Wickedly Sinful by Shari Hearn

Author:Shari Hearn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: senior sleuths, funny cozy mysteries, humorous cozy mysteries, southern cozy mysteries, dark humor
Publisher: J&R Fan Fiction
Published: 2021-05-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A TWO-STORY VICTORIAN, painted yellow with white trim, served as the home of the Sinful Historical Society Museum. A six-foot replica of a sailing ship stood next to the brick path leading to the double doors in front. A musty smell smacked me the second I walked in.

An elderly volunteer stood from a chair situated behind a small information booth and approached me. Her nametag read, “Boots.” Talk about buttons. “Boots” had been my mother’s pirate name, the one she’d chosen for the pirate games we used to play while on vacation in Cape Cod.

She shuffled over to where I stood. “Welcome to the Sinful Historical Society Museum. My name is Boots, and if you break any of our rules while visiting this hallowed institution, I will boot you to the curb.”

The octogenarian stood 4’5”, weighed no more than 105 pounds, and the way she limped, I knew the second she’d lift her leg to kick me to the curb that she’d topple over. But I held my hands in the air and said, “I swear to you, Boots, I won’t allow that to happen.” Some days we all needed to be a badass.

She smiled and grabbed onto my arm with an ice-cold hand. “I don’t mean to be so harsh, but you wouldn’t believe the times youngsters like yourself come in and start touching things they’re not supposed to or take out their phones and talk. No siree, not on my watch.”

“I got it.”

“The entrance fee is five dollars,” she said. “And don’t try to pass any phony bills.”

“Oh, darn, and those are the only kinds of bills I carry.” I chuckled, but it didn’t appear Boots appreciated my reach for humor. I dug into my purse and pulled out my wallet. After I handed her a crisp five dollar bill, she scrutinized it and held it up to the light.

“Looks fine enough, I suppose. Enjoy.” Boots turned to go back to her seat and began to wobble. I reached out and held her steady.

“Thank you, Honey,” she said.

I walked back with her to the information booth, keeping my hands inches from her shoulder in case her wobbling returned.

“Aren’t you a dear,” she said as I helped ease her into her chair. “I shouldn’t have skipped movin’ and groovin’ to the oldies this morning. I’m paying for it now.”

A sign read, “Founders’ Day Exhibit level 2,” so I headed toward the staircase. I stopped and stared at a papier-mâché statue of the man indirectly responsible for the naming of the town of Sinful, compliments of the sixth graders of Sinful Elementary. Pirate Robichon Castile, also known as Headless Rob due to his beheading at the hands of his mutinous crew. Thankfully, the children had decided to top Rob’s body with a head. I flashed to my mother’s pirate outfit, not as grand as Robichon Castile’s, but just as memorable.

According to legend, several pioneers discovered Headless Rob’s head along the banks of the bayou. One of them then cried out, “Lord Almighty, what a most Sinful discovery,” and a town was born.

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