“Who’s Mary Esther?” I asked. That was a name I hadn’t heard before.
“She’s an old widow who lives in one of those old bayou houses,” Gertie said. “Her family was one of the first to settle in Sinful.”
“Her family, my butt,” Ida Belle said. “That woman looks at least two hundred years old. She was probably original to the town.”
“Well, she’s got good eyesight for a two-hundred-year-old woman,” Gertie said. “She still knits and is online.”
“So?” Ida Belle retorted. “You do both of those and your glasses needed updating back when disco was cool.”
I grinned. That argument never got old.
“I’ll have you know,” Gertie said, “that I have an appointment to get that handled.”
Ida Belle and I both stared at her.
“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re going to get new glasses?”
“No,” Gertie said. “I’ve decided I’m too young and hip to wear glasses all the time, plus they get in the way of some of our more active pursuits. I’m going to have LASIK surgery.”
“God save us all,” Ida Belle said. “Don’t they have an age limit on that?”
“They do not,” Gertie retorted. “I’m not diabetic and don’t have cataracts, so I’m well within the scope of qualifying for surgery.”
“A doctor told you this?” Ida Belle asked.
“Well, not exactly,” Gertie said, “but I looked it up on the Internet.”
“Uh-huh,” Ida Belle said. “Maybe you should wait and see if a real doctor concurs with that idiocy on the Internet before you donate your old glasses.”
Gertie frowned. “Why do you always have to be Debbie Downer?”
Ida Belle shook her head. “I’m Reality Rita.”
“You know,” I said, “LASIK can fix distance vision but you’ll still have to wear reading glasses.”
Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not running or getting shot at when reading glasses would be needed.”
I nodded. Seemed like perfectly reasonable criteria to me.
Ida Belle merged onto the highway on the outside of downtown and I watched as the weeds and trees rolled by. A mile or so farther, she turned onto a dirt road and headed into a wooded area of the swamp. As we rounded a corner, she yanked the steering wheel to the side, narrowly missing an oncoming truck that was in the middle of the road.
“Watch where you’re driving!” Gertie yelled, not that it mattered. The truck was long gone.
“I saw that same truck the other day when I went to shoot,” I said. “He wasn’t any better at staying in his lane then, either.”
Ida Belle slowed until the car came to a stop. She looked at Gertie and me. “That truck belongs to Brandon Dugas.”
“Peaches’s husband?” I asked.
Gertie frowned. “Then what is he doing roaming around the back roads of Sinful when he’s supposed to be catching big shrimp?”
“That’s a good question,” Ida Belle said.
“Maybe he’s lying to Peaches,” Gertie said, “and goofing off instead.”
“Then where is the money coming from?” I asked. “That vase that Peaches wanted couldn’t have been cheap, and the stereo and television setup in the game room was top-of-the-line. I know. It’s the only thing I spend money on besides weapons.”
Ida Belle pulled out her cell phone and dialed. “I’ll call the shrimp house and clear up part of this right now.”
“Hello,” Ida Bell said. “I’m preparing a dinner for a large number of visiting family and they really want butterflied shrimp. They’re usually priced at a premium that I can’t afford, but I heard that lately, there’s an abundance, so I thought the cost might be a bit better.”
She paused, then said, “I understand. Thank you for your help.”
She hung up the phone. “Big shrimp haven’t been running for six months or better. In fact, there’s more of a shortage right now than usual.”
“Why did he lie?” Gertie asked.
“More importantly,” I said, “what is he really doing?”
Gertie bit her lower lip. “I don’t like this at all. Peaches is such a nice girl—a girl with manners and class. If Brandon is up to no good…”
“Whatever he’s doing is making money,” I said, “and since he’s lying to his wife, I’m going to have to vote for the ‘up to no good’ option.”
“I have to agree,” Ida Belle said. “Well, one thing at a time. Let’s worry about Brandon when this situation with Gail and the catfish is resolved.”
She put the car into gear and headed back down the road. Gertie cast a worried glance at me before turning around. I didn’t blame her. I was worried as well. Peaches was a nice girl. She didn’t deserve the kind of problems Brandon might bring down on them.
A minute later, we turned onto an even narrower road and after a half mile or so, pulled up in front of a tiny, run-down house that was completely surrounded by cypress trees.