“I’m not sure I want any part of things happening here,” Ida Belle said. “That stage scares me. I’m not doing karaoke.”
“I don’t think Gertie would qualify karaoke as a big surprise,” I said.
“That scares me even more,” Ida Belle said.
I nodded.
Gertie reached down and grabbed a microphone and tapped it, causing all of us to cover our ears with our hands.
“Sorry,” she said. “Is that better?”
We all nodded.
“Tonight,” she said, “we celebrate an occasion that none of us ever thought would happen. And there’s no way I was letting this moment pass without throwing the most exciting party I knew how to put together. So without further ado, I present to you—Tricky Ricky!”
As Gertie ran off stage, the music started up again and then smoke wafted from below the stage, the lights dancing in it. Then the lights changed colors and started flashing, and a man wearing a black suit and cape walked onto the stage.
Midtwenties. Six foot two. A hundred eighty pounds of nothing but muscle. The suit was kind of tight. And he was gorgeous. Should have called himself Pretty Ricky. Threat level high for all husbands whose wives got a look at Ricky. Fortunately for husbands, this group was devoutly single. Probably unfortunate for Ricky.
There was a split second of silence and then the women cheered. Ricky walked to the center of the stage and in a single move, yanked off his entire suit, revealing red bikini bottoms and a really great set of abs. The women went wild. Ida Belle gripped my arm and leaned in.
“We might have a stampede,” she said.
“I might start it,” I said.
She stared at me for a second, then laughed. “He is really good-looking.”
I nodded. As far as big surprises went, Gertie might have finally hit a home run.
Ricky started dancing and then paused and we saw what the cape was for—apparently, Ricky was also a magician. First, he pulled flowers out of…well, somewhere. I didn’t want to speculate. The women went absolutely crazy when he jumped off the stage and knelt on one knee to offer the flowers to Ida Belle.
I swear she looked as though she was blushing.
Then he jumped up and straddled her chair and all doubt was removed. It was hot outside but Ricky was sending the temperature into the stratosphere. Ida Belle kept scooting lower and lower in her chair as Ricky gyrated above her and Gertie ran up and shoved some dollar bills in her hand. She looked momentarily confused, then her eyes widened and she shoved the bills at me.
No way was I going to be any part of stripper gossip, so I shoved the bills back at Gertie, who gladly took them and wooted before stuffing them into the back of Ricky’s bikini. By this time, all of the women were either on their feet or standing on their chairs, creating an orthopedist’s dream situation. No way this night was going to end without someone breaking a hip.
Ricky made a round across the porch, dancing with different women and giving everyone a thrill when he took off his cape and tossed it into the audience. I couldn’t help but laugh when Marie, one of Ida Belle and Gertie’s best friends and the current mayor of Sinful, snatched the cape up before the other women could grab it and then promptly threw it around her own shoulders.
A second later, the worn-out slats broke on Myrtle’s chair and she fell right through it. Fortunately, she didn’t break a hip, but much hilarity ensued as women crowded around, trying to get the chair off of her. Finally, Gertie broke out a drill and unscrewed the frame. Everyone cheered and Ricky went back on stage to finish his show. Gertie came back out during the cheering, caught sight of Marie in the cape, and mistaking her for Ricky, gave her a big slap on the rear.
I looked over at Ida Belle and grinned.
She struggled to keep a straight face but finally started laughing.
“Maybe this whole girls’ night thing isn’t such a bad idea,” Ida Belle said.
“Are you prepared to see that again?” I asked and pointed to the lawn.
Gertie had climbed up on the stage and was dancing with Ricky. It probably would have been better on the eyes if the cape had been there to block some things. A rap song came on and Gertie bent over and started shaking.
“Is she having a seizure?” I asked.
“She’s twerking!” one of the Sinful Ladies yelled.
Ida Belle and I looked at each other and spoke at the same time.
“No, she’s not.”
Then we collapsed in laughter again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I was back in the desert on a mission, except this desert had a river running through it. A river filled with alligators. I had to cross the river to get to my target so I started swimming, even though the water was moving fast. I made the other side and ran for an old shack. The smell of rotting fish hit me as soon as I ran inside, and I lifted my mask over my mouth and nose. I slipped to the back of the shack, careful to avoid the worst of the rotted wood floor, and peered out the window.
There he was.
My target was standing on a rise behind the shack. I lifted my weapon and took aim but then he turned. It wasn’t my target after all but the man who wanted to take over his command. He was wearing my target’s gold band on his arm—the one given to him by his father, the terrorist cell’s previous leader. Perhaps he’d already done my job for me.
I radioed in my position and the situation, then held until I got the order to abort. My legs ached as I ran through the sand and back to the river. I battled the current once more, then I sat behind a dune and waited for my retrieval unit.
I bolted out of sleep and promptly fell onto a shag rug that I was certain I didn’t own. I yanked my pistol from my waistband and jumped up, tracking the room with my gun. It took a couple seconds to realize I was at Gertie’s house and I’d fallen off her couch, which is where I’d crashed the night before.
Ida Belle was snoring in the recliner nearby and a couple of other women were scattered on the floor, but they all appeared to be breathing. My head was pounding so I went into the kitchen to grab some water and aspirin but drew up short as I stepped in the doorway. I’d found what might be Gertie’s final resting place.
Her dining table.
She was in the center, arms stretched out like she was waiting to be sacrificed. Her shirt was pulled up, exposing her belly, and the skin around her navel was pink. Tricky Ricky was sitting in a chair, slumped onto the table, clutching an empty bottle of the red-hot brand of Sinful Ladies Cough Syrup. The reality of what had gone on after I’d crashed washed over me and made that aspirin run more important than ever.
Francis was on his perch in the corner, leaned against the wall and dead asleep. The tiara was draped around his neck. I was pretty sure he’d gotten into the gelatin shots. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the aspirin bottle from the pantry, dumping three of the lifesavers into my palm, then stuck my head under the sink and took a big gulp to wash them down.
“I hope you’re making coffee next,” Ida Belle said from the doorway.
“Actually, I was thinking of heading home for coffee,” I said and pointed to the table.
Ida Belle looked at the table and blinked, then grimaced as if she’d just seen Celia’s butt and threw one arm over her face.