Killer in Crinolines (20 page)

“Putter’s due home this evening and I want to be there. After the phone-call situation I need to show him I care. Besides, I missed the dear man something fierce.”

It took as long to walk back to East Gwinnett as it did to polish off double scoops of Old Black Magic. I promised KiKi we’d visit Suellen’s house tomorrow but she and I both knew that was a lie. It was night, we needed answers, and Suellen’s place was empty. Easy-peasy.

As if reading my mind, KiKi took both my hands in hers. “Maybe you should get Walker Boone to go with you.”

“Maybe I should get a root canal.”

“You have that new phone. If there’s a problem, I’ll be there right quick with one of Putter’s golf clubs.” She grinned. “And a .38 or two for backup.”

B
W
and I agreed on a lot of things, like that hot dogs rocked, mean people should rot in hell, and the best thing about the heat of summer was that it made you really, really appreciate the cool of autumn. Together we swam our way though the humidity to East Taylor, my capris and tank top stuck to me like a second skin by the time we drew up in front of the town houses. For the most part all the houses looked alike, distinguished by an occasional wreath on the door, doormat in front, and assortment of flowerpots overflowing with multihued impatiens.

I assumed Suellen’s house was third from the end, with drooping flowers from lack of watering, letters and the like sticking out from the stuffed wrought-iron mailbox, magazine on top. I had to be certain this was Suellen’s address and not someone too lazy to pick up their mail. Breaking into an occupied house meant another visit from Detective Ross and winding up as Chantilly’s roomie in jail. Casually, BW and I wandered down the sidewalk, girl walking her dog, all’s well with the world. I sat on Suellen’s steps and pretended to mess with BW’s collar slowly inching my way toward the mailbox.

Bingo!
Glamour
magazine addressed to Suellen. I hid a spare key outside, KiKi hid a key, and so did Suellen under the second pink-and-white flowered pot. I read somewhere occurrences of breaking and entering in Savannah were way down. Heck, there was no need to break in anywhere with keys hidden in every nook and cranny.

With my recent bad luck of unlocked doors, the good news was that Suellen’s door was indeed locked. BW and I went inside; light slipped though the trees, casting the living room in weird dark shadows. BW stayed close as I hunted for my flashlight, twisted it on, and realized the place was trashed. Drawers dumped, books scattered, and papers littered on the floor.

“And you thought I was a bad housekeeper,” I said to BW to lighten the creepy mood of a ransacked room and dead occupant. “My guess is Reese beat us here, or more to the point his gofer Sugar-Ray did. Either way I bet the notebook’s long gone and it must have some juicy information to warrant all this.”

BW yawned and sniffed out a cushion flung behind the couch. He circled it in true doggie fashion then curled up for a nap in the AC not caring diddly that a killer might be lurking about. Doggie bliss.

I picked my way over upturned chairs and a broken lamp and made my to a small painted-white desk. The notebook might be gone but maybe I’d find out something that would lead me to Reese. Right now I’d settle for a golf tee. I found nothing but a few stamps honoring Elvis, a reminder postcard that Suellen’s Civic was overdue for maintenance, and a Snickers that needed eating.

The kitchen was a wreck, boxes of cereal, pancake mix, protein bars, and such strewn across the counter, Pirate House glasses on the floor beside a pencil with a cupcake eraser and two cork coasters from Pinkie Master’s. Suellen had sticky fingers syndrome. If she liked it, touched it, it was hers! I checked the freezer. Rocky Road ice cream, the universal hiding place? I tore it open to . . . ice cream? The girl had no imagination.

The bedroom reflected the rest of the house. Costume jewelry spewed across the dresser, clothes on the floor, tumbled bed. I felt under the dresser and nightstand. Sometimes important stuff was taped there; I saw it in a movie once. The town house was standard décor, nothing unusual except for the front door opening.

“Sweet mother, now what?” I flipped off the flashlight, then picked my way around stuff and crouched low in the doorway, peering into the living room. The outside light silhouetted a guy, a big guy. Why did people always have to show up when I was around? Why couldn’t they just wait their turn? Big Guy took a few steps and BW wandered over, licked his hand, and flopped on his back for a tummy rub.

“Blondie.”

“Boone?” I flipped on my flashlight and picked out his face in the darkness, Boone putting up his hand up to block the glare.

“Do you mind?”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are
you
here?”

“Looking for evidence to put Reese Waverly in jail and get Chantilly out. Your turn.”

Boone made his way to me, took the flashlight, and doused it. “The thing’s like a beacon from outside. Look,” Boone said, sounding exasperated. “Reese had nothing to do with Simon’s murder, or Suellen’s. Simon dead isn’t exactly a hardship to Reese but he isn’t responsible, and why would he kill off Suellen? He didn’t even know her. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“More like the wrong branch. I get that Reese wouldn’t pull the trigger or in this case wield the cake knife and the trophy, but Sugar-Ray would for enough money. He’s a man with expensive taste. He wears Versace, for Pete’s sake, and his office belongs in some artsy-fartsy magazine. Sugar-Ray has to support his addiction and it’s not by his faltering marriage counseling practice, we both know that.”

“What’s Reese’s motive in all this?”

“Get rid of bad rubbish. If Simon married Waynetta, he got a hundred thou just for putting a ring on her finger, and then there’s the golf course scam. Who knows how much Simon swindled out of Reese on that little deal.”

Boone sat on the end of the couch and exhaled a long deep breath meaning he was going to tell me something he didn’t want to tell me. Sweet! Finally Boone was going to cough up some information.

“Reese Waverly wouldn’t kill over a hundred thousand dollars. It’s not exactly pocket change but not a reason to risk going to jail.”

“What about the golf course? That’s a big motive and probably big money. Reese went ballistic when he thought KiKi took a flash drive with the information.”

“She
did
take the flash drive.”

“That’s not the point. Simon persuaded Reese to invest in the golf course because it was the hottest thing since Vegas and Reese took the bait hook, line, and sinker.”

“No bait, no sinker, the golf course is for real. Reese is getting influential backers to support it. If word gets out, property prices in that area will skyrocket and tank the whole project before it gets off the ground. The golf course will bring in jobs, conventions, and tournaments.”

“Make Reese a lot of money.”

“For sure, and somehow Simon found out about it and wanted in on the action, not the other way around.”

I took a few beats for this to settle in. “If that’s true, then Reese had Simon knocked off to keep him quiet.”

“Pillsbury and his crew are silent partners in the deal. Simon knew better than to cross them. No one has any idea how Simon found out about all this in the first place.”

Beware the girl who wears the tiara
. If Waynetta heard her daddy talking about the golf course, it’s not much of a stretch to think she’d mention it to Simon. That’s how he found out about it . . . maybe
.
“I think you’re lying. I think you’re making this up to keep me from suspecting Reese.
SA
was written on the flash drive, that’s Simon Ambrose, and how does Sugar-Ray fit into a golf course? And he sure does somehow.”

“
SA
is Savannah Arbors, the name of the course and Sugar-Ray has a special friend in Atlanta who runs a five-star restaurant there. Sugar-Ray convinced him that Savannah is a great place to live and work. Reese brought Sugar-Ray on to show his appreciation for getting the chef here. It’ll establish Sugar-Ray as a designer. You should see what he did with Reese’s office. I’m going to get him to do my house.”

“Ditch the leather couch.”

“I love that couch.”

“Blast it, Boone! Would it have killed you to tell me about the golf course from the get-go?”

“Yeah, right, you and Auntie Twitter.” A slow grin spread across Boone’s face, his body relaxing. The Sphinx goes happy.

“I’m glad
you’re
enjoying this.” I punched his arm. “This leaves
me
with no good suspects for who killed Simon and Suellen and I’ve been running around in circles over the blasted golf course and all for nothing.”

“Kept you out of trouble for a little while.” He put up his hands to block another punch. “Can you sit on this golf course information for another week? We should have this sewn up by then.”

“We?”

Boone shrugged. “I did some of the legal work.”

“Invested some money?”

“Way out of my league. Pillsbury would take it as a personal favor if you kept this to yourself.”

“What about you?” I had no idea why I threw in that last part. Fatigue no doubt or just something to say in the dark of night. Something flickered way back in Boone’s eyes. Slowly he took my hand and pulled me a step closer.

“For some reason everything between us is personal, Blondie.” Then his eyes suddenly focused, the smile gone. “Cop cars.”

“I don’t hear anything.” Boone and his days-in-the-hood spidey senses were on full alert. He picked up BW’s leash.

“Neighbors probably saw you come in.”

“Hey, you’re not invisible. They could have seen you.”

“Yeah, right. We have to get out of here.” We ran to the kitchen, BW in tow. Okay, now I could hear the sirens. This was a way of life for me lately that I could darn well do without. Boone opened the back door to a driveway that led around to the front, the rest of the yard enclosed with a privacy fence. I hate fences. “Now what?”

“Over.”

“BW? No man left behind?”

“We’ll get him a good lawyer.” Boone made a cup with his hands. “I’ll boost you. Get a move on!”

I kissed BW on the head, hitched Old Yeller onto my shoulder, kicked off a flip-flop, then stepped into Boone’s hands and hoisted myself up. Struggling, I grabbed the top.

“Don’t you ever work out?”

I felt something on my butt. Boone’s hand! “What are you doing!” I stage whispered.

“Saving your ass!”

There was no safe reply to that one. I gave one final tug and catapulted myself to the other side, falling in a heap of shrubs and grass, Boone landing on top of me, his breath in my ear coming in quick pants. Been a while since I was in this sort of position. Never in a million did I think it would be with Walker Boone. “You’re squashing me.”

“You smell like Snickers.” The back door opened and we froze where we were. A man’s voice said, “Nothing out here but a dog with a shoe in his mouth. Whoever broke into this place is long gone. Probably knew the girl was dead and took advantage of the situation, heisting her stuff.”

We could hear movement on the other side, then the door closed and all was quiet except for BW making pitiful whiny doggie sounds on the other side and breaking my heart. Boone flopped over on his back and I glared at him. “We are bad, bad doggie parents. How are we going to get BW?”

“He has his leash on. You say he got away from you. Unless it’s Detective Ross in that house the other cops will buy it. You look innocent; if they only knew. I’ll get the car and pick you up out front.”

“I have one shoe? What will people think if I’m walking around with one shoe on?”

Boone kissed me on the forehead, laughter in his eyes.

“They’ll be too busy looking at your hair to think about your feet.” And then he was gone.

“W
ELL,
I’ll be,” Auntie KiKi said as she drew up next to me on the sidewalk, the red Chevy turning the corner into the night. “You did call Boone after all.” KiKi had on a blue robe, matching slippers, mussed hair, and a sleepy satisfied look in her eyes. Some marriages really did last forever. She gave me a sly smile. “I know why I look a mite disheveled, honey; what’s your excuse?”

“I fell in the bushes and Boone fell on top of me.”

“Is that what you kids are calling it these days,” KiKi said with a laugh, following me to the front porch, the two of us taking up our perch on the top step. BW sniffed and pawed around at things we couldn’t see and seemed okay after his temporary abandonment. I on the other hand had guilt issues over leaving him. Heck, I had guilt over anything, the residual effect of being a judge’s daughter, no doubt.

“I met up with Boone at Suellen’s and then the cops came. We had to make a mad dash for it.”

KiKi leaned back against the railing. “You two need to do something about this while you’re still young.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing if I have to explain it. So was Boone there to save Reese Waverly’s miserable hide and find the notebook that more than likely had his name all over it? Did he mention how much Reese lost on the golf deal? Bet it was a pretty penny from all the commotion it’s caused.”

I didn’t want to lie to KiKi, but I couldn’t level with her about the golf course being real. Pillsbury helped me find KiKi when she went missing so I owed him. As for Boone I didn’t owe him a blasted thing. So my hair was a little messed up; it was his fault. “Simon didn’t swindle Reese, I had that all wrong.”

“So you did find the notebook?”

“There was some other information at Suellen’s.” Namely Walker Boone. “Reese is off the hook for both murders. He and Sugar-Ray were involved in some other business dealings, nothing that Simon set up. That’s why Sugar-Ray was protective about Reese; he’s helping him out. My guess is he did Reese’s office that you liked so much. All this brings us back to square one. We know Waynetta couldn’t have killed Simon, Icy was at sea, Pillsbury would never do anything to get Chantilly in trouble, and he certainly wouldn’t let her take the rap for something he did.” BW wandered back and put his big head in my lap.

“That leaves us with GracieAnn,” KiKi said not sounding all that convinced. “GracieAnn and two murders? Hard to imagine.”

I petted BW. I had no idea how anyone figured out anything without a pet in the lap. “Well, Percy did say GracieAnn was a little schizoid. Seems she’s all sweet and lovey-dovey when she has him to herself. Then he had a casual conversation with Pastor Liz and GracieAnn went nutty and staked out his apartment in the bakery truck. Maybe she did in Simon because he dropped her or because Simon took on Suellen. Jealousy is a big motivator. Maybe Simon was paying GracieAnn to refer clients, and if he cut her out when he took on Suellen, that’s a good reason to be mad at them both. That’s jealousy
and
greed for motive.”

KiKi gazed up at the stars and yawned. “GracieAnn can’t be making as much at the bakery as she was at Wet Willies. She has to be tight on money. Delta has some part-time employees and took GracieAnn in because she felt sorry for her. They’d both been involved in bad relationships and bonded.”

“Can you really see GracieAnn Harlow as loan-sharks-r-us?”

“Two weeks ago I never thought the girl would be making dead-man cookies and biting off the heads. Have you seen Percy lately? Maybe he has some other information for us. If GracieAnn is acting off-the-wall, she won’t suddenly jump back to normal.” KiKi stood and stretched. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the bakery, check on Percy, and pay GracieAnn a visit.”

“If GracieAnn’s serving up another batch of weird cookies, I say we’re onto something.”

• • •

At six
A.M.
BW and I sat on the front porch, me in old shorts and a T-shirt I’d worn to paint the upstairs hall, BW in the fur coat he’d been born with. I tied on a pair of running shoes I’d bought during a health-kick craze some five years ago. The good news was I kept the shoes. The bad news was the health kick lasted for about twenty minutes till I realized how much work it was to actually run. I wouldn’t be contemplating this suicide-mission now if Boone hadn’t made that crack about not working out and actually put his hand on my behind to get my out-of-shape self over the fence. That took embarrassment to a whole new level.

I slid my phone in my back pocket in case I had a heart attack along the way and had to ring up Uncle Putter. I did a few run-in-place jogs to get my blood flowing. Except my blood didn’t flow at six
A.M
. but stagnated in my veins waiting for coffee and a jolt of caffeine. I took off anyway. Halfway down the block I glanced back at BW on the porch snoozing. Smart dog. I decided the best way to handle this morning burst of insanity was the bat-poop approach of thinking about something else till this horribleness was over.

Running down East Gwinnett was a crappy way to start the day, but I was sure Chantilly’s start of the day was a million times worse. I needed to visit her but just couldn’t do it without good news and right now I had nothing but rotten news. Panting and sweating like a roasting pig and wondering if embarrassment was all that bad after all I turned up Abercorn. Gulping air, I contemplated my heart actually exploding out of my chest till I heard footsteps behind me closing in fast. A fellow jogger? A mugger? Yeah, like I had so much to mug. Little prickles of alarm skated up my spine anyway.

“Hey, lady. What you doing?”

I stopped and turned around to . . . “Pillsbury?”

Pillsbury drew up beside me dressed in expensive workout shorts, T-shirt, and some fancy shoes that probably ran all by themselves. He jogged in place, looking like a TV commercial or a model for
Muscle and Fitness
magazine, not that I subscribed but alphabetically it was next to
People
in the grocery store and there were always dynamite guys on the cover. “I needed some exercise,” I said.

“Same here.” He studied my color-splashed outfit.

“New look.”

“Sweet. Let’s roll.”

“I’ll be holding you back.”

“That’s cool. I already did a few miles.” From his build I’d say he did about ten miles a day and never broke a sweat. Pillsbury and I together was something like a golf cart keeping pace with a Corvette, but the man wasn’t moving without me. I started off, Pillsbury beside me taking baby steps. “Find who snuffed Simon?”

“My suspects alibied out.” Running was tough. Running and not looking like a wimp and talking at the same time could be downright fatal.

“Who’s on radar?”

“What are you going to do to them?”

A big smile split Pillsbury’s face. “Not my turf. You’re the Sherlock. I just want my babe out of the slammer.”

I took that to mean he hadn’t visited Chantilly and I knew it was tough. Pillsbury cared for her; anyone could see that. “Maybe the killer’s someone Simon lent money to and they couldn’t pay him back. Or there’s GracieAnn Harlow over at Cakery Bakery. Simon treated her bad. She’s a little hard to figure, but I can’t see her as a cold-blooded murderer just because Simon messed her over.” I sucked in a lungful of air and managed, “Seems a bit extreme.”

“How’d you feel when your man ditched you?”

“You know about that?” I asked as we took a right onto East Huntington and I prayed not to drop dead.

Another smile split Pillsbury’s face.

“Right.” The hood knew everything. Twitter for badasses. “Truth is, I wanted to put a bullet between Hollis Beaumont the Third’s eyes or more righteously between his legs considering what he had going on while still married to me.”

Pillsbury laughed deep in his chest as we jogged in place to let a car pass. I promised the Lord I’d light two candles in thanksgiving for the car allowing me to catch my breath.

“Maybe GracieAnn feel the same with Simon. Bet he kept more than one squirrel around.”

“Squirrel?”

“Hot lady. Jealousy cuts deep. You need the dope, that be evidence.”

I nodded in agreement about the evidence as we turned onto East Gwinnett. I nearly wept with joy when I spied my house. “Got any ideas,” I asked as we pulled up to my front porch, not a dry spot on my body, hair plastered to my scalp. “Have you heard anything on the street?”

“Nada. Not our game. This be a personal hit. Someone felt the man needed killing. Bush league.”

“Meaning not professional. GracieAnn fits that bill. I just need the dope.”

Pillsbury nodded with a smile. “Keep it one hundred, babe. Later.” Pillsbury jogged off still without an ounce of sweat on him anywhere.

I wasn’t sure what keeping it one hundred was but it felt like a compliment. I grabbed a shower and slipped into navy capris fresh out of the dryer and smelling like Spring Mist. I added a white T-shirt. I’d flip on a cute scarf when I came back from the bakery and be ready for a day at the Fox. Scarves and earrings dressed up anything. ’Course dying my hair might help, too.

“How can you look alert at eight
A.M
.? Only time I’m up at this hour is when strung out on caffeine,” KiKi said to me while we walked toward the bakery. “I think you need to open the Fox at noon, then we don’t have to do stuff at this ungodly hour and I can get my beauty rest.”

“I went out jogging and met up with Pillsbury. The man is built like an armored truck. He must have run all the way over here from Seventeenth Street and didn’t even look winded.”

KiKi’s eyes rounded and she sucked in a deep breath. “Why on earth would you jog of all things? Have you done lost your senses? It’ll make your boobs sag and your baby-maker fall out, every woman knows that.”

Least the ones who needed an excuse not to jog
. I stepped up the pace. If I didn’t, all the sprinkle doughnuts would be gone . . . again. “I have no boobs to sag and as far as I can tell my baby-maker’s still where it belongs. Besides, I need to get shaped up. Yesterday when Boone and I played escape artist there was a big fence. Boone had to boost me up.”

“So?”

“He had his hand on my butt and shoved me over. Talk about awkward.”

“I could call it something else but you wouldn’t believe me. Did Pillsbury have any ideas on who’s our killer? He hears stuff out there on the streets.”

“His take is that it’s someone with a personal score to settle and thinks GracieAnn is a good candidate. See if anything sticks out as being a little off with GracieAnn this morning. Something unusual.”

Cakery Bakery was in full swing, the little white tables out front under the trees filled with customers sipping sweet tea and coffee and eating pastries. Inside the lines were long, Delta loading fresh baguettes into a tall basket, GracieAnn scribbling orders and filling cups of coffee. Three sprinkle doughnuts sat in regal splendor under a glass dome at the end of the counter.

“Well, would you look at that,” KiKi said nodding at the display case. “Snickers bar cookies. Never knew such things existed.” KiKi craned her neck to get a closer look. “They even have peanuts and caramel drizzled on top. Snickers cookies and Snickers martinis, this is one mighty fine city.”

BW eyed the doughnuts, now two under the dome, little drops of doggie drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. When we got to the front of the line GracieAnn sneered at the BW. “He shouldn’t be in here. Board of Health would have a fit.”

“We’ll say he’s a little person in a fun coat. Where’s that repairman that’s always hanging around? I haven’t seen him lately.”

“What’s it to you?”

“My AC is down. I need a repair guy.”

“Well, I don’t know where he is, the no-good rat. I think he’s two-timing me. Why do men do that? Think they’re so important they can treat women the way they do.” GracieAnn snapped the cupcake right off the top of her pencil. “I baked toolbox cookies today, chocolate, they’re cooling in the back. I wonder what he’d think about that. So what’s your order?” she asked, broken end of the pencil poised over the pink order pad. “Make it quick.”

Toolbox cookies!
KiKi and I exchanged wide-eyed
holy mother-of-pearl
looks.

“Order or move on,” GracieAnn hissed.

“Two sprinkle doughnuts and coffee for me,” I said in a rush and KiKi chimed in with, “Plain doughnut. Part of my diet, but I’ll get a half-dozen of your Snickers cookies for Putter. The man’s skinny as a lamppost and the cookies do look amazing.”

GracieAnn’s face morphed into a sincere grin. Miss Jilted to Miss Sweet-as-sugar in two seconds. “You mean it?”

“Oh my goodness, yes.” KiKi nodded for emphasis.

GracieAnn held up one of the Snickers cookies. “I’ve been eating the candy bars for the past week trying to get the recipe right. I put on five pounds along the way but that’s the price of success. Delta and I need to make sixty dozen tonight. The Daughters of the Confederacy wanted something unusual and scrumptious they could use as a fund-raiser.”

GracieAnn flipped cookies into a white pastry bag, then headed for the glass dome. “One sprinkle left,” she called out to me. “I’ll substitute a plain.” She added coffees at lightning speed. I hitched Old Yeller onto my shoulder, then picked up the order. KiKi snagged us an outside table.