“You read my mind,” Ida Belle said, looking straight ahead.

  Sometimes, I was convinced that she’d missed her calling. She would’ve been a perfect gangster’s wife or just a gangster, which is probably what she would’ve preferred.

  “It looks bad, I know, to be picked up at one vacation rental only to be taken to another, but it isn’t what it seems.”

  “Do I look like I’m ready to take your confession?”

  “No, but—”

  “You can sit on that. Don’t explain anything to mere strangers,” Ida Belle interrupted him.

  “In other words, we’d like to thank you for your business,” I said, leaning down so I could see him. “We’ll wait for your wife.”

  Ida Belle still refused to look at him which made everything tense, but after I peered up at our customer, I realized things were about to get a lot worse.

  Chapter Four

  Steve looked as if he’d seen a ghost. All the color washed out of his face.

  Ida Belle squared her shoulders and glanced at me. She’d caught the man’s sudden change in demeanor, too.

  “Is there something else?” Ida Belle asked.

  He kept staring at me. “No, I um, have we met?”

  “No, dear, I’m afraid not.” Gertie patted my shoulder as she leaned forward. She’d take it from here. “So many men ask us this very question, but don’t feel bad. It’s us. Not you.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped. “And since I’m looking at her, I think we all know that.”

  “There goes the manners again.” Gertie scoffed. “Maybe your wife will be more gracious.”

  “Fortune, it’s all you,” Ida Belle whispered.

  “We haven’t met,” I assured him.

  “Oh,” he said, looking somewhat confused. “Just have a familiar face.”

  “Guess so,” I said. “Thanks for riding with We-Drive.”

  “Aren’t you the little Miss Entrepreneur,” Ida Belle whispered.

  As soon as Steve sauntered off, I said, “If he isn’t our guy, I’m not driving.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to mention this, but your driving does leave a lot to be desired,” Gertie said.

  “She’s just sore because she is stuck in the backseat,” Ida Belle said.

  “We drew straws,” she reminded us. “I accepted the loss.”

  “What do you want to do?” I couldn’t shake the feeling that Steve was definitely there for something more than tourist attractions and lights.

  “We wait,” Ida Belle said. “He recognized you. That wasn’t an accident.”

  Gertie pointed at a woman heading our way. “There’s his wife. Let’s give her the bayou tour.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Ida Belle sighed. “Just drive anywhere. That man recognized you. We need to find out why he’s here.”

  “He’s here for Fortune.” Gertie leaned over the seat for her purse. She pulled free a bag of raisins and quickly added, “We don’t need to waste time with the wife. We need to find out who or what is in that bungalow.”

  Ida Belle frowned. “She’s right. If Steve had wanted to cheat, he could’ve waited until his wife left to see the lights.”

  “Let’s drop her off. Then, I’ll drive us back to the bungalow.”

  “I don’t think that’s our best play,” Ida Belle said. “Whatever, or whoever, was there will be long gone. Steve was startled to see you, but he made you. If there was any doubt about who you are, he’s now put that to rest.”

  “On the flipside, he knows we’ve made him, too,” Gertie said.

  “Maybe,” Ida Belle agreed. “There’s no reason to go back because we know who we’re looking for. Now, let’s see if the wife offers anything more.”

  Once our passenger was buckled up for the ride, we headed for Wasteland. We passed the first turn and the second. No one said a word. Sometimes, silence allowed for the best course of action, and this seemed like one of those times. The longer we remained silent, the more our passenger stirred.

  “I think you missed the turn.” Steve’s wife wore a black pencil skirt and white blouse, and appeared to have been poured into both, which must’ve made it difficult to turn and look over her shoulder. “It’s the third time that we’ve missed it.”

  “Are you driving or is Fortune?” Ida Belle asked, remaining stoic.

  Gertie cleared her throat. “Not to sound critical or anything, but I’m beginning to think you’re a habitual complainer.”

  I thinned my lips and tried not to giggle. The woman hadn’t spoken until that point and Gertie was calling her names? It was too much.

  “And that’s not critical?” she asked, brushing her short brown hair over to the side. “What else have I said to warrant such a comment from someone who doesn’t know me?”

  “When you first sat down in the car, the seat was too low,” Ida Belle said.

  “The windows were foggy,” I added, playing along.

  “It was too cold and then too hot,” Gertie said.

  “Why, I um, I’m uh—”

  “You’re looking for ‘I’m sorry’ which we graciously accept as long as it doesn’t continue,” Ida Belle said.

  Outside of introductions, the woman hadn’t uttered a sound.

  “Insults typically come from Ida Belle,” Gertie explained. “But never on Fridays. We’re far too busy on Fridays to argue about frivolous things.”

  The woman sighed. “You make it sound as if an argument is time-consuming.”

  “Isn’t it always?” Ida Belle asked.

  “I’m sure it is, especially if someone is trapped in a vehicle with a driver who clearly doesn’t know where she’s going.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “Can we go back? I’m not feeling well.”

  “You’re not trapped,” I assured her, taking the next right to circle back again. “We’re trying to find the staging area.”

  Since our passenger didn’t mention that she hadn’t said these things that we’d pointed out, did she believe us? If so, was she focused on something else, maybe something like a bounty? If she were involved on some level, wouldn’t her husband mention that I looked like the one with a bounty on her head?

  Prior to becoming a We-Drive driver, I watched a few videos. I was bored and thought it might be interesting to find out more about rideshare. In the instructional video, there was something called a staging area. I had no idea what it was, but guessed this woman probably didn’t either.

  Our customer leaned forward and broke my concentration when she asked, “I had no idea this was such a happening place. Where’s the stage? Who’s playing tonight?”

  Gertie held up her hand, suggesting she would provide an answer as soon as she thought of one. Gertie was at her best when she winged it. “Christmas in Lights is a busy exhibition so the staging area is where the drivers drop off their current riders and pick up new ones. Entertainment is not provided.”

  “Close enough,” Ida Belle muttered.

  I nodded. Besides, as soon as the Mrs. answered our questions, I planned to drop her off at the Wasteland Steakhouse entrance. If she wanted to call it a staging area, who was I to stop her?

  “So this staging area is where I’ll go when I want to catch a ride back?”

  I glanced at Ida Belle. She shrugged. We really hadn’t thought about providing return transportation. All we cared about was vetting the tourists, even if it delayed or postponed their visit to Wasteland.

  “Surely I’ll be able to catch a ride back,” the woman said, apparently catching on to the fact that we hadn’t planned to provide further services. “Just point me to the stage and I’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll do it,” Gertie said, confident enough to be believable. “So, what brought you to Wasteland?”

  “We’re here for the Christmas lights.”

  “We?” Ida Belle asked, turning to face our customer. “Do you have a mini-you in your pocket?”

  The woman laughed. “No. Remember? You met my husband. He’s working so I wanted to have time to take in the festivities by myself. He has some business tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll see the lights together.”

  “I see.” I glanced at Ida Belle who seemed to have the same concern. Steve could be planning to make a move against me. If he’s our guy, tonight’s our night.

  “Wasteland seems like a place with a lot to offer,” she said.

  “Maybe for alligators, turtles, and frogs,” I mumbled.

  “You gathered that from the name, did you?” Ida Belle asked, lifting a brow.

  She laughed uncomfortably. “Well, doesn’t it? I mean, the hotels were all booked.”

  “And yet your husband was able to secure two reservations,” said Gertie.

  Ida Belle cleared her throat multiple times and Gertie quickly added, “I mean a reservation for two. What do you like to do when you’re on vacation?”

  “Well, you know, good restaurants, shopping, historical places to see, that sort of thing.” She watched the passing traffic, apparently concerned when the other cars were swinging wide enough to pass us on a two-lane road. I was concerned, too, especially since I was pressing the pedal to the floor and unable to gain any significant speed.

  “Are you planning to stay?” Ida Belle asked.

  “For a little while,” the woman said. “I guess. We never know how long Steve’s job will keep him in one spot.”

  “What does he do?” Ida Belle asked.

  At the same time, Gertie said, “So you’re from Louisiana?”

  “Michigan.” She offered nothing about her husband’s chosen career.

  Ida Belle’s sigh sounded more like a bored hum. “Michigan isn’t a mile down the road. What city?”

  “Lansing,” she replied.

  “Lansing.” Gertie’s deliberate enunciation was a fair warning. She was about to slip into a full-fledged mobster-style inquisition. “I’m surprised that you didn’t find another light show before you reached Louisiana. It’s that time of year, you know.”

  “We saw a few last night, but, Wasteland’s Christmas in Lights is ranked number two in the country.”

  “Number two,” Gertie said cryptically. “We sure know a lot about number two.”

  A snivel fell from Ida Belle’s lips.

  “Don’t even,” I whispered in warning. Number Two was a place in the bayou that I hoped to never see again. Passing remarks about two still gave me nightmares.

  “Okay. That’s it. Are you ladies drunk?” She unhooked her seatbelt. “You were paid good money for a lift. I’m starting to feel like this is a joke. Did my husband put you up to this? He always rambles on about my lack of patience.”

  “You caught us,” Gertie said, snapping her fingers.

  I missed the turn again. This time, I held my breath and hoped our customer wouldn’t notice. In an effort to distract her, I said, “Out of curiosity, is there such a thing as ‘bad’ money and if so, does that mean the money is counterfeit?”

  “Heaven’s no,” Gertie said. “If the money were counterfeit, we’d have to report it.”

  “Fortune dates the deputy,” Ida Belle explained.

  “But we’re never opposed to making citizens’ arrests, when certain situations call for such actions,” Gertie added.

  “Stop the car,” the woman said firmly.

  I slammed on the brakes quicker than intended. The woman flew forward. After grumbling about whiplash, she said, “Unlock these doors. I’ve had enough of this. I’ll be writing reviews about this situation.” She waited a beat. “Someone help me out of this car! Open the blasted door!”

  “This isn’t white glove limousine service,” said Gertie. “If you want to unlock the door, use your fingers and thumb.”

  The woman grunted. “I have never in my life.”

  “Really?” Gertie shot her a bewildered look.

  I stopped watching in the rearview mirror for fear I’d burst into laughter.

  “Don’t they have cars in Lansing? I’ve never been there, but have visited Lansing, Pennsylvania. The Amish have the most beautiful buggies in the world. Do you use the same mode of transportation in Michigan?” Gertie sighed. “Is that why you called We-Drive? Is your ass—or horse—resting this evening?”

  The woman was completely stunned. Ida Belle stared straight ahead and whispered, “You can’t fix that. I promise. I’ve tried.”

  I gave into temptation and turned to look at my passengers. Gertie kept a straight face, but Steve’s wife looked exasperated, as if she didn’t know what to say or do next.

  “That’s Lancaster. Lansing is in Michigan. Lancaster is in Pennsylvania,” the woman snapped, attempting to escape once again. “What is going on with this door!”

  “I don’t have automatic locks,” said Gertie. “I told you how to unlock them.”

  “Do you have the video on your phone?” Ida Belle asked.

  “What kind of video?” The woman waited. “Please tell me that you people don’t actually watch videos in order to learn how to operate cars that are older than the Spruce Goose.”

  “Scratch the video. She probably knows how to unlock a door, something ‘we’ people need videos to learn,” Ida Belle said. “Detroit is the Automobile Capital of the World and it’s only about three and a half hours from Lansing. If anyone knows about cars, she should.”

  The woman finally unlocked and opened her door. “If I can’t get a ride to the festival, I’m certainly not listening to this senseless conversation.” She exited the Cadillac.

  “You’re about three miles from the lights. Are you sure you don’t want us to take you back?” I asked.

  “I do not. I’ve been in this jalopy for over thirty minutes. You’ve passed the festival four times. I left Lansing because I’d had enough crazy to last a lifetime and what happens?”

  “Sounds like a psychological problem, if you ask me,” Ida Belle said. “Is there someone we can call for you?”

  I stepped out of the car and gave the woman an apologetic look, but tried not to become frightened when I spotted a gator crawling into the marsh. “Ida Belle’s right. Maybe we should call your husband. We can go back and pick him up if you’d like to wait here.” If she chose to wait, I’d suggest the other side of the road, not that I thought she’d listen, but it would clear my conscience.

  “No.” The woman paled. “Do not go anywhere near my husband. He would be wrecked over this sort of thing.”

  “Did she say wrecked?” Ida Belle asked, bending her ear. “Fortune, did you wreck Gertie’s car?”

  Gertie scoffed. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you behind the wheel.”

  “The only accident here is my husband’s recommendation when he suggested that I ride with you!”

  After noting a scaly tail, I had high hopes that I could convince her to return to the vehicle. Before I could say anything, she held up her hand. “You look sensible. Not that it matters what strangers think, but I’m neither crazy nor without a car of my own, I’ll have you know.” She straightened her skirt. “I knew coming South was a bad idea.”

  “I’m offended,” Gertie said.

  “I assure you, you’re not alone in that feeling.” The woman looked at me as if she wanted me to break some sort of tie. “Well? You have nothing to say now?”

  “I lived in DC so think of me as common ground.” I wanted to warn her about the scaly creature that just slivered away from the curb. If she walked in the grass, she might become a gator’s next snack.

  “DC? How do you handle these people?”

  I gritted my teeth. I was one insult away from giving this woman a piece of my mind.

  “She’s not going to answer you,” Ida Belle said.

  I shrugged. “Neutral ground.” I saw the gator move then and quickly reached for her. “You might want to walk on the other side of the road.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes were wide. “I can manage by myself, thank you very much.”

  “I hope you like company.” Ida Belle yawned. “Come on, Fortune. She isn’t our problem now.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that, especially since her husband seemed like a man on a mission. “It would be safer if you’d let us take you to the lights.”

  “Nothing could be more dangerous than riding around with the three of you.”

  “Want to bet?” Gertie said, hanging out of the window and pointing at the scaly tale that slivered across the last bit of pavement.

  She gulped. “What was that?”

  “It isn’t a companion animal,” I promised her.

  To my surprise, the woman reached in her purse and threw a lipstick tube at the weeds.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Gertie said in a singsong voice.

  About that time, the gator whipped around so fast that everyone was startled. I dove in the backseat and Gertie slammed the door behind me. As I righted myself, the front door slammed and the car lurched forward.

  That’s when I realized that our Lansing passenger was now driving. And we were not headed back to Wasteland’s Christmas in Lights.

  Chapter Five

  The first couple of minutes were rough. Steve’s wife may have lived near the car capital of the world, but she must’ve skipped driver’s ed.

  As she weaved from one side of the road to the next, Gertie prayed. I buckled my seatbelt, and Ida Belle told her, countless times, that if she didn’t stop, we would sue. I wasn’t sure what grounds she had for the potential lawsuit, but if anyone could find a legitimate reason, it was Ida Belle.

  We eventually made our way back to Wasteland, but came to such a screeching stop that Gomer ran from the ticket booth as if it had caught on fire.

  “What’s going on?” He looked at the empty driver’s seat, peered in the back, and then studied Ida Belle.

  I was pretty sure if she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket, her hair wouldn’t have looked any different. Her short strands were standing straight up as if she’d combed them that way.

  Gertie must’ve spotted Steve’s wife right away. She tapped the glass. “Gomer, do you see that woman?”

 

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