Chloe Babineaux Private Investigator

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  I drove to my grandfather’s senior community home to eat lunch with him. If I were lucky, his sister, Aunt Mavis, would be eating lunch with us. Aunt Mavis lived there but she was a social butterfly, she might have plans to eat with someone else, but I was hoping not because she knew everyone.

  I parked and walked to Pops apartment. He was just leaving to walk to the meeting room for lunch. All the apartments had small kitchenettes but once a week lunch was delivered for the seniors. I had to pay for mine, but the food was usually good and affordable.

  “Chloe, I’m glad you made it. I didn’t know if you were coming today,” he said with a smile and gave me a big hug. Pops was a little shorter than me, with snow white hair but with great posture. He was a little overweight and had a great contagious smile.

  “Of course I made it. I would have called if I couldn’t have or I would have said I tried to call but my cell phone died,” I shrugged and grinned. “I would have made an excuse even if you didn’t believe me.”

  He laughed and asked, “How’s the truck? Heard you had a mishap.”

  I made a face and said, “Yeah, I just happen to miss the road.”

  We walked the short distance for lunch and sat down with our salad, shepherd’s pie, pecan pie and iced tea. I never passed dessert if it came with the meal. Aunt Mavis sat with us, and I gave her a hug. Aunt Mavis’ hair was pinkish white but styled with a nice curl. She was about five feet five inches and on the thin side. She once told me she liked to stand next to heavy women so she would look like she had a nice body.

  “Chloe, look at the man over there,” she said and pointed with her chin. “What do you think of him? Does he look like he takes that little blue pill?” A man at the next table was smiling at Aunt Mavis and trying to look sexy. Kind of creepy for an eighty-year-old man.

  “Mavis, do you always have to talk about that?” Pops asked. He looked up from his meal and shook his head. “My granddaughter does not have to put up with that conversation every time she eats with us. You’re gonna run her off.”

  “Oh, pooh. It’s not like she’s a virgin at her age.” She looked me dead in the eye.

  Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

  “Are you a virgin?” Yeah, she asked.

  “Mavis!” Pops said sharply, eyes bulging.

  “Can we please talk about something else? I’ll even talk about your sex life,” I said rolling my eyes. “And I can’t tell what color pills he’s taking.”

  “Okay, he’s cute,” she said winking at the man, “I guess I’ll just have to risk it.”

  “Jesus, help us,” Pops mumbled.

  “By the way, do ya’ll know anything about a missing painting that was in the Foyt family?” I asked glancing from one to the other. “It could be a farm in Shloe.”

  They both looked at me blank-faced and shook their head. “I know some Foyts but nothing about a painting. Do you Mavis?”

  “No, nothing.” I don’t know how much Aunt Mavis was paying attention; she was leering at the man that was possibly taking little blue pills.