LeBieu would have a coronary if she ever found out about her itty-bitty spell.
“Wait!” Eric called out through his opened window. “Where are you going?”
Lucie stopped when she realized how nutty she must look . She turned and pasted a calm smile on the straining muscles of her face. “I see someone I need to talk to. If I don’t hurry, I won’t catch it—er, him. Call me tonight.”
No more time. She had to find that bug. She spun on her heels, sliding a little in the gravel. Then, giving up on a dignified exit, she raced off in a cross between a power-walk and an all-out jog down the rough road leading back out of town.
Not far ahead of her, two carloads of protesters pulled up in front of the Cussin’ Cajun, Bayou Miste’s only diner. As the young men and women unloaded, signs and all, they stretched across the street, blocking Lucie’s path.
A flash of fluorescent green winging past the far side of the diner sent a rush of adrenaline through her flagging body. “Excuse me, pardon me.” She pushed her way through the crowd, her gaze focused on the ladybug.
“Hey, Lucie! Where ya goin’?” someone shouted from the steps of the diner.
She struggled to see over the tops of the protesters’ signs. Alex and Calliope stood framed in the doorway of the restaurant.
“No time to talk!” she shouted back, dodging around a man pulling a huge sign off the seat of a gas-guzzling, mammoth SUV. She almost choked on a snort when he swung around, nearly clipping her with the sign that read “Down with Oil.”
With her head tipped to the side, Calliope called out, “What’re you doing?”
“Chasing after George Clooney. What the hell do you think I’m doing?” She didn’t slow as the bug flew over the top of the little two-bedroom cottage Maurice Saulnier shared with his grandmother, heading south.
People edged past Calliope and Alex, easing their way into the crowded diner.
“I didn’t know George was in town,” Calliope called out over the protesters’ heads.
“He’s not, you idiot,” Alex said. “Lucie’s probably after the you-know-what.”
“What?” Calliope said. “You mean George isn’t in town?”
Lucie didn’t have time to wait for Alex to explain to Calliope that she was chasing the love bug, nor did she have time to wait for her friends to catch up. Kicking off her high-heeled sandals, she leaped over the low fence beside the Saulnier house.
Piercing yelps erupted next to her, and she almost jumped back over the fence. At the risk of losing sight of the bug, she glanced downward and did a double take. A cotton-candy-pink toy poodle danced around her ankles, yipping at the top of her little lungs.
“Who’s that out there?” Ouida Saulnier poked her head around the back screen door. Her normally soft white hair was dyed the same startling pink color as the poodle’s.
“It’s just me, Granny,” Lucie reassured the older woman. Ouida Saulnier wasn’t Lucie’s grandmother, but everyone in Bayou Miste called her Granny.
“Lisa LeBieu, what are you doing in my backyard?” Granny stepped out on the porch and planted her bony fists on her equally bony hips. “You chasin’ after my grandson, Maurice?”
“No, ma’am,” Lucie shouted over the deafening noise of the powder puff poodle. “And I’m Lucie, not Lisa.”
The bug landed on a white rose next to the porch handrail. If she could just get close enough to snatch it.
“FeFe, hush!” Granny snapped.
Without missing a single beat, FeFe turned her back on Granny and continued yapping.
Lucie inched toward the old woman. “How have you been, Granny? Is your arthritis still givin’ you trouble?”
“Quit tryin’ to change the subject. You know my arthritis always gives me trouble.” Granny leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “I still wanna know what the fool-darn-heck yer doin’ in my backyard.”
“I was—” She grasped for a reason that would satisfy Granny when the bug opened the hard casing
Learning to Kill: Stories