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Remy removed a card from his wallet. “I’m getting this. I’ll probably eat most of it.”
“I can afford to buy groceries,” Shelby said with a stubborn frown.
“I know,” he said. “You can buy the next round. Deal?”
Alan took the card from Remy’s hand. “Madame Gautier just pulled up. You two can duke it out later.” He ran Remy’s card and handed it back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to save my willy.” Alan hefted the grocery bags he’d set aside on the counter and carried them out the front door.
Remy gathered theirs in both arms, leaving the lightest one for Shelby.
She took the bag and followed him out the door.
At her truck, Shelby set her bag in the middle of the seat. “I’ll be just a minute.”
Remy leaned into his side and deposited the bags next to Shelby’s one, then watched her through the cab as she stepped up to the vintage Cadillac parked beside her. Alan was loading groceries into the trunk.
She spoke to the woman seated behind the wheel, wearing a brightly colored turban around her head and a matching caftan. Her mocha skin glistened in the heat. It had been twenty years since Remy had seen Madame Gautier, and she still made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Not that she’d done anything to make his willy wither, but he never wanted to take chances where she was concerned.
Shelby leaned back, giving Remy a clearer view of Bayou Mambaloa’s resident Voodoo Queen.
She waved and smiled, her teeth gleaming white in her dark face.
Remy waved and smiled back, ready to go the moment Shelby got into the truck.
Alan finished loading the groceries and closed the trunk lid. “Thank you, Madame Gautier,” he said as he passed behind Shelby. “Say hello to Gisele for me and Chrissy.”
“I will,” she called out. “Thank you, sonny.”
Alan shot a glance toward Remy and ducked back into the store.
Remy slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, knowing it would be loud and, hopefully, a big hint to Shelby.
She looked over her shoulder, spoke to the older woman and finally climbed up into the truck, collapsing against the seat. “Okay. I cry uncle. Take me home.”
Remy already had the truck in reverse and quickly backed out of the parking space beside Madame Gautier’s. He glanced at Shelby.
Her eyes were closed.
He shifted into drive and pulled out onto Main Street. “Are you going to tell me what you two talked about?”
“No,” Shelby said.
Remy frowned and drove a block before his curiosity got the better of him. “Did you talk about your attack? Does she have any idea who might have done it? Or does she have a potion to magic up some suspects?”
Shelby turned her head and gave him an are-you-serious glare. “Yes. No. And no. If you must know, I was asking about her granddaughter, my friend, Gisele. I wanted to know if she’s going to read tarot cards at the festival this weekend.”
“She doesn’t know who might’ve attacked you?”
“No, but she said I should talk to the Fontenots. They live on the bayou and take their fishing boats out into the gulf every day, as well as charter fishing trips and airboat rides for tourists. They’re all over the bayou. If anyone has seen anything, they would have. And some of them are tight on funds, more than others in the family.”
Remy glared at her. “Seriously? You weren’t going to tell me that?”
She grinned. “I was. But I was curious how long you could stand it. I thought for sure you’d ask if she was putting a spell on your willy.”
He gripped the steering wheel tightly. “You’re an evil woman, Shelby Taylor.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said smugly and turned to face the road, closing her eyes again.
His anger didn’t last long. Not when she had that smug smile curling her lips. Even after having been attacked, she’d kept her sense of humor.
