Killer in Crinolines (17 page)

The door slammed shut in my face, leaving me with mad boys of the hood inside and menacing boys of the hood outside. My crying turned to flat-out fear. Slowly I turned around to cold stares. The door behind me opened again. This was one of those rock and hard-place situations. Who would have me for dinner first?

“Dr. Putter?” muscled guy in the doorway asked. “The guy who carries that golf club around with him everywhere?”

“The heart guy?” one of the boys on sidewalk cut in, his eyes warming.

I nodded like a bobblehead doll and swiped my runny nose with the back of my hand. “Auntie KiKi was supposed to be home and she’s not and Uncle Putter called so they could have phone sex and I brought popcorn from Pinkie’s, that Tabasco kind she likes, and now someone has Auntie KiKi and it’s all because I ticked off the wrong people.”

“You? Tick off the wrong people? Imagine that,” Pillsbury said, his big hand taking my arm and leading me inside to a nice leather chair and Pottery Barn interior that did not match the exterior at all. A new meaning to keeping a low profile. Big Joey handed me a glass.

I met up with Big Joey a few months ago when trying to save Cherry House and he helped me break into Boone’s office for less-than-legal purposes. “Drink this fast.”

Brown liquid in a crystal glass, the hood’s version of a red apple offered by a sinister queen? I had infuriated Pillsbury after all. “Poison? You’re going to kill me?”

“That give the street a bad name.” Big Joey grinned, the light catching his gold tooth. “This be single-malt scotch. Drink.”

Like I had a choice. I gulped it down and saw stars, choked, and instantly felt warm all over and revived. “You know my uncle Putter?”

“A truly righteous individual,” Pillsbury said in his James Earl Jones voice. “He took care of Mamma when she had a heart attack some years back. Did it all for free, didn’t charge a dime ’cause she had no insurance. Did the same for Tiny’s grandmamma back in ’08.” Pillsbury nodded at one of the boys who was anything but tiny and who’d been on the sidewalk and now stood inside. “’Course that’s changed now,” Pillsbury added. “We have a group plan with low deductibles and minimum co-pays.”

“You have medical insurance?” What did I expect form someone who had the cloud. “I don’t have medical insurance.”

“Need to get you on the plan, babe.”

Another Rambo-built guy hunkered down in front of me, iPhone in hand. “I put out the word on your auntie,” he said.

“KiKi is fiftyish with curly auburn hair and about five-four and probably could stand to lose a few pounds but don’t tell her I said that and—”

“This her?” Rambo held up the iPhone screen, a picture of KiKi staring back at me. He touched the screen again and the Beemer came into view complete with
Foxtrot
license plate. “Google knows all. Got a tweet that
Foxtrot
head south on Bull two hours ago.”

I gave another bobblehead nod. “Thank you, kindly. I’ll start looking for her,” I said, getting to my feet.

“We find her. You’ll get in the way. Make the brothers nervous.” Pillsbury put his heavy hand on my shoulder. “Sit tight.”

“I suck at sitting tight.”

“Try real hard.”

And I did, I swear. The thing was I got Auntie KiKi into this so how could I sit around sipping scotch and wait for someone to clean up my mess? Besides, I knew KiKi and how she thought and now I had the Bull Street information to go on.

Wherever KiKi was she wouldn’t be sitting around either. It was in the Summerside genes to do something even if it got us into more of a mess while doing it. Even Mamma had her moments. We couldn’t help ourselves, like scratching an itch. I waited till the Rambos went on the porch to plan strategy, then I snuck out the back door.

B
ULL
Street ran north and south, bisecting the city into east and west and was broken up by the squares, Johnson, Wright, Chippewa, Madison, and Montgomery, in that order. It took an eternity to traverse around the squares, all of them one-way. That was fine when out for a casual evening or admiring the loveliness of the city, but KiKi was on a mission to get where she wanted to go. She’d never take Bull Street. Instead she’d take Congress to Price.

I figured there were only three things that would keep Auntie KiKi from her phone call tonight—me, Mamma, and Uncle Putter. Uncle Putter was on the other end of that call and Mamma was at a debate for city council over at the Marriott. That left me hunting a murderer and if I threw Bull Street into the mix that led back to Simon’s condo that faced Wright Square. I couldn’t imagine why KiKi would go there and no one had seen
Foxtrot
parked nearby, but it was the best lead I had and I needed to start somewhere.

The rain let up, leaving the city neon-shiny with lights reflecting off puddles, wet streets, and sidewalks. After my trek all the way to Seventeenth Street and adventures in the hood, I looked like something the cat dragged in so I couldn’t use the hot-slut routine with Beau to gain access to the condo building. I went with drunk and toasted. I waited till a weaving young male occupant meandered his way up to the front door with a to-go cup in hand, accessed the code, then I quietly slipped in behind him.

I got to Simon’s condo and stopped at the yellow crime-scene tape across the door. Last time in here I found a dead body, the time before it was assault with a near-deadly bookcase. Bad juju. I opened the door. Surely the police locked up? More bad juju? Stepping between the crisscross of plastic tape, I went inside and flipped the lights. I ignored the little yellow numbered tents marking where the body and trophy had been. Suellen dead once was enough. I rounded the leather couch, a Snickers wrapper on the floor.
Sweet mother in heaven!
I gave KiKi that Snickers. “KiKi!” I yelled.

I ran in the dining room, then the kitchen, flipping on lights as I went, my heart tight in my chest, my legs like rubber. Why didn’t she answer? I stopped dead in Simon’s bedroom, KiKi’s blue straw bag hanging on the far closet doorknob, a chair jammed under to keep it closed. I kicked the chair out of the way and flung the door open to a stack of boxes. Period. No auntie. Putting my hand to my head I leaned against the jamb to catch my breath. Bull Street, Snickers, closed closet, blue purse meaning KiKi should be here. A breeze ruffled through my hair and I looked up to an opening in the ceiling.

See, this is what I meant about not sitting still. Could my dear wonderful auntie just wait here till I came to get her? Heck no! She had to go all Indiana Jones on me and escape or at least try to. “KiKi? Where the heck are you!”

I parked Old Yeller on the floor and kicked off my flip-flops. I gazed up at the black opening in the ceiling. I sucked at sitting still. I sucked more at getting into small spaces with little light. I think it came from reading scary stories under the covers by flashlight for all those years.

The opening looked so tiny. Very dark and tiny. I started to sweat. Breathing was hard. Losing KiKi would be worse, much worse. I gulped in a few deep breaths, to clear my head, and climbed the boxes. I reached into the dark abyss. If something bit me, I’d die of heart failure or maybe rabies. Balancing on the top box I stuck my head through to see KiKi’s shoes at the side and a window at the far end lit from the alley below. I was hot on KiKi’s trail and figured I was about a minute’s shimmy away from the window, the only place KiKi could be. Okay, I could do this.

Belly-scooting across the floor, I counted seconds, telling myself I was getting closer, forcing myself to think of something other than being in a small, dark, smelly space. All of these buildings were well over a hundred and fifty years old and had been used during
the
war as hospitals, barracks, brothels. At the very least, this floor was covered in bat poop; at worse I’d come across a dead Union soldier. Savannah folk didn’t take kindly to having Yankees in their midst. Not a pleasant thought but sure got my mind off small, dark, and smelly.

I yanked open the window at the end and siphoned in a lungful of fresh air. Peering over the side, I caught sight of an old rusted fire escape that snaked up a bricked-in side of the building that had once sported windows and now sported KiKi. “Lordy, woman, what in the world are you doing out there!”

“Why there you are, honey.” KiKi grinned up at me, dirty faced. She stood on one rung and held on to another, then waved.

“Both hands, KiKi! For the love of God, both hands!”

“Been a while since I did something like this. Cher would be mighty proud. Good thing it’s nighttime. Some scalawag could be looking right up my dress given a chance.”

“I think I’ve been insulted,” came a voice from below and unfortunately I knew that particular voice.

“Boone?”

He stepped into the light. “Half the city’s out looking for you two. Pillsbury’s having an aneurism that you went missing on his watch; Big Joey had to give him mouth-to-mouth. Wish I’d been around to see that one.”

Ignoring my sage advice of
hold on
, KiKi waved at Boone. “Can you take my picture with your phone, honey? This will look great on my Facebook page. I hate that timeline thing, don’t you?”

Boone raked his fingers though his hair, looking exhausted. “Miss KiKi, why are you out here . . .” His eyes widened, his voice trailing off, then I heard it too, the grunt of old steel under duress.

“KiKi!” Boone and I yelled together. “Get down,” Boone added. “Put a move on.”

“Oh, Lordy, this here contraption’s moving right under me.” KiKi gripped the rungs, the fire escape lurching.

“It’s not going to hold. Jump for it!” Boone yelled. “You’re about twelve feet up. I’ll catch you.”

“Do it,” I said, the top brackets by me tearing free.

“Well, I do declare.” KiKi kicked one leg over the edge just like those Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall then kicked the other. “Geronimo!”

She jumped, Boone breaking her fall just as the fire escape tore completely loose. Boone rolled out of the way taking KiKi with him, the tangle of metal crashing down beside him. My gaze connected with Boone’s though the darkness, a string of Seventeenth Street expletives filling the air ending with, “Holy crap!”

Boone sat up and helped KiKi off the ground. “The cops will be here any minute,” he called up to me. “You’re interfering in a crime scene. Get out of there.”

That meant another trip back though the dark hole of Calcutta. The alternative was a trip back to the smelly room of the police station. I closed the window, scooted back though the poop, snagged KiKi’s shoes, then dropped down into the closet. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed Old Yeller, ran for the front door, then doubled back and snagged KiKi’s blue straw purse. Sirens pulled to a stop at the front of the building just like last time, and I turned for the back entrance, a police officer coming right toward me. Was this better or worse than the Dumpster?

Think, Reagan, think!
“Why, mercy me,” I said, scrambling for an explanation as to why I was here in the hall, purse in hand and filthy. Make that two purses in hand and an extra pair of shoes. I slid KiKi’s things behind my back and said, “I just heard the most awful noise outside.”

“You live here?”

“Third floor.”

The officer tipped his hat to the back of his head, his look critical. “There’re only two floors in this building.”

“Why see there, I’m flustered by all this commotion and can’t even remember where I live.” I pointed to the door. “You best hurry, something terrible’s going on out there, I just know it. Sure was a big crash. Bet it’s that C-4 stuff that blows things up on TV all the time. What’s this city coming to?”

The officer did an eye roll then headed for the back entrance. I followed him out the door, looking all interested till Boone yanked me behind the stand of azaleas, KiKi beside him. She slid on her shoes and without saying a word we crept toward the alley, KiKi limping and Boone helping her along. He flashed a smile at the local attack dog and I swear the dog smiled right back at him, not so much as a hint of a growl anywhere. We stepped onto the sidewalk and I felt ten years older than I had that morning.

KiKi kissed Boone on the cheek. “My hero.”

I was sure Boone wanted nothing more than to shake me till my teeth rattled but instead he said to KiKi, “Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

“Where’s the Beemer?” I asked, the three of us piling into Boone’s convertible without one word about getting white upholstery dirty. If it had been just me in the car, I’d be relegated to the trunk.

“My guess is your car’s in your garage,” Boone offered as one who knew about such things. “Whoever got you in that condo didn’t want the cops involved. If you go to the police telling what happened, you’re in trouble for crossing the yellow crime tape.”

“How did you wind up at Simon’s condo in the first place?” I asked KiKi, Boone pulling away from the curb into light traffic. “You were supposed to be going home for a phone call, remember?”

KiKi dug around in her purse. “There was this note on my car. Wouldn’t you know it the thing’s not here now. It was a yellow sheet off one of those legal pads and said something like
Have proof Chantilly’s innocent. Meet you at Simon’s
. There were some numbers to get inside the front door. I figured it was on the up-and-up. Why else involve me?”

I could hear Boone’s teeth grinding all the way in the backseat.

“But when I got there,” KiKi went on, “someone shoved me into that there closet and grabbed my purse. It was so dark I couldn’t make out who it was and then they locked the door on me. I waited for a bit, knowing someone would come looking, but I had to use the girl’s room something fierce after that strawberry martini. I found the opening in the ceiling.”

KiKi tsked. “Putter’s going to be mighty upset I missed his call. Like Cher says,
Husbands are like fires, they go out when left unattended
. My plan was to get the information from Simon’s place, then be on my way back to the house in time for Putter’s call.”

“About that,” I said. “I told Uncle Putter you did an emergency fill-in for the canasta club.”

“I can work with that. Say I twisted my foot on Sally Newton’s stairs. Those things have been in need of fixing for years and she’s just too cheap to part with the money to have it done. I sure don’t want Putter to know about tonight or he’ll put one of those ankle monitors on me and I’ll never get beyond the mailbox.”

The three of us trooped into KiKi’s house, and BW did the happy doggie dance around Boone. “Putter’s always wanted to go to Pebble Beach, that fancy golf course out in California. I’ll tell him I’ve made plans, that’ll take his mind off the phone call.” KiKi cast a look at Boone. “Think that will work?”

Boone sat KiKi in a chair and elevated her leg. “Men are easy. All you have to do is show up wearing a smile. If you bring along a bucket of chicken and a six-pack, so much the better.”

I put ice in a baggie for a makeshift cold pack, then wrapped it in a towel. I put it on KiKi’s swollen ankle and nearly threw up. I could have lost her.

“You okay, honey,” KiKi patted my hand. “You’re looking kind of peaked all of a sudden.”

“Tea,” I said because I had to say something. “We need tea.”

Truth be told, I could do with another hit of Pillsbury’s scotch. I went on autopilot and filled the blue kettle. Boone located cups and saucers and set them out along with the sugar bowl and spooner that held KiKi’s sterling spoons collected over the years.

“What was all this foolishness tonight about anyway?” KiKi asked. “Whoever locked me in that closet had to realize you would find me sooner or later.”

“It was a warning,” Boone offered, rhythmically dunking his tea bag. “Someone’s not happy with Sherlock and her dancing sidekick prowling around in their affairs. They wanted to tell you to buzz off.”

“And that’s exactly what’s going to happen,” I said as evenly as I could without bursting into tears. KiKi’s cup clinked to the saucer, and I knew I was in for an argument. “Look,” I said, beating her to the punch. “I’m getting nowhere with all these questions and causing a lot of problems for everyone. It’s over. The police can handle this. I’m making things worse for everyone.”

KiKi put her hands flat on the table and scowled. “That there’s crazy talk. We can’t stop now when it’s just getting interesting.” She stifled a yawn. “But I’m plum tuckered out right now. I’m calling it a day, children.” She took a sip of tea, then grabbed her ice pack. “I need to phone Putter and save him a plane flight home. You two lock up when you leave. Try not to behave yourselves.”

I watched KiKi shuffle off toward the steps and felt a tear slide down my cheek.

“I know you,” Boone said, standing beside me. “You’re not giving this up. Someone messes with your family and you’re not going to just forget it happened.”

I picked up the cups and took them to the sink. “Thank you for saving KiKi like you did. That was really sweet. Tell Pillsbury I’m sorry I worried him tonight but if one of his own was in trouble he’d do the same thing I did, except he’d probably do it a lot better.”