Miss Dixieland Ch. 10-11 - Ending

Delta Bayou and the Miss Dixieland Pageant (Delta Bayou Adult Mysteries no. 1)

********* Chapter 10: Miss Dixieland, USA **********

They ran back out into the dressing rooms mostly naked, leaving the stagehand behind them. Their lack of clothing didn't matter since all of the other girls were also changing into their formal wear. Delta shimmied into her royal blue gown. It didn't take long as it was more skin than dress--off the shoulder with a plunging neckline and a high slit up one leg. She realized that she had never taken off her thigh holster from the talent show. She decided to leave it on and quickly reloaded her gun, slipping it back into place under her skirt. Luckily, it was on the side without the slit.

She caught a glance at Sasha, back in the bright red chiffon that Delta had already seen her in at the photoshoot. Sasha winked at her and they joined the line of girls walking back on stage. It was time to announce the winners. Delta's mind was blank, relaxed from the sex, although her hands were still trembling from the effects of the Red Cherry.

Phil, in his tux, was speaking into the microphone. She barely listened as the titles were given. Best Hair, Best Gown, Best Sportswear, Most Talented, (that one actually went to Sasha, as did Best Personality). She hoped that Sasha won the entire contest. It came with $500 in prize money, which Sasha could put towards her next degree. Delta clapped loudly for her and politely while some of her other acquaintances were given awards. Then it was time to announce the top three.

Delta waited, impatient. The effects of the stimulant were leaving her now and she realized that time was running out for her to figure out who was behind the drug scheme. Her mind, though still foggy, was getting back on track and she looked out into the audience again, wondering when the drug pickup was scheduled to happen. Maybe it already had, and Stanford had been the one to bust it, all while Delta was stuck on stage. Or when she had been having sex with Sasha instead of investigating. What had he said to her about not getting caught up with pageant life?

Her ears perked up when she heard that Tabitha was given third place and a prize for outstanding moral character. Delta supposed her memorized Bible verses had served her well. Second place went to a girl whose name Delta had never bothered to memorize. She was the picture-perfect image of a stereotypical beauty queen. Tall, with huge blonde hair, and too much makeup. Actually, she looked a little bit like Cassandra and Delta tried to remember if she had been one of the girls with Mike Dunn at the party.

No doubt Cassandra had stroked her own ego by awarding extra points to someone who resembled her. Delta almost rolled her eyes at the thought but then remembered she was supposed to have her pageant smile frozen in place. She tried to focus

"Delta Bayou!" Phil beamed at her. She looked around. Why was he calling out her name? She gave him a funny look.

"Go!" hissed someone behind her, and she felt a shove on her shoulder.

Delta realized with a start that Phil was holding out flowers to her. Beside him, Cassandra stood, cradling the big silver and rhinestone crown in her hands. It shone white like a bleached skull. Had she won first place? She knelt uncertainly as Cassandra placed the crown on her head.

What the fuck? She almost laughed. Maybe it was the fucking that had helped her win. Then she really did frown. Damned corrupt system. She plastered her fake smile across her face and tried to look pleased as she joined Tabitha and Whatsherface on the winner's podium. The crowd was going wild. She heard a few people cheering her name. Members of the force, no doubt. She was definitely going to be teased about this later.

Phil handed the microphone over to Cassandra. "And now, that we have the winners of the pageant, it's time to find out who our winners in the audience are! Ladies and Gentlemen, check your raffle tickets! It's time for the drawing!" A fishbowl on the podium was full of the red paper tickets that had been sold at the carwash. Cassandra stuck her pointy fingers in the bowl and drew a card between her sharp nails. "397!" A man in a trucker hat and flannel stepped on stage and was handed a wrapped prize by Cassandra.

"409!" Another man, this one huge and in a leather jacket accepted a prize, this time from Mike. Delta quit paying attention as the next few winners were called to the stage. Her eyes scanned the crowd. So little time for her to solve the case! And her thoughts were still racing with the Red Cherry that was left in her system.

"969!" A man came onstage and Delta accidentally gasped. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a black tee-shirt and boots. It was Floyd. Malcolm handed him his prize and something flashed inside of her mind. She remembered the receipt on the floorboard of Floyd's car, how he had been talking to Malcolm at the party, and the list of numbers that had been on Malcolm's computer. Malcolm's the supplier! And the raffle prizes had been in his study. Floyd ran drugs. He was collecting a prize. It was too much of a coincidence.

Delta had her gun in her hand before she realized what she was doing. Tabitha shrieked beside her as Delta drew it in front of her and took aim. She pulled the trigger. The box in Floyd's hand burst open. Silver packets spilled out on the stage. "The drugs are in the prizes!" She shouted, rushing across the stage. Floyd dropped the broken box and jumped offstage, into the crowd.

The whole auditorium seemed to burst into action at the same time. The house lights came on, flooding her eyes with the sudden brightness. People in the audience screamed. The undercover cops jumped from their chairs as did the raffle winners. Delta grabbed at Malcolm and tackled him to the floor. She landed on top of him in a pile of blue chiffon.

"Nobody move!" she heard someone yell. She squeezed Malcolm's ribs between her strong thighs as he struggled beneath her, and glanced into the audience. One of the raffle winners, the man in the leather jacket, had his right arm around Stanford's throat. In his left hand, he held a gun towards Stanford's head. All at once the world seemed to stop for everyone but Delta.

She jerked her arm up and felt another tremor shake through to her fingertips. She held her breath and pulled. She thought she could see the spark of the igniting gunpowder and the swirling cloud it created as the bullet arched from her gun and through the air, rushing towards its target.

The man in the leather jacket flinched as the bullet took him in the shoulder, just inches away from Stanford's neck. Stanford used the moment to throw the other man's arm off of him. The man cried out and fell to the floor as Stanford twisted around and grabbed his injured arm, twisting it until he dropped the gun. He quickly cuffed his opponent as he pulled him to the floor.

Delta's attention to the scene was suddenly interrupted as Malcolm managed to roll out from under her, sending her sideways across the floor. Her gun slipped from her hand as she scrambled up. Malcolm reached for it, but she kicked him with the spike of her high heel and he grabbed his bleeding hand.

"How dare you, you bitch!" she heard the high-pitched voice coming from behind her and had the air knocked out of her as she was suddenly tackled and fell stomach first to the floor. There was a heavy weight on her back and a sharp pain in her scalp as Cassandra swiped at her hair, snagging the crown against her scalp. Delta was pissed and much stronger than Cassandra. She pushed herself over and sent Cassandra tilting across the floor. She grabbed Cassandra's wrist as she tried to wriggle away and pinned her down, knocking her head into the stage floor, perhaps a little more forcefully than she had intended. Cassandra struggled to get out from under Delta, but she was no match for her.

While holding Cassandra down, Delta glanced up and saw that Stanford had run to the stage and had his gun trained on Malcolm, who now had his hands up. Two other officers came up behind him and slapped him in cuffs. He was bleeding from his forehead and the dark red blood ran into his auburn hair.

Underneath her, Cassandra squirmed and tried to kick Delta off of her. "Fuck you!" she yelled. "You've ruined everything! It was all for nothing!" She began to cry. "I did it for nothing!"

"Come arrest this one, too!" Delta called to him as a sudden cold clarity washed over her. "She killed Nick!" Cassandra sobbed, and Delta was sure. "I saw her with him that night. I thought that they were sleeping together. But no. You were trying to convince him to run the drugs with you, weren't you? And he wouldn't. So you killed him."

She looked up across the stage and saw Mike Dunn, face bright red and mouth agape. "Arrest him, too, Stanford. He's in on it, too. I saw him pass Malcolm's info to one of the drug runners." One of the other officers trained his gun on Mike, who lifted his hands and allowed himself to be cuffed. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers!" he growled.

"Jesus Christ," Stanford whistled. "We're gonna run out of handcuffs."

Delta continued to restrain the sobbing Cassandra while waiting on Stanford to find another pair of cuffs. "She was right about you, you lying bitch!" Cassandra spat at her, and then more tears burst down her face. Stanford leaned down and helped Delta lock them around Cassandra's wrists and pull her upright.

"Who was right and about what?" He lifted an eyebrow at Delta as Cassandra was led away by another officer.

"She's talking about Sasha." Delta blinked and looked around at the terrified contestants, and Phil, whose expression was of blank shock, all still on stage. "Oh my God... Sasha. Stanford! We have to find Sasha Wilkins!"

Stanford looked over to the contestants. "Why?"

"She's the one who has been manufacturing the Red Cherry!"

"What! And you just realized this now?"

"I've been busy!" she yelled at him, grabbing her gun from the floor. She ran backstage, Stanford close behind her. The sudden darkness of the wings engulfed her. She peered into the shadows and then led Stanford around to the dressing rooms, all abandoned with piles of clothes and brushes on the floor. Sasha was nowhere to be seen, but Delta did see the stagehand they had fucked earlier. She grabbed him by the collar of his black shirt. "Have you seen Sasha?" She shook his collar at his blank look. "The girl I was with earlier!"

He nodded. "She grabbed her purse and ran out the door as soon as the first shot was fired." Delta let go of him and ran past Stanford to the parking lot. It was now covered with police cars and the witnesses, who were not yet allowed to leave. Delta ran down the rows of cars, searching. "Her car isn't here," she told Stanford, who had shadowed her the whole way. "We lost her." She slammed her fist down on a car and bit down on her own lip angrily. She had been so naive, and so very, very stupid.

She heard Stanford radioing in Sasha's description to dispatch. "We'll find her," he said calmly. "Let's go back inside. And you can tell me what you know," he glanced up at her head and smirked "Miss Dixieland."

She was not in the mood to be mocked and plucked the crown, lopsided, but somehow still attached to her head, off. Holding it in her hand, and watching the rhinestones cast off little rainbows, she walked behind Stanford through the lines of cars, fist and pride still stinging.

As they passed by her car on their way back in, Delta noticed a small slip of paper under her windshield wiper. She grabbed it. It was written in smudgy, uneven black letters--probably scrawled with an eyeliner pencil. Delta, Congratulations on winning. I'm sorry I had to run, but I think we both know I have to. I'll think of you fondly. XOXO Sasha .

"What was that?" Stanford turned slightly as she caught up behind him. The orange lamps in the parking lot created halos in the humid air and lit up half of his face in their amber glow.

Delta told him as she crumpled the paper in her fist.

He frowned at her. "Don't ruin evidence! Good Lord, do I have to teach you everything?"

She rolled her eyes at him and passed him the paper, cutting in front of him. "Don't be so smug. You lost our bet. Which means I'm the better detective." She couldn't help the smile that snuck out of the corners of her mouth at the last bit. She pulled open the glass door of the theater. She held it open for him like a gentleman but rounded on him as soon as they were in the lobby. "That also means," she said, poking a finger in his chest, "that you owe me something."

He opened his mouth to speak, but Delta saw that some of the other officers were crossing the lobby to come talk to them. "We'll work out the details later," she said as her co-workers surrounded them in a rush.

"Wohooo! Miss Dixieland!" They catcalled and whistled at her. She did a bow for them, knowing that although they might tease her about the crown, she had won their respect by cracking the case.

********* Chapter 11: Delta Claims her Prize **********

The next day, Delta found herself once again in the interrogation room with Stanford. She sat, crossing her legs, and leaning back in her chair, feeling well-rested for the first time in several weeks. Stanford looked relaxed as well. "Cassandra confessed last night," he told her as she pushed the hair back from around her face. "It was exactly like you said."

"She killed Nick because he refused her. He didn't want anything to do with Malcolm's drug-selling plan. He as much as said it to me the night I met him." Delta's stomach still knotted up when she thought of Nick and that night, but she pushed the feeling down.

"Actually, Cassandra maintains that selling the drugs was her own plan, and not Malcolm's. She says that she is the one that got Malcolm on board, although it was his idea to use the pageant to distribute them."

"And what does Malcolm say?"

"He's refusing to speak without a lawyer, but Cassandra's testimony already has him backed into a corner. As have the files that we pulled from his computer. He was a meticulous note-taker. They were using the raffle sells as a way to launder the money from the drug sells. Their men would buy the tickets and get a coded receipt. It listed the amount they bought, the price, the total, and the raffle number they would use as their 'winning ticket' for the pickup. We have the lists he made on file, although none of the actual receipts yet."

"I saw one of those in Floyd's truck," Delta told him. "Search it and you should find the proof.

Stanford nodded, and Delta was glad he didn't ask her what she had been doing in Floyd's truck. "The list of numbers that you saw on Malcolm's computer was the list of numbers to call for the winners. Cassandra said that he made her memorize them. We checked the tickets that she had drawn out on stage and sure enough, none of them were numbers that she actually called."

"What about Mike Dunn?"

Stanford scratched his jaw. "No hard evidence on him yet. Cassandra says that he knew all about it and that she turned to him for connections to drug runners. He says that she is a murderess who can't be trusted. He says that Malcolm and Cassandra asked him for reliable people for hire, but didn't say what for. What do you think?"

Delta scowled and thought of the night that she had seen Mike and Nick arguing in his bar. She thought of Mike's red face as he had talked to Floyd in the store, and how discreetly he had passed him Malcolm's information. "He knew. I'm not sure where you'll find the proof, but he knew."

"Cassandra also confirmed that Sasha Wilkins was manufacturing the drugs. Our officers went by her house. It was abandoned. We've put out an APB on her. She'll turn up."

Delta only nodded, still angry at herself for being pulled into Sasha's web. "What about Phil?"

"No one has anything to say about Phil. In fact, everyone is adamant that Phil could have had nothing to do with any of it."

Delta felt some of the pressure uncurl in her chest. "Good. He's a nice guy. I really don't think he knew."

Stanford just shrugged. "Well, we'll look into him, of course. But right now there is no reason to suspect his involvement. Although how someone can have half of their organization running a drug ring right underneath their nose without them finding out is a bit beyond me."

"He thinks the best of people," Delta said. She was fond of Phil. She hoped that he had successfully asked out Sarah.

"And now, one other thing," Stanford said. "About that guy you shot."

"Riiiiiight." Delta cringed. "Would it help to say that I was on drugs?"

Stanford's eyes went wide. "What!?"

"Sasha had just slipped me some of that damn Red Cherry. It's pretty potent."

He regained his composure and shuffled some papers. "Well it might help, except for that everyone agrees that there isn't much of a problem with it since an officer's life was being threatened."

"Your life," Delta smiled.

"Mine," Stanford agreed. He chuckled. "Although you might be in a little trouble for unnecessarily discharging your weapon when you shot the raffle prize."

"I needed you guys to know where the drugs were!"

He clicked his tongue. "You could have just said."

"I..." She started to speak and then stopped. "I didn't think of that."

"Well, you were on drugs. And you never think." He sighed. "I think that's all."

She let the insult pass as she reached over and clicked off the tape recorder. "Not quite all," she reminded him. "You lost a bet, I seem to recall."

She thought she saw a hint of pink spread across his cheeks, but he looked at her calmly. "I suppose I did." He twisted his fingers together, watching her with his cool hazel eyes.

"I'll text you my address," she said with a smirk... "I'll expect you at 8." She stood and didn't turn around as she exited the room, suddenly a little nervous.

*******

Just after the last light of sunset had faded from her windows, Delta heard the doorbell ring. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and she rose uncertainly from the couch, making her way to her front door. Stanford stood, mal-at-ease on her front step, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

He was in a soft-looking gray tee shirt and jeans. She had never seen him dressed so casually before and noticed that she was looking at him from bottom to top, eyes drinking in the straight line of his legs, the broad sweep of his chest where the soft fabric of his shirt clung to his muscles, the narrow expanse of his hips, the glinting buckle of a belt, and just below... Well, best not to look there just yet. Her cheeks felt hot, but Delta reminded herself that it could not be possible. She did not blush. She especially did not blush in front of Stanford.

He walked in behind her and shut the door. Delta let him follow her into the living room without a word, and flicked off her television. She had been watching HGTV. There was something awkward about having Stanford in her own home, her intimate space. They still had not said a word to each other. She finally turned to face him, mouth screwed up, desperately trying to think of something funny to say.

She needn't have bothered. He caught her up in his arms wordlessly, and his face blurred and turned dark in her vision as she snapped her eyes shut and felt his mouth brushing against hers. She was grateful for his strong arm around the small of her back, because her knees suddenly felt weak--her normally strong legs threatening to fail her as she was encompassed by the feeling of his warm body and insistent lips burning into her skin. God help her, she kissed him back, and let his practiced tongue part her lips as she reached her arms around his neck. One of his hands was supporting the nape of her neck and she felt his fingers tangle in her hair as his searching mouth pressed roughly against her lips and jaw and neck.