  Chapter Two

  “So she just up and left?” Carter’s disappointment poured through the phone.

  I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

  Ida Belle and Gertie looked at one another and nodded. Knowing those two, they probably believed my kitchen was wired for surveillance.

  “Did she say when she’d be back?” Carter asked.

  Ida Belle shrugged. Gertie did the same. I hit mute and whispered, “For heaven’s sake. He can’t see you.”

  “And he can’t hear you when the call is muted.” Ida Belle smirked and punched the button once more. “I don’t know what to tell you, Carter. We were as surprised as you are.”

  “I’m not surprised, exactly.”

  “Just disappointed?” Gertie was phishing for information.

  I grabbed the phone, hit mute again, and mouthed, “Stop.”

  Gertie snatched the phone, held it against her chest and mouthed, “You’re dead. Remember?”

  “Just MIA,” Ida Belle said.

  “Spoken like a true covert operative,” Gertie stated proudly.

  “Shh!” Ida Belle hit the speaker-option again. “Carter, she left most everything here. She’ll probably return for her belongings…someday.”

  Gertie snickered. I narrowed my eyes. I understood what was going on now. They were using their situation with the new television show to find out my situation with Deputy Carter LeBlanc.

  “All right then. I guess that’s that.”

  “What is it exactly, Carter?” Gertie asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “I don’t know and I can’t worry about it. Have you seen Main Street?”

  Carter was resilient. I liked that about him.

  “No.” Gertie frowned. “What’s going on downtown?”

  “If you’re canning like everyone else in Sinful, set it aside for another day. Meet me at the General Store. You’ll want to see this.”

  “The General Store?” Anytime Walter’s General Store was mentioned, Ida Belle perked up. “What’s going on over there?”

  “You’ll have to see it to believe it,” Carter replied. “Meet me in thirty, ladies.”

  “Bye Carter,” Gertie said, shaking her finger at Ida Belle. “See there. You should’ve filled me in the second you heard about the Bayou Babes.”

  “What does that show have to do with Walter’s store?”

  I shared a laugh with Gertie before she said, “If I were producing that particular show, I’d start at the General Store, too.”

  “Well why on earth would you do that?” Ida Belle grunted and crossed her arms. “Walter is a decent man but he doesn’t exemplify star power.”

  “Did you hear that, Gertie? He’s a decent man.”

  “Wait until I tell him,” Gertie teased.

  Ida Belle turned red and clumsily snatched her keys. “Let’s go see what the commotion is all about.”

  “Sounds like a fine plan.” I dramatically pulled a chair from the table and took a seat. Smiling up at my aging friends, I couldn’t help but revel in the moment. Since my arrival in Sinful, Gertie and Ida Belle had gone out of their way to embrace me as part of the community, but after they figured out I was a wanted woman—and not in a sexy-kind-of-wanted way—they hovered.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” Ida Belle bumped Gertie with her elbow and grabbed her mint green sweater from the coat tree. “Fortune, we’ll come up with something better. We can’t leave you alone like this.”

  “Why not?” Perhaps I should’ve reminded them that I was once considered a skilled CIA agent.

  “We’ll work on a disguise,” Gertie suggested, turning to Ida Belle and ignoring me.

  “I’ll be fine.” Better than fine.

  “Without us, you’ll feel like you’re in solitary confinement,” Ida Belle said.

  “But I’ll manage.”

  “We’re abandoning you in your time of need,” Gertie said.

  It was all I could do to keep from doing a jump-split and celebrating. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  “Promise to call if you do,” Gertie said, not waiting for my response.

  Ida Belle followed Gertie to the porch. I couldn’t help but rejoice with a couple of arm-pumps.

  “I saw that!” Ida Belle reached inside the front door and grabbed her small red purse from the table. It was tacky and didn’t look like something Ida Belle would carry but it had been a gift from a secret admirer so she rarely left home without it. “Gertie and I will come up with a good disguise. Stick with us, Fortune. This time tomorrow, you’ll have a new identity and everything.”

  “Maybe I’ll just sit these next few weeks out.”

  “And miss the action set to unfold on the streets of Sinful? What kind of friends would we be if we let you do that?”

  “True friends,” I suggested, not one to trust disguises after a recent report had suggested most arms dealers had the same facial recognition systems in place as the CIA, FBI, and Interpol. If the cameras were rolling in Sinful, I didn’t want to step in front of them.

  Ida Belle winked. “True friends don’t leave their sidekicks behind.”

  “They do when assassins have ten million reasons to aim their guns at Sinful and set their sights on me.”

  Chapter Three

  “Poor Celia’s ears are probably on fire.” Ida Belle and Gertie hadn’t stopped talking about her since they’d returned.

  “Poor Celia? Tell me she didn’t just say that.” Ida Belle reached in her pocket and pulled out a small elixir bottle which was undoubtedly filled with moonshine. After a sip, she studied the bottle suspiciously. Then, she turned it all the way up and chugged it. “Good to the last drop.” She recapped the inconspicuous container and slid it in her purse. “Celia is the one who sold our story to a ghostwriter who then had the audacity to option it to Darren Brothers.”

  “Darren Brothers?” I hadn’t heard of them.

  “They’re the biggest producers of reality television,” Gertie explained. “They produce dramas, too. Some of their shows have been around for years.”

  “Don’t act like you’re in the know. You read that online just like I did.” Ida Belle and Gertie carried on like sisters.

  “It’s probably not a good time to mention this but if Celia hired the ghostwriter, then she sold your story to Darren Brothers. The ghostwriter wouldn’t have any rights to the material.”

  “Neither did Celia!” Ida Belle pushed away from the table.

  “Calm down, Ida Belle. We’re assuming Bayou Babes is based on our lives. Maybe it’s not.”

  “Gertie is right. Maybe Celia believes she’s lived an interesting life as the sitting leader of God’s Wives. Plus, she is the fastest Catholic sprinter to ever claim a win in Sunday’s race.” Both women looked like they could strangle me so it seemed only right to quickly add, “But Darren Brothers are producing more reality television shows than dramas. Since those shows are based on real people …”

  “And what are we?” Ida Belle asked in an elevated voice.

  “You didn’t let me finish. Most people play themselves in reality television.”

  About that time, a hammering knock fell on the backdoor.

  “Hurry!” Gertie grabbed my arm and dragged me to the foot of the stairs. “Go hide.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you aren’t here!”

  “Exactly,” I bit out. “And one would think if I’m not here, you shouldn’t be here either.”

  “Ha. You’re not getting rid of me.”

  “I figured as much.”

  Ida Belle was already greeting their backdoor guest. Gertie hissed. “Shucks.” She opened the small closet door under the stairs and shoved me forward. Fortunately, she’d pulled this number once before when the Sinful Ladies Society had held one of their private meetings there.

  I knew the drill and ducked in the nick of time. She slammed the door in my face before I could ask her to leav
e it cracked.

  “Well if it isn’t the one who brought Hollywood to Louisiana.” The screen door slammed. “What brings you out today, Celia?”

  “Gertie. Ida Belle.” Celia’s clipped voice wreaked of scandal. “I thought I might find you here. Are we alone?”

  I pressed my ear to the wall, worried a crime was set to unfold.

  “Why? Are you afraid we might hit you over the head with a frying pan?” Gertie asked. “It would be a crying shame to get away with murder when you’ve made it so easy.”

  “And appealing,” Ida Belle added.

  “I see you’re stewing. That was expected, but you have to listen to me.”

  “Actually we don’t,” Ida Belle pointed out.

  “But we will,” Gertie said. “Since you came all this way.”

  “Are you kidding me? She probably walked all of forty steps.”

  “And likely sat down on the sidewalk a few times to rest,” Gertie added. “Did you get as winded coming here as you do on Sundays when you’re racing for food?”

  Ida Belle laughed. I held my breath. The joke was actually on Ida Belle and Gertie, all of us really. We’d lost the pudding wars for a month straight.

  I didn’t want to think about it. I was a poor loser.

  “The article in the newspaper was incorrect,” Celia said, getting to her point without wasting another second. “After seeing you today at the General Store, I assumed you must’ve believed what you’d read.”

  “Why would you come up with that assumption?” Ida Belle asked.

  “You didn’t speak.”

  “Why would today be any different than any other day?” Gertie made a good point.

  “So you’re here to tell us the newspaper article reported false information.” Ida Belle’s heavy sigh resounded like distant thunder. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  I would’ve given anything to see the actions coupled with the words. I could almost picture Ida Belle steering Celia to the door.

  “Why didn’t you just call?” Gertie asked the logical question.

  No one said anything. I strained to hear again.