Chapter 1 #2
But Ida Belle’s idea had gotten my attention.
I’d come across a couple of PIs in my CIA work, and I was positive I was more competent than either of them.
And there were probably schools or something that I could attend to learn more about how to do the job, especially the legal end of things.
The federal government wasn’t as concerned about those things as nongovernment employees had to be.
“So?” Ida Belle asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, I like the idea, and even though a bunch of it is probably boring as hell, I think I’d like the work for the most part.”
“But?”
“But staying here and being a PI…and dating Carter.”
Gertie whistled. “I hadn’t thought about that. With all his ‘no poking into police business’ nonsense, he’d probably have a stroke if you set up shop to do exactly that.”
“Probably,” Ida Belle said, “but he’d get over it. As far as sins go, that would be one of the least Fortune has committed.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
“No disrespect,” Ida Belle said. “I was right there with you hiding the truth and making up lies. And I don’t blame either of us for a single one of them.”
“The thing is,” I said, “we’ve helped catch some criminals, but I’m pretty sure our methods aren’t allowed.”
“They are if no one finds out,” Gertie said. “Isn’t that the rule?”
“It is for a lot of people,” Ida Belle said, “but I think you probably need to make a bigger effort if you’re getting paid for it. That whole professional ethics thing.”
“Not to mention how the legal system views it,” I added.
It was a lot to think about—finding a job that didn’t make me want to stab my eyes out with a fork, finding a place to live that I could tolerate every day, finding an actual house in the place to live where I could tolerate my neighbors every day, buying furniture and dishes and all those domestic things I’d never quite gotten around to.
Basically, I was starting on the ground floor of adulting, and from where I sat, it looked like a whole lot of work.
The biggest problem was having no idea where to start.
Gertie was right in that I needed to pin down a location before I worried about a career.
Until I knew where I was going to live, I didn’t know what careers were viable for the area.
If I went the PI route, as Ida Belle suggested, licensing requirements were different by state.
More than anything, I wished I could just commit to relocating here and be done with it, but something still held me back.
Maybe it was my inability to let go of the only life I’d ever known.
Maybe it was my apprehension about my relationship with Carter.
Maybe I was afraid that I’d make all these changes and in six months, I’d be bored to death and regretting every one of them.
Bottom line, if I moved to Sinful and it didn’t work for me, I’d hurt a lot of people with my exit. Good people. People who mattered. And that was something I really didn’t want to do.
“I think it’s an interesting idea,” I said, “but I want to do some research and see what’s required to get a license and what kind of limitations and liability are placed on you once you get that license.”
“That’s a sound plan.” Ida Belle leaned across the table and looked closely at me. “You don’t have to make a decision today or tomorrow or even next week. Gertie and I would love to have you here, but only if that’s what you want. We don’t want you unhappy. That wouldn’t work for any of us.”
Gertie nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, Ida Belle’s right. We don’t want you to leave, but we don’t want you miserable, either. You’ve already got that setup. There’s no sense changing your entire life to be right back in it.”
I smiled. “You guys are the best, you know it?”
“Of course,” Gertie said. She rose from the table and lifted her enormous handbag from the floor. “I’ve got to go get some bait.”
“Going fishing again?” Ida Belle asked.
“Yep,” Gertie said. “Still trying for the one that got away.”
She tossed some money on the table and headed out of the café at a faster-than-usual clip. Ida Belle watched her go and frowned.
“Something is up with her,” Ida Belle said.
“Why? Because she’s fishing every day? I thought that was her favorite thing to do—I mean, aside from meddling.”
“It is, but this time is different. There’s this sense of urgency about it all that she’s never had before.”
“Maybe it’s because her boat was broken for so long, and now that she’s finally gotten it fixed, she’s making up for lost time.”
“Maybe,” Ida Belle said, but she didn’t sound convinced. Finally, she looked back at me. “So what are you up to today?”
“I don’t know,” I said, which was the truth and also becoming a real problem.
A week had passed since I’d thrust myself into the middle of a police investigation, and I was ready to climb the walls.
Not that I was wanting crime to happen—so far, too many people had died—but maybe a tiny case of petty theft or something.
Just enough to challenge the brain and maybe push me into a slow jog through a hedge or onto a roof. Back to the good times.
I sighed. Ida Belle was right. Being a private detective was probably the best job for me. Private security would be a bore. I wasn’t interested in ferreting out the secrets of one famous person, and if I ever lost my mind and got interested, there was always TMZ.
Instead, I wanted to know everyone’s secrets.
Knowing what people had hidden away in the back of their closets made them a lot more interesting than they appeared in everyday life.
Gertie and Ida Belle were prime examples of that.
On the surface, they looked like two little old ladies living in a small bayou town.
They liked fishing, hunting, knitting, and nosing into other people’s business.
Completely typical. Except for the part where they had both served in Vietnam as counterintelligence and no one in Sinful aside from me and Carter knew about it.
The surface was everything you expected to see, but beneath that murky water were all kinds of things you couldn’t have ever imagined.
“You’ve got to get a hobby or something,” Ida Belle said.
“I know you can’t get a job, but you can’t just sit around watching television all day or sleeping in your hammock.
I know Carter is occupying some of your time, but his job is more than full time lately, especially with the election results still up in the air. ”
“Any word on that?” I asked.
Ida Belle and Gertie’s nemesis, Celia Arceneaux, had won the recent mayoral election, but her opponent had accused her of vote tampering and asked for an audit, which had been granted.
An audit firm was now going over all the votes to determine if Celia was really the mayor of Sinful or if Ida Belle and Gertie’s friend Marie was the rightful heir to the swampy throne.
“Not a peep,” Ida Belle said. “I talked to Marie yesterday, and she said they have finished the count but that they go through the results two more times until they announce their findings.”
“Good God. At the rate they’re going, it will be time for a new election before they finish. Or Celia will be dead.”
Ida Belle nodded. “We might even have time for Celia to develop a conscience and get nice.”
“Evolution for the win.”
“Well, if you don’t have anything better to do, and you’re interested in staying off your couch, I’m going car shopping.”
“You’re buying a new car? What about the motorcycle?”
“I’m keeping the motorcycle, but there’s times when a car is the better option.”
“Like when it’s raining or humid or summer or when you live in Sinful, Louisiana, and no one can drive for crap?”
“Yeah, some of that.”
I rose from my chair and placed some bills on the table. “What the heck. I don’t have anything better to do. Plus, I can make sure you get something with a backseat. The middle console of a Corvette is not exactly a comfort zone.”
“Could have been worse. Could have been manual transmission.”
We headed outside, and I scanned the street for Ida Belle’s motorcycle but didn’t see it. “Did you walk over?”
“Yeah, too danged hot for leather. And I refuse to be one of those fools who wear a tank top and sandals.”
“Good. Then I get to drive. No top on the Jeep, and I can add in AC. Tank tops and sandals are totally optional.”
We headed across the road for my Jeep and watched as Gertie exited the General Store, dragging a small ice chest to her car. I hurried over to help her lift it into the backseat and was momentarily surprised at the weight.
“Did you fill this thing with ice?” I asked. “How much can you possibly need for a couple hours of fishing?”
“Ice and bait,” Gertie said, “but it’s hot out. It melts fast.”
She answered without looking at me, never a good sign.
Maybe Ida Belle had been right. Maybe Gertie was up to something that she didn’t want us to know about.
I looked over at Ida Belle, who raised one eyebrow.
Unable to help myself, I popped open the lid on the ice chest and peered inside.
Four large fish lay on top of the ice. Each one a good eight inches in length.
“This isn’t bait,” I said. “This is dinner.”
Gertie slammed the lid shut. “I said it was bait.”
Ida Belle stared at her. “What are you trying to catch—Jaws?”
“Maybe,” Gertie said. “Thanks for the help. See you guys later.”
She jumped in her car, backed out, and took off down Main Street, leaving Ida Belle and me still standing there, watching her drive off.
“Definitely up to something,” Ida Belle said.
I nodded. “I agree, but what in the world is she up to with those fish? That’s the strange part. Who uses fish as an alibi?”
“Oldest trick in the book. Guy wants time away from a hovering wife, so he says he’s going fishing. Wife approves it because he brings home fish for dinner. But instead of fishing, he buys the fish at the General Store, loads it up with ice, and heads out for a day of whatever.”
“But Gertie doesn’t have a husband with questions waiting for fish at home.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Which makes it even more interesting.”
“So you’re saying Gertie could be up to anything, anywhere. Why does that sound so scary?”
“Because it contains the words ‘Gertie,’ ‘anything,’ and ‘anywhere.’”