Iced Chiffon (23 page)

AnnieFritz said to me, “Sister and I have our money where Big Joey has his, and that’s right on you, sugar. We figure he’s street-smart and knows his stuff. He was at The Wall last night, and we happened to stop by for takeout after the Schiffer viewing. He remembered us from meeting up at the Holstead casket.”

Elsie said to both KiKi and me, “All that crying and carrying on wears a woman out more than you can imagine, and Sister and I need to keep up our strength on account of we have a gig at a graveside at sundown. It’ll be a two-hankie job for sure.”

No wonder Big Joey helped me get into Boone’s office. He was hedging his bets. Good deed? Ha! I took a gulp of coffee, wishing it was laced with something more than cream. Not only was I doing Boone’s work for him, I was making money for Big Joey and the Abbott sisters.

“I know you’ve been having financial difficulties and all,”
Elsie said, handing me another fritter. “There’s no chance you’re moving, now is there? Since you opened the Fox, Sister and I have been dressing fine as peacocks, and business is booming. Seems classy women who know how to wear hats and use a hanky are in high demand these days. The young crowd is reserved and downright boring, not one gut-wrenching sob in the lot of them. No one goes home and talks about a boring funeral; they go home and say, ‘Wasn’t that a mighty fine affair, and ain’t it touching how much Grandma’s gonna be missed?’”

“How would you both like a job at the Fox?” I asked the sisters, hoping to take care of one of my own problems. “If you’re betting on me to win,” I said to Elsie Abbott, “I need time to work the case. I can’t pay you—I’m barely keeping the place afloat—but I can give you 50 percent off anything you’d like to buy.”

Elsie and AnnieFritz exchanged huge grins, their gray eyes sparkling. “You got yourself a deal,” Elsie said, AnnieFritz nodding in agreement. “We’ll come over later on, and you can show us the ropes. Right now we’re off to do our nails and then have our hair done up. We gotta look the part and all. Everyone will be decked out this evening on their way to the garden parties.”

“And we need to find Big Joey and put another hundred on Reagan to win,” Elsie added, and she and AnnieFritz hurried out the back door.

KiKi said to me, “Reagan, honey, they’re betting on you just like a football game. How do you keep getting mixed up in these things?”

“I married Hollis, and the rest is history.”

KiKi served me a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and
two biscuits so light they hovered. I took a forkful of eggs, and KiKi sat down and asked, “I suppose you’re dressed like Sarah Palin because it’s bear-hunting season in Savannah?”

I munched the bacon, thinking how much BW would love it. When he came home, we’d have a bacon fest. Maybe bacon wrapped around hot dogs—when I could actually afford bacon, that is. “I’m going to the crime scene and needed some courage to face the place. No one gets courage wearing flip-flops. Boone said the police have enough evidence to convict Hollis, and the case is ancient history. No one will be around.”

“We’re going to break in where Cupcake was…you know…killed?”

“You don’t need to come. Hollis will have a conniption if you get caught.”

“Your mamma will have a conniption if
you
get caught. I suppose they can have their conniptions together. Cher says, ‘The only two people you answer to in this world are yourself and God,’ and I’m sure the Lord wants to know what’s going on around here as much as anybody. We need to get to the bottom of this, Reagan,” KiKi added, sounding more serious than usual. “Whoever killed Cupcake isn’t about to leave you be.”

No longer hungry, I put my fork down. “That’s what Boone said.”

“For once the man’s right about something,” she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Auntie KiKi came back into the kitchen wearing a tweed skirt and tan blazer, her usually frizzed-out auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun, making
her eyes crease at the corners. Arms held out, she did a little turn around and said, “It’s a crime-solving outfit. Miss Marple. Very British. I wore it for Halloween a few years back. I think I’ll make scones for dinner.”

Except this was Savannah in April, but the scone idea had merit. If I could wear butt-kickers, KiKi could do tweed. She said to me, “I heard you talking. Did you call to see how BW is?”

“He’s eating and still sleeping a lot. We can pick him up this afternoon.”

“Bet that vet bill set you back a pretty penny.”

“Boone paid.”

“That was darn nice of him.”

“Yeah, Boon’s a regular Georgia peach.”
Mostly the pits.

We headed up Lincoln, the morning rush-hour traffic starting to take hold of the city. We turned onto East Hall, a quiet residential street with rehabbed houses and buyers hoping to make a tidy profit in a few years when the homes sold. KiKi pulled the Beemer in front of the “For Sale” house, which had yellow tape across the door. She kept the motor idling. The house was a teal Colonial Revival with black shutters, hand-turned spindles, peeling paint, and a collapsing roof. It needed love and money, lots and lots of money. “It’s still decorated up with crime tape,” KiKi said. “We can’t just mosey on up to the front door and have you kick it in with your clodhoppers.”

“These are hiking boots, and I was thinking something a little more subtle than kicking the door in. Let’s park down the street and walk back this way. The house is on a corner; we’ll cut in through the backyard.”

“We could do this at night when it’s dark, you know. It’s
a lot easier to sneak around then without drawing attention.”

“Do you want to look at Cupcake’s blood on the carpet in the middle of the night?”

“Point taken.” KiKi parked on the next block. We got out and strolled casually up East Hall. Birds chirped, flowers bloomed, and we were just two very strangely dressed women out for a morning stroll on a lovely spring day. When we got to the house, we took the side street, and KiKi causally followed me as I edged into the grass. The wood privacy fence across the back property line kept nosy neighbors from calling the cops on us. We made our way between two big hydrangeas that would really be something come May.

“Hi there,” a man’s voice called to us from across the street. It was too friendly to be the police, but we were busted all the same. “You ladies aiming to buy the place?” he asked us as he came our way. “Bet you can get a good deal on this nice, old place. It sure is sweet, don’t you think? It’s got original windows and hand-turned spindles. The inside’s even better, with pocket doors and coved ceilings. Just needs a little TLC is all.”

The man was sixtyish, with gray hair, and clearly more a lover of Southern cuisine and channel surfing than
Cooking Light
and sit-ups.

KiKi and I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and KiKi gave him one of her reassuring smiles that said all was right with the world and aren’t we two of the sweetest women you ever did see.

“My daughter and I are looking to buy on this street,” KiKi said, lying better than I ever could. “Such a nice area.
This house is a great fixer-upper and sort of caught our eye. Has there been trouble of some sort? We couldn’t help but notice the yellow tape on the front door.”

“An unfortunate occurrence,” the man said in reverent, hushed tones.

“Occurrence?”

“Murder.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sure you can get the place right cheap because of it. You’ll probably need to redo the inside, but that shouldn’t be a problem for someone like yourselves.”

He blushed. “I saw you park your BMW down on the next block. My wife and I live across the street and hope that someone who could afford this place would move in right quick and put an end to all the talk and gossip. Having an unfortunate occurrence on the street hurts property values, and the sooner we can put that behind us, the better for us all.”

KiKi and I nodded in sympathy, and I asked, “Is there anyone else looking at the place? Like before the unfortunate occurrence? I mean, they might be after it at a low price as well.”

“Well now, the very night the occurrence took place, a nice couple showed up, but JeriLynn—that’s my wife, JeriLynn, and I’m Tommy Lee—we knew nothing would come of it.” Tommy Lee held out his hand, and we exchanged shakes. Then Tommy Lee went on, “We knew that couple couldn’t pay what it would take to bring the place up to snuff. You can tell by the cars people drive if they can afford the house or not. That couple drove a Ford Minivan; that’s not the kind of money needed for this-here rehab job. But
there was a woman before them who took a look-see. Now she could afford to fix it up if she had a mind; I could tell right off.”

“You knew her?” I asked, hoping for a clue to the mystery woman.

Tommy Lee shook his head. “She was dressed plain, nothing noticeable. I didn’t pay much mind to her at first. Thought she was just another looker. But I think she dressed the way she did to keep the price of the house down so the real estate agent thought she didn’t have much money and would take a low offer if she made one.”

“How do you know she had money?”

Tommy Lee gave us a sly wink. “She drove a real nice car. Parked it way down the street, beyond where you parked today, and she walked all the way back. I didn’t see her car at first, but I watched close when she left. That’s when I noticed the Escalade, late model, white or maybe silver. It was getting dark so it was real hard to tell.”

“Was she in the house long? I mean, do you think she was interested in the place?” I added the last part to sound less like the police grilling a witness and more like a friendly house hunter out for a nice chat and maybe saving property values.

“A few minutes or so is all. Guess she wasn’t happy with the interior. I know it needs renovations. When she left, she kept her head down and kept walking, not one bit pleased about anything. After that, JeriLynn and I headed out to the movies. We wanted to catch that new Michael Moore movie. Jeri loves Michael Moore; she thinks he’s the best director ever. The next morning, Frank—that’s our neighbor to the right, in the nice big Queen Anne—told us about the Lexus he saw in the driveway.”

Tommy Lee wrung his hands. “We all had such high hopes for the Lexus, figuring someone who made a late appointment like that at night must be serious about buying, and, of course, he had the right car. Then we went and found out it was the killer himself carting off the body. We should have suspected something wasn’t right. Frank said the Lexus only stayed ten minutes or so.”

Tommy Lee looked stricken for a moment, then forced a smile. “But now that the murderer’s been caught, I’m thinking the lady in the Escalade might come back and get the house real cheap. Then again, if you beat her to it, you can get the place for a good price and fix it up fine and dandy. Everyone around here will forget about the unfortunate occurrence in no time. Everything will get back to normal.”

I’m sure Cupcake would take issue with that
normal
part. We thanked Tommy Lee for his help and assured him we’d think seriously about the house. KiKi and I headed for the car. “Do you think Tommy Lee is watching us?” I asked KiKi.

“I don’t think much happens on this street that he doesn’t watch.” We climbed in the Beemer, and KiKi turned the ignition.

Feeling tired to the bone from no sleep, I snuggled into the comfy leather seat. I hoped KiKi got stuck in traffic for a few hours, but the fact that we were five blocks from where we lived didn’t make gridlock much of a possibility.

“You know,” I said before I drifted off, “Boone told me a woman came to see the house where Cupcake was killed, but he never mentioned that she drove an Escalade. I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me that when he’s hoping I find her for him. The rat.”

“Probably because Tommy Lee didn’t tell Boone or the police about the Escalade.” KiKi took a left onto Habersham. “Tommy Lee is a man fretting over his property value and what this murder means to his pocketbook. He wants that house sold right now, and he hopes the woman in the Escalade will come back and buy it. If she gets hassled by the cops or Boone, there’s not much chance of her buying.”

I sat up, suddenly not feeling so tired. “Tommy Lee withheld information from the police?”

KiKi waved her hand dismissively. “Not withheld so much as had a temporary lapse in memory brought on by angst and greed. He told us about the woman in the expensive car to make us feel pressured to buy the house quick out from under her.”

“How do you know this?”

“Honey, it’s what I and any other scared Savannah home owner might do in this uncertain housing market. It’s hard enough to sell a big old run-down house these days, much less one that’s connected to a homicide. Tommy Lee’s looking out for his bank account. Now, who do we know that drives a white or silver Escalade?”

I felt my eyes start to close again. “Mamma has a white one. The parking lot at the country club has a good number of white and silver, but other than that, I got nothing.”

“Raylene has a light silver Escalade.” KiKi said, sounding thoughtful. “Let’s see now, I do believe she got it last year, said it was better than any old BMW, of all the nerve.”

“Raylene has Dior suits and Chanel bags, and Tommy Lee said the woman looked dowdy. Dowdy is not in Raylene’s vocabulary. I’m going to sleep now; wake me tomorrow.”

KiKi pulled into her driveway. I had my eyes shut, but I
knew from the little dip in the pavement that we were home. She killed the engine and said, “Raylene wouldn’t dress in Dior and Chanel if she’s off to have a chat with her blackmailer. She’d park down the street, and walk back to where Cupcake was so as not to attract attention or be recognized. That’s exactly what we did. Maybe Raylene went to the ‘For Sale’ house and told Cupcake she was tired of paying her off, and Cupcake said, ‘Well, ain’t that just too bad for you.’”

“How would Raylene know Cupcake had a showing?”

“Cupcake and Hollis drove separately to the Telfair. I saw her car, and everyone knew she and Hollis had that argument and she left. Maybe Raylene followed Cupcake because she wanted to talk about the blackmail money. Raylene sees where the ‘For Sale’ house is, then goes to her house and changes so no one connects her with Cupcake. Then she drives back to the ‘For Sale’ house.”