Demise in Denim (18 page)

“Do you think Boone got his hair cut?” I asked BW. “Do you think he has clean clothes, and where do you think he's been sleeping, and it better be alone if he knows what's good for him, and do you think he misses us as much as we miss him?”

BW yawned and lay down at my feet. “You know, no one else calls me
cookie
or
blondie
or
shop girl
. Not exactly terms of endearment, I'll give you that, but Boone's usually trying to tick me off so I stay away from a case and get out
of harm's way. Not that it ever works, but he does try. That's kind of sweet even if he does drive me crazy, and truth be told maybe I drive him a little crazy, too.”

I sighed and gazed over at Boone's office, feeling lonely and depressed. “Things aren't as dire as before,” I said, trying to reassure BW. “Russell and/or Tucker had motives to kill Conway and frame Walker, so that's good, but I need something to tie them to the scene of the crime or even stealing Boone's gun and . . . and . . . That little yellow-and-blue light in Boone's office window isn't on, and neither is his porch light.”

BW looked up at me. “I know,” I answered. “They're always on, probably even connected to a timer. You think I'm being paranoid?”

BW put his big doggie head on my leg. “Yeah, I'm worried too, so here's what we'll do,” I said as I petted his silky snout. There might be trouble and BW needed to know what was going on. “If the door's locked and we don't hear any commotion inside, we'll know all's well and we can head for home and maybe stop at Parkers for one oatmeal-and-raisin cookie. One can't hurt, plus we get grain and fruit, and I think that's part of that food pyramid thing. But you need to cowboy up a bit in case there is someone in there, okay? You're my only backup and Old Yeller's back at the ranch.”

BW sat, hiked his leg, and licked himself. We all prepare for battle in our own way. We crossed East President Street, nearly deserted this time of night, and took the stone steps up to the office, BW's nails tapping on the hard surface.

“
Please don't open, please don't open, please don't
open,
” I chanted as I turned the brass doorknob. The white door with frosted panes swung wide, not a sound inside. Faint rays of moonlight drifted in from Boone's office and spilled across Dinky's desk.

I fumbled for the light and switched it on to find papers, Dinky's flowered stapler, and her computer on the floor, and chairs overturned. Gazing at the mess, I let go of BW's leash, and he beelined straight into Boone's office, stopping by his desk. “He's not here, but I really wish he were,” I said to BW as I went into the office and switched on Boone's desk light.

“Watch what you wish for, blondie,” Boone said, hunkered down on the floor. And that would have been just fine except for the fact that Harper Norton was on the floor in front of him facedown with Boone's silver letter opener in her back.

I gasped and jumped backward.

“I saw you in the square,” Boone said to me. “I hoped you wouldn't come over.”

“What the . . . How did you . . . Holy crap!”

“Someone let me know that the lights were out here, and I knew something was up,” Boone said.

“And they were right,” Deckard said from the doorway, his gun drawn. He came inside, his hulking profile silhouetted in the dimly lit office. “Put your hands behind your head,” he said to Boone. “I've been waiting a long time for this. Now you got two murders to answer for.”

“Waitaminute,” I said, my brain starting to function beyond
yikes, there's a dead person in the room!
“You can't believe Boone did this.”

“His office, his letter opener, and I'm guessing his fingerprints. Yeah, I'd say he's the killer all right. This woman probably had proof Boone here killed Conway, and he had to shut her up.”

“In his own office?” I tried to reason. “How did he get her here? Why would he get her here? This makes no sense, Deckard, think about it.”

“A desperate man doing desperate things, it happens all the time and I don't have to think about anything, I just need to bring this killer in.”

“But he's innocent.”

A smile pulled at Boone's lips. “I appreciate the support, blondie, but I really can talk for myself.”

I parked my hands on my hips. “This is not your fight, it's my fight, and I'm fed up with this . . . this lunatic following me around.”

Deckard sneered as sirens headed our way. “I knew if I tailed you long enough you'd lead me to Boone, and I'll be darned, it looks like I was right on the money. Nice work, blondie.”

Red flashed in front of my eyes, I swear it really did.

“Get him,” I yelled at BW.

Deckard laughed deep in his throat. “That dumb dog doesn't do anything but eat and poop, everybody knows that.”

In a flash all four paws left the ground and big growling dog plus big shiny snarling teeth sprang for Deckard, the moral being never ever kick a dog and think you'll get away with it.

I lunged for Deckard along with BW, both of us sending
Deckard flat on his back and his gun skittering across the floor.

“Run!” I yelled to Boone.

He hesitated for a split second, our gazes locking. “Good God, go!”

Boone jumped up and gave Deckard a solid right hook to the jaw along with, “Never call her
blondie
.” Then he tore out the
door.

“Y
OU
'
RE
going to pay for this,” Deckard bellowed, shoving me to the side and struggling to his feet, as sirens approached. “That dog bit me! I'm having him put down. He's history, you're history.”

“What dog?” I panted, amazed I was so calm. Then again, after gators, snakes, a fire, and being on the road with NASCAR KiKi, I was a seasoned veteran of chaos and crazy.

I sat up and tried to catch my breath. “I didn't see any dog. I was here, you were here, you tripped over poor Harper Norton who is unfortunately also here, and you knocked me to the ground. You hit your jaw and I bet the forensic people are going to be totally pissed you screwed up their crime scene by falling all over it; at least they would be ticked off if this happened on a TV show.”

Ross bolted into the room, two uniforms behind her. She
had on jeans and a sweatshirt, and a shirttail of Mickey Mouse jammies stuck out from under the sweatshirt. “What in the world is going on that can't wait till morning?”

I pointed to Harper, and Deckard bellowed, “Boone was here, right in this room, and Reagan Summerside and her stupid dog attacked me and Boone got away.”

“What dog?” I held out my hands and did the crazy-man eye roll. “I went for a run and noticed the lights were off in Boone's office and they are never off, and I came to investigate because I'm a good Savannah citizen doing my duty. I found Harper Norton on the floor.” I made the sign of the cross and meant it. I didn't know what Harper was involved in, but she sure didn't deserve a knife in the back.

“Then the concerned and ever-vigilant Officer Deckard rushed in to save the day,” I continued. “He tripped over the body and hit his chin.” I stared at his face. “You're going to have a dandy bruise there, buddy. Knock any teeth loose?”

Ross looked me in the eyes, then let out a long sigh. “You can really say all that with a straight face and not be freaking out?”

“It's been a rough week; I think I used up all my freak.” I wobbled to my feet and stood beside Deckard. “How could little old me possibly overpower this guy? He's got six inches and about a hundred pounds on me.”

“I keep telling you, there was a dog who went at me,” Deckard roared. He held out his shredded jacket sleeve. “How do you explain this?”

“Must have been some other dog.” I did crazy-man eye roll part two.

“I want her locked up for obstruction of justice,” Deckard
roared again. “And I want her dog locked up and I want Walker Boone.”

“What dog?” And maybe I should have left out that last
what dog
comment because ten minutes later I was sitting in the Bull Street police station and was back in the way-too-familiar putrid-green interrogation room. The only upside was that this time after jogging my guts out I smelled even worse than my surroundings.

Ross came in and sat down across from me. “You just had to poke the bear, didn't you?” She put her hand over the microphone sitting on the table. “Not that he doesn't deserve poking, but do you have to do it at three
A.M.
? You're not the only one who's had a rough week.”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“Only if being a smartass is a crime or if one more of the cops on duty here trips over himself ogling you. Short-shorts in the middle of the night?”

“I was exercising and people laugh when I wear red-and-white stripes.”

“You're off the hook this time. Boone's fingerprints are on that letter opener, not yours, and you overpowering Deckard is a little tough to swallow, and the only thing I've ever seen BW attack is a hot dog, so Deckard is lying his heart out to save face. But we need to talk.”

“Got a doughnut sitting around?”

“Does the wild bear . . . ?” Ross winked; I followed her to her desk and took a seat, and she opened a desk drawer that looked like the Cakery Bakery's annex. “A cop's got to do what a cop's got to do.”

I told Ross my great Tucker/Russell theory involving
Conway, Boone, and the inn. And the best part was I only ate half the doughnut. “Those two have motive and opportunity,” I told Ross. “But I don't have any actual proof that ties either of those guys to Conway's murder.”

“Contrary to popular belief and the evidence in front of you, the police do more than eat unhealthy food and write parking tickets. We think we have enough to indict Dixon on blackmail. We matched up his deposits and Conway's withdrawals, and he had pictures of Conway and Walker Boone and his mom taped to the bottom of his desk drawer. He also had a .38, but it's registered and who around here doesn't have a .38? Grayden Russell has applied for large-boat docking privileges down on River Street and a gambling permit, so we know why he's after the Old Harbor Inn and the Tybee Theater. He's in the gaming business. What do you know about Harper Norton?”

“She's friends with Steffy Lou, they went to school together, and they worked on saving the Tybee Theater. She's in a big hurt for money. I have no idea why she was at Boone's office. She didn't like the guy at all, but he's wanted for murder, so what more can she do to him?”

“They found her phone under her. 9-1 was punched in; she never got to the other 1.”

“So what do you think she was she doing at Boone's office?”

“You're not going to like it.”

“Boone's accused of murdering her; what more isn't there to like?”

“We think Walker and Harper Norton were lovers. He has to be staying somewhere, and he was staying with her
on and off. She probably did her best to convince everyone they were enemies, like you did with the reporters and on the TV show thing. There was no evidence of breaking and entering into Walker's office, meaning he let her in for another little rendezvous but she decided that ten grand was better than Walker in the sack and tried to turn him in, and he killed her. You just happened in on him before he could get rid of the body.”

“They're lovers?”

“Got a better idea? Why else was she there with Boone? How did she get in? Who else would kill her?”

“They're lovers?”

“We all like Walker, but his dad screwed him over big-time, and revenge is a powerful reason for murder. We got Boone's gun killing Conway and now a dead woman ready to call 911 and Boone standing over her, his letter opener in her back. You do the math.”

“Tucker knew Harper,” I said, trying to get beyond the lover idea. “Maybe she had the goods on him for killing Conway. And there are two sisters, Anna and Bella, who married rich old guys. Conway and Boone both advised the husbands to change their wills, and Harper planned on screwing their business. Any of them wanted to get rid of her.”

“Except Harper was in Boone's office with Boone, there was no forced entry, and she was killed with his letter opener. It's a slam dunk.”

“Can I go?”

“Keep me in the loop, and if you can talk Boone into surrendering, it might be in his best interest. A lot of people behind rifle sights are looking for the guy.”

The sun was just peeking over the spire of St. John's as I came out of the police station and saw Mamma pulling to the curb in her black Caddy. She rolled down the window. “Some people put on PJs and go to sleep at night, dear.”

“You should have seen BW, he was magnificent.” I took shotgun and we headed down Bull.

“What in the world happened?” Mamma asked. “And you smell like the bottom of a garbage can.”

“I went out for a run, and then I went to jail. See, this is why exercise is really a bad idea, least for me. There was a dead body and getting picked up by the police in the middle there somewhere.”

“Did Boone get away?”

“He flattened Deckard.”

“Well there you go, all's well that ends well.” Mamma parked the Caddy in front of Cherry House and we hoofed it up the sidewalk to Auntie KiKi sitting on the steps in yellow curlers, yellow housecoat, and matching bunny slippers. BW was sprawled out across the porch doing his buzz-saw routine. I sat downwind on one side of KiKi, and Mamma took the other. “You're wearing jeans,” I said to Mamma.

“If they didn't let you out of that jail, I figured there might be some serious butt-kicking in order.” She patted her thigh. “Plus I just got these new shaper jeans and wanted to take them out for a run.”

KiKi handed me a steaming mug of coffee and gave Mamma hers. “Harper Norton's dead?” she asked.

“As a mink hat.” I took a sip of coffee. “How'd BW get here?”

“Chantilly, our friendly doggie delivery service.”

I took a deep breath. “They think Boone was having an affair with Harper Norton and she tried to turn him in for the reward money and he killed her. I got to his office before he could ditch the body, and BW is more Bruce Willis than we give him credit for.”

Mamma stared wide-eyed, and KiKi sat perfectly still for a second. “An affair?” KiKi asked.

“So they say.”

“Don't move.” KiKi got up and scurried off to Rose Gate, her robe flowing out behind her like Batman. “What do you think she's doing?” I asked Mamma.

“It's either Putter's golf club to beat up Walker the next time she sees him or it's booze.”

KiKi was back in one minute flat with three glasses and a bottle of vodka. “Screw the vermouth.” She filled the shot glasses; we toasted, then chugged, then did a repeat performance.

“Better?” Mamma asked.

I touched my nose. “I don't feel anything.”

“Good, now we can figure this out. It's a known legal fact that a relaxed brain is better functioning.”

“Right now I think I could pass for a rocket scientist.” I reached over and patted BW. “Best I can come up with is that someone lured Harper to Boone's office, then stabbed her, and Boone just happened to show up, but why did he do that?”

I sat a little straighter. “Because of the lights. They were out in the office. I knew something was up and came in to check, and so did Boone. He showed up at the wrong time, and then Deckard followed me in.”

Mamma and KiKi exchanged looks and Mamma asked, “So you're not buying the Walker/Harper lover idea?”

“I suck at men, I truly do. Look at Hollis, could I have made a worse choice than getting involved with that man? Probably not . . . but . . . but I know Boone, and the scary part is he knows me. He calls me
blondie
. Bet he never called Harper Norton that.”

“I believe she was a brunette, dear.”

“Now you're just getting picky.”

Auntie KiKi kissed me on the forehead; well, she tried and it landed on my ear. Such was the power of early-morning vodka, but the thought was there. “If you ask me”—she hiccupped—“it still stands that Tucker and Russell have the most to gain by getting rid of Walker. They're both dirty as bathwater on a Saturday night. Harper could have had something on them and they suspected as much.”

“Harper planned to cut into Anna and Bella's boutique business,” I added. “The sisters wouldn't let her get away with that.”

I ran my hand through my hair, still feeling nothing as Mamma said, “The problem with all these great ideas is, how did the guilty person, whoever it is, lure Harper into Boone's office? We know they had the key because they broke in to get Boone's gun to frame him. Now we need to figure out who had it in for Harper.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to put things together. “So Anna and Bella had a connection to Harper, but who else did?”

“Probably a lot of people came into contact with Harper,” Auntie KiKi said. “She was working all over the place. I
first saw her over at the Slumber playing at Conway's farewell bash.”

“When I helped Chantilly with the barbecue fiasco over at the Old Harbor Inn, she was playing there, and that brings her into contact with Russell and his dealing to get the inn.”

“And she helped Steffy Lou with the theater project,” Mamma chimed in. “That brings her into contact with Tucker, and he's always been tops on my who-framed-Walker list.”

“We went and talked to the guard out at that marina that Tucker owns and found out the old boy's bust,” KiKi told Mamma. “If Harper found that out, Tucker would not have been a happy camper. He sure didn't want Steffy Lou or anyone else to know what a really bad businessman he is.”

“We're back to the big three suspects,” I sighed. “Nothing new.”

“But whoever's behind this is getting desperate,” Mamma said in her
I am the judge and know all
voice. “We're going to find him or her, it's just a matter of time.” Mamma put her arm around me. “I'm glad you're safe. What can I do to help?”

“You filled my fridge.”

Mamma gave me a long steady look, a little smile tripping across her face. “Always nice to have someone watching out for you, dear.”