Chapter 2

Gertie started laughing so hardshe doubled over then sank onto the ground, unable to contain herself.

I looked over at Ida Belle, who’d stepped up beside me, her cell phone out, recording the entire thing.

“No one writes better fiction than what we have here in real life,” Ida Belle said. “Let’s see AI whip that scene up.”

“Post a pic with Celia and that chicken on her head and people will swear it’s fake,” I said.

“People who aren’t from southwest Louisiana will,” Gertie said, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m so glad you got that recorded. I think I lost my phone going down the slide.”

“Where was it?” I asked, because her purse was right there beside her.

“In my bra.”

Ida Belle shook her head. “You need to get a smaller purse and a smaller bra. That way, you won’t lose as much and you’re less of a threat. As soon as Celia has a shower and some time to get over that whole egg in her face thing—which is the epitome of irony—she’s going to have a fit over that rabbit. She donated it herself.”

“The bigger problem is all these chickens,” I said. “If you guys still plan on kids hunting eggs, you need to get them out of here.”

Ida Belle lifted one shoe and I saw the smear of brown on the bottom. “I think the park is going to be off-limits until after the rainstorm tonight. Chickens tend to ‘cut loose’ when they’re panicked. If kids come home covered in poo, the parents will not be pleased.”

“Well, we can’t leave them here,” Gertie said. “There’s coyotes all over those woods. It will look like a massacre tomorrow if we don’t get them out. Who do they belong to?”

“Good question,” Ida Belle said. “Let’s go find out.”

We headed for the park bench where Skinny was now lying down, his eyes closed. Walter, who’d quietly observed the entire mess, clearly enjoying himself, was standing over him and staring—probably trying to figure out if he was still breathing.

“Are you all right?” I asked as we approached.

“I think so,” Skinny said. “I just needed a minute. All that running. And the stress.”

“You might be up for a relapse when the owner of those chickens finds out your hounds got after them,” Walter said.

“This isn’t on me,” he said. “Someone opened my back gate, but those chickens were already loose. I let the dogs out for their afternoon constitutional like I always do, and the next thing I knew, I looked out the front window and there’s a flock of chickens running past my house. I figured it wouldn’t be a problem because it’s not like a hound is going to clear a six-foot fence, and even though they’re good diggers, they couldn’t have dug their way out that fast.”

“So what happened?” Ida Belle asked.

“I don’t know. I just saw them bolt into the front yard. I pulled on my shoes and ran after them as fast as I could, but I could hear my gate banging as I went.”

“You sure you didn’t leave it open yourself?” Walter asked.

“I never use the thing. It was probably the neighbor’s kids. They’re always hitting their ball into my yard, and I’ve told them a million times not to go in there, but they don’t listen. Guess I’m going to have to put a lock on it.”

“Probably a good idea,” I said. “But the bigger question is where the heck did all those chickens come from and why are they parading down the streets?”

“They came from the south past my house. Only guy up that way with that many chickens is Flint Parsons.”

Walter whistled and Ida Belle frowned. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” I said.

“You never do,” Skinny said. “Until you do, and then he’ll be stamped in your mind forever.”

Since that statement applied to so many Sinful residents, I was almost afraid to ask, but curiosity always got the better of me.

“So what’s his deal?”

“He’s a prepper,” Ida Belle said. “With strong feelings about people as a species.”

I waited. So far, he didn’t sound that bad.

Ida Belle noticed my expression and laughed. “He thinks the earth is flat and that Christ returned a couple decades back and forgot to whisk him up. That would be up in the spaceship. Flint lives in a big clearing in the woods and pretty much refuses to leave his property because that’s where he built a landing strip for when they send a rescue unit for him. He shoots at anyone who trespasses, much to law enforcement’s dismay.”

I nodded. “Jesus in a UFO is a new one. Maybe he’s been sneaking some of Nora’s stash.”

“If only that was the answer,” Ida Belle said. “But I’m pretty sure he’s not on anything at all except water. He thinks manufacturers are poisoning us.”

I put my hands on my hips and blew out a breath. “So do we send up smoke signals to the Unabomber so he can come collect his chickens? Because it sounds like delivery isn’t an option.”

“Definitely not,” Skinny agreed.

“How old is this guy?” I asked.

“About one thousand eighty-two,” Skinny said. “He was old when I was a kid, and that was more years ago than I’m going to mention.”

Since Skinny was every bit of sixty, that gave me a good idea. “What about Sheriff Lee? I assume Flint knows him, right? And probably thinks he’s still sheriff. He wouldn’t shoot at him, would he?”

Ida Belle brightened. “That’s a good idea. Let me give him a call.”

She pulled out her phone and dialed Lee. “It’s Ida Belle. I need some help with some chickens. No. I’m not eating chicken. Put in your hearing aid!”

She waited a minute, then explained the situation, then shoved the phone back in her pocket. “He’s going to saddle up and ride out there. Flint responds better to horses. He thinks motorized vehicles are the devil. Except for his truck, which is as old as him. He had it blessed.”

“This guy just gets better every time you talk about him,” I said. “In the meantime, what do we do about the chickens?”

Ida Belle shrugged. “They’re all roosting quietly now. No point in stirring them up until we have a place to put them.” She looked over at Skinny. “But it’s probably best if you get out of here with those hounds.”

The thought of facing Flint Parsons was like a jolt with defibrillator pads. Skinny came up off the bench and practically ran out of the park, pulling the reluctant hounds behind him. Walter glanced at the retreating Skinny, then back at the chickens.

“I’m going to head into town and follow Sheriff Lee to the edge of the woods,” he said. “At least if there’s gunfire, I can call for backup.”

Then he retreated as quickly as Skinny had.

All the church ladies were still collected in the park, staring at the chickens as if they could will them off the eggs, so I followed a reluctant Ida Belle back over to them.

“What are you going to do about this mess?” Celia demanded.

Ida Belle raised one eyebrow. “I see. Now that there’s a problem, you’re no longer in charge? Typical. The chickens likely belong to Flint Parsons.”

There was a collective intake of breath so big that I saw some of the chickens’ feathers move.

“Sheriff Lee is going to see if they’re his chickens. If they are, he’ll come retrieve them. I’m sure he doesn’t want them roosting in the park any more than we do.”

“What about the kids?”

“Everyone take out your call list and notify the parents you’ve been assigned that we have to cancel for today. If we get rain overnight, then we can do it tomorrow.”

Celia bowed up. “That is completely unacceptable.”

“Well, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears,” Ida Belle said. “We could let the kids run, slide, and wrestle for eggs in masses of chicken poop, or we can move the whole thing to your house. What’s it going to be?”

“I want Flint Parsons and Skinny Lawson arrested.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “Stop wasting law enforcement’s time. You know good and well they’re not arresting anyone for this. I swear to God, just hearing you speak makes me dumber.”

Several of the ladies let out strangled laughs, then all tried to look as though it wasn’t them. But I could still see their shoulders shaking.

“Who’s going to pay for that rabbit that Gertie destroyed?” Celia continued. “That’s destruction of private property.”

“I’ll replace it,” Gertie said. “With better quality. You’re the only person I know who celebrates Jesus on a discount.”

Celia’s face turned red, and she started to sputter like an old boat motor, but she was stopped from replying by a truck backfiring. I looked over to see an ancient pickup truck with a camper cover on the back stop in the middle of the street. When the man climbed out of his truck, I could only assume this was Flint Parsons.

Five foot two…now. He was probably four inches taller before all of his discs and cartilage turned to dust. Maybe a hundred pounds of man but at least twenty pounds of gear on the military belt he wore. At least there was some muscle in there to haul all that weight. He looked old enough to have babysat Sheriff Lee. No threat at all in a fight, a footrace, or sanity competitions, but if the collection of guns, knives, and grenades on his belt was any indication, he was a match for Gertie’s purse.

He stalked into the park and glared at everyone. “Well, isn’t this just perfect. They’re all out here among you heathens. I’ll have to rebaptize every one of them or they’ll lay possessed eggs.”

I leaned toward Ida Belle. “This guy is great.”

Celia’s eyes widened and although I didn’t think it was possible, she turned even redder and looked more offended than she had before. “Heathens? This is an Easter celebration for the children of this town.”

He waved a hand at her. “Get out of my way. And you owe me for that egg you’re wearing. Shame it was wasted on the likes of you.”

“Why have you been hiding him?” I whispered.

Ida Belle stepped forward before Celia said something that had Flint reaching for his waistband. “Hello, Mr. Parsons. I’m sorry about the chickens, but we don’t know why they’re here or how they got here. We’re happy to help you get them rounded up. Did you bring cages?”

“You’re not touching my birds with unclean hands. I know who you are. Your mother was a sinner and you’re no better than her.”

Ida Belle smiled. “Everyone but Jesus is a sinner, Mr. Parsons. But we’ll leave you to it.”

She grabbed Gertie and dragged her toward the road.

“Do we have to go?” I asked as I followed.

“We can watch from the road,” she said. “At least half the things on that utility belt of his won’t reach that far. And I saw Gertie’s purse hand twitching.”

“I was just going to give him a flash of my new sexy underwear,” Gertie said. “I figured he’d have a heart attack and then we could fry up all those chickens.”

“There’s a thought,” I said, and stopped walking and turned around. “Hey, Mr. Parsons—you want to just wring those chickens’ necks here in the park? They’ll be easier to transport that way.”

He glared at me and shook his head. “Those are layers, not fryers, you moron.”

I barely managed to hold in my grin before turning around.

The church ladies apparently decided if we were leaving the park, it was a good idea, so they trailed after us. Then we all stood huddled on the road, watching as Flint gathered the birds as if he was carrying precious cargo and put them in the back of his truck. They didn’t protest and remained calm, which I guessed was a testament to his treatment of the birds, but I had a feeling people didn’t get half as much concern.

It took him a good thirty minutes to gather up the chickens, and he drove off without so much as a backward glance. The church ladies had used the time to call the parents and let them know the egg hunt had been postponed. Celia had called the sheriff’s department demanding that Carter come out to the park so she could press charges on Gertie, Parsons, Lawson and his dogs, and the chickens.

Myrtle had texted me that she’d told Celia that Carter was too busy to deal with nonsense, which explained why Celia was standing there glaring at her cell phone. I had a feeling she was headed straight to the sheriff’s department when she left the park, so I texted Carter with a warning to clear out for a while.

Once Flint’s truck was out of sight, the ladies inched back into the park, staring in dismay at the filthy eggs and baskets.

“We can’t use these eggs,” one of the ladies said. “They’ve got poop all over them.”

“They’re plastic,” Gertie said. “They’ll wash.”

“But people will know!” one of the ladies complained. “Everyone is going to hear about what happened today. They’ll expect new eggs.”

“We have a whole case of them at the church,” Ida Belle said. “Just ask Pastor Don to get them out of the storeroom. Problem solved.”

The ladies shuffled a bit, clearly still uncomfortable.

“What about the candy inside?” one of them finally asked.

“What about it?” Ida Belle asked. “It’s inside a plastic egg and wrapped. Take it out and put it in the new eggs.”

Celia stepped forward, hands on her hips. “I’m a godly woman, and I refuse to allow those lambs of God to eat tainted candy.”

“I’d like a vote on the use of the words ‘godly’ and ‘woman’ when referring to Celia,” Gertie said.

“The Catholics provided the candy,” Ida Belle said. “Do you have more?”

A couple of the women nodded. “Probably just enough to refill the eggs.”

“Then I suggest you get to it,” Ida Belle said. “But don’t you dare throw that candy away. Your silly notions don’t make it any less viable. I’ll take it for myself unless anyone wants to share?”

Most of them shook their heads.

“Good. Then stuff it all in a bag, and I’ll pick it up later,” Ida Belle said. “We have plenty of extra grass for the baskets for the displays. I am not going to replace the baskets. We don’t have the stock or the time to get more, and the kids will be bringing their own to hunt with. Besides, they’re plastic. Clean them and get over it or toss them out and the Catholics can buy new ones for next year. Waste is a sin.”

She gave Celia—the godly woman—a hard stare when she issued that last sentence, then turned around and walked off.

Gertie and I hurried behind her.

“You don’t even like that candy,” Gertie said. “What are you up to?”

“I’m going to sneak into the Catholic church next week and dump it all in the God’s Wives stash that I know Celia keeps there.”

I laughed and held my hand up to high-five her.

“That woman will be down at the sheriff’s department as soon as she leaves here,” Ida Belle said.

I nodded. “I already sent Carter a warning.”

Gertie put her hands up. “Well, looks like our afternoon just opened up. Any ideas?”

“Hot tub and beer?” I asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Gertie said, and rubbed her rear. “I think I broke my butt.”

“Don’t you need to get another giant rabbit?” I asked.

“I already have one. Jeb and I wanted a backdrop for these Playboy Bunny pictures?—”

“No!” Ida Belle said. “And don’t you dare let Celia and her crew know what things that rabbit has witnessed. She’ll have Father Michael perform an exorcism on it.”

I laughed. All in all, it had been a good day so far. No dead bodies—not even a chicken—no phone calls about the military’s investigation, and I’d gotten to meet one of Sinful’s hidden gems. As far as normal days in Sinful went, this one was fairly innocuous.

I spoke too soon.