A Bunch of Monkey Malarkey (AC Silly Circus Mystery Series Book 2) by Ann Charles

A Bunch of Monkey Malarkey (AC Silly Circus Mystery Series Book 2) by Ann Charles

Author:Ann Charles [Charles, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: AC Silly Circus Co.
Publisher: Ann Charles
Published: 2018-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

It turned out Gigi the shapeshifting macaw did have a car, but it wasn’t quite what I’d expected when Bruno and I had agreed that she could come with us to the swamp. The custom-made tiny clown car fit her small size perfectly. I, on the other hand, sat in the passenger seat with my knees touching my chin.

I glanced into the backseat at Bruno, who had climbed on board via the back hatch. The sight of him squeezed into the narrow confines of the tiny car reminded me of one of those cardboard tube packages of biscuit dough. If we popped a side window, he’d spill out onto the road.

Luckily for the two of us “big” shifters, we only had to endure the miniature torture chamber for twenty or so miles.

The town of Crawfish Pie was more of a collection of buildings to snag tumbleweeds—or it would have been if we were out west. Here in Louisiana, it appeared to be a nursery for Spanish moss on an island in the middle of the swamp.

“What’s with the name?” Bruno asked as Gigi rolled along the road between a grouping of single-story homes tinged green with moss that bordered the bayou on their backsides.

“Once a year, this little town fills to the brim with people who come here to compete in the Best Crawfish Pie baking contest.” She pointed at a long rectangular building on stilts. “The judges sit at tables inside the town’s Royal Order of Alligators’ Lodge and the pies are brought to them in groups of five.” She smiled at me. “If you haven’t tried crawfish pie, you should. They are mighty fine tasting.”

I grimaced at the sound of a pie tin filled to the brim with crawfish, but I’d bet Eugene would be all over it like bees on honey. “Thanks, but I’ll stick to beignets this trip and save the crawfish pie and alligator boudin balls for another go around.”

“Damn,” Bruno said from the back. “They sure are serious about their swamp boats around here. Look at the size of the propeller on that one to your right.”

Holy gumbo! The blades were as long as Bruno was tall.

The place we were looking for was another mile up the road from Crawfish Pie’s Alligator Lodge. It was more of a glorified shack than a house, with the plank siding long ago weathered gray. Mother Nature had added layers of varying greens over the years. Several large cypress trees bordered the old home. Spanish moss draped across their limbs to the roof, making it appear furry on top.

Gigi pulled into the limestone drive and killed the engine. “Now what?” she asked.

I frowned at a rocking chair up on the porch that was moving forward and backward without anyone sitting in it. “Now we find out if Donatello paid the owner of this place a visit recently, or if we’ve hit another dead end.”

Gigi popped the back hatch and we spent a minute tugging Bruno out of the car.


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