Killer in Crinolines (16 page)

“I think it’s stalking.” Or GracieAnn’s a sociopath, but I didn’t want Percy to fret even more. “Stay in public places, lock your doors. Be careful. Don’t get in that truck.”

“That bad?”

“She bakes dead-people cookies. Keep nine-one-one on speed dial.”

By the time I got back to the Fox, Auntie KiKi was running around the shop like a headless chicken trying to check out customers and take in consigned clothes. The brownie perked up her spirits, the sight of customers perked up mine, but neither of us had time to put two thoughts together till five when the last customer left. I flipped the sign in the bay window as Reese Waverly stormed in the front door before KiKi could lock it.

Not many men in Savannah shopped the Prissy Fox unless their wives gave explicit instruction like,
Honey could you please pick up that there pink sweater hanging in the front window for me
or maybe if they were a performer at Club One and in need of a new sparkly dress and accessories for their act. Reese’s wife died ten years ago and last I heard the man hadn’t taken up life as a cross-dresser, though that sure would be some sight and draw one heck of a crowd.

“I think you know why I’m here,” Reese said, his eyes cold and calculating.

“You wanted to buy a little something to support the cannon for down on River Street?” I ventured, trying to defuse the moment.

Reese ignored me and kept his eyes focused on Auntie KiKi. He braced his hands against the checkout counter. “You took something that belongs to me and I want it back.”

Auntie KiKi mixed and mingled with the best families in Savannah and took no prisoners when someone got on her turf, messed with her kin, or especially if they got in her face while doing it. She braced her hands on the counter and leaned right into Reese. “The last time I was visiting your home was to offer my sincere condolences for your most tragic loss, Reese Waverly, and that I took something from you is outrageous. What in the world could you have that I could possibly want?”

“You swiped a flash drive that has information on it. I what that drive back.”

KiKi’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t come around here accusing me of being a common thief. I believe you need to get yourself out of here.”

“Or what?” he sneered.

“Or I’ll tell your mamma how you came barging right in here all full of unwarranted accusations and embarrassing me to no end. She can still take a piece out of your hide like all good mammas can. You best mind your manners, Reese Waverly.”

Fear flickered in Reese’s eyes. Good Southern mammas had that kind of effect. “I suggest you and your interfering niece here keep what’s on that drive to yourself if you know what’s good for you,” Reese went on. “This here is business, my business, that no one needs to know about. Stay out of it.”

“I don’t take orders from the like of you,
Mr.
Waverly,” Auntie KiKi declared. “I’ll do what I want, when I want, and how it suits me.” KiKi pointed a stiff finger at the door. “Go intimidate your employees. They have to put up with your undignified behavior, but I sure enough do not.”

“You two are always sticking your noses in where they don’t belong and this time you’re playing with fire. Be careful or you’ll get burned.” Reese turned on his Italian-loafered heel, then slammed the door behind him, rattling the glass in the bay window.

“Sweet Lord!” I said, watching Reese drive off in his black something-expensive car. “Maybe we should just give him back the flash drive.”

“He’s fishing, honey. There were tons of people in his house that day and he has no idea that I’m the guilty party.”

“I think he’s considering our reputation.”

“There is that, but I won’t be intimidated by that upstart. His mamma and daddy owned a bait store over there in Whitemarsh. Not that there’s one single thing wrong with a bait store, mind you, and his mamma and daddy are the salt of the earth kind of people, but now he acts so high and mighty like he’s better than anyone else. Putter comes running every time that rich hypochondriac calls. He’s always thinking he’s having a heart attack and dying. If he wasn’t dabbling around in shady tomfoolery, he wouldn’t have heart problems in the first place, now would he?”

“But why is he so upset over a fake golf course that doesn’t even exist?”

“I think our embarrassment theory hits the nail right square on the head. He got duped and Waynetta nearly married the scallywag who did it to boot. That makes Reese Waverly a laughingstock in anyone’s book. He surely can’t let that happen, no sirree.” KiKi let out a deep breath. “Well, that’s enough excitement for today, and I have yet to hear about your sojourn to the police department this morning. Did you drop Chantilly off at her apartment before you came here?”

“Detective Ross saw fit to give Chantilly a change of address. I just hope it’s not permanent.”

“Jail! Mercy, how could this be happening? I feel terrible for that girl.” KiKi sat down on the stool.

“I’ll get you some water.”

“Oh, honey, water’s for medicinal purposes only. I’m thinking Jen’s and Friends and a double martini. Walk BW, get that pocketbook of yours, and be ready in ten minutes. We are in serious need of libation to try and figure out how to make things right around here.”

J
EN’S
and Friends was packed, but on a hot summer night in Savannah at the corner of Bull and Congress that was pretty much the norm. Waiters were up to their eyeballs in customers so KiKi and I elbowed our way though the crowd to the bar to take care of our own alcoholic needs. She got a strawberry shortcake martini and I opted for the Snickers martini, the rim of the glass coated in chocolate, caramel, and nuts. A martini and a candy bar all at once, what could beat that? Probably a healthy diet. Instead I added a Snickers candy bar on the side in case I didn’t get my fill in the martini. Since business at the Fox was on a roll I could even afford it.

“So how is Detective Ross these days?” KiKi asked after we hunted down an outside umbrella-topped wrought-iron table. “You two exchanging Christmas cards this year?”

“Ross is skinny and cranky. When she walks down the hall people dive for cover including me. To add to the perfection of the day, Walker Boone was at the station. He wants me to butt out of Chantilly’s case. Why does he care what I do? What’s wrong with that man?”

KiKi stirred the martini with her skewered strawberry, a little smirk on her lips. “I’d say the man doesn’t know himself what’s bothering him, but right now we have to focus on the fact that Chantilly’s innocent and we can’t let her stay in jail forever because it’s the easy thing to do.”

“Amen.” I clinked my glass to KiKi’s in agreement, then told her about Chantilly’s text message, finding the body, hiding in the Dumpster, and how Chantilly’s prints got on the trophy. “So now we have two murders to consider.”

KiKi munched the strawberry. “One murder you look for motive, two murders you look for a connection, that’s what Rick Castle says.”

“New dance student?”

“Yummy guy on TV. But who would want Simon and Suellen both dead? I’m not even sure they knew each other?”

I licked the chocolate concoction from the edge of my glass and thought I saw Jesus. “Tipper was outside the Cakery Bakery today. He’s a lost soul with Suellen gone. He thinks the reason she was killed is that she saw who killed Simon at the wedding. He or she then killed Suellen to keep her quiet. That’s what the police are going with too and Chantilly fits the bill.”

“But Chantilly wasn’t the only one out to get Simon. What about Icy Graham, Pillsbury, Sugar-Ray, or Waynetta? There’s even GracieAnn; she was baking celebratory cookies for crying out loud. They all had motives to off Simon and they were all at the wedding except Sugar-Ray and with the grounds wide open and wearing costumes like we were, he could have sneaked in easily enough.”

“Except there’s the little matter of Chantilly’s fingerprints on the murder weapon. The question is did the others have alibis for last night? There’s only one way to find out. Ask!”

Auntie KiKi put down her glass and hunkered over the table toward me. “We have ourselves two murders now and if you go snooping around, we could have another.” She made a finger gun and pulled the trigger. “Maybe there’s a way to back into this. You know, ask around and find the connection between Suellen and Simon first. Tick off as few people as possible or at least the ones least dangerous.”

The bells bonged out seven and KiKi gulped down the last of her drink, then licked her lips savoring the taste. “I need to get on home, Putter’s calling at seven thirty sharp.” She leaned closer again, this time devilment in her eyes. “Gonna try that phone sex stuff going on these days. Heard about it on
Oprah
. Now that she has her own channel she can talk about anything she has a mind to. Gets me all twitterpated just thinking about it.”

I slapped my hands over my ears. “TMI . . . too much information. Do I have to hear this?” I dropped the Snickers in KiKi’s new purse. “For stamina.”

KiKi left in a state of giggles and I tried to forget the last minute of conversation with my dear auntie. I decided to walk home and maybe stop by Pinkie Master’s. With a little luck Pinkie’s was Bridesmaid’s new haunt and she was there again. Bridesmaid knew Simon and she was the only person I hadn’t managed to tick off in the last twenty-four hours who might know something about Simon and Suellen and if they had a connection.

I headed down Drayton, the sun finally dropping behind the trees, Pinkie’s outside tables jammed. I ducked inside to loud music and an elbow-to-elbow crowd munching Tabasco-flavored popcorn and downing forties. Bridesmaid sat on a stool at the end. She spotted me, smiled, and gave a little finger wave.

“I want to thank you for putting me in a cab the other night and being nice,” she said over the din.

“Looks like you’ve recovered.”

“Some things are meant to be. I never really did fit into the highfalutin social scene with the Waverlys. Mamma wanted me to better myself with being a debutante but truth be told it wasn’t better at all.” Bridesmaid nodded to a guy by the jukebox with the body of a lifeguard and the looks of George Clooney, the younger years. “I met TJ.” She laughed. “He’s a janitor. Actually he owns the company but he’s a hardworking guy.”

“Brown Eyed Girl” filled the bar and Bridesmaid beamed. “He’s playing that for me. He says I’m his brown-eyed girl. Isn’t that the sweetest thing ever? Did you come here to try and meet somebody, too?”

“Did Simon know a waitress over at the Pirate House? Young, blonde, wears her ponytail to the side, lots of blue eye shadow.”

“Blue eye shadow and ponytail.” Bridesmaid nodded. “Simon was with her at the restaurant one time. It was a year or so ago before Waynetta came into the picture. I was meeting Simon at the Pirate House for a drink. The place was crowded and I parked in the back lot. Those two were there by his car all cozy like. I remember because I was fuming mad thinking Simon was two-timing me. If I’d had an ounce of sense, I’d have realized Simon was probably three- and four-timing me but that’s another story. Anyway, he said he owned her money and it was all just business and nothing more. Monkey business if you ask me.”

I congratulated Bridesmaid on her delish guy, slipped the waiter a few bucks for some take-out popcorn for KiKi, who would no doubt be famished after her phone rendezvous, and turned for home. The one thing I knew for sure now was that Simon and Suellen did indeed know each other and something had been going on between them. Simon got GracieAnn to send him clients from Wet Willies so it made sense that maybe Suellen did the same at the Pirate House. They’d overhear someone talking about their financial situation and tell them about Simon. No better advertisement than word of mouth.

GracieAnn was involved because she was hard up for guys and had a crush on Simon. Suellen was good-looking and a sexpot and in it for the money. Simon and Suellen were partners and that explained how she got into Simon’s condo last night with the security code. The idea that Suellen met with the killer at Simon’s to get paid off was more valid than ever. She probably set the location and she had to trust this person to meet with him or her alone.

That ruled out Pillsbury for sure. Nobody would meet one-on-one with a known member of the Seventeenth Street gang if he were indeed the killer. I figured the same was true for Icy Graham except he had a daughter. Maybe the daughter killed Simon or helped her dad? Lord knows she had motive and she would also fit nicely in a peach dress with crinolines. Maybe Waynetta? Suellen wouldn’t feel threatened by her and as for wanting money from GracieAnn that seemed unlikely.

It was after nine when I got back to Cherry House. A humid breeze carried in from the ocean and clouds paraded across the quarter moon. I retrieved BW for a potty break and we started for Rose Gate to deliver the popcorn, the only lights the ones on timers. KiKi should be watching Fox News by now, but the bedroom was dark. Good grief, how long did phone sex last? Personally I had no idea, but two hours of long-distance hanky-panky seemed a little extreme.

A phone rang inside and kept on ringing, Auntie KiKi not picking up. Oh, Lordy, maybe KiKi fell? Maybe she was in the shower? Maybe all that phone sex brought on a heart attack? I found the spare key under the third rock in the garden and let myself in, the kitchen dark and quiet except for the ringing phone in the hallway. The answering machine clicked in with Uncle Putter saying the Vanderpools weren’t available and if this was a medical emergency to call his answering service or 911. The caller didn’t leave a message.

“KiKi?” I yelled, my voice echoing in the house I’d known all my life. This wasn’t just my auntie’s house, you see, this was the house I’d grown up in. With mamma being a working single parent and KiKi and Putter having no children I was pretty much joint property. I knew which steps creaked, which windows stuck, and which toilet handle needed a good shake to flush. I flipped on the kitchen lights. “KiKi!”

My heart hammered in my chest. The phone rang again and again. No other sounds. Something was wrong, really wrong. I could feel it in my gut like when I was speeding and knew there was a cop around the next corner and there he was, big as you please, and sure enough I had myself a ticket. ’Course that was back in the day when I had a car. “KiKi!”

I flipped on the living room lights and snagged the phone on the hall table. “Hello?” I said, taking the cordless phone with me as I searched.

It was Uncle Putter. He’d been trying to reach KiKi for two hours now. He sounded fine, his soothing cardiologist voice steady and even, dealing with whatever comes, making light of his wife forgetting a phone call. But he wasn’t fine. He knew his wife and I knew every nuance of Uncle Putter’s voice probably better than I knew my own. He may not be my father but for sure he was my dad.

KiKi wasn’t in the parlor, dining room, bedrooms, library, bathrooms. I was scared and shaking and no way could I convey this to Uncle Putter four hours away in Atlanta and who could only worry from afar. I lied my little heart out that Auntie KiKi got asked at the last minute to sub at the canasta club and had to do Mildred Kincaid a favor and was out for the night and wouldn’t you know it here was her cell phone on the table and gee, she must have forgotten Uncle Putter was going to call. When I hung up I realized Uncle Putter didn’t even ask why I was in his house alone at night, meaning he knew my voice too and would be on the next flight to Savannah.

This was my fault. Icy Graham, Reese Waverly, and Sugar-Ray were seriously worked up over me digging around in their lives and they’d all threatened to do something about it. There was no better way to get my attention than through Auntie KiKi, everyone knew that. Boone made it clear at the police station he wouldn’t help me and I couldn’t call the cops. What would I tell them, my auntie didn’t show up for phone sex?

I needed help. I needed someone who knew the city and had eyes in every nook and cranny. What was that old saying about not burning bridges in case you had to walk back over them? Rain fell as I kissed BW on the nose, then closed the door behind me. No cabs would go where I was headed. I held Old Yeller tight to my side and took off in a dead run.

• • •

Seventeenth street was dismal in broad daylight with full sun and blue skies. At midnight in the rain the place was downright miserable. That I was soaked to the skin and had four guys in do-rags following did not help my opinion. I didn’t belong here. I knew that and so did my escorts. I imagined the only reason I got this far without being run off or robbed was sheer curiosity of what the likes of me was doing here in the first place and what would a woman with a plastic purse have worth robbing.

In the dark all the houses looked alike and my brain was too scrambled to think of the exact address where I’d made the UPS delivery. A light spicy scent breezed by me and I remembered the red crape myrtle bushes next to Pillsbury’s house. I took the worn steps of the gray bungalow with faded green shutters, the boys waiting on the sidewalk to see what happened next. Yeah, I wondered that myself.

An AC unit sticking out the front window purred at full tilt, an old wicker rocker with threadbare cushions sat by the door. I took a deep breath to keep my teeth from chattering and knocked on the weathered screen door making it rattle in the frame. The door opened to someone I didn’t know dressed in jeans, a faded red beater shirt, some very impressive muscles, and a
17
tattoo on his shoulder. Word was that the Seventeenth Street boys all had
17
tats. Word also had it that Walker Boone sported that very same tat and Dr. Gilbert’s nurse nearly peed her pants giving him a flu shot last year. “I’m looking for Pillsbury.”

“Who you?”

“Reagan Summerside. I have a problem. I need to talk to Pillsbury.”

A deep laugh sounded from inside. “Git lost.”

I knew this would happen. You didn’t tell a guy to not visit his girlfriend then hit him up for a favor. I knew it was a long shot but Pillsbury was my only shot at finding KiKi. Now what? There wasn’t any plan B; this was the only plan I had and it sucked. “I can’t get lost,” I sniveled, my insides going to jelly. “My auntie KiKi’s missing.” Hearing the words come out of my mouth made KiKi’s disappearance all the more real and I started to cry. “I know someone’s got her and it’s all because of me and I have to find her before Uncle Putter comes back from Atlanta and I know he’s worried something terrible and—”