“Herbs?” I asked.
“Keep wishing,” Ida Belle said. “And grab some extra gloves and the raincoats from the garage. I have a feeling this one is going to be a mess.”
“When is it not?”
It was officially only ninety-three degrees but felt like 10,002. Even with the air current flowing across my body from Ida Belle pushing the boat at least one mile per hour beyond its capacity, sweat was still dripping down my body in a matter of minutes. I felt like I’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. On the upside, I’d probably sweated out all the calories I’d eaten at Ally’s house.
It didn’t take long to get to the channel that led to Molly’s house. Because it was a lot narrower than the one behind my house, Ida Belle had to slow to merely warp speed, and I mourned the loss of the additional airflow. When we stopped completely, I was going to be tempted to jump in the bayou, gators and all. The only thing stopping me was that I already knew the bayou was going to feel like a warm bath, so without the airflow, being wet wouldn’t help matters.
Ida Belle let me know when we were closing in on Molly’s dock, and Gertie handed me my binoculars so I could scan for potential problems. There was a big clump of cypress trees directly behind the house, but I could still see some of the purple shining through. Fortunately, I had a reasonably clear view of the driveway and the only vehicle I saw was Molly’s van.
“Looks clear,” I said.
Gertie clapped her hands, entirely too happy about our upcoming task.
“Then let’s get this over with,” Ida Belle said.
I tied off the boat, wondering just what lengths Ida Belle would go to in order to avoid discussing her upcoming bachelorette party. Not that I blamed her. Gertie had insisted it had to happen, and in theory, I kind of agreed with her. After all the time Ida Belle had waited to say yes to Walter, a party was probably in order. But we were both worried about what shenanigans Gertie would come up with. Mind you, I wasn’t worried enough to get involved in the planning, because that way led to fear and ultimately blame. At least this way, I’d only have to live through one night of whatever Gertie had cooked up instead of anticipating the potential horror for weeks on end until finally culminating in what was certain to be a disaster in one way or another.
We climbed out of the boat and headed toward the house, eyes trained on the road to watch for approaching law enforcement. But so far, everything seemed quiet. When we reached the house, we stopped at the edge, scanning the area for trash cans.
“Surely she doesn’t set everything out in bags, right?” I asked.
“No way,” Ida Belle said. “No one wants to clean up that mess and the wildlife around here wouldn’t waste two seconds tearing into a stack of bags. Besides, it’s not allowed. No one wants the trash blowing into the marshes and bayous. We have enough pollution without adding unnecessarily to it.”
“Then where might she keep her cans until trash day?” I asked. “You think she keeps them in the garage?”
“Lord no!” Gertie said. “The heat inside is worse than outside. The smell alone would kill half the parish. But she’s probably got them tucked against a solid structure, as far from the house as she can get them.”
“And upwind from southern breezes,” Ida Belle said.
We looked around and I pointed to the lean-to storage attached to the far side of the garage.
“Maybe on the other side of that?” I asked.
“Probably,” Ida Belle said. “Looks like it has the best access from the back door as well.”
We tromped to the other end of the house and around the back side of the lean-to and sure enough, that’s where Molly kept her cans. At least, I assumed that here was where Molly expected them to be, but there were no cans in sight. Instead, shredded black plastic bags mixed with paper, plastic, and rotting food were strewn all over the ground and into the woods.
I involuntarily reached up to squeeze my nose and switched to mouth breathing.
Then something rattled inside the lean-to and I pulled out my gun just as a raccoon shot out and ran between my legs and into the woods. I jumped back from the lean-to, in case he was partying with friends, and Ida Belle and Gertie laughed.
“Sure, you can laugh,” I said. “You never shot a hole in your roof over one of those things.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Ida Belle said. “Not for all of us, anyway.”
“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t a ghost in my attic?” Gertie said. “And I was shooting rock salt because that’s what those paranormal hunters do on television. It didn’t leave a hole in my roof. Not exactly.”
“Why on earth would you assume you had a ghost in your attic instead of one of the many critters around here that seem to crave air-conditioning and a fully stocked pantry?” I asked.
“I was being optimistic,” Gertie said. “Having a ghost would be a lot more interesting than a raccoon. Everyone gets raccoons in their attic at some point, but no one in Sinful has had a ghost.”
“Maybe because they don’t exist,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie started to argue, so I held up a hand. “I think this discussion needs to wait until we’re not in the middle of trespassing on what could be a crime scene. Where are the cans? Did raccoons do this?”
“No way,” Ida Belle said. “They have been known to get a can flipped over and they can work off a lid, but they don’t have any use for carrying them off. They just shop on the spot.”
“So did someone beat us to the trash-digging games?” I asked.
“Most likely, it was a bear,” Ida Belle said.
I cast a worried glance at the woods. We’d had a run-in with a bear during an investigation and it hadn’t ended well for us, a man’s house, or the bear. I wasn’t anxious to visit with one again.
“So did they pull the lid off and get on top of the cans so they could roll away?” I asked, still trying to understand why the cans were nowhere in sight.
“This is Sinful, not a circus,” Ida Belle said. “Well, maybe that sentence could be restated to more accurately reflect things. This isn’t an official circus with tickets, and tents, and roasted peanuts.”
Gertie nodded. “Smart bears have learned that people will come out and run them off, so they’ll roll a can into the woods. The lid usually pops off as they’re going, and this mess is the fallout after all the other critters come out and take advantage of the situation.”
“But the bear is gone with his spoils, right?” I asked.
“Probably,” Ida Belle said. “Maybe.”
“Probably-maybe is not the answer I was looking for,” I said.
Ida Belle shrugged. “Bears are unpredictable.”
“At least we don’t have to tear into all the bags,” Gertie said. “And everything is kind of sorted. I mean, what’s left. If we don’t find anything in this mess, I suppose we can try tracking the cans into the woods.”
“No!”
Ida Belle and I responded at once.
“I am not running from a bear today,” I said. “Or any day, if I can help it. I did that once and it wasn’t any fun. Besides, I just ran from an alligator, so I’ve gotten in all my fleeing-dangerous-man-eaters steps for the week.”