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startled Gertie stumbled backward, and I grabbed her just in time to keep her from plummeting backward off the porch.
    “Should I even ask what you’re doing here this early?” I asked as I stepped back into the house and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be fast or easy.
    “Well, it’s Sunday, of course,” Gertie said as she trailed behind me. “You’re probably just disoriented from the trip and all the excitement yesterday and forgot.”
    I filled the coffeepot with grounds and water and pressed the switch. “Sunday? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
    Gertie’s eyes widened. “Sunday’s church day, of course. I know some people think just any old day will do, but ‘progressive’ isn’t appreciated much in southern Louisiana. Unless you’re a heathen, you go to church on Sunday.”
    I opened my mouth to say I was absolutely a heathen and had no desire to attend church, here or anywhere else, but Gertie was on a roll and getting more animated by the second.
    “Word of your arrival has spread through town,” she continued, “so I knew I had to get over here early before the Catholics got to you.”
    “Sounds ominous.” I poured a cup of coffee and put it in front of Gertie, then poured another for myself. “What exactly do these Catholics do if they ‘get to you?’”
    “Invite you to their church, of course.”
    “And that would be bad?”
    “It would for me. I’m Baptist. Why, the last time I failed to get to a visitor first and get them into Sinful Baptist, the whole congregation prayed for me every night for a week—out loud. Sinful Catholic sent me a thank-you card. I don’t need that kind of embarrassment again.”
    I cringed. A whole week of praying out loud. No wonder she was desperate. “I guess it won’t kill me to attend, but do they really start this early?”
    “Service starts at nine. Used to be eleven, but everything’s changed since The Banana Pudding War.”
    “Was that anything like the Civil War?”
    “Oh, much worse,” Gertie said, completely serious. “You see, no businesses are open in Sinful on Sundays, because it’s a sin to work on the Lord’s day and all. But Francine makes the best banana pudding in the parish, so Pastor Don and Father Michael agreed to give Francine’s Café special dispensation to be open on Sundays without her having to go to hell.”
    “So the woman spends her entire Sunday cooking for everyone in town, and all she gets for it is a reprieve from hell? It sounds like she got shortchanged.”
    Gertie nodded. “You and I agree on that one. Anyway, Francine only has refrigeration for so much food, so she’s limited on how much banana pudding she can make.”
    “Let me guess—there’s not enough for everyone in town.”
    “Nope. Both churches used to start at eleven and run ’til noon, but the Catholics decided to start at ten thirty so they could get out early and ensure their banana pudding. Pastor Don retaliated by starting church at ten, and it went on that way until Mayor Fontleroy made it illegal to start church before nine o’clock or end before ten.”
    “I’m beginning to understand why this town is called Sinful. Everything is illegal.”
    “It sometimes seems that way. So you go get dressed, dear. I brought an extra purse big enough to carry your tennis shoes. We’ll change during the benediction so that we can sprint to Francine’s as soon as Pastor Don says ‘amen.’”
    “Sounds like a plan.”  
    I didn’t have anything to do anyway. Besides, if the banana pudding was worth waging a war and giving someone a free pass on hell, it might be worth checking out. There was also the added bonus of seeing Gertie sprint. Besides, Morrow had told me to blend in with the natives. Apparently, skipping church would draw more attention than my pink luggage.
    Even given all the variables, the day had to be less complicated than the one before.
    I downed the rest of my