by Duffy Brown
“Oh my stars and garters,” KiKi said in a drawn-out voice of understanding. “There were others!”
“Other women?” Chantilly wailed. “Where did the man get the stamina for carrying on like he did?”
“Others in that he lent money to others,” I soothed. “They paid him a hefty interest each month just like you did. He kept some of the money and lent the rest to generate more income. Simon Ambrose was a big, fat loan shark, but lending money for a condo is a lot of cash. How many others did he have on the hook? If GracieAnn sent you to Simon to borrow money, I bet she sent others and if they couldn’t pay, that’s a good motive for murder. I need to talk to GracieAnn.”
“But he said the loan was just for me. That I was special to him and he wanted to do me a favor.” I could tell from the look in Chantilly’s eyes she was a step closer to spitting on Simon’s grave and a step further away from Simon, the love of my life.
“I’m coming with you to the bakery,” KiKi said, heading toward the back door. “I’m having company for supper tonight and could do with a nice peach pie and some yeast rolls. I have to put on my face and grab my pocketbook. Give me a minute or two,” KiKi’s voice trailed off, then the back door slammed shut, the quiet of the Fox now deafening, my brain fixated on the peach pie.
“Do you really think Simon was a loan shark?” The desolation in Chantilly’s voice snapped me away from pie. “How could he do that to me? And it seems sort of risky. If someone couldn’t pay, they’d just turn Simon into the police.”
“Not if they were into something illegal or it made them look stupid to their family and friends. My guess is Simon would take something if they didn’t pay up.”
“He was a repo man?” Chantilly’s eyes widened. “He’d take something like a yellow sports car or even Mamma and Daddy’s condo right out from under them?” Chantilly’s eyes got beady. “Simon was nothing more than a big, fat, no-good rat!”
Chapter Seven
I HITCHED up Bruce Willis and met KiKi outside her back door. We waved to Percy, then KiKi, BW, and I took off. “Who are you having over for supper?” I asked KiKi as we hung a right onto Drayton, walking on the inside of the sidewalk under the oaks and keeping out of the sun. “One of Putter’s golf friends?”
“He’s a really nice man that Putter met at one of those medical conferences. He’s in town and—”
“No way.” I stopped right there on the sidewalk, alarm bells bonging so loud in my head my eyes crossed. “Don’t you even think about such a thing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” KiKi said with a lilt in her voice that said she was guilty of just what I thought she was guilty of. She took my arm and pulled me on. “I’m simply having a friend of my husband’s for supper is all. Perfectly innocent.”
“You don’t have an innocent bone in your body when it comes to blind dates. What you’re cooking up amounts to another doctor-for-Reagan event and luring me in with peach pie. I hate when you do this.” I hated more that it worked. I was a sucker for peach pie. “Remember Dr. Fat-and-bald you tried to fix me up with in the spring? He wasn’t even nice. He called BW an m-u-t-t!”
“But the guy was rich and you could do with a little doctor money in your life,” Kiki persisted.
“I’m not marrying for money!”
“It was just a thought; not many customers in the Fox this morning even without Percy.” KiKi was right about that. I could feel Hollis’s presence like a black vulture hovering over me.
We passed Forsyth Park with the big white fountain spraying skyward, water droplets dancing in the sun. “Besides, this guy’s different. He’s a crackerjack surgeon and tall and handsome with blue eyes and young and a real hunk and—”
“Divorced three times with alimony payments that match the national debt and a bunch of bratty spoiled kids.”
“No kids, no divorce, and if you don’t come, he and Putter will talk doctorese and I’ll have to listen to recounts of a triple bypass over rare roast beef. Last time that happened I couldn’t eat meat for three months. Have pity on me. Be nice, help me out here.”
Nice. I thought of the promise I made out in the swamp. Considering it had involved Boone that was a bit of a dirty trick on God’s part. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Okay?” KiKi blinked twice and gave me a round-eyed stare of disbelief. “That’s it? No argument, no begging, no reminding that I’m your favorite auntie and the guy truly is a hunk.”
“You’re my only auntie and I don’t care if he’s a hunk, and can I borrow the Beemer tomorrow?”
“So you can go to Simon’s funeral?”
I stopped dead. “Tomorrow’s the funeral?”
“Unless you know someone else who’s croaked recently.” We made the sign of the cross at croaked. “Ten o’clock,” KiKi went on. “It’s the layout and then straight off to the cemetery and into the ground all in one fell swoop. My guess is Simon’s mamma wanted to drag things out and milk the occasion, but Reese Waverly’s paying for the whole shebang down to the headstone and the Abbott sisters and their weeping hankies. Reese wanted fast, so fast it is.”
“We should go,” I said. “It’ll be a big social event.”
“We?”
“Then we need to go check out a truck.”
“We?”
“When the UPS truck got hit from behind, I was so busy trying to keep Big Brown on the road I didn’t catch who did it. My last pickup was from Icy Graham and I know he has a truck because I saw it at Waynetta’s wedding. Icy’s seafood store isn’t too far from Bonaventure and out on Lighthouse Road. Icy wasn’t thrilled I mentioned he was at Waynetta’s wedding, like he was trying to hide something and not wanting to own up to it. There was no mention of Gee, what do you think about the groom winding up with a cake knife in his back. Seems that might be expected idle conversation, don’t you think? You can buy shrimp and crab and keep Icy busy while I take a look around his place. Someone doesn’t like me asking questions and right now Icy has top billing with the swamp being so close to his place.”
“You think whoever shoved you off the road killed Simon?”
“I’m thinking maybe Icy borrowed money from Simon. Late summer is a tough time of year for shrimpers. Maybe Icy fell behind in his payments and did in Simon so Simon wouldn’t repossess his business. No one would suspect the shrimp guy as the murderer at a wedding. With a bunch of other people running around he kind of faded into the background.”
“Like Cher says, Someone has to pay for the frog and dancing fairies, except for Simon it was cars and condos.” KiKi pulled a sour face. “Well, here we go again. I’m your distraction, your snooping-around beard. I try and come up with stuff to keep people busy. That isn’t much fun you know.”
“Neither is triple-bypass chitchat over rare prime rib.”
“There is that.”
The closer we got to the bakery, the faster BW pulled me on. I had a sweet tooth or two, but BW had a whole mouthful. The bakery was at midmorning lull between early breakfast folks on their way to work and the idle rich or retired senior brunch set. KiKi was in a quandary over a strawberry Danish or an éclair; I got a doughnut with sprinkles. I’m a sucker for sprinkles and they’re cheap. Reagan cuisine.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked GracieAnn when I paid for my doughnut at the old brass register, where the prices flipped up in the little window on top and a bell rang when the drawer slid open. GracieAnn’s apron was smeared with pink icing and a dab of something chocolate. GracieAnn’s apron looked delicious.
She hitched her head to the side counter and I followed her around, KiKi in tow. GracieAnn took an order over the phone with her cupcake pencil, then held out a tray of dead-guy cookies to us. “I got another batch cooling,” she said. “Delta’s in the back decorating them for me while trying not to have a stroke now that one of the mixers won’t work. I tell you, we’re running this place in the ground. Heard you ran the UPS truck into the swamp and Walker Boone had to re
scue you.”
GracieAnn fanned herself with a pink order pad, her plump rosy cheeks taking on a deep blush. “That man is mighty handsome, I tell you. Prime grade-A beefcake. He can come and rescue me anytime, night or day. Preferably at night, if you get my drift. I wonder if he knows how to fix a mixer?”
I leaned across the counter. “What do you know about Simon?”
GracieAnn formed a pucker as if sucking on a lemon. “Other than he was a rotten, no-good dirtbag, what else is there? You sure you don’t want another cookie?”
“What was he like as a banker, and I’m not talking about his job at Savannah Bank and Trust. I mean his other banking attributes as a self-employed entrepreneur. Did you know his other clients? You sent Chantilly to Simon.”
“Biggest regret of my life.”
“Did you send anyone else?” KiKi said with a mouthful of Danish.
“No one else matters. I made those UPS cookies for a reason, you know. Chantilly got what she deserved. She stole Simon from me and now she’s a prime suspect in his murder and I couldn’t be happier about the whole situation.”
“But she’s innocent,” I added, trying for a bit of compassion and some information.
“Not to me she isn’t. She’s guilty of boyfriend-napping.” GracieAnn studied me for a second. I could almost see the little gears churning away behind her emerald eyes. She leaned across the marble counter, her nose nearly toughing mine. “Chantilly’s your friend, that’s what you were doing in that UPS truck. You were helping her out because she’s fretting over getting arrested and messing up her job. She’s been mucking up deliveries. I hear stuff, you know. I bet you’re trying to get Chantilly off the guilty list and that’s why you’re asking me all these dreadful questions.”
The gears churned again. “You want to blame Simon’s demise on someone else who he lent money to instead of Chantilly? Well, it’s not going to work, sugar.” GracieAnn stood tall and parked her hands on her well-endowed hips. “Chantilly’s guilty as all get-out, pure and simple, and now she gets to pay the price.”
“I’m helping Walker Boone. He’s working on her case.” Oh, Lordy, did I really just say that? I must have because KiKi kicked me in the shins.
“Walker Boone is helping Chantilly?” GracieAnn looked impressed. Heck, I was impressed I came up with that award-winning lie right there on the spot.
“Who would have thought?” GracieAnn said, a little breathless.
I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Bet I could get him to come around and talk to you for a bit about the case.”
That warranted another KiKi shin-kicking but GracieAnn beamed. “I bet I could tell him a few things he’d like to know about this here case. Stuff he never suspected.”
“You could tell me and I could tell him. He’d be mighty grateful.”
“Now why would I do a thing like that if Walker Boone’s showing up at my door? I’m here to tell you that sure would make my day.” GracieAnn fluffed her voluminous hair held in place by a net. “Someone like Walker Boone is a million times better than Simon. That man’s the icing on my cake.”
GracieAnn nodded, a sensual glint in her eyes. KiKi grabbed my arm, hauling me across the wood floor, Bruce Willis following, lapping dropped pastry crumbs along the way.
“What are you doing?” Auntie KiKi growled between barely moving lips when we got outside and sat at one of the little white wrought-iron tables for coffee and goodies alfresco. “The icing on the cake! Boone is not going to appreciate you feeding him to GracieAnn like that.”
“It wasn’t a full-out feed, more like a necessary nibble,” I whispered back. “I had to come up with something to get her talking. I bet dollars to doughnuts that GracieAnn sent other financially distressed clients to Simon, and I have to keep her on my side so she’ll tell me who they are.”
“Honey, she’s not going to tell you beans, and when she finds out you fibbed about Boone she’s gong to have a hissy. This is the woman who bakes dead-people cookies. Did you ever see that Sweeney Todd picture? Bet GracieAnn could be another Sweeney Todd given half a chance. She’s not someone you want to tick off. Think Reagan cookies with blonde icing hair and flip-flops. I’m going back in that store and get my baked goods for tonight, then stop over at Dan’s Flora and Fauna for some of those sunflowers in his window that are bigger than a roasted turkey. Then I’m taking a cab home. Don’t be late for dinner, and wear something presentable. A little lipstick wouldn’t hurt either.”
“I can go with you,” I said, thinking another sprinkle doughnut might be in order. “I bet Percy’s still out front of the Fox, so I don’t have any customers. How am I ever going to get rid of him?”
“Worry about that later. You have bigger fish to fry. Confession’s good for the soul, and this time it might save your hide, least with Boone. You best go tell him that GracieAnn might be looking for him. If she shows up on his doorstep and says you sent her, Boone will hunt you down. With GracieAnn you best watch your back, literally.”
Auntie KiKi took my hand, her look pained. “Honey, you got a particular way of getting yourself in deep doo-doo these days. Someone ran you into the swamp and now you might very well get baked up into cookies. How does this keep happening?”
I watched KiKi go inside. GracieAnn had information I could use. I should watch her, see whom she was friendly with and maybe catch a conversation or two. That made me a stalker, and part of the Sweeney Todd conversation replayed in my head. I needed one of those bug things to plant in the bakery. Right, I couldn’t even afford a phone.
Chatting it up with Boone was not on my wish list at the moment. He’d fold his arms, shake his head, and proceed with a what were you thinking lecture. I wasn’t in a lecture-by-Boone mood. When I got back to the Fox there was no sign of Percy on my sidewalk. Things were looking up till I went inside to find my AC unit in bits and pieces all over the dining room hardwood floor. Percy had his jacket off, red tie loose and limp at his neck, a smear of grease on his right ear, a toolbox at his side. He sat on one of my dining room chairs digging around in the metal AC case wedged in the window. Central air was not a luxury of old homes with radiator heating and money-challenged owners.
“What’s going on?” I asked Chantilly, a few customers in the shop trying to act as if having machine pieces on the floor were a common occurrence.
Chantilly nodded at the mess. “Your AC was making weird noises.”
“If you were as old as that unit, you’d be making weird noises, too.”
Chantilly crooked her finger at me and I leaned across the checkout counter. “It may be a little warm in the Fox, but Percy isn’t harassing customers either. He chased off a whole busload of Red Hat ladies from the First Baptist Church over there on Bull Street who came to shop. You know how those gals in the red hats spend money. I remembered Percy did repair work to earn his way though college and told him about the AC. When he gets that done maybe we can break something else around here to keep him busy and off the streets so to speak.”
“He looks happy. I think he’s humming.”
“‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’ from Oklahoma. At it for an hour now.”
I went into the dining room and, without looking up, Percy said, “I’ll have this baby up and running for you in no time. One summer I helped my uncle Chicken. He’s a repairman over there in Garden City. Can you hand me that Phillips head screwdriver out of my toolbox? Always keep my toolbox in my car just in case something like this happens. Got to be prepared, that’s what Uncle Chicken says.”
I handed off the screwdriver, then retrieved a denim jacket out of the display for a customer. Chantilly was busy at the checkout. Well, shut my mouth and call me a clam. I was actually making money. I glanced back to my AC unit and Percy reconnecting hoses and metal parts like he actually knew where they belonged. He attached the front cover of the unit and flipped the switch to on. When nothing happened Percy gave the unit a smart whack with the flat of his hand and the unit hummed to life, sou
nding better than ever. He grinned like a kid at Christmas. “I still have the touch.”
“What do you know about mixers?” I asked, a plot brewing in my desperate brain, the fear of no customers gnawing at my insides.
“Uncle Chicken says I have the Damon Gift. I’m the Superman of the motor world. But right now I have a case to work on.” He looked back at Chantilly and lowered his voice. “She’s counting on me, she truly is. I have to come through for her. I know she’s innocent, I just have to prove it.”
I whispered back. “GracieAnn over at Cakery Bakery was involved with Simon. He was a loan shark and GracieAnn sent him business.”
“No.” Percy gasped, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” I gasped back, hoping to add a bit of drama and excitement to my plan. I pulled Percy to the corner. “And if we can find the other people GracieAnn sent to Simon to borrow money, we can maybe pin the murder on one of them.”
“Others?”
“Chantilly borrowed money from Simon, and GracieAnn won’t talk to anyone like me who is trying to get Chantilly off. She believes Chantilly stole Simon from her and she’s out for revenge. Nothing would make her happier than Chantilly behind bars permanently. What we need is to watch GracieAnn, listen in on her conversations, and see who she meets with. What we need is for someone to go undercover.” I draped my arm around Percy and drew his head close to mine. “The mixer and the oven at the Cakery Bakery conked out; you can fix them like you did my AC and keep your eyes and ears open. You can be our undercover guy.”
“They know I’m Chantilly’s lawyer. Won’t they recognize me and wonder what I’m doing as a repairman?”
“Put on a brown uniform. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my UPS days, it’s that no one pays attention to who you are if you have on a brown uniform. Bring your toolbox and you’re in.”
“But I have to prepare Chantilly’s defense.”
I grabbed the front of Percy’s shirt and ground out, “Right now we have no defense. We have Chantilly the sobbing, jilted ex-fiancée who rode a horse naked, borrowed money from the murdered guy, and ate his wedding cake when he was marrying someone else. Things aren’t looking good here.”
