Chapter 8 #2
Ida Belle stepped to the side and waved a hand at me. “Drag that heap out of the water. It’s already midday and if I don’t get food soon, I’m going to get grouchy.”
Since the apparently not-yet-grouchy Ida Belle had just shot a hole in an innocent pirogue, I figured it was best to get moving while she was still in a good mood. I jumped in the Jeep and dragged the trailer out of the water, then went to inspect the situation.
“This is no big deal,” I said. “I can put a strap around the trailer tongue and wrap it around the hitch. I won’t have any problem getting it to your house.”
Gertie nodded but didn’t turn around to look at trailer. She was standing at the edge of the bayou, scanning the surface. “Do you think Godzilla is all right?”
“That alligator is doing a lot better than the three of us,” Ida Belle said.
“I hope I fed him enough,” Gertie said. “I wouldn’t want him to get hungry.”
“Unless he can tote a .45,” Ida Belle said, “you should worry more about my hunger.”
Gertie stepped away from the bank and waved a hand. “All this complaining. As soon as we get to my house, I’ll whip up a casserole.”
“No!” Ida Belle and I sounded off together.
Thirty minutes later, Ida Belle and I flopped into chairs at Francine’s Café.
I felt like I’d run a marathon and sat through one of Pastor Don’s sermons.
The exhaustion was real. Ida Belle didn’t look any better than I did.
Gertie had refused to come, insisting that she needed to pack up some things and get back to my house as soon as possible in case Godzilla showed up.
She wanted to make sure he knew where to hang out.
Great. If that gator returned, I was officially done using my backyard.
Neither Ida Belle nor I had the energy to change clothes, and we were both still dripping a little from our jaunt into the bayou to rescue Gertie from the grasp of the terrible, awful polyester pants monster. Ally walked up to the table and gave us a critical eye.
“You two look like you’ve put in a week just this morning,” she said.
“You have no idea,” I said.
“Gertie?” Ally asked.
“How did you guess?” I asked.
“Well, she’s not here, for one thing,” Ally said, “and Ida Belle’s wearing that sorta constipated look she gets when she’s feeling exasperated about something Gertie’s done that she doesn’t agree with.”
“I must look constipated a lot,” Ida Belle said.
Ally grinned. “I would love to offer you a drink, but town laws and all. How about a root beer? It has a little bite to it.”
Ida Belle pulled a bottle of cough syrup from her pocket. “Just bring Coke. I’ve got the rest covered.”
“And a lots of bread and butter,” I said.
Ally nodded and hurried off, returning a minute later with a big basket of bread and two huge servings of butter, then took our lunch order. Ida Belle and I requested two entrées each and then dived into the bread like we’d just spent ten days in the desert.
I took a huge bite and processed it, then sighed. “This might be the longest I’ve gone without food since I’ve been here.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Until the big fish debacle of 1963, it was illegal to skip a meal.”
For a split second, I thought about asking what exactly a fish debacle entailed, but I really liked eating fish and was sort of afraid of the answer. “What if you were sick?”
“Special dispensation, but you needed a doctor’s note.”
I shook my head and shoved another piece of bread in my mouth.
Sinful had the most ridiculous laws I’d ever heard.
I couldn’t imagine any of them were constitutional, but approximately two months of experience with the town had taught me that clearly, Sinful was okay with the absurd.
In fact, the town almost seemed to encourage it as some badge of honor.
I was working on my third piece of bread when I heard shouting outside.
We were seated in front of the plate glass window, so I had a clear view of the ruckus.
A man stood in the doorway of the sheriff’s department, his hand balled in a fist and waving in the air.
His face was red, and his whole body shook with anger.
Carter stood in front of him, clearly frustrated, but all he did was nod as the man ranted.
“That’s Quincy Hebert,” Ida Belle said. “He’s one of Gertie’s third or fourth cousins.”
“Is he always that angry?”
“I’ve known Quincy his entire life and have never heard him raise his voice. Not even when he should have. We better go see what’s wrong.”
We headed outside and across the street. As we approached the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s department, Quincy slammed the door in Carter’s face, whirled around, and stalked off the sidewalk and into the street.
Six feet four. Two hundred forty pounds of mostly muscle. Was probably good in a fistfight, but I could outrun him.
“Quincy?” Ida Belle called out.
He gave a start, and I realized that he was so angry he hadn’t even seen us standing there when he’d walked by.
“Ida Belle,” he said, and his face softened a bit as he focused on her. “I’m sorry. I’m so mad I can’t see straight.”
“What’s wrong?” Ida Belle asked.
“You’ve heard about the alligator poaching?” he asked.
We both nodded.
“Well, that idiot game warden arrested Petey, and Carter won’t let him loose.”
“What?!”
Ida Belle’s expression and tone was filled with so much incredulity that whoever Petey was, I gathered he wasn’t capable of the poaching.
Quincy flung his arms in the air. “What the heck am I supposed to do? That boy can’t stay in a cell.”
“Carter knows better,” Ida Belle said. “Why won’t he turn Petey loose?”
“He said he’s been on the phone with the state for an hour now and they refuse to give him permission to let Petey go, even though he’d be releasing him into my custody. Says his job is on the line.”
Ida Belle frowned. “And the state trumps everything. What kind of evidence do they have?”
“Carter said they wouldn’t tell him, but the state insisted that it’s enough to hold Petey and that Carter had better do as he was told.” Quincy gave Ida Belle a pained look. “I don’t want Carter to lose his job, but I can’t let my boy stay there alone.”
I still didn’t understand exactly what was going on.
The expression “my boy” could mean that Petey was Quincy’s son or it could mean he was a good friend.
And I had no idea why Petey couldn’t manage sitting alone in a jail cell, but maybe he was claustrophobic.
The jail part of the building was rather small and had poor lighting.
“Maybe you can stay there with him,” Ida Belle said.
“I already asked,” Quincy said. “Carter said the cells are full—some party got out of hand at the Swamp Bar last night and Deputy Breaux filled the place up with drunk idiots.”
“Petey’s not locked up with those barbarians?” Ida Belle looked horrified.
Quincy shook his head. “Carter’s got him in the storeroom for now, but even when he gets the drunks cleared out, he says he can’t let a civilian stay inside. Celia’s already been around and let him know she’s watching. Any sign of rule-breaking and he’s out.”
“This election recount needs to finish and in Marie’s favor.” I looked at Quincy. “So basically, you can’t go to jail unless you break the law.”
“That’s what it looks like,” Quincy said.
“Hit me,” I said.
Quincy stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “What?”
“Hit me,” I repeated. “It doesn’t have to be hard. Hell, grab my arm. Whatever.”
Ida Belle’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Do it, Quincy.”
“You two have lost your minds,” Quincy said.
“You need a legitimate reason to be in jail,” I said. “I’m going to give you one, and then when push comes to shove, I’ll refuse to press charges.”
Quincy’s face cleared in understanding, and he looked back and forth between Ida Belle and me. “You’re sure?”
“Yep,” I said, “but on further thought, do the grabbing thing. You look like you pack a mean punch.”
He reached out and grabbed my arm and I was really happy I’d opted out of the punch. He had a grip like a vise, and I was fairly certain I’d have some bruises to show for it.
“Help! Stop!” I screamed. “Now let go,” I whispered.
Quincy let go of me and dropped his arms to his sides. A couple seconds later, Carter rushed out of the sheriff’s department and stared at the three of us. “Did one of you yell?” he asked.
“I did,” I said, clutching my arm. “This man assaulted me.”
Carter’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“You heard her,” Ida Belle said. “We were trying to talk some sense into Quincy, and he grabbed Fortune’s arm like he was going to wrestle her to the ground.”
I turned to the side and removed my hand. “See,” I said, pointing to the red marks on my biceps.
Carter stared at Quincy in dismay. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“I don’t care what he’s thinking,” Ida Belle said. “What I think is that you need to arrest this man and lock him up until he calms down. He’s a danger to society.”
Carter’s eye narrowed at me. “Is that what you want? For me to arrest Quincy?”
“I think it would be wise,” I said. “It would have been a lot worse if he’d grabbed someone less fit than me. He could have broken their arm.”
“Uh-huh,” Carter said. “And you’ll come in and file a complaint?”
“Ida Belle and I haven’t eaten all day,” I said. “Can it wait until after lunch? Our food should be up now.”
“Okay,” Carter said. “I don’t need you passing out on me.
Finish up your lunch and have a doctor take a look at that arm.
I don’t want to be accused of holding injured people in the sheriff’s department over paperwork.
If you feel up to it after you’ve seen the doctor, then you can come back and file a report.
Otherwise, I’ll get it from you tomorrow or the day after. Quincy can stay put until then.”
Carter waved a hand at Quincy, who turned and mouthed a “thank you” at me before lumbering into the sheriff’s department. I could see the smile quivering on Carter’s lips as he closed the door.