Demise in Denim (17 page)

Harper gave one more look around. “I hate to say it, but you should just lock this place up and throw away the key. Maybe you can get a job with them. They sure could use the help; they're swamped. The Prissy Fox is bust.”

Harper snatched up her shoes and dashed out the door, leaving me in a state of sheer panic. “This can't be happening,” I said to BW, who was sleeping under my checkout counter. “This is my busy time. Spring and fall are my Black Fridays, the time the Prissy Fox is in the black and not the red and . . . What am I going to do?”

“Do about what?” Chantilly wanted to know as she strolled into the shop. She plopped a white bag on the counter.

“Look at this.” I waved my hand over the empty shop. “I'm doomed.”

“I brought you mac and cheese.”

“Even mac and cheese won't help.”

Chantilly shoved the bag into my hand and snarled, “It might if you just take a look.”

I pulled out the take-out container of deliciousness and fluffed the napkin to read
No Tucker
. “How does he know these things?”

“Do you see a crystal ball in that bag? I'm just the delivery girl.”

“How busy are you?”

“Soup's on, pulled pork is simmering, and Rachelle's got the buns in the oven. I got a minute.”

“What about going shopping, a little retail therapy? Anna and Bella have—”

“Their boutique, right! I hear it's amazing. It's been in all the papers; everyone has been waiting for this and they were interviewed on two morning talk shows and on the radio and . . .” Chantilly's voice dropped off as she gazed around the empty and very quiet Prissy Fox. “I'm sure there's room in Savannah for more than one consignment shop.” But the look in Chantilly's eyes said she wasn't so sure.

“Can you check it out for me? Just run down and see if it's as good as the hype?”

“You look mighty stressed. You know, I bet this is one of those opening-day things where everyone is excited, and then the hoopla falls off and everyone will be right back here at the Fox.”

“Will you go?”

“I'll do a quick run through. You just sit here and enjoy the mac and cheese.”

“I think I've gained ten pounds since all this started.”

“Five pounds tops. You look great; full-figured women are in.”

“I'm full figured?”

“Just from the boobs down.” Chantilly turned and headed for her Jeep.

I was a pear! I shredded the napkin into a million pieces and dropped the mac and cheese back in the bag. No mac and cheese for me; I'd give it to KiKi. Okay, so how come she didn't gain five pounds? She had the worst eating habits on the planet and she'd just pigged out at the theater event.
Because, I realized, Auntie KiKi was next door dancing while I was here standing in one place looking at an empty store.

I needed to get with the health program. That meant I had to put on gym shoes instead of flip-flops and workout pants instead of denim shorts and move my derriere now instead of parking it at Cakery Bakery! I could do this. I was not destined for peardom. An hour later I was dripping wet, out of breath, and I was still a pear, just a wet pear.

“What in the world are you doing?” Chantilly asked as she hustled up the walk. “You're all sweaty and you're limping and you look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Running . . . around . . . the . . . house . . . for exercise.”

“Why didn't you at least run around the block?”

“Afraid I'd miss a customer.” I dropped down onto the porch and flopped onto my back, staring up at the sky through the hole in my roof.

“Your dog's laughing at you.”

“Still? You'd think the humor would wear thin.”

Chantilly grinned and shook her head. “You're wearing red-and-white striped stretch pants. I'm guessing they're a leftover from Christmas, least I hope so. Honey, there's a lot to laugh at.”

“And you're wearing an absolutely adorable scarf and earrings.” I levered myself up on one elbow. “And you have a new purse. I love that purse.” I bolted upright. “You shopped!”

Chantilly blushed. “Maybe a little.”

I cut my eyes to her Jeep parked at the cub, with bags
piled in the front and back seats and spilling out the windows. “You shopped a lot!”

“But I didn't enjoy it, I swear.” She made a cross over her heart. “It was too crowded and too much to choose from and way too many designer items crowding the racks. It's all designer items for really cheap!” She cleared her throat and slapped a frown on her face. “I mean for sort of cheap.”

“My best friend's a turncoat.” I stood, parked my hands on my hips, and scowled. “If Anna and Bella had one of those kinds of coats on sale I bet you would have bought it, too.”

“But—”

“Go. I can't take any more.” I pointed to the Jeep, and Chantilly headed off.

“It can't last,” she called back over her shoulder. “Nothing that good can last.”

“Wait. Did you see any men there, old men maybe with canes or walkers or something?

“This was so not an old-men-with-canes event. This was
women just want to have fun
.”

Chantilly ran for her car, and I started running around the house again. Least my present financial situation would make it easier to lose weight 'cause I wouldn't be able to afford food! The only positive of all this was that I had something else on my mind besides who murdered Conway. I'd rather that something else be where to take a vacation.

By six I'd managed to slash the prices on most of the clothes in the Fox, put a “Sale—30 Percent Off” sign in the display window, and dress Gwendolyn in a cute denim skirt, tan blouse, and rust accent scarf. Business picked up
marginally, but I needed to combat this Anna-and-Bella situation with more advertising. That would cost more money, and the 30 percent cut in my prices was killing me.

It would also kill my consigners. Since I did a fifty-fifty split with them, they wouldn't get as much money either, and they might stop bringing clothes in to me and take them to the boutique where all the shoppers were. They might not get as much as for their clothes, but it was better than nothing. If that happened, I was out of business.

I fed BW his daily hot dog and told him to savor the moment, as there wouldn't be many more. I kept the gym shoes and pulled on B&E black, then stepped outside to find Auntie KiKi in black Zumba pants and Uncle Putter's lucky nylon black golf jacket. She looked like a garbage bag with red hair and really cute black-and-white sneakers. The Batmobile was in the drive, but KiKi wasn't alone. Big Joey was with her, dressed in raggedy jeans, ripped shirt, and beat-up leather jacket and riding one really sweet Harley.

Two women walking their dogs caught sight of Big Joey and ran into each other, a car with a female driver ran up onto the sidewalk, and Elsie Abbott parked her Caddy, got out, and stared openmouthed. Then she applauded. When it came to the bad boy all women were the same . . . they wanted one! They especially wanted one who looked like Vin Diesel with hair. Lord have mercy.

“You're not smiling,” I said to Big Joey as I walked over to him. Not that Big Joey was a smiley kind of guy, but this seemed different, serious different.

“There be a development,” Big Joey said, sitting back on his bike. “Tucker giving ten Gs for Boone's arrest.”

My blood ran cold, and for a minute I couldn't breathe as KiKi asked, “He can do that? I tell you that man is ten miles of bad road. Now he'll have every crackpot in the city after Boone. Isn't there a law or something? People can't just go around shooting people, can they?”

“T-man say this be a missing-person situation and he's putting up a reward for Brother Dear.”

“Brother Dear, my old tomato,” KiKi fumed. “What are we going to do now?”

“End this.” Big Joey's eyes went dead cold and his hands clenched the handlebars of his bike. He kissed me on the forehead. “Thought you should know. Later, babe.”

Big Joey nodded to KiKi, powered up his machine, and purred off into the
sunset.

I
CRACKED
my knuckles and took a deep breath. “I can't believe this. It's like right out of the Old West. Next thing there'll be posters with Boone's face and ‘Wanted' splashed across the top.” I stared at Auntie KiKi. “Is this ten grand alive or . . . ?” I couldn't say the D-word.

KiKi bit at her bottom lip. “But we know folks around here don't shy away from firepower much, do they? Putting a price on Boone's head is like declaring hunting season. How can Tucker do this financially? If the man's hard up for cash, how's he going to get his hands on that kind of money as a reward?”

“Because when Boone's in jail, Tucker gets the inn and he'll sell it,” I said, trying to see things from Tucker's demented point of view. “He'll be in the chips again. I'd say this all makes Tucker look more broke than ever. He's
desperate for money right now, and he's getting tired of the police not being able to bring Boone in and put him behind bars.”

“Everything's got to do with Tucker's money situation, meaning we need to be getting ourselves to that marina and see once and for all what's going on with that guy.”

KiKi headed for the driver's side of the car, and I snagged her arm. “There's another problem and I swear this one isn't my fault. Deckard's following me around, and he pops up at the worst times. What if he follows us to the marina? We can't snoop around with a cop on our tail.”

“Then we'll give him the slip.”

I patted the car hood. “You got a navy Beemer here with the deluxe trim package, you have red hair, and your license plate is ‘FOXTROT.' I think the jig's up.”

KiKi pursed her lips. “It's like Cher says, we'll have to pull up our big-girl panties and follow the path. So are you going to hang around here and be Debbie Downer or get a move on?”

“Lord save me,” I muttered as I got in the car.

“I heard that,” KiKi said as she took the driver's side. She set the GPS to Whitemarsh Marina, then hit the gas and barreled down Gwinnett to Abercorn. She hung a right onto Victory Parkway. “Wrong way.” I pointed in the other direction. “Whitemarsh is a left. Look there on the GPS. Google Maps knows all.”

“And you can be telling that to that beat-up truck that's been following since we turned out of the drive and don't look back, just act natural.”

“Does it have the front light out? That's Deckard.”

“Well, that little pipsqueak.”

“Actually he's a big fat—”

I swallowed the rest of the description as KiKi turned off Victory Parkway, zoomed down Montgomery, and hung a sharp right.

“We're going to McDonald's? Uh, you're in the drive-through.”

KiKi checked her rearview mirror and grinned. “Yep, he's still there. Sucker! Hold on to your French fries, honey, KiKi's got the wheel.”

“I don't have any—” The
fries
part died in my throat because KiKi tromped the gas pedal and laid rubber as we squealed around the other cars in the drive-through line. The Beemer ripped across three lanes of traffic on Montgomery and swerved between cars; the railroad crossing up ahead was flashing its red light and making that cute ding-ding noise . . . except it wasn't so cute right now!

“The crossing gate's dropping!” I yelped. “I hear the train whistle! Stop!”

KiKi floored the Beemer and all gazillion horses under the hood went off in a full gallop as we zipped around the other cars, with KiKi yelling “Yeee haaaaa” as we went airborne across the tracks, landing with a bouncy thud on the other side, then sped away.

“Well buy me a hound dog and call me Elvis!” KiKi thumped the steering wheel and laughed.

“We could have died!”

“Nope, not our time. I figure if it was our time, the gators in that swamp we were in the other day would have had us for dinner. Plus this here situation is just the reason Putter,
the wonderful man that he is, sprang for the BMW 5 Series instead of the lowly 3 Series.”

“Uncle Putter thought you'd need a getaway car?”

KiKi smiled lovingly. “Guess he figured it would happen sooner or later. We haven't been married all these years for nothing, now have we?” KiKi looked in the rearview mirror. “Well, now I do think we lost him.”

“I think I lost five years of my life.” I braved a peek in the mirror on the back of the sun visor to check for gray hair.

“Gotta keep the juices flowing. Good for the complexion and important bodily functions that you need to keep primed. You should keep in mind that Walker Boone isn't going to be on the run forever, and that there primed part of yours might finally get put to good use, least I'm hoping so.”

KiKi followed Route 80 out onto the island, the quiet night of sea and sky surrounding us like a warm blanket. We pulled off at the white-and-blue Whitemarsh Marina sign. “Take that narrow gravel road,” I said, pointing to the side. “We don't need anyone knowing we're here.”

KiKi killed her high beams, using only her parking lights, and slowed the Beemer to a crawl, rocks crunching under the tires, with the sounds of lapping water close by. Lit docks sat to the right as boats rocked in the gentle current. Larger buildings loomed toward the back, smaller ones to the front. Picnic tables, grills, and two horseshoe courts dotted a grassy section under low-hanging trees.

KiKi killed the engine; the car was hidden behind a cluster of heavenly oleander bushes. We got out of the car and
didn't close the doors, to preserve the silence. “I'm thinking that pole barn thing is for boat repairs and storage. Wonder if it has an alarm?” she whispered.

“An alarm to who and what? The marina is out here in the boonies; who's going to come?”

“I am,” came a man's voice behind us. KiKi screamed, I jumped a foot, and the man aimed a high-powered flashlight in our faces. “What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked in a not-too-friendly way.

“Wait,” he added, looking at me. “I know you. You're that gal on TV who's getting even with that attorney guy who messed you over in a divorce. Tucker, the guy who owns this place, says you're a pain in the butt.”

“You work for Tucker?” I asked. “I hear he's another pain in the butt.”

“For the moment I work for him. He hasn't paid me in three weeks, but I get free rent on a house back there in the woods. I got a feeling that's coming to an end, too. Fact is, I think he might be moving in there himself. I hear stuff like the guy's overextended. This place costs a bundle to keep up, and old Tucker has expensive hobbies.” The guard pointed to a sleek white sailboat two slips down. “So, what are you two doing out here?”

“We got lost,” KiKi said. “But I think we know our way now. You sure have been a big help.” KiKi opened the door and climbed in, and I did the same.

“Hope you get even with that attorney guy,” the guard said to me as he stood aside. “I just went through a divorce myself, so I know what it's like. I heard there's a ten-thousand-dollar price on that attorney's head. If you find him
it would be one way of getting your money back. Heck, I might go looking for him myself for that kind of payday.”

“So, what do you think?” KiKi asked once we got back on the road.

“That Boone's in one sorry state of affairs with everyone out gunning for him, and that Tucker's burned through a ton of money. I'm sure our friendly night guard is bound to tell Tucker we were out here looking around. Tucker's going to know we're onto him needing money, and that sets him up as killing Conway and framing Boone.”

“I suppose we've still got Anna and Bella to consider, but do you really believe they'd do in Conway and frame Boone because of some advice over wills and inheritance?” KiKi said as the Batmobile motored through the night.

“All I know is Anna and Bella opened that consignment boutique; where'd that money come from, huh? If they buried C and C somewhere or tossed them overboard, the girls could draw on the bank accounts no questions asked. Kind of the best of all worlds, and where'd you get those cute sneakers?”

“What cute sneakers?”

“The ones on your feet.” Even in the dark I could see patches of guilty red on KiKi's cheeks. “I don't believe it, you shopped at Anna and Bella's? How could you? They're ruining me.”

“It's not my fault, I swear.” KiKi held up her hand as if taking an oath. “The shoes were sitting there in the front window of that cute little shop they have and calling . . .
buy me, KiKi, buy me
. What's a woman to do?”

“What else called out to you?”

“My lips are sealed.” KiKi housed the Beemer and I cut across to my humble abode that I loved with all my heart. I loved the paint-chipped door, the original glass in the display window that now showcased the adorable Gwendolyn. I even loved the hole in the porch roof and the weeds in the front yard. I'd rescued it from Hollis, opened a business, and it was all mine . . . but for how long? How was I going to compete against an all-designer consignment shop at such cheap prices?

Feeling lower than a flat frog in a dry well, as Auntie KiKi would say, I went inside to puppy whines of
yippee, you're home
. That should make me feel better, right? Except if things didn't improve in the very near future, BW and I were homeless.

“What kind of dog mommy am I?” I asked BW as we headed for the fridge. “I have two, just two, hot dogs left in there and the electric bill's due and there's the hole in the porch roof to contend with. I think I have an apple and orange from
care package by Mamma
and somehow we gobbled through all that food quick. Okay,
I
did the gobbling and I swear I don't remember eating half of it.”

I opened the fridge, and BW and I gasped. “It's full.”

BW barked.

“We have cottage cheese, tomatoes, some other veggies in the veggie drawer. I forgot we had a veggie drawer. We have grapes and apples and sliced turkey and whole-wheat bread, and Lord be praised, we have hot dogs. They're organic beef uncured hot dogs, and I have no idea how such things can taste any good, but they're the right shape.”

I slid one from the package, popped it in the nuker, and
blasted it for a minute in case that uncured part meant uncooked.

I chopped the hot dog, which smelled pretty darn good, into bite-size pieces and tasted one to make sure I wasn't poisoning my BFF, not to mention I was starving. “Not bad,” I assured BW, and resisted taking another chunk of hot dog for myself.

I put the plate on the floor and dished out cottage cheese and tomato for me and made a turkey sandwich. I hoisted myself up onto my chipped yellow Formica counter. I dug into my dinner feeling sadder by the bite, thinking how few of these dinners I had left. It was always good to have a plan B in life for when plan A failed. The consignment shop was my plan B. Now what was I going to do?

By two
A.M.
and after a lot of tossing and turning and even an apple and peanut butter snack that was nowhere as good as a doughnut, I still couldn't sleep. Maybe a run would help me feel better. Deep down I knew it wouldn't help at all; I'd just be sore and achy and probably pull something, but at least I'd be skinnier, I hoped.

I yanked on shorts, T-shirt, and gym shoes as fast as I could so I wouldn't have time to change my mind, and then BW and I took off. If I had to run, he had to run. We were in this together. Plus it was two
A.M
. and I was lonely. We headed up Habersham, as the soft glow of the old wrought-iron lights cast the city in creams and gold. “We need to do this more often,” I said to BW. “I don't feel so bad. Exercise is terrific.”

We passed Whitfield Square with the gazebo lovely in the moonlight, and I slowed down a bit, well maybe more
than a bit, but I was only limping a little. When we got to Troup Square, I let BW get a long, long drink at the doggie fountain while trying to convince myself this really was great and I wasn't really dying.

I hobbled past the police station. Deckard's truck was in the back parking lot. I doubted the man had a home; if he did, it was probably under a rock. Huffing, puffing, and sweating like a roasted pig, I hobbled into Madison Square and dropped down onto a bench. I was having a near-death experience, I was sure of it. I saw the tunnel with the light at the end. Actually it was headlights coming down Habersham, but close enough. BW looked fit and ready for more. “You have four legs,” I explained to him between gulps for air. “I only have two.”

I sat up, my heart settling back into my chest at the slower-than-jackhammer rate it was at before. The illuminated fountain in the center of the square bubbled over, cascading into the basin below, adding to a sense of peace and contentment. Two late-night lovers ambled past holding hands. They stopped and kissed and she snuggled into his shoulder, and I wondered if I'd ever be with Boone again.