Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “You’re a genius.”
“I’ll take the compliment, but what’s it for?”
“Guess who lives in the house directly behind this one?”
I shook my head.
“Your new friend, Peaches.”
“So you think I should knock on her door and ask to look out her back window with binoculars? I can’t imagine any scenario where that would sound appropriate, not to mention what trouble we’d get Peaches into if Carter found out.”
“No, of course. We don’t want to get the poor girl in trouble. She’s a nice sort, and her mother would have a heart attack at any whisper of impropriety where that girl is concerned. Quite frankly, I don’t want that one on my conscience. But if we were to pay her a visit, then one might find a need to see the upstairs or perhaps use an upstairs restroom.”
“Don’t most of these houses have a downstairs restroom for guests?”
Ida Belle grinned. “You of all people should know. All sorts of things can happen to disable a restroom.”
Chapter 11
It was almost six o’clock before Marie returned to take another shift. She fluttered in with a million apologies for the late hour. Apparently, she’d sat in the recliner for a minute to rest and awakened a good two hours later, much to her dismay. We assured her that everything had been fine in her absence and we were happy she’d gotten some sleep. Nolan was still resting.
Once Gertie had returned from getting Nolan settled, we’d filled her in on Ida Belle’s plot to get a look at the trellis. Gertie said she had a pattern for the cutest baby shawl ever and some lavender yarn that Peaches would love. Gertie said she could whip out the shawl that evening, and we’d pay Peaches a visit late the next morning. Apparently, young people had a different opinion of what constituted a reasonable hour for visiting. Anything before 10:00 a.m. was considered quite rude.
We told Marie about the message from the insurance man, then headed out. Myrtle had checked in earlier but didn’t have any news, as Carter had yet to return to the sheriff’s department, much less file a report. We were at loose ends as we climbed into the car, all feeling like there was something we should do but having zero idea what it could possibly be.
“Maybe we should all head home and do some thinking,” Ida Belle said. “I think best when I’m out in my garage. Gertie thinks best when she’s knitting and that’s what she’ll be doing.”
They both looked at me.
“Uh, I sorta think best when I’m shooting guns,” I said, “but I figure that’s probably not a good idea.”
“Certainly not at your house,” Gertie said. “But there are places you can go let off several rounds.”
I perked up. “Sinful has a shooting range? And you never told me?”
“It’s not exactly a range,” Ida Belle said. “Old Man Calhoun retired about ten years ago and sold off his dairy cows. He’s got over a hundred acres, a lot of it marsh, so he lets people do some target practice back there. Has some boards set up to hold cans and the like. You give him a twenty and shoot as long as you want.”
I glanced up at the sky. I still had over two hours of daylight, and shooting guns always beat sitting around bored. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. I did think best when I was using a firearm. “Where is Old Man Calhoun’s place?” I asked.
Thirty minutes later, I was bumping along in my Jeep on a narrow dirt road that appeared to lead directly into the center of the marsh. According to Gertie, more and more of Calhoun’s farmland had succumbed to the bayou each year, making it harder for him to find places for his cows to graze. Each year, he’d cut the size of the herd to account for the loss of land but eventually, age and hassle won out and he retired from the business altogether.
As I rounded a corner, completely blocked by a line of oak trees, I almost hit an oncoming truck. The truck swerved to the left and I swerved to the right, my Jeep sliding off the side of the road and a little into the ditch. The all-wheel drive saved me from going all the way into the ditch of water, and I pulled back onto the road and stopped. The truck, a black Dodge with off-roading tires, didn’t even pause. I gave it the finger as it disappeared on the other side of the trees.
Now, completely aggravated and needing a shooting round more than ever, I put the Jeep back in gear and continued my journey into nowhere. A couple minutes later, I spotted a house out in the middle of the marsh. The log cabin didn’t look remotely like the farmhouses you saw in movies, but it was an impressive structure, all the logs notched and fitted perfectly together. As I pulled up to the house, an old man wearing overalls, a T-shirt, and rubber boots stepped out onto the porch and squinted at me.
Somewhere between eighty and death. Five foot eleven. A hundred fifty pounds soaking wet. Bad vision. Too many medical ailments to list. Threat level zero unless armed.