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  A few seconds passed and neither Gertie nor Ida Belle had responded, which sent Marge’s internal alarm bells ringing. “Right? We’re moving in three months.”

  “Of course,” Gertie said. “I have to put distance between me and my mama. I love her, but if I give her an inch, it’ll be goodbye to the groovy self I’m creating.”

  “You won’t hear an argument from me,” Ida Belle said. “Which is too bad, because this place could use a little infusion of sanity.”

  Gertie nodded as she scanned the menu. “I’m going to order a big, fat pulled pork sandwich with chili jam. No one makes it like Miss Fanny.”

  “Finally, you came by to see us.”

  Marge looked up. Now this was a change. “Francine?”

  Francine was Miss Fanny’s granddaughter. She was all of three years old when Marge and the others left for basic training, or, as Marge liked to call it, spy school. Years after they’d left, Francine had designated Marge to be her soldier pen pal. Every month Marge would get a letter from little Francine. Now here she was, a blossoming girl of 13, wearing one of the Sinful Café’s aprons and holding a notepad.

  “Well, don’t you look all grown up,” Gertie said.

  “I’m learning how to waitress,” Francine said proudly. “Someday this place is going to be mine.”

  “Is that so?” Ida Belle said.

  “Granny Fanny said I could have it if I wanted it. Said I could even change the name. I thought the Groovy Café would be good, which just about gave my Granny Fanny a heart attack.”

  “Groovy Café,” Gertie said, moving her hands as if displaying the name in the air. “I can dig it.”

  Marge glanced at Ida Belle and they both rolled their eyes. Gertie had made it her mission in life to be “happening,” despite how her friends were getting tired of how often dig it, groovy, and outtasight rolled off her tongue.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Gertie said. She looked at Francine. “They’re L-7,” she said, making a square with her index fingers and thumbs. “Not groovy like us.”

  “What about Francine’s Café?” Marge asked. “That’s timeless.”

  Francine rolled her eyes. “L-7,” she and Gertie said simultaneously.

  “So what’ll it be?” Francine asked, her pencil poised over the pad.

  Marge closed her menu. “I’ll have a number seven, with cheese and fries and a large Coke.”

  “Same,” Ida Belle said. “I want a cherry in my Coke.”

  “Pulled pork with chili jam, Dr. Pepper for me,” Gertie said, gathering their menus and placing them back behind the napkin dispenser. “And don’t skimp on the chili jam. You might want to bring a little extra on the side.”

  “That’ll be a dime.”

  “I’m a veteran,” Gertie said indignantly. “Don’t I get a special rate?”

  “A dime is a special rate,” Francine said. “You’re lucky we don’t charge extra for Coke refills or extra ketchup. If it was up to me, you would. All these free extras are digging into our profits. Good day ladies.”

  They watched as Francine took their order to the kitchen.

  “Francine just went down on my groovy scale,” Gertie said.

  After their sodas were delivered, talk turned to the mystery at hand. When did Bonnie lose her hair clip in the rental house, and why did she lie?

  “What’s she hiding?” Gertie asked before slurping down her Dr. Pepper until all she had left was ice.

  “Maybe that she killed Mr. Guillory,” Marge answered.

  “Bonnie relies on Guillory for a paycheck,” Ida Belle said, placing her straw in her glass. “Seems counterintuitive to kill the guy who pays you every week.”

  “You do if he’s threatening you in some way.”

  Gertie signaled to Francine she wanted a refill of her Dr. Pepper and then said, “What about Dolly Harkins? Didn’t Bonnie say she threatened Guillory? She needs to go on our list as well. Along with anyone who might have a grudge against him. People do get particular about how they want their trophy heads and pets stuffed. Certainly, Dolly Harkins can’t be the only dissatisfied customer.”

  Ida Belle sighed. “We’ve been away too long. We need new intel on all that’s gone on since we left. The letters from home were fine, but we need to know the secrets. The stuff that people didn’t write us about. For that, we’ll need to talk to the biggest snoop in Sinful.”

  Marge couldn’t stop the grin that was forming on her face. “Aunt Louanne.”

  “Right on,” Gertie said, then pointed to them. “I saw those eye rolls. L-7 squares.”

  After lunch, the three left the café and headed to the General Store. The quickest way to Louanne’s property, located in a remote area along the bayou, was by boat. Marge’s family boat was out of commission at the moment, and Ida Belle refused to ask her father to borrow his. Asking Gertie’s mom to borrow one of theirs was out of the question. Mrs. Hebert was way too snoopy and most likely would insist on going with them. The girls needed discretion. That left Walter’s dad and owner of the General Store, Big Eddie.

  “Am I allowed to know where you’ll be taking my boat?” Big Eddie asked as he placed cans of beef stew on one of his store shelves. The General Store was the only place in Sinful where someone could come buy ammo to shoot dinner, barbecue sauce to put over dinner and a package of antacid to keep that dinner from getting revenge.

  “We’d prefer you not,” Ida Belle said, picking up a can from the case and placing it on the shelf.

  “I thought so. This wouldn’t happen to involve Wade Guillory being murdered, would it?”

  News traveled fast in Sinful.

  “Why would you assume that?” Marge asked. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I didn’t think you did,” Big Eddie said.

  “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

  “Marge!” Gertie slapped her hands on her hips. “Would you please stop trying to convince everyone we could have killed Mr. Guillory?”

  Big Eddie assessed Marge. “You’re not going to burn your bra anytime soon, are you?”

  “And what if I do?” Marge asked, ignoring Gertie’s glare and Ida Belle’s shaking of her head.

  “Well,” he said, smiling, “you might want to wait till next week. We’re having a two-for-one sale on women’s underthings.”

  “Can we borrow your boat or not?” Ida Belle asked.

  He flicked his thumb toward the backroom. “It’s docked out back where it always is. You tell Louanne Boudreaux ‘hi’ for me.”

  “What makes you think we’re visiting my Aunt Louanne?” Marge asked.

  “Because you three never could keep your nose out of official police business, even when you were teenagers. And when you need information, you go to someone who knows everything. A woman, obviously,” he said pointedly to Marge. “Lord knows us men don’t know night from day around here.”

  The brass bell above the door chimed. Marge glanced over to see who entered, and for a moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped.

  It was Marie.

  Chapter Four

  MARIE WAS NOW MRS. Harvey Chicoron. A very pregnant Mrs. Chicoron.

  “Big Eddie, I’m here to pick up the clothes that Harvey and I ordered.” Marie stopped when she spotted Marge. “Oh, my Lord.” Marie screamed and waddled toward them. “You three are back!”

  Gertie stepped forward and hugged Marie. “You’re pregnant?” she asked, releasing Marie. “Nobody told us.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Ida Belle stuck out her hand. “Congratulations.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. “A handshake?”

  “Well, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ida Belle. Hugging me won’t cause the baby to pop out, you know. Well, actually, you probably don’t.” Marie hugged a stiff Ida Belle, who often treated hugs as if they were torture. Marie released her and shook her head. “Then again, you never were much of a
hugger.”

  Marie turned to Marge. “Well, don’t I get a hug from you?”

  Of all the things Marge hadn’t expected to see, it was Marie pregnant. She was still having a hard time getting used to the fact that Marie was married to Harvey Chicoron, and she’d been Mrs. Chicoron for several years now. Marge felt momentarily paralyzed.

  Marie stepped forward and pulled Marge to her in a hug. “I’ve missed you three so much.”

  “Me too,” Marge said, pulling away from the hug. “I mean, not them, of course,” she said, nodding toward Ida Belle and Gertie. “I’ve seen them every day for the past nine years.” Stupid thing to say, thought Marge. But then, she was used to saying stupid things around Marie. That woman always made her tongue tie itself into a knot.

  “Bet you’re surprised to see me like this,” Marie said, pointing toward her huge stomach.

  Marge was. She’d always hoped there would be a miracle and Marie would be divorcing Harvey at some point. But, seeing Marie pregnant, she knew that was never going to happen now. The Chicorons were powerful. No way would Marie ever get custody of her child in a divorce. This marriage would never end.

  Marge hated Harvey, as did many in Sinful. He was a sexist, arrogant man who acted as if he owned the town, which he almost did. The Chicorons owned half the buildings on Main Street, including Louanne’s photo store. Harvey was an only child, so stood to inherit all of his father’s properties. And he’d never let any business owner forget it. The only friends Harvey had were those he bought in some shape or fashion, whether it was money given to politicians to vote the way he wanted or given to those he hired to do his dirty work.

  Marie was one of those he bought, so said the gossip mongers behind her back. But her friends knew the real story. Marie’s brother Charlie had been born with emotional problems. Problems that required full-time care. Expensive care. Care neither Marie nor her tyrannical mother could afford. Marie never had an ounce of self-esteem, so after years of badgering from her mother and pressure from Harvey, who no doubt wanted a beautiful wife to give him beautiful children, Marie gave in.

  Marge stared at Marie’s belly. Harvey was finally getting his wish. Marie was the most beautiful woman in Sinful and would smooth out the “ugly” in the Chicoron line.

  Marge forced a smile on her face. “Congratulations.” She hoped it sounded sincere.

  “Thank you,” Marie said. Then she promptly slugged Marge in the shoulder. “Now that we have the niceties out of the way, when did you get in?”

  Marge shrugged, rubbing her shoulder. Marie was lucky. She was the only person who could ever lay hands on her like that and get away with it. The last person who slugged her had a black eye to show for it. “We arrived by bus yesterday.”

  “And you didn’t call me right away? I had to find out you were coming back by hearing it from Kitty over at the beauty parlor?” Marie balled up her fist and slugged Marge again. “I thought we were best friends.”

  They were, Marge thought. Not like she was best friends with Ida Belle and Gertie. She’d always felt differently toward Marie, though that was something she’d kept to herself. Some things were better left unsaid.

  “The truth is, Marie, we haven’t told anyone outside of our families just yet,” Gertie said.

  Marie folded her arms over her ample stomach. “I thought I was family.”

  “You are,” Ida Belle said. “We were planning on calling you this afternoon. We were all tired last night when we got home, and this morning we had to move on a house we’re looking to rent.”

  “You’re going to rent a house?” Marie looked puzzled. “Well, I didn’t hear Harvey talk about renting a house to you. I wonder why he didn’t tell me.”

  “It wasn’t one of Harvey’s,” Marge said, trying to look anywhere but in Marie’s eyes. She was sure her friend would be hurt by that news. The three of them had discussed it before returning to Sinful, and although they would have loved to throw some business to Marie, the houses that Harvey rented out belonged to the Chicoron family. They’d be paying rent to the Chicorons, not Marie. That was something none of them could stomach.

  Marie sighed. “I understand, I guess. When can I expect you to come over? This afternoon?”

  “At your house?” Marge asked. “I thought maybe it would upset Harvey.” In fact, it was Harvey who’d been the last person to lay his hands on her after she’d called him a snake. That was the best black eye Marge had ever given anyone. It earned her a night in jail, offending a Chicoron usually did, but it was worth it. Marge had heard that Harvey was a bit more gentlemanly around Marie for a while after that.

  “You leave Harvey to me,” Marie said. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t end up in jail again.”

  “He needs to appreciate what he has.”

  Marie sighed. “He’s been making lots of changes. You wouldn’t even recognize him.”

  Ida Belle and Gertie, who were standing off to the side, shot one another glances and rolled their eyes. Marie had said that once before about her husband. But, once a lout, always a lout.

  “He’s perfectly fine with all of you coming over. And he’s forgiven you for the black eye.”

  Marge folded her arms. She knew Harvey would never forget or forgive how she had humiliated him.

  Marie threw her hands in the air. “He’ll just have to get over it and get used to seeing you all at the house, because I want you three to be godmothers to my baby.”

  “Godmothers?” Ida Belle stepped toward Marie. “But we...” She looked at Marge.

  “You what?” Marie asked. Ida Belle looked away. Gertie grabbed a can of beef stew and pretended to study it.

  Cowards, Marge thought. They could risk their lives as Army spies, but they couldn’t tell Marie they weren’t planning on living permanently in Sinful.

  Marie arched her brows. “Marge?”

  Big Eddie walked in from his back storeroom carrying an armload of plastic-wrapped shirts. “Here are Harvey’s shirts. Three Arrow and three Hathaway, just like he ordered. And your Butterick patterns also arrived. I have half your fabric order in. The rest you ordered should arrive tomorrow.”

  Marge rushed over and took the shirts, fabric and patterns from Big Eddie and walked back over to Marie. “Look, my mom just baked a peach pie this morning. Why don’t you come over later this afternoon and we’ll all catch up?” She turned to Ida Belle and Gertie. “I’ll help Marie carry her stuff to her car and then meet you out back by the boat.”

  Gertie put the can on the shelf and glanced back at Marie. “We’ll see you this afternoon.”

  A new Chevrolet station wagon parked in front of the store caught Marge’s eye as she and Marie stepped outside. It was a beauty. Top of the line as well, with wood siding and chrome hubcaps gleaming in the sun. A far cry from the old DeSoto that Marie had been driving before she was married. That old thing leaked oil and had a bumper held together with masking tape. But this new station wagon... A Chicoron would never be seen driving anything less.

  “Nice ride,” Marge said.

  “Well, Harvey said we should have a wagon for the baby.”

  Marge looked down at the pattern sitting on the top of the pile she was carrying. “Men’s shirts? I wouldn’t think Harvey would want something handmade.”

  “They’re not for him. I’m making some clothes for Charlie. Harvey will pay for Charlie’s care, but anything extra I buy for Charlie comes out of my clothing budget, so I make my clothes and his clothes.” They stopped at the wagon. “I left the back window open. You can just put that stuff on the floor.”

  Marge placed the items through the window and onto the floor. She noticed a pattern featuring dresses. She held it up and pointed to the dress in the middle. “You’ll look nice in this one. Pick something green. To match your eyes.”

  “What about the one next to it?” Marie asked. “I could make you one. I think that would look lovely on you. If I heard correctly, your mama’s trying to set you up with one of the
Martin twins. That dress would make a great impression.”

  Marge laughed. “I don’t need any dresses right now. Thank you, though.”

  They paused. Awkward. Finally, Marie sighed.

  “I know you don’t like that I married Harvey. You made that perfectly clear in your letters. They were short but to the point.”

  Those were the letters Marge had actually sent Marie. The ones she wrote but never sent were epics. No one would ever see those.

  Marge could feel her face flushing. “I just... I think you deserve someone special. A person who loves you and treats you with respect.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Marge Boudreaux. Harvey’s manners may be abrupt, but he’s learning how to treat a woman special. Maybe he just needed to be married.”

  “Do you love him?” Marge blurted out, then instantly regretted it. Did she really want to know? Either answer didn’t seem pleasant to hear.

  Marie didn’t answer. Instead, an odd smile filled her face. “Quick. Put your hand on my belly.”

  “What?”

  She grabbed Marge’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “Do you feel that?”

  Marge did.

  “The baby’s kicking,” Marie said.

  It felt familiar. Marge had two younger siblings. As a young girl, her mother would always have Marge feel when they’d kick. It was wondrous and creepy all at the same time.

  “What was that look between the three of you when I said I wanted you all to be godmothers?”

  Marge pulled her hand away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Marge, I can read between the lines.” She glanced away. “I always have been good at that.”

  Marge cleared her throat. “We’re looking to rent a place for just a few months.”

  “And then?”

  “And then move to New Orleans.”

  There was silence. Then Marie simply said, “I see.”

  “But we’d only be two hours away,” Marge said. “If you needed anything.”