Chapter 1

Wednesday wasthe day I found out that chickens are into Easter as much as religious folk. I suppose it made sense given all those dyed eggs. In a cannibalistic sort of way. But the rabbit has always gotten all the attention for that holiday. I assumed it was because they were cute and fuzzy and looked better wearing bows than chickens did. And people and pets looked cuter wearing those rabbit-ear headbands than they would wearing chicken-ear headbands, since they didn’t have much ear to speak of. I supposed people could wear a chicken comb headband, but I don’t think it would hit the cute mark.

So ultimately, the chickens were the forgotten workhorses for the event.

Well, them and church ladies. I was fairly certain that not a single event, or food and activities for those events, would exist in the South without church ladies.

I was far too young and uncouth to be considered part of that group, but since I had a good back and knees, I was drafted to help set up for the big Easter egg hunt. So I hauled a bunch of tables and boxes of food, set up chairs, and dumped a million bags of ice into coolers. I was not allowed to partake of the decorating part of things for obvious reasons, and I only lasted a couple minutes with the hiding-the-eggs job because the ladies accused me of making it too hard and too dangerous for the kids to retrieve the eggs.

I thought the top of the swing set and in branches a good thirty feet up seemed insignificant compared to what Jesus had accomplished, but apparently, I was wrong. And I figured placing them under the merry-go-round and seesaw just tested timing and reflexes, but I was outvoted. On the plus side, I suspected no one would ever ask me to babysit.

So I finished my pack-muling tasks and then grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler in the back of Walter’s truck, pulled out another lawn chair, and sat down next to Walter, who had fled as soon as the pink and yellow baskets had been retrieved from vehicles. Apparently, his obligation ended with hauling things as well.

“Why are they using plastic eggs?” I asked.

“The critters made off with the real ones,” he said. “It was back about ten years ago. The ladies got everything all set up for when they let the kids out of the Easter program at the school. There was a lot more women helping back then so they were done early.”

“Did a bunch of them move away?”

“Yes. If you count moving into Sinful Cemetery. Anyway, the kids wouldn’t be turned loose from the craft fair for another hour, so the women all headed home for a bathroom break and to put on the Crock-Pot or whatever else they needed to get up to, figuring they’d come back just before the kids were let out. Well, the whole park was overrun by foxes. They were fighting over the eggs and marking their territory. Have you ever smelled fox urine?”

“Good God. Yes.”

He nodded. “Then you know what was up. They had to close the whole park for a month until the smell lessened. We had a bit of a spring drought that year, so no rain to help. It was so bad some of the people with houses across the street moved out for a bit. The kids got one look at their failed hunt and started crying, and so did the church ladies. It was a huge mess.”

“So no more real eggs.”

“Only if you’re indoors. That’s the law. And if you’re going to have more than a dozen boiled eggs inside, it’s illegal to leave your doors or windows open, even if you have screens.”

“Of course it is. I suppose the kids prefer the plastic eggs with candy in them anyway. Seems like the fun is in the hunting part, although it’s not much of a challenge the way they set it up.”

Walter laughed. “Easter isn’t supposed to be an episode of Survivor.”

“It would be a lot more interesting if it was.”

“You and Ida Belle think a lot alike. You’ll notice she doesn’t have a basket.”

I glanced over at Ida Belle, who was issuing orders to the women—mostly in direct opposition to Celia, which was probably on purpose. “She’s not allowed to hide either?”

“No. Back when there weren’t as many kids and we held the hunt at the Catholic church yard, she put an egg full of hot dog weenies in Father Abraham’s robes. Then she let Farmer Frank’s hounds loose. They chased Father Abraham around that yard until he climbed right up the cross and clung there.”

“That’s an Easter look for a priest. But who was Father Abraham?”

“Way before your time. Might have been born around the year the one in the Old Testament was.”

“How old was Ida Belle?”

“At least thirty. Father Abraham had made the mistake of having words with her about wearing blue jeans to hide the eggs, and she decided to let him know how she felt about it. He was wishing for a pair of blue jeans himself after he shinnied up that cross. Old Doc Hadley had to pull splinters out of places he didn’t even want to talk about. Both of them retired a week later.”

I started laughing. I’d assumed she’d been a kid when she’d done it, but knowing she’d been my age made it even more hilarious.

“So now Ida Belle’s banned from dealing with the eggs,” Walter said, grinning. “She always was a pistol. You remind me a lot of her.”

“I can see why.”

His smile faded some. “How is Carter doing? I know he can’t talk about all this legal mess you’re preparing for, and I get that the less other people know the better. But I’m worried about him.”

“He’s been working on documentation for Alexander. We all have some things to consider, but Carter’s got a lot more to process than the rest of us.”

“You think he’s wondering about his service?”

“Yes.”

Walter sighed. “That boy has nothing to feel guilty about. He was trained to do a job, then ordered where and how. He trusted the people giving those orders to be honorable.”

“I know. But when you break everything down, the whole world is still controlled and run by humans. And humans are so fallible.”

He gave me a curious look. “I imagine you’ve had your share of skirting the line on things. The CIA isn’t exactly known for being choirboys. But you seem to be taking it a lot better than he is.”

I shrugged. “I think I have an easier time compartmentalizing things than Carter does. I can separate what I did from who I am. I’m certain I played roles in others’ hidden and likely personal agendas, but I don’t know and don’t want to know. I did my job and did it well. My conscience is clear.”

Walter nodded. “Carter could take a few lessons from you on letting things go.”

“If Carter wasn’t questioning himself and everything else, then he wouldn’t be the man we both love. I wish it wasn’t so hard for him, but I don’t see any point in asking him to change. He’ll figure out how to balance it eventually, just like he did when he first came out of the Marines.”

“This is a lot worse than back then, I’m afraid.”

“I know. But all we can do is be there for him if he needs us. I’m paying attention, Walter. If he tips over a line, I’ll be the first one to call in reinforcements.”

“I know you will, and it makes me feel a lot better knowing someone who understands what he’s dealing with is watching out for him. All the same, this whole investigation is a crock of bull. If they put me on the stand, I’m going to be an old man with sketchy memory.”

“It’s a hard defense to refute. But don’t worry about it. Alexander will get everyone squared away. You have a meeting with him on Friday, right?”

“Yeah. Said since he needed to chat individually with all of us, that’s why he’s coming to Sinful instead of all of us hauling into NOLA. But between you and me, I think he’s really wanting lunch at Francine’s.”

“I can’t say that I blame him.”

“Me either, which is why I offered to have my meeting with him there. Don’t have much to say anyway, as I don’t know anything, right?”

The ladies appeared to have wrapped up the egg hiding and were heading for their cars. Walter and I figured that was our cue, so we folded our lawn chairs, and I was just about to go toss mine in the bed of the truck when I heard yelling, ridiculously loud and completely out of place squawking, and barking.

I whirled around and spotted a frantic horde of chickens running, flapping, and sort of flying for the park. Behind them were two bloodhounds, mouths full of feathers, clearly intent on catching something to eat. I said a quick prayer of thanks that Rambo wasn’t one of them and looked over at Walter.

“That’s Skinny Lawson’s hounds,” he said.

About that time, a man I recognized as Skinny—whose physique didn’t exactly fit his name—ran down the street, leashes dangling from his hand. He waved his arms in the air and yelled at the hounds, but they weren’t remotely interested in stopping their fun.

“Looks like you’re on hound-catching duty again,” Walter said.

The chickens descended on the park in a giant wave of noise and feathers, and the ladies started running, trying to escape the frantic birds. Some dropped their baskets as they fled, trying to fend off the chickens with their arms as they ran. Others stumbled and fell, resorting to holding the baskets over their heads to protect themselves from the chickens’ claws. I saw Gertie standing stock still in the middle of the mess, like a heroine in some weird, dark fantasy movie. But before I could figure out what she was up to, Celia, in a move that only she or Gertie could manage, spun around, ran headfirst into the tetherball pole, then flopped face down in the dirt.

Ida Belle had locked in on the hounds and was running toward them, attempting to cut them off. I launched off the sidewalk and angled toward them, figuring if the three of us could converge on them at the same time, we might be able to get the hounds secured before the Easter egg hunt turned into a death that no one was going to be resurrected from.

My speed was somewhat limited as I had to keep one hand over my face as I went. The chickens would run and then launch upward in their panic, and their claws scratched my arms. I was within a couple feet of one of the hounds and about to make a dive for him when the chickens suddenly changed trajectory. The birds and the dogs were way quicker turning than I could manage, so by the time I slid and pivoted, I had lost ground. The hounds were only inches from conquering their prey when I heard someone whistle.

I looked over and saw Gertie standing on top of the slide, holding a sub sandwich in her hands. She cocked her arm back like an NFL player and let the sandwich fly. If this had been the Super Bowl, she would have been named MVP. The sandwich landed right in front of the charging hounds, and they skidded to a stop, and each latched onto one end of the sub in a quick tug-of-war.

The sandwich game gave me enough time to catch up, and I grabbed one of the hounds while Ida Belle managed the other. A couple seconds later, Skinny came staggering up, looking as though he was about to have a heart attack from all the running, and weakly extended his arm with the leads before bending over to wheeze. Ida Belle and I secured the hounds as Skinny sank to the ground.

Gertie gave a giant whoop, but it was a little too much celebrating while perched on top of a slippery slide. One foot went a little too far over the edge, then she fell onto the slide and took off down the steep slope, shooting off the end and crashing into a giant Easter bunny display as she went. I heard a bang and froze, then sprinted for her, afraid she’d just shot herself or someone else with something in her deadly handbag.

The giant blow-up rabbit was whistling and deflating as I ran up, and I could see a hole in the center of the head. Gertie had landed in a patch of straw and was covered in what looked like pink glitter.

Good. God.

“You had a glitter bomb in your purse,” I accused. “And you shot the rabbit! Why isn’t your safety on?”

“It is,” she said as she struggled to sit up. “The pin from the bomb must have flown out and hit the rabbit. If it had taken a bullet, that rabbit would have been scattered across the Gulf of Mexico.”

“You’re carrying the Desert Eagle again? No wonder you fell off that slide. That thing weighs a ton, especially with everything else you probably have in that bag.”

I extended my hand and helped her stand, then stepped back while she brushed hay and glitter off. No way did I want to be picking that stuff out of my hair for the next week.

“I’m going to have to switch to a smaller caliber,” she said.

“It would definitely be kinder to your shoulder.”

“It’s not that. I can only fit a six-inch sub in there with the Eagle.”

“Well, good Lord, there’s a crisis that needs addressing.”

I shook my head and looked over at Ida Belle, who’d helped Skinny secure the hounds to a park bench. He’d managed to pick himself up off the ground and was now slumped on the bench, his face so red I was afraid he might need the paramedics. The dogs had gulped down the sandwich and were now straining so hard to get loose and back at the chickens that they were slowly pulling the bench across the grass.

Ida Belle saw me look over and threw her hands in the air.

“It’s going to take a tractor to tow these hounds out of here,” she said.

“We’ve got to get rid of those chickens,” I said.

As I turned around, a cry went up with the rest of the ladies. The ones who’d been trampled were at least in sitting position, which was a good sign. Except for Celia. She’d hit that pole so hard that I had no doubt she’d knocked herself out. And if there had been any doubt, it was completely eliminated by the scene in front of me.

The chickens had discovered the poorly hidden eggs and were roosting on them. Roosting chickens were now scattered throughout the entire park with church ladies shrieking in dismay.

Except for one chicken, who had taken a particular liking to Celia’s hat and had taken up roost there. I couldn’t really blame it since the hat was made of straw and had a ring of eggs around it. To a chicken, it probably looked like a five-star resort. But this chicken wasn’t just roosting—it was currently working on getting out a real egg. I assumed the stress had worked it out of the poor bird. As soon as the egg plopped out onto Celia’s hat, it was like it flipped a switch on Celia’s head to On. She threw her arms up over her head, frantically waving to get the chicken off her head.

But the chicken wasn’t having any.

That egg had been hard earned and the chicken wasn’t letting it go that easily. Celia pushed herself onto her knees, then grabbed the pole she’d run into and pulled herself into a standing position and started spinning around and waving her hands again, but the chicken had dug in for the ride, plopped down hard on its prize.

Desperate to be rid of the bird, Celia leaned forward and pulled the hat off her head. The startled chicken squawked and flapped so hard trying to get away that it flipped the hat over and kicked it into Celia’s face.

Where the egg broke.