Mary-Alice Moves In, page 1
Table of Contents
Mary-Alice Moves In (Miss Fortune World: The Mary-Alice Files, #1)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
From the Author
Bayou Busybody
Also By Frankie Bow
Copyright © 2018 by Frankie Bow
All rights reserved.
This story is based on a series created by Jana DeLeon. The author of this story has the contractual rights to create stories using the Miss Fortune world. Any unauthorized use of the Miss Fortune world for story creation is a violation of copyright law.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author and the publisher, J&R Fan Fiction, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Stock art: Pixabay, Freepik
Chapter One
MARY-ALICE ARCENEAUX parked her Oldsmobile 88 in front of Harriet’s Books, shut off the engine, and peered into the rearview mirror. She checked her teeth, reapplied her coral lipstick, and reached to open the glove box for her travel brush.
Mary-Alice wanted to look her best for the official start of her new life in Sinful, Louisiana. She had made up her mind that she would not rebuild in Mudbug. Mary-Alice wanted to forget about the fire and all of the other unpleasantness, and it was hard to do that with her neighbors whispering behind her back. Fortunately, her house had been fully insured. And the Sinful real estate market was such that Mary-Alice could afford to buy anywhere she liked.
As the glove compartment popped open something slid out and landed with a thunk on the floor mat. Mary-Alice undid her seat belt and reached over to pick it up.
It looked like a black pane of glass with rounded edges. About the size of a book, but much thinner, and surprisingly heavy. Mary-Alice was pretty sure she knew what it was. Beulah Monroe in her crafting group had something like it.
She turned the key in the ignition to restart the air conditioner, pulled out her phone, and called Mudbug Auto Body.
“I just picked up my car this morning,” Mary-Alice explained to the receptionist. She had to shout over the sound of the air blasting from the vents. “1999 Oldsmobile 88, Dark Caribe Metallic. You fixed the front end and replaced the bumper. Such a lovely job, and you left the car so clean. Thank you. Oh dear, I’m rambling. I called to tell you that someone in your shop left a computer tablet in the glove box. You know what I’m talking about? The kind you can read books and watch movies on.”
The receptionist put Mary-Alice on hold, and after a long time came back on the line to tell her that nothing was missing from the shop. The tablet must have been in the glove box when the car was towed in.
It had to be Caden’s, then. The thought cast a shadow over Mary-Alice’s bright mood. She took a deep breath and punched in the number for her grandson’s lawyer.
The man didn’t even let her finish her first sentence.
“Mary-Alice, the item you describe is not Caden’s.”
“But Audy, he’s the only other person who drove my car. I’ve already called the body shop, and they told me it doesn’t belong to anyone there.”
Mary-Alice heard the man take a deep breath. She imagined Audy puffing himself like an old bullfrog, something Mary-Alice noticed he did when he wanted to seem large and important.
“Now see here, Mary-Alice. Your grandson, that is to say, my client, has no knowledge of any device that may have been found in your glove box.”
Mary-Alice hadn’t mentioned the glove box.
“I see. You’re telling me it’s not Caden’s. May I keep it, then?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t mine. Shall I bring it to the police?”
Mary-Alice pulled the phone away from her ear as the lawyer had what sounded like a choking fit.
“No. No, no, no. There’s no need to do that, Mary-Alice,” the man sputtered when he had recovered. “I can’t tell you what to do, of course, and this is not to be construed as legal advice. But if I were in your place, I would take it to an electronics recycling drop-off where it can be disposed of properly,”
“But Audy, you haven’t even asked Caden. What if he needs...I see. Well, thank you for your time.”
As she pressed the disconnect button, she realized what was going on. The tablet most likely did belong to her grandson. But his lawyer didn’t want to risk unearthing any more incriminating evidence.
Maybe if she hadn’t sent Caden to computer camp when he was a boy...no, he would have simply found some other way to get himself in trouble. Caden had Joe Arceneaux’s blood in his veins. There was no getting around it.
Heartsick as she was over her grandson, Mary-Alice knew there was no point in dwelling on unpleasant things. She locked the tablet back in the glove box, switched off the engine a second time, and went into Harriet’s.
The bookstore’s interior smelled of scented candles and old paper. The early afternoon sun slanted through the large front windows and lit up the sun-faded hardcovers on display. Mary-Alice took her time browsing and eventually picked out a mystery, two steampunk novels, and one romance, Passion’s Promise. Something about the author photo appealed to her. Perhaps buying all of these books wasn’t the most frugal thing to do, but now that Mary-Alice had decided to move to Sinful for good, she wanted to be a good neighbor. She had seen her favorite bookstore in Mudbug close, a year to the day after the big chain store moved in. Then, not five years after that, the chain store itself had shut down.
Mary-Alice paused, scooped up a few more books, and finally tottered over to the counter carrying as many books as she could hold. As the woman at the counter was ringing her up, Mary-Alice got a good look at the author photo on the back of Passion’s Promise. Gertie Hebert. Was it the same Gertie she knew? The one who had stopped by with her two friends that terrible night, and saved her and Celia from the fire? The picture looked vaguely like the same woman she had met, only a couple of decades younger, and wearing a scandalously low-cut blouse with sharply-padded shoulders.
“Excuse me,” Mary-Alice said, “but is this Gertie Hebert the same Gertie who lives here in Sinful?”
Chapter Two
MARY-ALICE SMILED AS she hefted the bag of books onto the driver’s seat, and buckled the passenger-side seat belt over the bag so the car wouldn’t beep at her. Joe would have scolded her for her extravagance and reminded her that she could get all the books she wanted at the library. But she had been a wise steward of her modest bookkeeper’s salary, and later, of Joe’s life insurance money. She could buy all the books she wanted. In hardcover, if she pleased, and she did.
It had been lovely chatting with Harriet, the bookstore owner. Harriet had confirmed that yes, Gertie Hebert was a Sinful native. Mary-Alice knew a real, published author! Sinful was much more sophisticated than she had assumed.
The conversation had taken an awkward turn when Harriet eagerly shared the latest news about Celia Arceneaux’s cousin’s grandson going to prison. Mary-Alice informed Harriet in the gentlest possible way that she herself was that very cousin, and that recent events involving her grandson had indeed been quite trying. Harriet quickly made amends by doling out fresh tidbits of Sinful gossip: a rumor (unsubstantiated) that Francine’s Diner was looking into a gluten-free banana pudding recipe; the lawsuit old Mister Gaudet took out against his neighbor, who had painted her house Pepto-Bismol pink (he claimed the color gave him fits); and the arrival of a new youth minister at the Baptist church, the handsome young Pastor Chad.
Mary-Alice bore no ill will against Harriet for her initial tactlessness. Instead, she felt buoyant with a sense of fresh possibilities. Her new life in Sinful was beginning in the pleasantest possible way, with agreeable conversation and a bag of brand-new books to read.
As she fastened her own seatbelt, Mary-Alice’s attention wandered to the glove box. She felt her curiosity rising. She wasn’t due to meet Cousin Celia for another hour yet.
She glanced up and saw Harriet through the window. Harriet smiled and gave her a little wave. Mary-Alice waved back and started the car. It wouldn’t do to sit in the car in front of the bookshop; Harriet might suspect that Mary-Alice was up to something. She pulled out and drove a few yards down the road and into the dirt lot of what looked like an abandoned taxidermist’s shop. Avoiding eye contact with the stuffed deer head hanging in the front, she pulled out the tablet and examined it. Then she ran her finger around the outer edge until she found a button to press. The pane of glass lit up, a black background covered with a grid of colorful symbols. One of the icons on the screen got her attention: A single eye, with a yellow iris and a pinpoint black pupil. She hesitated, then touched the eye.
She was surprised that the device had started up with no password. Her grandson had been fiercely protective of his computer privacy. All to the good, as she had walked in on him one time when he was online, and seen something on his computer screen that was better forgotten.
The screen went black and for a few seconds, nothing happen
She stared at the black screen. There was no visual, only intermittent scraping sounds. Then, instantly the image flared to life, and Mary-Alice saw a bare room. The camera was swinging wildly, but Mary-Alice made out white walls, against one of which stood a rectangular beige object. Then a low, bare table, a shot of nubby brown industrial carpet, and a close-up of the beige rectangle which turned out to be a file cabinet.
The screen blinked out and went dark. A loud metallic bang was followed by a woman’s voice uttering some very angry and impolite words.
Mary-Alice powered the tablet down and slipped it back into the glove compartment. She had never been fond of those avant-garde films. She preferred movies where the plot was clear and the cameraman had a steady hand. Like Fried Green Tomatoes, or even Steel Magnolias.
Mary-Alice started her car and headed over to Celia’s house.
Chapter Three
MARY-ALICE TAPPED ON Celia’s front door. There was no answer, so she tried the knob and let herself in. As soon as she was inside, she heard Celia talking on the phone. Celia’s voice was loud and clear, a good thing for a mayor-elect who had frequent occasion to speak in public. It was not ideal for privacy, however. Mary-Alice placed her bags by the front door and took the gift basket of jams and jellies into the kitchen. As little as Mary-Alice wished to eavesdrop, she couldn’t help that Celia’s voice rang out through the house.
“No, Beatrice,” Celia was saying, “It has nothing to do with freedom of speech. It was just plain disrespectful. In fact, I should sue them for slander. Oh, is that a fact. Well, I’ll tell you what Pastor Don said. ‘Here in Sinful, we don’t deprive someone of their right to vote just because they’ve passed on.’ And you should have heard Pastor Chad laugh! Like jackals, Beatrice, jackals, both of them!”
Mary-Alice knew Celia’s conversation wasn’t meant for her ears, but she couldn’t exactly help hearing, could she? She placed the basket of jams and jellies on the counter next to the fridge, where it was visible but not in anyone’s way, and busied herself tidying Celia’s cluttered kitchen.
“Listen, Beatrice, Marie’s hands aren’t clean either, I’ll guarantee you that. Anyway, I did a little digging, and I think there’s more to this Pastor Chad than meets the eye—oh, Mary-Alice is here. I’ll call you back later.”
Celia appeared in the kitchen, her demeanor transformed from righteous wrath to benevolent condescension.
“Mary-Alice, dear. Right on time. How lovely.”
The women exchanged a hug.
“I knocked,” Mary-Alice said. “But there wasn’t any answer, so I let myself in.”
“No need to apologize. Is this all for me?”
“Yes, I remember how you liked biscuits with tallow honey.”
“And you had them put in pepper jam and rose petal jelly too. So unique of you, Mary-Alice. Are those your things by the door?”
Celia picked up Mary-Alice’s handbag and led the way to the spare room, leaving Mary-Alice to lug her big valise, overnight case, and lavender Harriet’s bag full of her new hardcover books.
“I trust you’ll be comfortable here.” Celia placed Mary-Alice’s handbag on the nightstand next to the single bed. Mary-Alice dumped her burden next to the tiny wardrobe. She could worry about putting her things away later.
“So nice of you to let me stay,” Mary-Alice said. “I promise I’ll find a place of my own and be out of your hair in two shakes.”
Celia gazed thoughtfully through the small window to the slightly overgrown yard.
“I suppose by all rights I shouldn’t even be speaking to you, Mary-Alice, after what your grandson did to me, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones for the sake of family.”
“I’m so happy to be here in Sinful,” Mary-Alice said. “I feel like things are looking up already. Let me help you set up for supper.”
Mary-Alice set two places at the table, taking care to fold the paper napkins nicely. Celia popped a frozen lasagna into the microwave. Mary-Alice knew that Celia’s phone conversation was none of her business, but she was dying to know what was going on.
Mary-Alice had been relentlessly curious ever since she was a girl. Her mother would tell her it wasn’t ladylike to go poking her freckled nose into other folks’ business. According to Mary-Alice’s mother, there were few sins worse than being unladylike.
“I stopped by Harriet’s on the way over,” Mary-Alice remarked in an offhanded way. “Lovely little shop. Bought a book or two.”
“We do have a library, dear. Although I suppose it’s your money, and you should be able to spend it however you please.”
“I had a nice chat with Harriet when I was there. She told me the Baptists got a new youth pastor. Did you know?”
“Oh, that’s old news,” Celia scoffed. “Pastor Chad. Piece of eye-candy they brought in to try to get the kids interested in going to church. Good luck to them, they’ll need it. The kids are more interested in tearing around the bayou in their loud motorboats. Still, you can’t blame Pastor Don for trying. His congregation’s dying off. You look around the Baptist Church on a Sunday morning and it’s like Heaven’s waiting room.”
“Have you met this Pastor Chad?” Mary-Alice wondered what Celia had meant by “more to him than meets the eye.”
“Yes, and I wasn’t terribly impressed. Although I’m sure he’s trying his best, bless his heart.”
Which meant that Celia hated Pastor Chad with a burning passion.
Sinful may have been orders of magnitude smaller than Mudbug, but so far it was promising to be every bit as interesting.
Chapter Four
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Mary-Alice treated Celia to breakfast at Francine’s Diner. Sinful appeared to have only the one restaurant, but it was a good one. The aroma was savory and wholesome, the employees were sweet as pie, and the food was heavenly.
A harried but good-natured waitress seated Mary-Alice and Celia. Celia concentrated on her menu, but Mary-Alice spotted two familiar faces across the room. She smiled and waved. The two white-haired women waved back, as did the middle-aged man sitting with them. Mary-Alice noticed that the man wore a clerical collar with his chambray shirt.
“Celia, look! It’s Ida Belle and Gertie.”
Celia continued to study her menu.
“Is that Pastor Chad with them?” Mary-Alice persisted.
Celia snorted. “I see them. And no, Pastor Chad is much younger and better-looking. That’s Pastor Don.”
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
“I’m not going to holler across the restaurant, Mary-Alice. Have you decided what you’ll have?”
As soon as Celia and Mary-Alice set down their menus, the high-strung waitress came over to refill their tea glasses and take their order (waffles with blueberries and cream for Mary-Alice, chicken-fried steak and eggs for Celia). This time, Mary-Alice was able to read the young woman’s name tag.
“Thank you, Ally,” Mary-Alice called out as the waitress hurried off. “Celia, everyone here seems so nice. I really think I’m going to like Sinful.”
“Lucky for you, you’re related to the new mayor,” Celia declared. “Not every newcomer in town has such an advantage.”
“I know you’re very busy and I don’t want to take too much of your day, but you said you could start me off house-hunting?”
“I said I might be able to. Now, how much of a payout are you getting on your Mudbug house?”
Mary-Alice told Celia the number that the insurance agent had told her. Celia briefly choked on her tea, but recovered quickly.
“Mary-Alice, this is your lucky day. I have just the place for you. It belongs to a very respectable lady who is a member of our group. She wants to sell and move in with her mother. I happen to have the information right here.” Celia pulled a file folder out of her bag and set it on the table. Mary-Alice opened the folder and tried not to look disappointed.
“And with your cash in hand from the insurance,” Celia continued, “you won’t have to worry about all that nonsense with the mortgage companies.”
